#im so proud of this every damn day i look at it

[sl0wdiver]

New update to my football mural. I have been too persuaded by Kai Havertz's donkey ears celebration and his malnourished Victorian child lookin-ass. Welcome to the collection mister.

✋😛🤚

Willow our cat takes a look.

Back on the wall again!

[hecksupremechips]

Time for me to be completely changed as a person! *just watched falsettos*

[wolfiesmoon]

When you wear their clothes

genshin men x gn!reader

characters featured: xiao, neuvillette, wriothesley, zhongli and itto

i've been dreaming about genshin a lot lately idk this game has possesed me or smth so i feel like i'm required to write this? Also DAMN im rusty with genshin characters so i apologise profusely for any ooc-ness

(also wrio's is kinda suggestive!!)

XIAO is confused. Why on earth are you wearing his clothes? He isn't opposed to it specifically, but doesn't understand the appeal or the reason why you do it. "My clothes don't fit you properly. What's the point?" he asks, completely straight faced. You smile. "It reminds me of you when you're not with me!" He just scoffs and says he doesn't get your strange habits before moving on with his day. Somehow though, the image of you in his clothes won't leave his mind for the rest of the day. "Dammit..." he mumbles under his breath, barely audible when nobody's around. Don't bring up his pink cheeks in the evening when he comes back to see you, he will not elaborate.

Similarly, NEUVILLETTE is also confused. This must be another human thing that he isn't familiar with. What does wearing their lover's clothes mean to humans? "Oh, I just missed you... your clothes remind me of you, you know?" You explained when he questioned you on the matter. "Oh, I suppose that makes sense. Do you want more items related to myself for when I am absent?" He asks. While you do want to know what items he would bring you, you turn him down. "I like your shirts the most, because they smell like you and feel like your hugs." He doesn't know why exactly, but he has the urge to kiss you all of a sudden.

WRIOTHESLEY feels distracted when he sees you in his clothes from time to time. He gets busy a lot, so the moments he gets to spend with you feel extra special. But, what is he to do when you look so positively yummy in his shirt? "Hey, mind taking my shirt off? It's... sort of distracting." he admits, taking a sip of his tea. "But, wouldn't it be even more distracting if I took it off now?" you asked, feigning an innocent look. He almost spit out his tea. "I did not mean it like that...! Surely you're just teasing me." You just smiled mischeviously in response, taking a sip out of your own cup. "That's what I thought. I know that look."

ZHONGLI thinks you look odd in his clothes. Odd, but not bad by any means. You actually look quite endearing. "I'll make sure to commit this to memory." he says calmly, sitting down next to you on the bed. "You say that every time you're with me." you poke his shoulder gently, smiling up at him. "That's because everything about you is worth remembering, I suppose." Still, he thinks this specific memory is one he will treasure for a long, long time. "Oh my..." you felt heat rushing to your cheeks at his words, hugging his arm. Actually, he changed his mind, you're positively adorable in his clothes.

You're basically asking to get attacked with a flurry of kisses if you wear ITTO'S clothes in front of him. That's like, a show of affection! That you're totally his and no one else's! And that also means it's a cause for celebration! "Agh, Itto- Stop!" you try and fail to push his face away. "Hehehe..." he gives you a bright smile and places a big ol' kiss on your lips. "You should wear my clothes more often!!!" he felt proud of himself, puffing out his chest. "Ummm, whatever you say..." you're kind of worried that if you do that, your face will never escape his lips.

[lewisvinga]

so high school | max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

summary; in which max feels like a sixteen year old in high school whenever he’s around y/n

word count; 976

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3 @fall-bambi

note; requested ! i dont listen to taylor swift so im not familiar w this song, but i hope this is good enough!😫 n so sorry this took a bit longer than usual, a lot of things happened in my life rn + i’ve had major writers block 🙁

masterlist !

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

i just want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you

Max stood at the podium with a proud smile on his face. Another race won another race closer to being the world champion. The sound of his nation’s national anthem filled his ears as his hands found their way through his blonde locks.

His bright eyes scanned the crowd searching for her.

The start of the season was always a grand event. Drivers often brought their girlfriends along with them to enjoy a sunny Bahrain and the beginning of the season. When the first race of the season came around, Max couldn’t help but ask his girlfriend of just a few months and a world-famous singer to accompany him.

He thought it was a good idea. He really did.

However, the second his eyes landed on her wide smile from the top of the podium, he felt his heart skip a beat. She stared at him with so much love in her eyes that he became flustered. His cheeks began burning up and he secretly hoped and prayed that others would think his rosy cheeks were from the bright sun.

He had to hold back a laugh, a giggle even. Max Verstappen, The Max Verstappen, giggling and blushing over a girl that was already his? It was unheard of. He knew if he kept staring his cheeks would be too red to be just from the sun.

As quickly as his eyes found her, he looked away and instead focused on calming down his heart rate.

i’ll drink what you think and i’m high from smoking your jokes all damn night

Max was always the type to drink his coffee black. No cream. No sugar. That changed the moment he started dating Y/n and learned about her addiction to a milky and very sweet iced vanilla latte.

She claimed it helped her and her melodic voice that he adored so much.

It was another late-night session in the studio and the Dutch driver had brought over two iced vanilla lattes, one with just a little less sugar than the other.

He honestly hated the sugary milky beverage. He could barely stand a sip but he refused to tell Y/n that. He only drinks the vanilla iced lattes because he loved to see her face light up whenever he’d give her the rest of his drink because he ‘didn’t want to finish it’.

“Here, have the rest of mine. I don’t want it.” Max said with a chuckle as he noticed her pout after she finished her own.

“Are you sure, Maxie?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Here.”

Y/n laughed and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a pink lipgloss mark. Max couldn’t help but laugh with her as she happily took his drink.

She sat down across from him on the couch in the studio. She began to tell him a story about something that happened to her and Lando days prior. He honestly wasn’t focusing much on the story. His focus was 100% on the smile on her face and the laughs she’d let out every other sentence.

If her laugh was a drug, he’d sure be high every second of the day. Hearing her laugh was an addiction to him. He adored it and if forcing himself to drink a sugary ice vanilla latte to accompany her during studio sessions just to hear her laugh, he’d do it without a problem.

the brink of a wrinkle in time, bittersweet sixteen suddenly.

Y/n let out a yawn as she walked down the halls of her and Max’s shared home. She needed a break from writing songs. Her mind was blank and she couldn’t think. The iced vanilla lattes weren’t helping her creativity flow and neither Jimmy nor Sassy helped.

She was walking towards Max’s gaming room where she knew he’d be on the simulator. She suddenly heard him say her name and she stopped right outside the slightly open door.

“No, yeah, Y/n and I are great. It’s just-“

“Just, what?” She recognized Charles's voice and his laugh.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me! I won’t tell a soul.”

“No, it’s stupid.”

“C’mon, Max.”

Y/n furrowed up her eyebrows as her heart rate began to pick up. She immediately assumed the worst. Did Max cheat on her? Did he no longer want to be in a relationship with her? Did she annoy him?

She bit her nails as she anxiously waited for his response.

Max sighed, running his hands through his blonde locks. “It’s just that I feel like I’m a teenage boy in high school around her. She makes me flustered, like actually flustered. It’s like I’m sixteen again!”

Y/n almost let out a sigh of relief from his words, but kept quiet as she knew that he would hear her. She quietly yet quickly walks away. She finds herself back in the living room with her notebook in hand. She began scribbling across the page, finally getting the creativity she needed to write the last song for her album.

She hums in satisfaction as she finishes off the song. ‘So High School’ she had scribbled at the top of the page. Right as if it were on queue, she hears Max’s voice.

“Any luck with songwriting?” The Dutch driver curiously asks, sitting beside her on the couch.

“In fact, I’ve had plenty of luck.”

“Let me see.” He mumbled, his hand reaching towards the book.

“No!”

“C’mon, schat! Let me see!”

Y/n quickly kissed his cheek in an attempt to distract him. Fortunately for her, it did. His cheeks began to turn a rosy shade of pink. He rolled his eyes, moving his attention from the notebook to Sassy who found her way to the couch.

She had to hold back a laugh as she noticed his ears also turning pink. He really was like a 16-year-old in high school.

[gravegoer]

Take a hint. ✿ part 2

part 2 finally!! im really proud of this writing. i had a lot of fun, and i think it brings a lot more depth to the story :) Part one HERE <3

my masterlist

sevika putting up with more oblivious reader!! this time, how does she react when her subtle ways of flirting don't get to you. every move she makes seems to bounce right off your head and land back in her hands !! [short little blurb at the end for the cute ending]

After your previous encounter with Sevika, you start to see her around more than you'd like. After having a few drinks with you and playing a game of cards (which you lost), you think you could even call the woman a friend.

You dont notice it, but she's gone soft. Specifically around you. Surprisingly, she didn't make you pay her for the forsaken poker game. Even more surprisingly, it seems as if you never had to drop a coin when you're in her presence.

Wanted a drink? It's on her. Ran into her when grabbing a snack? You just earned yourself a free pastry. Grabbing a ride home in the dark? She's got your cab. (And threatened the driver)

All of this in your eyes was simply nice deeds from a nice friend. In other peoples eyes, the undercities most threatening woman had been tamed.

She insists on walking you home after an encounter at the bar with the repeated saying, "I have nothing better to do, so I guess I'll do you the favor."

She glares at anyone who even tries to look your way. She knows you're a pretty thing, but she wants you for her eyes only. Obviously, this goes unnoticed by you as her nasty looks are sent over your head.

The people in Zaun are undoubtedly curious about your relationship. In a way, it almost scares Sevika, knowing that if the wrong person knows about you, you could immediately turn into a liability.

Having said this: she tried to keep her "affections" away from prying eyes, but she couldn't help but smirk when you asked questions about her arm or her job, even Silco, seeming genuinely curious. She'll answer with a teasing remark and an almost genuine smile.

Of course she does still have her guard up around you, only having known you for a few months. But one day caused her to be more vunerable with you more than she ever has to anyone since she was a kid.

A loud thud wakes you, its the middle of the night, what the fuck could that possibly be?

You glanced at your clock, the minute hand on 35, the hour hand on—two?? It was the ripe hour of two a.m., and you couldn't get some peace and quiet in Zaun. You almost rolled over to the other side of the bed before you heard an almost silent grunt from outside.

This prompted you to sit up and grab a jacket that was resting on your nightstand, still barelegged you made your way to the front door. The door creaked as you opened it, and you jumped at the sight of Sevika, on the ground, leaning against your doorframe. "You do know it's dangerous to open your door in the middle of the night to a stranger, right?" Sevika teased.

You panicked, "Sevika! What happened—I mean, why are you— did you plan on sitting on my doorstep if I wasn't awake? You're seriously reckless!" You tugged at her arm trying to get her up.

"Slow down, I just needed a place to sit and catch my breath thats all." She grunted at your motions, stumbling up but standing nonetheless.

"Catch your breath? Are you crazy?" You catch a glimpse at the blood seeping through her shirt, "Shit— are you okay?" You led her into your house, letting her plop down onto the couch with a grunt.

You told her to stay there (not like she could move) as you went to the bathroom to grab some bandages and other miscellaneous things you assumed you needed. You barely noticed your hands trembling when you opened the cabinet. You were worried. Extremely worried. I mean, you knew her job was dangerous, but like this? Damn.

As you re-entered the living room, Sevika was perched haphazardly on your couch, barely fitting with her size. She clutched her torso, where blood stained her shirt and dripped down her arm. You hurried over to her, dropping to your knees beside her left leg to move her hand and survey the wound. "Already on your knees for me?" She let out a strained chuckle.

You rolled your eyes at the crude joke, "Will you be serious?"

She went quiet while you pulled her shirt up and started to disinfect the wound. She hissed at the slight burning, but you continued. At a particularly tender spot, she grunted and grabbed your wrist for a moment but pulled away quickly.

"How did this happen?" You questioned, less shakey now that you had her on your couch, somewhat fixed up.

"Just some enforcers, trying to mess with Silcos people. He gave me the task of getting rid of them. The usual," She stared at you her gaze shufting to the goosebumps on your bare legs.

"The usual?" You muttered to yourself.

You motioned for her to scoot forward so you could wrap the bandages all the way around her exposed (but now clean) torso. If you were looking, you'd see the way her face contorted in embarrassment. But of course, you weren't.

"So...why my doorstep? Like, why not... I dont know— Silcos?" You shrugged.

"Silco? Seriously? You think I'd go to the guy who put me in this mess over you?" She scoffed, shifting in a way that wouldn't strain her wound. Then, she brushed her hand over your leg, trying to calm the coldness with the heat of her hand.

Humming at the warmth, you asked, "So what im hearing is you like me more than your boss?"

"Well yeah? You're—" She cut herself off when she caught your gaze, looking up at her through your eyelashes.

"I should go, I need to report back to Silco." She quickly gained composure again but made no move to get up.

"Back to Silco? Sevika, I think you can wait the night. You're hurt." You unconsciously leaned into her touch, her hand still resting on your thigh.

You got up, heading to the bathroom to put your leftover supplies away; leaving no room for disagreement.

You could hear her shuffling around outside and stand up to open the bathroom door. You open it to her standing closer than you expected, leaning on the doorframe. Her flesh arm balanced just above your head, mechanical arm on her hip.

"You're too sweet on me, y'know that?" The woman questions a hint of humor in her voice.

"Well thats what friends are—" She cuts you off.

"No. No more of that friend bullshit. Do you not see what im always trying to imply here?" She was now getting irritated.

"Sevika what the hell are you talking about?" Before you can barrage her with more questions she groans and clutches her torso, head falling onto her arm.

Your demeanor instantly shifts, now putting your hands atop her mechanical arm with concern. She pushes your hands away and groans either out of pain or frustration (probably a mix of both). "Let me help you." You wrapped your arms around yourself, sighing at Sevikas' sudden outburst.

"You've done enough. We are just friends, after all. You dont need to overstep." She started walking (stumbling) towards the front door.

You followed after her in frustrated strides, faster than her limping form. Standing in front of her, you blocked her path to the door, "Are you trying to imply we are more than friends?"

"No. I just said we are just friends? Did you hear me," She spoke shortly and with an obvious temper.

"Dont be smart with me," You pointed a finger in her face.

"I've been trying to talk you up, okay? I thought you'd notice, but i guess you're just as dumb as I thought you were," She stood motionless, waiting for you to speak.

"Wait..like the guy at the bar that you said tried to get into my pants?" You cocked your head to the side, making a face.

She almost growled at you, pushing you out of the way so she could get to the door. I mean, seriously? She's going to basically confess to you, and you twiddle it down to her wanting to get in your pants? She's no better than the guy at the bar, right?

Before she can even touch the knob you pull her by the shoulder, spinning her already weak body around (something you definitely wouldn't be able to do when she's at full health) and stared up at her. "I wouldn't mind it." You said a little too confidently.

You slid your hand down her mechanical arm and held onto her forearm. "You wouldn't mind.. me trying to get into your pants?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Yep."

"Alright." She sighed, sliding her human hand down her face, "I just thought you knew. Since you're always doing shit like that, " She motioned with a tilt of her head to your hand on her prosthetic.

"Like what?"

"You know nobody else wants to touch my mechanical arm. Especially in the way you do." You recall all the ways you held onto it when you walked together or tapped on it languidly when you're bored.

"Well, im not scared of you, you know?" You spoke somewhat defensively.

"Yeah. I caught onto that." She grumbled.

"Can we just go sit down and talk about this?" You sighed.

Not letting you pull away, she latched her other hand onto the back of your neck and pulled your head up towards hers. She bent over ever-so-slightly to meet you in the middle and pressed her thick lips against yours.

Her mouth tasted like a burnt cigar and something bitter, but you leaned in nonetheless. Your free hand gripped onto her bicep and pulled her impossibly closer. A grunt escaped her mouth at that and you realized she was still hurt.

"I'm sorry did I hurt you—" You pulled away.

"No." She lied, trying to pull you back in.

You retaliated and giggled at her eagerness. "Can I sit you down and make you something to drink before we 'talk' about this?" You quoted yourself, knowing talking most likely wasn't needed for the next few hours.

thank you for reading :) i have to taglist yet, so pleasseee specifically, comment if you want to be on it ! for now, I'll tag the people that have commented on part 1 so far !! <3 im slightly new to this, so support, tips, and reuqests are ALWAYSSS appreciated

@lesbo-tuliplvrr @luvmei

and i hope you guys like this as much as i did <33 thank youuu kissessss

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. (coming soon)

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[sspidrwebz]

IMPATIENCE | vi x fem!reader ft. vi - arcane

Summary | it’s been too long of her being gone and when she returns, she graciously lets you relieve that built up restlessness

Warnings / Tags | Smut, strap-on sex, no mention of y/n, no physical description of reader, nicknames (baby, babe, sweetheart, pretty girl, beautiful), breast play (if thats? what this is?? titty sucking idk, r!receiving), uhh praise kink if you squint AN | first fic im ever posting yall uhh expect more this week (guess what week it is chat cmon guess)

God, it felt like days since she’d been with you last. In reality, of course, it’d only been some hours. But lord, how could you help it? The mere thought of her sent a chill down your spine each and every time. And for good reason.

Hell, who could anyone possibly act normal with a woman like her?

Either way, you’re hopeless every moment she’s gone. You’ve tried touching yourself, but in the end you know damn well that nothing will ever feel as deliciously good as her.

That’s why when she finally returned, you were all over her. Begged like you knew she liked; she loved knowing you wanted her, treasured her. She happily let you have some time with her to get all that, shall we say, energy out of your system.

You whimpered occasionally as you moved yourself up and down, your hips stuttering as her strap slid in and out of your pathetically wet pussy.

“Ohh, poor baby,” Vi cooed softly, a sympathetic sound to her voice as she reveled in the desperation that’s accentuated by your heated expression. “Really missed me, huh?”

You nodded weakly, letting out a strangled “mhm” that was quickly cut off by a moan. You felt as if you couldn’t afford to cease your movements, but it was becoming evident that you still couldn’t work yourself the same as she could. “V-Vi, help.. please..”

Her eyes softened at your pleading. “You want some help, babe? Damn, I thought I taught you better than that,” she teased. You whined in response and Vi quickly reassured you. “Aww, it’s okay, sweetheart, you know I’m just fucking with you.”

With that, she thrusted her hips upward, not too sharply, not too suddenly, but just enough to rip a low moan from your throat. Vi let out a soft groan herself in response to the sound.

“Attagirl, there you go.. love your voice, baby, always do,” Vi said quietly, helping you create a steady rhythm as she bucked her hips and you began to move with her.

After you proved to get the hang of it, Vi laid herself back down on the mattress as she watched in satisfaction. She slipped a hand under your shirt, caressing your stomach lightly as she looked up at you.

“Can I take this off, sweetheart?” You nodded midway through her question, causing her to grin in further amusement. She wordlessly and smoothly pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side, and her eyes widened a bit.

“Aww,” Vi said lightly, observing your unexpectedly bare chest. “No bra, babe? Fuck, you really were needing this.” She laughed lightly, careful not to disrupt you as you continued riding her like a bull. She laid her hand on your side, thumb rubbing against the skin of your breast.

You whimpered sharply, knowing damn well what that usually meant. You couldn’t bring yourself to protest just yet, though.

Vi, without warning, leaned closer and before you knew it, her mouth latched onto your breast, sucking gently at first as her tongue played with your hard nipple.

You mewled at the feeling, panting heavier as you fought to keep her strap moving inside you, your hips messily slamming down and causing you to grow louder and louder.

Vi pulled her mouth away from your tit just long enough to speak, a trail of saliva connected her to your skin. “Good fucking girl, that’s it. You look so damn pretty like this, you hear me? So proud of you, baby.”

You moaned and whined endlessly, every other thought drowned out by Vi. You kept going, neither of you stopping until both agreed to. Your cum leaked out, beautifully dripping down Vi’s strap as you whimpered softly.

Vi pressed her forehead to yours as you began to collapse. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.. yeah, Vi.. l-love you too..”

“Love you more, beautiful.”

[violettwrites]

hey bae! i’m lowkey so obsessed with your young trailerpark!daryl as well and i wanted to put in a request for like daryl and reader spending their first night together(if yk what i mean) and merle waking up the next day and teasing them once he notices that reader is still there from the previous night. Don’t care for smut at all, just for the teasing tbh😭 Anyways no pressure and have a nice day���🏽

teasings 🏹 young trailerpark!daryl dixon

a/n: nonnie thank u so so so much for this request. as soon as i saw u had sent it in i HAD to write this. if you enjoyed this, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and or comment ! here is my masterlist, and my ask box is open for requests !

this can be a stand alone oneshot, or possibly a part two to this tp!daryl piece

summary: 1988. merle catches daryl & reader in bed together one morning, teasing them relentlessly.

pairing: tp!daryl x tp!reader

warnings: brief smut — 18+, merle being annoying

word count: 765

— — —

the early morning sun was just starting to peek through the cracks in the thin curtains of daryl’s small bedroom, casting soft streaks of light across the room. you stirred under the covers, blinking away sleep as you tried to gather your bearings. you could feel the warmth of daryl beside you, his steady breathing mixing with the sounds of birds outside. for a second, you smiled, remembering the events from last night.

”fuck— daryl!” you gasped, fingernails digging into his biceps as he thrusted into you, grunting with each movement of his hips. he had your thighs practically pressed to your chest, the sound of skin slapping together echoing his small bedroom.

“wha’s that, pretty girl?” he murmured as he looked down at you, blue eyes dark with lust as he quickened the movements of his hips, causing you to whine at both the compliment, and the feeling of his cock inside you. you to squeezed your eyes shut, only for him to grab your cheeks with his hand, shaking your head a little. “look a’ me.”

after all those years of growing up together, though all the ups and downs, things had finally fallen into place between you and him.

before you could fully wake up, you heard the door to the trailer barge open, heavy footsteps making their way towards the bedroom, where daryl’s door swung wide open.

“well, well, well, what do we got here?” merle’s voice rang out, loud and obnoxious as ever. “looks like little brother finally got hisself some!”

daryl tensed beside you, a groan coming from his throat as he was rudely awoken by merle, though it was nothing new for him. “shut up, merle,” he grumbled, face scrunched in frustration as he rubbed at his eyes. his voice was hoarse, clearly not in the mood to deal with his brother’s teasing. but merle wasn’t one to let things go.

you sat up, pulling the blanket to cover yourself, giving merle a look that could kill. “get lost, merle. nobody has time for your crap this early in the morning,” you snapped, throwing him a warning glare. merle, of course, didn’t take it seriously.

“aww, c’mon now, sugar. just sayin’ daryl ain’t usually this lucky! gotta give ‘im props,” he said with a shit eating grin, clearly enjoying every second of daryl’s embarassment.

you rolled your eyes, already used to merle’s nonsense. “you really wanna get your ass handed to you before breakfast? ‘cause you’re headed in the right direction.”

merle cackled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “woah now, girlie, don’t get feisty on me. i’m just proud of daryl here. took him long enough to figure it out.”

daryl groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes, trying to hide from the world— or maybe just his older brother. “i swear, merle, if ya don’t leave right now, ‘m gonna knock ya on yer ass.”

merle have one more obnoxious ha!, finally stepping back out of the room. “alright, alright. i’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. just remember, y’all need to lock the damn door next time. don’t nobody wanna see this.” he smirked and pulled the door shut, making his way out of the trailer.

you sat there for a second in silence before looking over at daryl, who was still covering his face. “i’m gonna kill him one day,” he muttered.

you chuckled, leaning over to poke his side. “i’ll help ya,” you giggled, your voice still a little groggy but playful. “but he is right about one thing.” you hated to admit it.

daryl finally pulled his arm away and raised an eyebrow at you, his hair a wild mess. “what?”

you smirked, brushing a hand over his chest. “took you long enough.”

his cheeks flushed slightly, something that made your heart skip every time. even though daryl dixon was tough as nails, around you, he had always been softer. “i didn’t—“ he started to protest, but you leaned in closer, cutting him off with a kiss. it was soft and lingering, enough to make him forget whatever he was going to say.

pulling back, you gave him a teasing grin. “don’t worry. it was worth the wait.” your hand gave him a soft pat on the chest.

daryl huffed, a small smile creeping into his face. “yeah, well, next time we make sure merle ain’t around, aight?”

you laughed softly. "deal."

outside, you could hear merle hollering something to the neighbours, but you didn’t care. in this moment, it was just you and daryl, finally where you both wanted to be.

[yan-randomfandom]

HIIIIIIII I love your writing alot!!!! Soo, I wanna request something:3

Maybe a Yandere Stanford Pines x GN reader who only saw him as a close friend? They became friends when they were still in high-school up to this day! (Yes, reader did sort of wait 30 years for Ford and never forgot about him)

Maybe just Stanford obsessing over Reader romantically, and Reader just think him as the greatest best-friend ever!!

I LOVE ONE SIDED PINNING OKAY????

Stanford Pines x GN!Reader

UM UH,,, IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON— and it's something I'm not even proud of 😭😭

context btw; reader doesn't know about weirdmaggedon or fake death or entire lore, they dont tell them anything uhhh idk anymore

You took the bus to Gravity Falls! Stanley reached out to you after decades of not having contact. It was a bit sudden, but there's no way you're going to ignore his call.

Stanley Pines was the first man you saw when the Mystery Shack's door opened. Wrinkly, exhausted widened eyes looked at you in silence. He looked unprepared... kind of crusty musty... and very unhygienic.

"You look disgusting! I'm gonna hug you anyway!" you beamed, pulling him in for a big hug. Unwillingly, a strong whiff of his scent hits your nose. "You stink too! You haven't changed a bit, Stanley."

"Glad to know ya missed me," he laughed, giving you an affectionate noogie.

When Stan finally let you go, you looked up to see Ford. He stood in front of you, speechless as he stared into your eyes.

"...Ford," you grinned, walking towards him. In curiosity, you placed your palms on both his cheeks. He seemed to relax with your touch. "You changed a lot."

Your eyes, while they've wrinkled, are as warm as the day he last saw them. He smiled back, his large hand covering one of yours. Your smile widened when you saw his fingers. "And you aged beautifully."

Poetic as always! A laugh bubbled up your throat as you wrapped your arms around him.

He quickly returned the gesture, burying his face into your neck. He missed this. He missed you.

Your warmth didn't change. Fascinating.

"I missed you, man! How come you're such a silver fox now? Good for you!"

"I still have no idea what a silver fox is," he chuckled, already longing for you the second you pulled away from him.

Ford merely stood there for a few moments before he grimaced. Damn it. He still likes you, doesn't he?

It's been more than thirty years already. He thought he would have moved on, especially after the whole weirdmaggedon thing. Why would Stanley ever get the idea of calling you back here??

All of you now sat at the table with you in between the Pines twins. Mabel wore an apron, sophisticatedly offering you tea. The sweetheart made the recipe herself!

"So, how have you been doing these days?" Ford asked, resting his cheek on his palm. Every passing second with you, he gets reminded more and more of why he used to like you.

You are, after all, the first and only person to not call him any sort of names because of his hands.

"Oh, I mean, I've been financially doing well, and it's been a bit difficult to settle down with a partner... but," you blushed. "I think I finally found the one."

Ford coughed out violently, pounding a fist against his chest. He really shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't! You're bound to have found someone!

Get a grip. Fourty. Years.

...He truly had missed out on this dimension for such a long time.

...

The sky is dark. Dipper told you about the roof spot at the shack, and now you're here, thinking about life.

"Dipper said you'd be here," a voice murmured. You looked up and saw Ford walking up to you. Chuckling, you offered him a non-alcoholic drink.

"How many days will you be staying here again?" Ford asked as he sat next to you, sparing a small space between.

"A week at most," you shrugged, kicking your legs at the edge. Ford simply stared at you.

"I guess it'll be forever before we see you again, huh?" he mumbled.

You turned to him with a smile. "Of course not. You guys are invited to my wedding."

... Wedding.

A small huff left your lips. "We're so old now. I still remember being in high school and grouping up with you and Stan when a trio was needed. Good times."

Ford continued staring at you.

"You guys were my best friends. Probably not now, I mean, been decades since we last talked. That reminds me, what made you call—"

Ford suddenly interrupted you with a hug.

"Woah, Fordsy, you miss me that much?" you laughed, hugging him back.

Don't call him that. His arms around you tightened.

You simply let him hug you.

It was such a long one.

And it only grew tighter by the second.

Like he never wanted to let you go again.

but his aim is getting better 🗣️

i love your idea so much btw, i too am a fan of one-sided pining.... the desperation yk.. I THINK I JUST SUCK AT WRITING FOR THAT WHAT 😟 (says the yandere blog)

[savannahsdeath]

This thought popped in my head and I need it!!!!

(only if you want to!)

Imagine reader and Ellie went out to the mall with there friends and the entireeee day Ellie was just thinking about bending reader over and doing her then and there because she was just looking so good with her little ponytail and skirt and the way she would pick up the cutest little clothes and ask Ellie if she thinks they would look good on her. Then when they get home Ellie just goes absolutely feral and fucks her with no remorse. :(((

I'm literally going feral over this thought

im not a shopping person but this? omg.

ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! obv smut, strap (r!receiving)

writers note: i loved the idea sm i literally stopped writing my enemies to lovers fic just to write this one🫣sorry it took me so long to post it, i struggled with choosing what to post first !!

You were going out shopping with your girlfriend and some friends. Ellie isn't really an outgoing person, but when it's about you and shopping, she can't wait to see you in all the cute clothes she knows she will buy you. Of course she'll never admit it but you knew she enjoys it as much as you do.

As you make your way into the store, you can see her eyes light up at the sight of all the different styles of clothes. She takes the lead and starts pulling at all sorts of clothing to bring over for you to try on, eager to see you wearing all her favorite things.

The changing rooms had a lot of space inside, so she entered one with you, sitting down on the little bench. While you were taking your previous clothes off, she intensely stared at her phone. She couldn't stand seeing your bare skin and it would be hard for her to control herself otherwise, but you were clueless.

When you changed into a cute, feminine skirt and top, she finally turned her eyes in your direction. Her gaze was judging but not in a bad way - she looked you up and down before smirking.

"Spin." Ellie simply ordered and you obviously did so. You had no idea she told you to do that because of the way your pink underwear shows when the skirt rolls up in the air at your movement. She cleared her throat and nodded, trying to hide her thoughts. "Yeah, looks good."

You frowned at her lack of enthusiasm, not realizing she's actually boiling inside. You were so oblivious it was actually funny, even your friends knew damn well what was going on.

You tried the rest of the clothes Ellie picked for you, not getting the reaction you'd like to each time, but you couldn't blame her.

Oh, little did you know how much she just wants to bend you over and fuck with her strap, she obviously had on, just in case she won't be able to control herself.

After a few other shops and a whole bag of clothes, you came into one with small changing rooms and made Ellie wait outside. She was standing in front of the curtains, pretending to be unbothered, but the way she impatiently kept asking you 'ready?' every-fucking-second said otherwise.

"Wait, wait, the zipper won't close!" You said, trying to lock a pretty, formal, red dress you knew you'll wear like one time - for Christmas or something.

She rolled her eyes and came in, standing so close behind you, you could feel the bulge in her jeans. She zipped it without struggle, placing her head on your shoulder as she looked at the mirror in front of you both. Her hands were sliding up and down your sides as she kissed your neck.

"You look fucking amazing." She whispered and smiled, seeming almost proud of your appearance.

"Is it worth buying, though?" You asked, turning in all directions to see it from every angle. "It will just collect dust in the closet for the whole year until I decide it's time to..."

She laughed, cutting you off. "Jesus, hush. I can afford it... Oh, and trust me, I'll make you wear it."

You finally fully turned around, cupping Ellie's face in your hands and kissing her for only a few seconds. "You spend too much money on me."

"Are you complaining?" She chuckled with a smug look on her face as you stayed silent. "That's what I thought."

After running around the shops for the whole day, you all met in a restaurant. Ellie was sitting in her usual men-spread position and you placed yourself between her legs, not really caring it may be weird. Her hands rested awfully near the hem of your skirt, wrapped around your waist. Sometimes when you were grinding too much, she'd just tug on it to warn you, so no one would notice your behaviour.

Sometimes, when your little movements didn't stop, she'd whisper something in your ear in almost threatening way, even though you wasn't really teasing her intentionally.

On your way home, she was walking faster than usually. You couldn't even call it walking together, she was just pushing you forward.

You tried to slow down or build a conversation but miserably failed every time.

As soon as she brought you back to your shared apartament, she closed the door and immediately started kissing your neck, slowly pushing you towards the bed.

You quickly understood why she acted so weird before. "Oh, Ellie, so you just wanted that the whole day?" You chuckled as she nuzzled into your skin. "And you kept silent instead of telling me?"

She dropped the bag of clothes as soon as you entered the bedroom, your teasing words clearly pissing her off even more than having to watch you in all those cute little skirts back in the shop.

"What the fuck was the whole dinner scene for?" She asked, frustrated, hurriedly undressing you. "Can't sit still? Seriously?"

You laughed, even though you knew what waits for you isn't so funny.

She wasn't teasing your cunt for too long before filling it with her cock, waiting for the right moment to catch you off-guard. It worked as well as she expected to, you moaned and your eyes quickly turned glossy as your thighs clenched.

She kept going for so long, you didn't bother to hold back your tears anymore. Your hips were sore from the way she held them, knowing she won't be able to hit the right spot if you'll move. Your hair started to stick together from the sweat and tears mixed together, making the pillow uncomfortably wet. Your god-knows-which orgasm approached but you weren't able to say anything about it to Ellie as you lost the ability to speak like a thousand thrusts ago. You couldn't decide whether it's a good or bad feeling. Yes, you loved the feeling of her deep inside you to the point you can actually see her in your stomach. But no, you didn't feel strong enough to keep going. Ellie seemed to notice that.

"If you want to stop, just tell me." She said in the most taunting tone she could.

She knew you're not able to 'just tell her'. She noticed the only thing coming from your mouth are moans, occasionally maybe her name, but really rarely.

She reached to wipe your tears away. "Now, that's just adorable. And a little pathetic. Should I slow down, huh? Should I?"

You nodded, realizing your vision isn't actually black, you were just desperately squeezing your eyes shut like it'd make you feel any better. You looked up at her with your teary eyes, still imploringly moving your head up and down.

"What does that even mean? Just speak up!" She laughed.

Your eyes closed again, as your release came. Your mind went blank, just like everything else - your vision, feeling and other senses.

Did you pass out?

It all came back after a few seconds, when Ellie finally stopped and leaned in to kiss you, what woke you up like Sleeping Beauty.

"Oh, sorry babe. Got carried away. I bet you can't really blame me, though." She winked as she started going down on you again.

"Els- what are you...?" You managed to say, stopping to take a breath after each word.

"Gotta clean you up." She smirked and you could already feel her tongue on your clit.

It felt so sensitive, so new, you cried out and your thighs tensed, but didn't close as Ellie held onto them. She was so strong compared to your weakness now, they didn't move a millimeter.

"I'll be fast, this time." She reassured you, as your body squirmed, hoping to get away.

But oh, how much you actually wanted to stay like that. The sensitiveness made you feel the texture of her tongue so precisely, you hoped to still remember it tomorrow...

[ioveaether]

reki kyan headcanons (that i wrote in class bc i was bored)

- Friends or lovers, this guy will SUFFOCATE you with hugs. (probably even kisses on the cheeks)

- Hand holding 24/7, 365 days, non-stop. Bro would NOT let go of you

- He's a sucker for praise. He would show you different stuff that he did (like skateboard, drawing, homework and etc.) and wait for you to tell him that he did a great job and you're proud of him

- If you steal one of his hoodies, he will literally give you every single hoodie from his closet to you. He thinks they look better on you anyway

- If you can't skate, NO WORRIES, he will teach you! He's honestly super excited to help you skate. It makes him happy that his favorite person is willing to try his most favorite hobby :(

- Spamming you random texts all the time

- Definitely sends "im pooping rn", "did you piss/poop today pookie?" and so on (i definitely did not take that idea from myself....)

- His little sisters always try to steal you away from him. But he actually finds it heart-warming seeing you play with the little gremlins (he fell in love all over again)

- He has you as his lock screen

- You definitely have silly pictures of each other (for blackmail.)

- Draws random doodles on your hand. That's like another love language of his

- Bro is the type to hug you from behind and to kiss your neck lovingly (i am so delulu....)

- If you two are in the same class, and you're sitting in front of him, he would be annoying you all the damn time. Play with your hair, put stuff in your hood or just draw shapes with his hand on your back

- I bet his lips taste like strawberries.

- He's a kpop stan. He would listen to any kpop group honestly. Stray Kids, New Jeans, (G)-IDLE, EVERGLOW, TXT, Enhypen, Ateez and more

- I feel like almost every kiss will end up with a make out session (in an established relationship) (i am so delulu x2....)

- He probably prefers to be the little spoon when cuddling with you, but wouldn't mind being the big spoon sometimes as well

- He sucks at English, so you help him out. And everytime he gets something right, you reward him with a kiss

- If you pull his headband down to cover his eyes and kiss him, his face would turn as red as his hair

- He let's you paint his nails and/or style his hair

© ioveaether

[yawnjunn]

:*:✼ TXT attending your concert ✼*･ﾟ

Woahh its been a while huh...got super busy with life, just failed my physics exam 😜✌️ and now im on my school break, i decided to write this post bcs im SUPERRR bored rn but anyways

╰┈➤ idol!ot5! txt x idol!gn!reader

╰┈➤ no warnings, just fluff

╰┈➤ quick guide : y/n = your name, y/g/n = your group's name, y/f/n = your fandom's name

yeonjun(연준) :

☆ This man isnt afraid to attend your concert WITHOUT covering his face, yk how some artists covered their face and attend their friend's concert? yeah...not yj tho

☆ He might only bring a lightstick, not those extra banners or signs or whatever

☆ The only reason why he only brought a lightstick was bcs, he treats your concert like its his monthly/weekly routine

☆ Youre having a 2 day concert in seoul? You know damn right he'll be there despite his busy schedule

☆ Having a concert in japan? Finds a way to get to japan just to attend your concert

☆ so thats why he didnt feel like the need to bring extras cs in the end, yk hes gonna attend anyways

☆ but that didnt stop fans from screaming whenever they saw yeonjun

☆ he'd probably try to make a conversation with your fans while waiting for you to perform with your group

☆ "so how long have you stan y/g/n ?"

☆ "im a y/n biased, and you?"

☆ when you came on stage and during the breaks between performing, you called out yeonjun

☆ "yeonjun i know youre here somewhere, cameraman pls find yeonjun and point the camera at him"

☆ and when the camera is on him, hes smiling brightly and covered his shy face after getting those cheers from your fans

☆ you'd probably ask him to dance to one of your songs

☆ "yeonjun dance this song for me pls" then hes like shaking his head and all, refusing

☆ but the moment the music started, he danced so well that he literally became the hot topic of your group's show

soobin(수빈) :

☆ well soobin however, he'll come 2 hours early before your concert starts

☆ the reason he came early was because he was excited to give out his handmade freebies

☆ the night before, soobin had asked if he could hand out some freebies to your concert and you found this soooo cute that you told all your fans to find soobin for freebies

☆ he may be a little bit biased but all his freebies are just you.

☆ you wonder, what did he made? well...he made a banner, your photocard that he printed himself using his company's printer, candies of your fav and pastries that he had bake

☆ believe me or not, he woke up as early as 4 am just to make cute little pastries as your concert take place in morning

☆ he believed your fans wouldnt get breakfast, so he baked the pastries for them 😭

☆ as soon as your concert starts, he whipped out his phone so fast and record it and whenever you came on screen, hes like "wahhh theyre so pretty"

☆ when you start singing, he starts crying???? hes way too proud of you that he starts crying and vent to his friends sitting next to him

☆ "you know how hard my baby worked? im so proud of them, i remember them crying every night to me because of training and now look at them, theyre on stage now"

☆ his friend sitting beside him was like, soobin are u okay??? are u drunk?? but either way, his friend can only smile and nod while listening to soobin rant

beomgyu(범규) :

☆ idc what anyone says but this man will be fighting for a front row ticket

☆ literally camps outside the venue like..literally

☆ you had offered him to enter the venue earlier than anyone before the show starts

☆ but he refused this bcs he wants to get them freebies from your fans 😭 instead of giving them out, he wants the freebies himself

☆ goes from fan to fan, if he sees a fan handing out freebies? he'll be speed walking, another fan giving out freebies too? he'll be speed walking

☆ receives the freebies until it couldnt fit in his little bag that he brought with him

☆ as soon as the security lets everyone inside, he'll be running just to get close to the barricade

☆ since hes an idol, i know its ridiculous but he'll be surrounded by 2 of his protocol team 😭

☆ even though he had brought his 2 protocol teammates, he'd somehow make them enjoy your concert too

☆ like when your group tells the fans to jump, beomgyu would convinced his protocol buddies to jump aswell

☆ you spot beomgyu in the crowds and he'd wave you like crazy, like a fan boy 😭 ...does beomgyu knows that youre his lover???? 😭😭😭

☆ but anyways, he'll go on weverse and post the concert pics and take a photo of the freebies he received

☆ "what an amazing night, they look so beautiful tonight and thank you to y/f/n for giving out the freebies, i'll be keeping it forever"

taehyun(태현) :

☆ this man is quite lowkey but he is a hardcore stan of yours

☆ hes a bit dissappointed when he founds out that he wasnt the first one to arrive at the venue, he was like "2 hours before the concert starts, and theres alot of people waiting..." poor him, he thought he was the first 😭

☆ he'd show up with his mask on and a cap as he didnt want the fans to know he came to see you

☆ but that kinda failed as your fans started to notice his famous boba eyes in the crowds

☆ this made him open his mask, since theres no point in using it 😭

☆ as soon as y/g/n performs, yk damn well he'd be taking tons of videos

☆ he'd sing along to your songs and dance to some of it

☆ he memorised the fanchant too !!!

☆ bro got jealous when he sees y/f/n got the banners like...ugh he wants one too????

☆ he was like "see i knew i shouldnt have brought lightstick only"

☆ politely asks y/f/n for some extra banners

☆ believe me or not, he'd use those digital text on his phone that says, "y/n please notice me"

☆ luckily you noticed this and blew him a kiss and in return, he gave you a big heart which made you giggle on stage which also made y/f/n cheer louder

hueningkai(휴닝카이) :

☆ you think hes gonna go alone to your concert? nope

☆ he'll invite everyone he knows, his members, his family, his staffs. literally everyone to show how talented you are

☆ as much as you would love your boyfriend to bring in alot of people, apparently it has limits

☆ so in the end, he only brought his 2 sisters, lea and hiyyih

☆ dont worry, he paid for their tickets lmao

☆ LOVES receiving freebies from y/f/n

☆ when lea or hiyyih got your photocard from the freebies, he'd say smthn like "can i have that..?"

☆ not only he likes receiving freebies but hes also a merch buyer. sees a cute wristband for the lightstick? he'll buy. a cute shirt? he'll buy. a batch with your face on it? he'll buy.

☆ he'll buy everything that has your name or your face on it, until lea told him to stop unless he wants his bank account balance to be $0

☆ he'll do anything to get noticed by you, even tho he knows youre his lover

☆ before the concert, he texted, 'i'll be on the middle row, 3rd line from the front!!'

☆ but he decided to go extra as he thought you'd forget to see him so yk what he did? he brought glowing light sticks with him to make him more noticable 😭😭

☆ when you noticed him, you gave him a heart and him being a fanboy of yours, he started giggling and bragged to his sisters, "did you see that? they definitely gave that heart to me"

☆ after the concert ends, he'd ask one of his sisters to take photos of him doing cute poses whenever youre on screen, like him doing a big heart whenever you show up on the screen

☆ fans found this cute as they started uploading his leaked pictures doing those poses

☆ people may or may not label you guys as the couple of the year 🤭

[iid-smile]

#06 ୨ৎ ⸝⸝ @berryzai ⋆

how did i COMPLETELY skip over this ask omg this is adorbs! the amount of dazai lovers ive got is crazy 3, 20 and 21 are all headcanons, but 21 has a realllyyyy short drabble 🤗 (can you tell my brain started to fart the further down you go? im not proud of it but i legit have no idea what else to add)

#3 🍰 | your anniversary

he brings you to an art museum! dazai always gets interested in what you're interested in, so don't be surprised when you lose him half way through and he's on the other side of the building

treats it like a birthday and buys a cake for the two of you to share + he brings some to work the next day <3 (only for him, he doesn't share)

also buys the clothes/accessories of your dreams, and he does it every time. sometimes he just knows what you want

definitely the type to buy jewellery on an anniversary. sometimes he likes to scare you with a ring, but it's usually a bracelet or necklace.

changes his ringtone every anniversary to your favourite song at the time. he loves hearing you hum along whenever somebody calls him

#20 🍦| love language

acts of service

he learns how to do laundry for your clothes so none of the dresses get ruined. he reads every single care label and has separate hampers for separate conditions

shoos off weird guys trying to flirt with you before they even approach. he doesn't want you to close off yourself when you're already having fun, so no strangers are going to ruin that!

carries you to bed when you overwork yourself. he's half debating between letting you sleep at a desk/table with his coat draped over you, or making sure you're comfortable and won't be sore the next morning

always makes sure ingredients are stocked and goes grocery shopping for you. he does get into a bit of trouble, but he does the job

quality time

dancing. dazai loves big dresses, and is 100% convinced that he has to dance with you every time you put one on.

back and forth banter. he banters with literally every person he knows, but it's special when it's you.

physical touch

you're affectionate, so he's affectionate too.

a big hugger, and also the type to massage. he puts his hands to good use all the time, and your shoulders are within easy reach, so...

randomly touches your waist if he's just walking past, or playfully taps your forehead when you're laying around

#21 🍦 | where they like to kiss you

hands

admires the fact that you can create lovely work with your hands

he kisses them as if you're actual royalty, so he gets on one knee and everything.

he also massages them if they cramp up

forehead

it feels right

an easy spot if your hands are too busy, and isn't complicated to kiss. basically it's a good spot no matter what you're doing

he likes kissing your forehead a lot in public or if you visit him while working. it's not too showy, but not too closed off either, if you know what i mean

you've had your gaze trained on the light pencil sketches in front of you for an unimaginable about of time. perhaps dazai had been walking around you for a bit, but you really didn't notice. "i'm busy, osamu." you say without looking up, feeling his fingers graze and tug at your ear.

"i know, i just wanted to kiss you first."

just that comment manages to make you draw your eyes away from the paper you were so focused on. "but i'm—"

"your other hand doesn't seem so busy to me..." he muses, his fingers sneaking up underneath your palm and seizing it in his grasp. "what's with you and avoiding my kisses? do you not like them?"

for a little while, you look conflicted, then a smile overcomes your features. "you distract me." you respond simply, a teasing lilt to your voice.

damn him for being such a good actor, as he almost had you fooled, his face looking so disheartened as he stared down at you. it only takes under a second for him to softly grin, kissing all over your knuckles. "as i should."

event masterlist

[coriolantha]

‧˚₊•୨ Patience ୧•‧₊˚⊹

mike schmidt x GN! reader

summary: mike comforts you after you've had a long day₊˚⊹:˚｡⋆୨୧˚

tags: fluff, mike being a sweetheart (as always), anxiety, reader has bad self image, insecurities, reader is overwhelmed and needs a break (so real), hugging, cuddling, comfort

wc: 1.1k

notes: hii this is my first fic i've posted on here. ngl i'm... scared. im not proud of this but i can't scrap it this time otherwise i'm never gonna get anything posted LMAO. please leave any criticism in the comments if you'd like, feel free to share any opinions, i want to improve the quality of my writing! thank you sm for reading! 🫶

today has been punishing.

rain trickled down the foggy window, making soft tapping sounds as they hit and fell, reluctantly racing down to gather in the weep holes. the rough, scratchy carpet beneath you beginning to burn as you shuffled around your desolate home.

exhausted, you gave up trying to distract yourself from your main task; your bedroom.

your eyes darted around your cluttered room, glossing over as you noticed every individual piece of clothing that wasn't hung up, organized, and neatly put away. you began to have a headache thinking about where to even begin. you felt like a filthy slob, your surroundings perfectly reflecting how you've felt all day.

you flicked the lights off, the warmly lit room now becoming pitch black, except for the small gleam of light that came through the open door. you sat on your bed, absentmindedly kicking your various pants and t-shirts away from you to give yourself some room to lay down.

mike wouldn't be back home for a while now. it was only 12:45am, which gave you 5 hours and 25 minutes to attempt to sleep before having to get ready for your office job... which would leave little to no time to spend with mike.

fuck mondays.

turning over to your side, you hugged your knees, shivering. no amount of blankets could fix how cold you felt. the truth was, you missed your boyfriend; longing for his cozy hugs and soft, gentle kisses he'd press against your cheek as he consoled you.

you missed him more than anything in the world.

with a blink, the tears that have been collecting in your eyes came down your flushed face at once. laying there, you accepted your pitiful reality, slowly drifting off into unwanted slumber, in solitude.

the time was around 2am when you felt a dip into the bed. panicking, you quickly awoke, shuffling to sit up as fast as possible. although you didn't know of the time, something felt off. mike wasn't supposed to be home yet, that's for sure.

panic turned into confusion as you heard mike, obviously feeling guilty for having jumpscaring you so badly.

"oh, shit- baby, it's me," he whispered apologetically, reaching his hand out to cup your cheek. turning on the dim lamp, he quickly turned back to face you. his eyes bore into yours, scanning to make sure you were going to be alright.

all day he was desperate to see your face, even after his shorter-than-usual-shift. mike couldn't get enough of your perfection, although you always brushed him off whenever he ever mentioned this to you.

he noticed your terrified expression which started to wear off, beginning to blend into relief.

"it's just me... you don't need to worry about anything, okay? i'm right here, no one's gonna hurt you," he muttered, leaning over to press a chaste kiss on your lips, lingering longer than usual.

weight lifted off your shoulders as you began to put pieces together. now, all you needed was an answer to your burning question.

"mike, why did you come home so early? did something happen?" you asked anxiously, looking right back at your boyfriends affectionate, adoring eyes.

"oh, sweetheart..." he soothed, "i got let out early today. nothing worth worrying about. i guess they didn't need me as much as i thought they did," he let out a quick, dry laugh, shaking his head dismissively.

"fuck, i've missed you all day, i'm so damn glad i could leave that job early. anything to see you, my love," he cooed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, delicately tucking it behind your ear

you were in awe; it was a miracle he came home early, especially today. you were fighting to hold your tears back, mouth quivering as you bit your bottom lip. mike noticed your change in emotion immediately.

"hey hey hey," he whispered urgently, quickly grabbing your hand and giving it a light squeeze, "what's wrong?" his voice drowned in concern.

"i did nothing all day. the only thing i've done is just stand around and... thought of doing something, but i couldn't. i was so tired, but of what? like, why didn't i clean our room? and the worst part is, you have to come home, tired as hell, ready to go to sleep, only to see your messy room and your partner who still hasn't done anything about it," you quavered, sniffling softly as warm tears fell from your eyes.

mike said nothing, but you could sense how hurt he felt after you talked so badly about yourself. he sighed, laying down on the plush mattress. he patted his chest, inviting you to rest your head there. you did so immediately, closing your eyes as you listened closely to his heart beat.

"you know i love you, right?" he asked gently. you stayed quiet, knowing he wasn't expecting an answer.

"i love everything about about you. but the only thing i don't love is how badly you talk of yourself. i hate it. it doesn't make any sense to me," he stressed, stroking your hair soothingly.

"so what if our room is messy? i don't think about that when i come home. all i think about is how i can finally be with you. i'm not going to let some clothes on the floor get in the way of us, ever. or anything, in fact."

you nodded in agreement silently, your tears dry on your cheeks.

"we can tackle this room together. we can do this however you want- i can pick up your clothes while you organize them into whichever area they go to, and i'll pick up my clothes too, but you won't have to organize that, i'll take care of it. how does that sound?" he asked delicately.

you instantly felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders.

"thank you so much, mike. you don't know how much i needed you today," you exhaled, "really."

he looked down lovingly at you, curled up beside him. he kissed your head tenderly, rubbing up and down your back.

goosebumps spread across your arms. you felt so loved and safe.

"the real question is," you suddenly asked, "how are you so perfect? were you made in a factory or something?"

"says you," he laughed, holding you tighter.

the two of you basked in the love you had for one another for a while. no words were exchanged, only him occasionally rubbing his thumb against your arm, while you began to doze off, which caught his attention.

"want me to turn the light off?"

you nodded, wrapping your arm around his stomach.

he turned over once more, pulling the cord of the lamp light, the room now pitch black.

"i love you," he whispered, turning to his side a little more so he could be pressed closer against you.

"i love you too, mike. always," you mumbled back, the two of you drifting off to sleep.

₊˚⊹:˚｡⋆₊୨୧₊˚⊹:˚｡⋆₊

dividers by @f-loqweres 🫶

[nawoken]

omg i just read the soulbond au and im just so giddy FBEVSBDK could i request for reader writing the first year's (platonic ortho and grim if youd like :D) names on their wrist under the and how they'll react to it like if their soulmate doesnt want them it just means they're free to pick whom they love right?

Time will heal all wound

(TWST x Broken Soulbond! Reader)

5.C: Yayyy My first request (O vO)

This is kinda short though :'D)

Pairing: First-year students x g/n Reader (Ortho and Grim will be platonic)

Warning: :D)

It's not something too special, just their name, written on your wrist, as simple as that. But they can't help but drown in love. You've bewitched them without using magic, Prefect.

Ace Trappola

The moment you show him his name, written neatly on your wrist, he is speechless.

Wahh Prefect, he doesn’t know you are soooo head over heels for him like this.

He is smug, mischievous even, and he definitely will tease you a lot. But, all that bravado, is just to hide his bashfulness.

Damn it, Prefect. Warn him before you do something like this will ya?!

Have to say, he feels proud and prideful about this. Even something like the bonding between souls can’t even beat the bond between you two.

The type to pick up a pen and ask you to write your name on his wrist to complete the bond.

Deuce Spade

Blushing, stuttering, and embarrassing. He almost dies from overheating.

Took a while for him to calm down, but once he did.

“I will be taking good care of you!!!” He shouts it out like a marriage vow.

Yeah…, I don’t think he calms down enough, but it’s cute.

His gesture is pure sweet and caring. It made you feel wanted. Maybe he’s truly your Soulmate.

If you offer to write your name on his wrist, he will give you his hand and a pen without hesitation. Still a blushing mess though.

He will do his best to live up to the title of your “Soulmate”.

Jack Howl

His tail is wagging a lil bit too much and his attempts to cover it up weren't very successful, including his blushing face.

Jack is happy that you’ve moved on from the pit your Soulmate has pushed you in, and he will try his best to keep your smile on your face.

After all, Jack is a Beastman, and they have much more awareness about marking their mate :>

And having his name written on your wrist? He will cherish them the most out of the first years.

Gotta say he will also let you mark him, I mean write your name on his wrist without hesitation.

Epel Felmier

Heck yeah! He is your Soulmate! :D

Epel is thrilled, but he will hide it under a calm and cool facade.

He doesn't want to look childish or something in front of his Soulmate, real or not.

Your action kinda gives a boost of hate for him toward your original Soulmate due to his competitiveness.

I mean, the only thing your Origin one does is hurt you, how can they be counted as your Soulmate?!

You want to write your name on his wrist to complete the bond? Then you'll have to let him do it too. Erase your work and give him your hand, please.

Sebek Zigvolt

Oh my, I’ve never seen him this silent, what have you done to him, Prefect?

Sebek is having a whole thunderstorm inside his head.

Dude is in the state of denying his feelings for you, but now you have broken the process by coming up to him with his name decorating on your beautiful skin.

He acts so fast, running back to Diasomnia, seeking advice from our mighty former general while yelling out something about waiting for him…

Which might hurt you because you thought that he’s also rejected you…

But worry not, he will come back the day after with courting gift(s) and a statement that his liege has approved your relationship!

You want to have your name on his wrist too? He supposes if it makes you happy then he can accomplish it (He loves it, and will smile every time looks at it!!!)

*** Platonic section ***

Ortho Shroud

Yay, of course, he wants to be your Soulmate, you've always been a sibling figure to him, aside from Idia.

From the day you told him about this, he has always fascinate about it since then.

Not only because it's a thing from your world, one that different than their world, but also because of the power of the bond between two that not even blood relates.

Expects to join his family meeting since then though.

Will let you write your name on his wrist with a twist.

The ink might fade after a few days. So the next time you see him, he already carve your name on so it won't fade away.

Grim

He still doesn't understand. But if it means you're happy then he is fine with it.

If you explain to him that it means you think of him as your family, then it will be different.

He is much quieter, tells you that he doesn't care, gotta do something, don't follow him!

Find somewhere to cry because he is too emotional and doesn't want his Henchman to see his weak side.

Finally, he has a home after many years of being alone.

He might even ask Vil to sew your name on his bow for him and show you with pride. (It means you two are family... right?)

[wndaswife]

If requests are still open, is it possible to get a subby milf Wanda x neighbours daughter college student r?

If not all good, I love your blog 💚 you’re actually so talented, I’d read your shopping list if you wanted to publish it…

love thy neighbour

wanda maximoff & fem!reader

tags: smut, sacrilege (a lot), cunnilingus, fingering, semi public & public sex, infidelity, manipulation, slight obsessive & possessive behaviour, angst, fluff, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 9237

summary: You meet your new neighbours when you visit home for the holidays. With homemade treats and friendly advances, Wanda seems to have intentions of becoming closer with you, and she won’t settle for anything less.

a/n: this took weeks to finally work on but im so thankful for your request, this christmas fic couldn’t have been done without it <3

Your semester was finally over. 

Exams were finished. 

Assignments were finished.

Buying groceries for yourself and attending weekly class were finished. 

Until next semester came around, anyways. But that didn’t cross your mind when you wheeled your luggage up the snowy driveway of your house and to the front door where you knocked.

You were glad for a white Christmas, though your tremulous drive back begged to differ.

But nevermind that. 

The front door of your house was pulled open and a gust of warm air from inside laced with the palatable scent of homemade dinner embraced you.

Nevermind any of it. 

Your mother pulled you into a hug and your father took your luggage up to your bedroom. 

For the next few weeks, you could forget about anything that didn’t have to do with the holidays and spend every day of it precisely how you wanted to, schedules and deadlines finally be damned.

There were a few things that had changed around the house since the last time you visited, including a strangely-decorated Christmas tree in the corner of your living room that your father had obviously decorated on his own without listening to any of your mother’s input.

You spent the next forty minutes in your bedroom unpacking in time for dinner downstairs with your parents. Perhaps if you had known there’d be guests, you would’ve changed out of your casual jeans and hoodie.

It was only until you stepped foot downstairs in the living room when you reconsidered your attire. But just then, a family of four came into view- a tall finely-dressed man and who you assumed to be his wife turning to look at you.

“This is our daughter, Y/N,” your mother introduced, stepping over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. She mused, “She came home not more than an hour ago.” Her face turned to you with a proud smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the tall man greeted, extending a hand that you shook. “I’m Vision, and this is my wife Wanda. We’re your neighbour across the street.” 

Your eyes moved from him to the woman beside him dressed in a wine red turtleneck and black slacks. Her dark brown hair streaked with shades of blonde was curled up to above her shoulders. She, contradictory to you, was dressed in the spirit of a formal dinner.

You wondered if it had become a tradition for your parents to dine with them since the last you’d visited. It made you feel particularly casted off from your own home as you knew little of who the family standing in the middle of your parents’ living room was. 

“We’ve heard much about you, Y/N,” Wanda commented. Her voice was even-tempered and soothingly soft. “We’re glad you could make it home for the holidays as your mother and father have told us how demanding your program is.” You found you could do nothing but nod in understanding, a considerate smile on your lips.

She continued, “These are our twins, Tommy and Billy. Say hello, boys.” The two children, dressed as formally as their parents were, waved at you. One was holding his mother’s hand and they both shone polite smiles at you with the intention of being friendly.

You waved back at them with your own smile that you hoped looked as welcoming as you intended. It’d been awhile since your street had any children. 

“Shall we take this into the dining room?” your dad spoke suddenly, outreaching his hands to take the casserole in Vision’s. With a nod, the dish was exchanged between the two men. The twins trailed behind your father as your mother began a conversation with Vision. 

Wanda was standing beside you before you realised she had held herself back a moment to be able to walk with you. A warm smile was directed at you when you looked over at her, eliciting the first sincere upwards tug of your lips since you arrived downstairs. 

Her arms were pulled forwards by Tommy and Billy and she followed their excited lead over to the adjacent side of the table where the rest of her family’s seats separated you from her side. 

Your mother began serving the plates, asking neither of the guests of their preferred amount of portions other than you. Had it really been so long since you were last home?

When you looked up from the mashed sweet potatoes, curious green eyes caught your attention- it was Wanda’s, staring across the table and at your face. Not anywhere particularly, but rather running down the way your hair tucked behind your ear or the curves of your lips as you told your mother you didn’t want any cranberry sauce. 

Her eyes left you once yours found hers. It was almost a bit strange, certainly, but you dismissed it as curiosity. 

“Wanda is a member of the church here, Y/N,” your dad said as he poured you a glass of ginger ale. 

“Wow,” you responded, looking up from your plate in front of you to nod at her in indication of a peaked interest. 

Your mother continued, “She’s a choir leader. Three, sometimes four days a week, she’s volunteering for services at the church around the block. She’s really quite talented. Composed a number of pieces herself.”

Wanda said with a sheepish smile and a flick of her wrist, “She doesn’t want to hear about that, do you, Y/N?” Her eyes were on you again, but with more intention when she maintained eye contact that time. 

You cut a piece of casserole from your serving and shrugged, looking back up to Wanda, then around the table to your mother. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about it,” you answered and took a bite from the portion you had scooped onto your fork. 

Wanda’s eyes seemed to follow the direction of your fork that moved past your lips, then maintained focus as she watched you chew. 

Vision and your father started up a conversation which called for everyone’s attention at the table with their central positions between everyone. Perhaps you’d seen it wrong, but it took Wanda a few moments for her to direct her attention from you, even when her husband moved onto another topic.

Finally, once Tommy’s exceptional grades were brought up in his physical education class, Wanda focused her attention on him and away from you, running her hand down her son’s arm admirably. She did the same for Billy when she mentioned his joining of the school’s soccer team. 

After about an hour and a half of listening to yours and Vision’s family’s conversations with the occasional input from your end, you were washing dishes in the kitchen while everyone conversed in the living room. You were relieved to have some time to yourself. Dinner with guests took you for a bit of a surprise. 

“Is it alright if I put these here?” a soft familiar voice asked from behind you. Wanda came into view as she rounded you to the sink holding three empty wine glasses. 

Though you did enjoy meeting her. 

“That’s fine,” you answered her and went back to rinsing a soapy plate. She placed the wine glasses on the counter beside the sink. 

You expected for her to leave the kitchen as silently as she had come, but she leaned against the kitchen counter and your eyes flickered over to her. 

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

You nodded. “I did enjoy it. It’s been a while since I’ve had a big home cooked meal like that.” She said something about agreeing to have enjoyed dinner in response.

“Did you like the casserole?”

Restraining the confused furrowing of your eyebrows that you felt beginning to tug onto your expression at Wanda’s question, you simply nodded again. “It was good. I thought the chicken was really great,” you told her, recalling the meal in detail. 

“Did you make it?” you asked, looking over to her when you took a wine glass from the counter and began washing it. 

Looking pleased that you suggested it, Wanda responded, “I did. The secret to it is a few pinches of paprikash in the marinade while the chicken sits the night before.” 

You could hold back the amused smile that formed on your face as you listened to her sudden commentary on cooking. “That’s cool,” you replied with a nod. “Yeah, it was great. Do you and your family often come over for dinner?”

“Not very often. Most Saturdays and some weekdays if we can.”

“So, you’re close to my parents?”

“We are,” she said, almost hesitantly. “They were very kind to us when we first moved in.” 

You nodded again and ran a soapy sponge through the inside of the final glass.

The older woman played with her wedding ring between her forefinger and the pad of her thumb. The moment her lips parted, Vision stepped into the kitchen. 

“Wanda, the boys are ready to head home,” he told her. Wanda straightened. She answered him with a silent nod before looking back over to you.

Turning the sink off and drying your hands on a dishcloth, you said, “It was nice meeting the two of you, and Tommy and Billy.” 

Vision smiled at you from across the kitchen, then raised an arm to beckon his wife over. Wanda looked back at you over her shoulder and you caught a glimpse of the soft curve of her red lips before she was at her husband’s side. 

You joined your parents in time to wave goodbye to the twins as they walked across the street to their housr, Wanda and Vision holding a hand of each child. They were a conventional-looking family, the dark-haired wife bundled up in her jacket with a scarf and pair of gloves while her husband wore a sandy woollen trench coat. Their sons were squeezed between them as they waved back at your parents before their front door shut. 

Guilt settled in the base of your stomach as you headed upstairs to your bedroom after bidding a goodnight to your parents. The curiosity of your neighbour’s eyes, the awkward twirling of her fingers as she approached you after dinner. 

Had she wanted to get to know you? 

There was warm familiarity in having everything placed as they normally were now that you were back home. Settling under your mounds of blankets while scrolling through your phone was a comfort as you no longer had anything weighing you down now that winter break had started. But the guilt of having overlooked Wanda gnawed at you still.

It didn’t matter all too much, did it? You were neighbours and you’d see each other around- plenty of time to make up for how you disregarded Wanda’s attempts at conversing with you. The two of you would likely not end up being any more than cordial neighbours with the differences that lay between you, but Wanda had been kind enough earlier that night and the least you could do was repay her for it.

You padded downstairs in the late afternoon, freshly out of bed after you heard the doorbell ring. You recalled amidst your sleepy daze that your parents were at work which forced you to drag yourself out of bed and open the front door.

Soft hair topped with a knitted-hat, rosy cheeks, and a familiar red scarf from last night greeted you once you opened the front door. The brisk winter air bit at your body half-dressed in a loose shirt and shorts, making you realise you were standing in front of your neighbour who had evidently gotten herself dressed up to visit your house.

Wanda’s soft smile dissipated into furrowed eyebrows and a concerned downwards curve of her lips. “Have I come at a bad time?” she asked you, the deep white dish in her mitten-clad hands lowering.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you blabbered and raised your hands to your hair, pushing it back behind your ears in an attempt to look presentable. “No, it’s not a bad time. But my parents aren’t home if that’s who you’re looking to talk with.”

“I was actually hoping to talk with you,” Wanda said. Something laid behind her words, though you could not decipher if it was due to the cold or some sudden onset of nerves. Blank and perhaps unfriendly confusion must have unintentionally come over your features for Wanda looked down at the dish in her hands, eyes flickering away from anywhere but yours. “But I understand if I’ve come at a bad time. I made brownies for you and your parents, so if you’d prefer I can just drop it off.”

Something opportunistic bloomed within you, a chance to make up for last night, and you stepped back into the house. “No, please, Wanda, come in,” you told her and gestured your arm back in a short sweeping motion, implying for her to step inside with you.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not overstepping, I promise. I’ll take this from you so you can hang your things up.” 

Finally, Wanda entered the front foyer and held the warm dish out which you took. While you brought the deep dish of brownies into the kitchen, you heard rustling behind you as Wanda hung her jacket up and placed her boots on the mat. 

“Did I wake you?” Wanda inquired as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen behind you. 

You lied, “I was laying around doing nothing productive upstairs before you came.”

“I’m glad. I hoped I didn’t bother you,” she expressed relief.

“Do you want to have some of this now? I can cut it up for both of us.”

“If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.” 

Soft clinking of plates and forks sounded through the kitchen as you wondered what Wanda might be doing there. She took a seat at the small kitchen table in front of the oven, her movements almost completely silent if not for the squeaking of the chair’s foot against the floor.

After you turned and placed a plate with a brownie slice on each side of the table, you poured two glasses of water across from each plate.

“Thank you,” Wanda said and lifted her fork between the pad of her thumb and the side of her middle finger. Her wedding ring reflected the winter sunlight from beyond the kitchen window. A singular prong from her fork pressed into the decadent-looking brownie before she spoke again, looking up from her plate to you. “Y/N, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a question. I’ve been a bit curious about you.”

“Curious?” you repeated, looking up at her too.

With a nod, Wanda hummed in confirmation before asking, “You attend school so far from home. Don’t you feel… worried? About the distance from your parents and your hometown.”

“I suppose I do sometimes,” you pondered aloud. “I think most students who study away from home feel a bit awry about living so far.” In silent understanding, Wanda nodded and sliced a small portion of the warm brownie onto her fork. “Why do you ask?” you asked her.

“Your parents mention you often,” Wanda mentioned and looked up to you. “It reminds me of when I was around your age, I was quite interested in pursuing studying abroad. I was curious about whether you enjoyed it.”

You took a bite of the warm brownie to give yourself a few moments to think. “I’m only a few hours away, but I do enjoy it,” you answered finally. “You didn’t end up studying abroad?”

Wanda’s fork clinked against her plate. “No, I could’ve never done something like that,” she said. “My upbringing was extremely religious. I didn’t end up studying Orthodox Catholicism in the detail that my mother had hoped, but I was able to take a few English classes throughout my time at school which I loved very much. I adored Shakespeare.”

Orthodox Catholicism, was that right? 

You wondered about Wanda’s personal beliefs, the opinions she might reserve about you should the two of you have any conversation past than the cordial neighbourly discussion. You didn’t press her about religion.

There was much she told you that you didn’t expect from her. She was first a dedicated churchgoing housewife then a lover of classic English poets. 

A few slightly awkward moments passed as the two of you forked bites of Wanda’s brownies into your mouths between sips of cold water.

“Do you bake often?” you found yourself asking suddenly. When your eyes were laid on Wanda’s face, she did not look as uneasy in the silence between the two of you as you initially imagined she would.

Wanda answered, “I do when I have the spare time. For lunch after church services I attend, I sometimes bring over a few dishes of mine.”

“I’m sure your family loves them. You’re a talented cook.”

Green eyes watched intently as you took a drink from your glass, and Wanda smiled. “Thank you,” she said, sounding sincerely grateful for your compliment. “I hope I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, Y/N, I was just so eager to get to know you.”

The more you got to know Wanda, the cautious housewife with an impulse to please that volunteered at the church a few blocks away, the more you untensed around her. “I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. I’m really glad to get to know you a little too,” you reassured her. And you really did begin to enjoy being in her company.

Laughs came from her much easier as time passed in the kitchen together, then divulgences about her family life and congregation were shared with you as you sat together on the living room couch.

After an abrupt ringing of her phone, her husband calling her to ask if she could pick the twins up from school instead of himself, Wanda stood from the couch with you. But before she stepped into her boots, she asked with a coy tone of voice, “Would you mind if I used your washroom for a moment before I left?”

“Of course, it’s no problem. There’s a bit of an issue with the sink in the washroom here, so you’d have to use the one upstairs. Do you know where it is?”

Wanda confirmed that she did, and with her jacket on, she ascended the stairs up onto the second floor of the house. Her steps were barely audible as she walked across the floor and to the washroom across from the staircase upstairs. 

While you carefully covered up your neighbour’s homemade brownies and placed them in the fridge for your parents to try once they came back from work, the woman you only just began to know as an unassuming harmless housewife sorted through your bedroom.

Nimble fingers pulled open your dressers’ cabinets then your wardrobe. She tucked pairs of underwear you owned into her jacket pockets that she adored as she sorted through them. She took photos of your perfumes and shampoo, the pills that belonged to you behind the washroom mirror. She looked over photos of you and your friends that decorate your desk and small areas of your walls, flipped through your notebooks and ran her eyes down your handwriting.

Leaving everything as it had been before she slipped into your bedroom, Wanda silently closed your door and with the washroom door open upstairs, she ran the sink for a few moments as she looked through the photos she took of your bedroom.

She joined you back downstairs after an appropriate amount of time, a soft smile on her bare pink lips. You were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when you looked up at her.

“Thank you,” Wanda said and wrapped her scarf around herself, then her woollen hat onto her head next.

You arose from the couch and opened the front door for her. “It was nice meeting with you,” you admitted as Wanda stepped into her boots and swung her purse around her shoulder. 

“Likewise, Y/N. Thank you for making time for me,” she replied, moving past you to stand on your front porch. “See you soon.” 

With a polite wave and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, Wanda stepped off of your porch and headed across the street back to her house.

As you shut the front door and went back upstairs to the comfort of your bedroom, the warm feeling of appreciation for growing so close to your friendly neighbour veiled any possible suspicion that Wanda had been in your room.

You did not fall back asleep once you buried yourself back in your mounds of blankets and pillows, but instead scrolled through the internet on anything about Wanda Maximoff. 

Photos of polite proud smiles surrounded her at her old church came up, then articles with her name mentioned because of her community volunteering contributions, and a Facebook profile hardly used besides a few published photos of her family and a profile picture from a time where Wanda’s hair was shorter and blonder than it presently was.

It was later in the evening when you wished to let Wanda know that your parents loved the dessert she made that you realised you didn’t have her number nor did she have yours. 

Wanda’s family did not come over for dinner that night. 

You took special care in washing her empty dish clean- the best one could do cleaning a dish for confections. 

Twinges of embarrassment ran through you as you envisioned yourself through another’s perspective, making a fuss over a dish as an excuse to see your neighbour. You convinced yourself it’s what all cordial neighbours would do. 

With that, you shut the kitchen light off and went to bed internally conjuring up every phrase you’d bring up to Wanda later that next morning. 

Deciding to keep up good impressions, you woke up earlier that morning around nine. Dressed up for the visit across the street, you walked over to Wanda’s house. 

It was a nice morning. It wasn’t actively snowing, but glistening white blankets covered the sidewalks and the street’s roofs. The sun was beaming down on you, enough to warm the tip of your nose yet maintain the brisk chill of winter. 

With the dish balanced in one hand, you knocked on Wanda’s front door. You could see the warm gold and red outline of a Christmas tree past the living room’s partially opaque curtains and a variety of plants that decorated the windowsill. 

The front door opened and your neighbour appeared dressed in a tan dress and sheer black latex tights. She seemed to be ready to head out. 

“Y/N,” Wanda breathed your name out, a smile on her red lips. “Hello.”

You answered, tempted to look past her and into the warm ornate Christmas decorations in her house, “Hi. I wanted to return your dish. My parents really liked it. They told me to thank you.”

“Oh, yes,” Wanda said, looking down at the dish in your hands. “Come in. I’m happy you all enjoyed the dessert.” She closed the door behind you and a wave of deja-vu came over you as you recalled yesterday afternoon. 

The subtle scent of homemade treats and cinnamon enveloped you as you stepped into the warm home. 

Wanda lifted an earring from her palm and turned to look into the small mirror beside the door. “I’m just getting ready for mass. Vision is at work and the boys are at school. Do you have any place to be?” 

She looked over at you from the mirror once both gold stud earrings were put on. 

“No, nothing planned for today,” you replied finally. 

Wanda took her dish from your hands carefully and headed into her kitchen. She offered, her voice echoing through the hallways to you still standing in front of the door, “Then would you like to accompany me to church? I’m not volunteering this morning- just attending the service.”

“Would it be okay? I don’t think I’ve ever been to your church although I’ve lived so close for a while.”

You heard a small amused laugh from Wanda in the kitchen. “Of course. The church is open to all- newcomers and old,” she answered. 

You bristled at that terminology. 

Newcomer. 

Even if you accepted her offer, you didn’t anticipate being a regular attendant.

Wanda returned to the living room with her purse slung over her shoulder and a winter coat on. She leaned down beside you to slip a pair of heeled Oxfords. “Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalm…” she recalled the Bible verse, “hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.”

When she straightened, she was smiling over at you. “Attending mass is always a pleasure for me. I would like to extend that joy to you. But it is your choice. You don’t have to come.”

Though she gave you every opportunity to deny her, to turn away and say that you would rather occupy your day doing something else, you found it difficult to envision any sort of dejection as you peered at her curious green eyes through her rimless glasses. 

Without a moment’s thought, you answered, “I’d love to go.”

Your neighbour’s smile upturned into a grin and she nodded once. “Perfect. I was planning on walking as Vision has the car. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I have my car parked in the garage, I could drive us both there,” you offered immediately, stepping back to allow Wanda to open her front door and step out onto her porch with you.

With a cheerful chirp and a beaming smile, Wanda spoke, “Sounds like a plan.” After locking the door behind her, she hooked an arm around yours and the two of you crossed the road together. You helped Wanda into the passenger's seat and then slid into your own.

On the way there, Wanda discussed more of her religious upbringing with you once you asked her about her passions. You worried you were imposing yourself too harshly on someone you had only just begun to know, but curiosity got the best of you.

Wanda Maximoff was a traditional churchgoing housewife with two children and a perfect marriage. She baked for your family and offered to take you to one of her church’s masses. She was perhaps the kindest woman you’d ever known.

How could you stand to reserve your questions about her personal alignments any longer?

Fortunately, Wanda seemed open to sharing with you what you were curious about. Her mom was, alike to her, a hardworking stay-at-home mother who tended to her and her twin brother in their childhood. Her father was a tireless man who worked every hour possible to earn for his family. It seemed the differences between her families was generational, wherein family dynamics and generational wealth shifted somewhat since Wanda last lived under her parents’ roof.

Through schooling and religious camps, she met her husband at the age of nineteen. He was her summer camp counsellor who was nearly seven years her senior. 

Her parents loved Vision, a well-mannered man with priorities set well into the future and capable of supporting a family of three- perhaps even up to two more members if they ever wished to grow. They settled down when Wanda was twenty-two. 

Now at thirty-three, Wanda was still happily married with two twin boys in a quiet neighbourhood wherein she had a high standing at her local church and general community. 

As a college student yourself, her feats were daunting but impressive all the same. Wanda was an amazing woman.

Thus, the number of well wishes and brief conversations Wanda partook in as the two of you walked from the church’s parking lot to the building’s vast front doors did not come as a surprise to you. 

Though it had struck you as odd as you noticed how adverse Wanda was to introducing you to members from church and her other community friends.

Unless any of them mentioned you as you stood right beside her, she wouldn’t mention you at all. Even the most obvious of referrals to you, eye contact made or a nod in your direction, would be ignored. If it wasn’t the most explicit of mentions of your being there, Wanda would squeeze her arm around yours and walk ahead with you. 

Wanda would introduce you along the lines of, ‘This is my neighbour, Y/N. She’s come to spend the holidays at home.’

‘How kind of her to come attend mass with you,’ they would say.

Wanda would nod politely, though uncharacteristically without any further remarks. Even compliments on her choir sessions and composed songs which Wanda would typically flush at and dismiss as overt flattery were responded to with unadorned expressions of gratitude.

Finally, the two of you took a seat at the front pews, Wanda’s hand on your hip.

“Come sit close to me, Y/N,” she told you, hushed. “We don’t want to get separated.”

With your head ducked and your chin tucked close to your chest, you whispered, “Do we have to sit so close to the front? There are some seats at the back.”

“We must sit up front and pray as such. Settle here with me. I will show you how to worship.” She took your hand and led you down into the pew.

You sat down beside her, shuffling right and left in accordance with the rest of the church’s members also taking their respective seats on the same pew as you and Wanda. But with a hand on your knee, she kept you close.

Wanda kept a watchful eye on those around the two of you as if hoping to me keenly observant of something. Then, the priest, dressed in his black alb that nearly reached the floors, created an illusion that he was gliding across the front of the church. He reached the front, by the podium and its microphone, and exchanged a few silent greetings with those sitting at the front pews.

In response to a small wave from him, Wanda nodded cordially at the priest. 

Wanda slipped her jacket off. It pooled by her hips and she placed her purse between her hip and yours. You did the same with your jacket.

The church’s service progressed, a series of kneeling and standing, hands clasped together and chins tipped upwards. You listened to Wanda sing along with the church hymns while you followed from a songbook. 

The mass sang a handful of Christmas songs and you were amused as you listened to Wanda sing.

She did have a nice voice. It was soothing and demurely sweet.

You should’ve expected it, but you were stunned all the same. She was a model woman, a model Catholic, a model wife and human being. You looked away from her then, at the realisation of her sterling magnificence. 

Suddenly, as if she had been aware of the way you stared at her throughout the entire service and was attuned to every shift of your focus, Wanda looked down her shoulder at you, who was slumped slightly down onto the pew’s kneeler.

“Y/N…” Wanda whispered, eliciting your attention back up to her. “Are you paying attention?”

You nodded, correcting your posture to kneel as Wanda was.

“But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed,” the priest continued to read from the Bible perched up on the pedestal. “Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.”

Gentle flipping of the thin pages echoed through the church’s speakers and he continued, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.”

“Will we be seeing you next mass, Ms Maximoff?” the priest asked by the exits of the church once the service came to an end.

You stood beside Wanda, awkwardly, averting your eyes from those that passed you who peered at you curiously, an unfamiliar face standing beside perhaps the most well-known member of the church.

“Are you alright?” a voice suddenly cooed.

You looked up from the ornately tiled floor to the woman beside you- Wanda, looking over you with a curious gaze. You managed a nod, perhaps one that was at least almost convincing.

But Wanda looked at you for several moments more.

She bid a farewell to the priest and hooked her arm around yours. Then, wordlessly, the two of you walked past the opposite flow of people walking by the two of you.

You rounded a corner together, revealing an empty hallway that led to a closed room at its end. Moving forward, Wanda turned the knob and allowed the two of you in. 

A silent room enveloped you, the colourful stained windows reflecting a soft myriad of colours into the four-walled room. Smaller, then, the two of you moved forward, to what appeared to be a wide wooden closet. 

Wanda unhooked a latch, pulling the door open and stepping into the confessional booth. She tugged you towards her then closed the same wooden door, confining the two of you to the right wooden box. 

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, you could feel it in your fingertips.

Your breath hitched and Wanda placed her hands on your hips, stepping forward into the tight booth and removing any space from you.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her voice a fragile gust of warm breath. “The prodigal daughter, how terribly I’ve fantasised of you. You are all I’ve ever hoped for myself.”

Her hand found your cheek, fingers fondling your soft skin and running her nails down to your chin gently. “So brave and kind,” she continued. “So smart. And pretty.” Her cheek pressed against yours, her lips ghosting against the lobe of your ear. 

“Wanda…” you muttered, turning your head and disconnecting your cheek from her own. But she moved closer again.

“Trapped in a marriage like mine, a studious child then an ever-dedicated wife and mother. Never having any other path, Y/N. You…” Wanda pulled away from you to look into your eyes. “I admire you.”

One of her legs moved past yours so Wanda could turn your body and push you downwards onto the seat of the confessional. Her dress hiked up her satin-covered thighs as she sat herself down on your lap, her purse and jacket a forgotten mess on the floor of the booth.  

“Only a moment passed after your mother firstly told me about you- her bright daughter studying the program of her choice in a campus hours away- and it was only that very moment it took for me to become taken by you,” Wanda recalled. 

She placed both hands on either side of your face, making you look up at her. “You lied to me when I woke you up that afternoon. You’re so considerate of an old woman like me.”

Her words were a nonsensical score as she spoke, “Everything I’ve ever done- planned, written out, premeditated. Otherwise engaged. Unfulfilled.”

She took her glasses off and placed them by the edge of the seat. 

All you could hear in the confines of what was nothing to you but a wooden closet was the racing of your heartbeat and the hasty inhales and exhales of your shaky breaths.

Nevertheless, Wanda continued. Her hips began moving down against your lap. Her thumbs stroked your cheekbones in what felt like admiration. 

“But Y/N… you were so sudden. I don’t want to wait- don’t want to pretend I’m not counting down the moments until you shove a hand up my dress and run your fingers through my wet cunt.”

Your eyes widened and you bucked upwards in a sudden panicked realisation of Wanda’s intentions, which only elicited a small whimper from the older woman. You watched as her thighs spread apart further, allowing your lap increased access to the clothed pulse of her desire.

“You’re married to Vision, and-and with Tommy and Billy…” You fumbled your words as you racked through the logistics in your mind, “And you’re my neighbour. You’re a friend of my parents.”

“You’re making excuses,” Wanda reprimanded. Her grip on your face became tighter, ever so slightly so the tips of her fingers pressed into the hollow areas beside the corners of your jaw. “What’s next? I’m too old for you? Not pretty enough? Maybe I’m not tight enough for a young girl like you?”

Her head tipped to the side inquisitively. Her eyes were solemn, though you couldn’t tell whether it was from a sincere feeling of dejection or not.

“No!” you protested with a fervent shake of your head. “Wanda, you’re-”

“Unappealing, then. I don’t attract you.” 

Her eyes were sharp, piercing through your skull as if to interrogate you.

You blinked up at her, simultaneously bewildered and intrigued at the woman perched up above you. Had a potency like this only been slumbering beyond her unassuming smiles since you’d first met her?

Further, your mind wandered, curious about this angle of her and where her thoughts and feelings had hidden before now. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” you admitted. “I really do.”

A pleased smile came over your neighbour, gracing her features and bringing with it the delicate expression you thought you had known. “Then? What limits you now, from indulging in what you want?”

You answered, simply, perhaps simply enough for her to become enraged at your response, “Matrimony.” But Wanda did not become angry. She laughed.

“Suddenly the virtues of the Lord concern you?” she questioned, her eyebrows furrowing together in a strange upwards curl. You didn’t respond right away, for you had nothing to say, nothing to supplement your sudden hesitation.

Wanda’s hands untensed from your face and she tipped your head upwards, supportively. Coaxingly. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised,” she whispered, though there was no need to veil either of your volumes in the enclosed room you were in.

In Wanda’s eyes, you were free, untouched by the manacles of a stubborn future and all its entails. And conversely, you were still restrained by your morality. 

You were there, hanging from the precipice of indulgence and convention. 

Wanda stroked your cheek with the back of her knuckles. Who would be more worthy to teach you the ways of the Lord than her?

“I’ve thought it through,” she said. “This is why I’ve brought us here. A booth of confessions and an absolute absolve of sin- anything unholy and unfaithful. Nothing is sinful in the house of Christ. My Y/N, anything we shall do here is our own. The Lord will forgive me. He will forgive us.”

Then, in a shaky exhale, Wanda spoke, “Take me as your own, Y/N.” 

Your lips parted and you looked up at her in shock.

One hand detached from the side of your head and Wanda took your wrist with her hand. Then in a swiftly-led sleight of hand, your palm was pressed against her breast. With her fingers placed behind each of your own, she made you squeeze the malleable swell beyond her dress. Her head lolled back, the smooth plain of her neck and expanse of her throat becoming exposed to you. 

“All yours,” Wanda sighed. Her head moved forward and she met your eyes again, though her body was arched backwards so she could roll the space between her thighs against your lap. “I will give you my body, my vessel and my blessed spirit. Oh, Y/N, take me, please.”

A small space formed in the centre of your lips when they parted in attempts to protest. But Wanda was faster.

She pulled herself forward and her chest slammed against your own, your warm breaths mingling within the mere inches between your faces in a sharp exhale at the impact. “Please,” she pried once more. The tip of her nose brushed against yours. “I want you.”

A sharp gasp escaped from beyond Wanda’s now faded red lips when your hands met her hips and you pushed her off of your lap. Initially, she slipped backwards, but your arms rounded her waist and you pulled her to the opposite side of the bench within the limited space you had in the booth.

“Y/N-”

You stood from your seat and slid a knee between both of Wanda’s. With a nudge, you parted her thighs and leaned down to capture her lips with your own. 

It was a harsh action, for Wanda winced and she pulled away at the taste of blood. Your fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and prevented her from moving away. Painfully, lips pressed against the clashing of teeth.

Still, perhaps out of instinct or an intrinsic desire to be tamed, Wanda reached up and pushed at your shoulders. 

Your hand reached down and pulled her dress up her thighs so they wrapped around her waist. The hem of her dress scraped against her skin as you did, and although her upper thighs were clothed by her satin tights, Wanda hissed from the contact and its sudden sharp pain.

Nails raked down against her soft lower stomach when your hand slipped further up her dress and tugged her translucent black tights down so they slipped down and pooled around her ankles.

Wanda’s arms reached up and wrapped around your neck, pulling your face down to her level. She kissed you again but you remained towering above her.

One of your arms pressed against the wooden wall behind Wanda’s head to perch yourself up, and the other travelled down between her thighs. 

Your lips parted occasionally in soft wet pops between breathless pants. 

Slender fingers shot down between Wanda’s legs, red manicured fingernails tucking themselves beyond the hem of her wet panties. You slapped Wanda’s wrist and her eyebrows furrowed in frustration when her hand jerked away from her core. But you were quick to appease and pulled her panties down for her. 

Her slick made the soaked fabric of her underwear stick to her folds briefly before they were pulled down entirely. Wanda’s spread thighs halted the downwards descent of her panties and they snagged at the edges of her parted knees.

Cold fingertips pushed through the older woman’s sticky lips and Wanda shuddered. Her head lolled to the side, her chin meeting her shoulder. 

Before returning back to holding yourself up above her, your hand wrapped around one of Wanda’s thighs and pulled her leg up around your hips so you could angle your wrist between her thighs more comfortably. 

Weakly, she tried to hold her leg up around your waist. You stepped forward so her leg bent backwards further and you could hold her up with the pressure of your front. Her other leg focused on staying as parted from the other as the confinement of her panties wrapped around her knees would allow.

Finally, your fingers delved past the rim of Wanda’s opening. Your digits were warmed by her smooth walls and her back arched from her seat.

“My Lord…” Wanda moaned out, her lips pulling upwards in a wide grin. “I offer my thanks for the pleasures of the flesh- of my sacred body.”

You tucked your face in the crook of Wanda’s exposed neck. Your tongue ran up the pulse of her neck, eliciting a long moan from your neighbour.

Two fingers spread apart and curled within Wanda’s walls and the sweet sound of her parting pussy reached your ears. With the space you made for yourself, your fingers picked up speed and your arm surged forward then back.

Wanda was a melted mess against the booth’s wooden partition. Her hips jerked up desperately for more contact but her loose hold of her leg around your waist offered no leverage. She was left to arch and whine helplessly underneath you. 

“Y/N,” she breathed out, her eyes fluttering open to look at you. But your face was buried deep within her neck, nipping and sucking at every inch of her soft skin that your lips danced across. She exhaled again, sharply this time, “Y/N!”

Regrettably, you parted yourself from the warm enveloping and lifted your head to look up at Wanda. 

Her eyebrows were stitched together and her expression was contorted. If one could not hear the melodic sounds coming from her, one might even think she was in pain. But despite her position, helpless and without any semblance of leverage over you, the corners of Wanda’s lips arched up into a satisfied grin still, though granted it was one that quivered.

“Faster. I’m going to come,” she panted out.

You abided by Wanda's wishes and, rapidly, your fingers quickened. The confessional booth shook as you thrusted your fingers into her. Wanda’s shoulders jerked backwards in response to each entry, the pain near bruising.

“Oh, God…” she trembled. “Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.” 

You advanced forward so her knee pressed into her chest. You silently mused at the way Wanda’s leg bent backwards further to allow for you to push yourself against her.

Your forehead pressed against her own and with open eyes, you watched the contortion of Wanda’s face and the parting of her lips, the rising and falling of her breasts beyond her dress as she panted.

One arm slipped from around your neck and reached back. Wanda’s fingers grasped at the metal divide of ornate patterns against the partition.

You groped at her breast, switching periodically as her chest heaved. 

“Have mercy on me, my Lord,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes screwed shut so tight that she saw wisps against the insides of her eyelids. Scattered psalms and Bible verses spilled from her lips and reached your ears in such an abrupt and perpetual way that nearly made you question if you were the God that Wanda cried out for, the Lord she presently worshipped as her slick dripped down her inner thighs and coated the seat beneath her. 

A sharp yelp came from Wanda’s constricted throat, “Ah, Y/N! I’m going to… my God, my holy God, I repent! I repent for my-”

Her voice broke and she cried out.

“Y/N!”

The last arm hanging from around your neck tightened around you as she came, raspy cries leaving her throat raw as she moaned out strings of your name.

Her body turned to mush the moment the last waves of Wanda’s orgasm washed over her. Her leg slipped from around your waist and her fingers tumbled from the partition’s divide.

Weak pants left her as her eyes shut, too fatigued to even keep them open. Wanda’s body was slumped back down against the wooden wall behind her. Her body shuddered and she groaned uncomfortably when you slipped your fingers out of her hole.

“Wanda…” you whispered. “Are you okay?”

Your arm wrapped around her waist and you helped her sit up. The older woman only hummed out a tired moan in response, her head nodding ever so slightly.

Your coated fingers slipped past your lips and you ran your tongue across it, licking it clean of Wanda’s tangy-sweet juices. Your hand moved forward to her mouth and your thumb swiped across her soft bottom lip.

Wanda’s tongue darted out weakly to taste herself on her lips.

You met hers with your own in a soft kiss and her eyes fluttered open. She kissed you back and smiled against your mouth.

She uttered softly, her whisper raspy and evident of the effects her cries had on her throat, “Do you want to leave now?”

“Not yet.”

You got down between her thighs and pulled her panties down further so they fell to her ankles atop of her tights. Wanda chuckled and repositioned herself on top of you. Her hands found either side of your head, steering you gently as you kissed her lower stomach and hips. She hummed, feeling pleased while your lips ran across her rolls and stretch marks.

Soft tufts of wispy hair tickled your upper lip as you travelled south. You pressed gentle kisses to Wanda’s outer lips.

When you finally buried your nose into her cunt and dragged your tongue through her folds, Wanda grinned. Your thumbs delved into her slick petal-like folds and spread them apart, allowing your tongue to lap up the sweet nectar of Wanda’s pleasure. Her head fell back against the wall behind her. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of your neck as her back arched up from her seat once more.

Three more orgasms racked through her body before you left the confessional together. 

“Did I guilt you earlier, Y/N?” Wanda asked as the two of you exited the church. It was empty, the service long concluded by the time you finished with her. She tightened her jacket lapels around her as the cold winter air enveloped her warm body. After being in the stuffy confessional booth for nearly an hour, it was a harsh awakening. “Did you touch me out of pity?”

You turned to her when you reached your car in the empty parking lot. It had snowed a notable amount since the last time you were out. “No,” you answered. “You didn’t guilt me into anything. I did what I did because I wanted to.”

“Truly, I didn’t mean to force you,” she continued despite your answer. She stood on the other side of your car’s hood, her words leaving her in white tendrils in the cold air. “I was under the impression you felt the same passion for me. Was I mistaken?”

From across the snowy hood of your car, you peered at her. At least now, you knew more in the field of reading her. Her words were not accusing nor vexed. They were words of reflection, the lingering sentiments of having partaken in what she did with a girl so much younger than she.

But Wanda wasn’t feeling guilty, was she?

Did she regret what she’d done?

You looked away from her and moved to the back of the car to get the snow brush from the trunk. “It wasn’t a mistake,” you uttered though the side of your car shrouded you as you finished your answer. 

You unlocked the car and heard Wanda slip into the passenger’s seat while you brushed the loose yet thick layers of snow from the vehicle.

Once the snow was cleaned from the car and you put the brush back into the trunk, you got into the driver’s seat. 

An inevitable silence came over the two of you as you started the car and waited for the engine to warm up. 

Thick flakes of snow, perhaps each half an inch wide, fell scattered and delicately onto the windshield only to melt into clear crystals once the heat from the car warmed it. 

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, your voice a low hum synonymous with the buzz of the running car. 

Much to your relief, Wanda answered through a soft sigh, “No.” She turned her head and looked at you. “I don’t.”

Then it was your turn to feel some streak of guilt. 

“Not for a moment in my life have I ever done anything so spontaneous,” she told you. “It felt so wonderful to make a decision like that on my own, on little premeditated thought.”

“You’re married,” you pressed, turning your gaze towards her. 

Wanda urged, “I didn’t choose that. I love my boys, as does my husband. But, Y/N, what we did was something that I’d chosen. Do you understand?”

You shook your head.

She took your hand, moving it from your own lap to on top her thigh. She stroked the back of your hand with her thumb soothingly. “I do not regret it,” Wanda stated firmly. 

Then she continued. “But I will not act under the pretence that you do not have every chance to make something more of yourself,” she added, eliciting your curiosity. You peered at her through her glasses. 

“I do not wish to deny you any opportunity because of what we’ve done. You are not in my debt because of what you’ve given me.”

You felt your face contort at the statement and you pulled your hand away from her. “You aren’t a price to pay, Wanda. You’re not a substitute or a stepping stone,” you said. 

She scoffed. “Please. Don’t you know how old I am now, Y/N?” Wanda inquired, though you knew it was rhetorical. “I have two ten-year-old children and a husband of eleven years. There is nothing I can give you that you cannot receive from someone younger, a selection as easy as picking a ripe fruit from a blossoming tree. I have nothing to bear for you.”

“You think that concerns me? It doesn’t. If it should have, then I wouldn’t have come to the service with you today,” you informed her plainly. The way in which you spoke such devotion to her bewildered Wanda. The confidence in your admission as if it were common knowledge- it planted something unsteady in her. 

“You speak of the confidence your choices give you, but what of mine?” you said. “What we did, it was not done only because you chose and I swayed. In my own decision, I was unambiguous. There’s nothing more to it.”

Wanda’s breaths were steady and her blinks even-tempered. After a moment, her lips parted and she spoke, “You choose this? With me?”

“With everything in me capable of acting on my volition.”

“Which is plenty?” she attempted to clarify. 

“Plenty enough to fill a dozen churches and several more.”

A sharp barely audible inhale came from Wanda and she straightened. 

Then, in a swift and careful motion, she leaned over and kissed you.

The car’s heating was left on as you pulled Wanda onto your lap. You unzipped her dress and unclipped her bra, pressing kisses to her soft breasts and mapping her body out with your hands. Your lips wrapped around her rosy nipples. Her lipstick stains decorated your face in gentle shades of faded red. 

Her arms wrapped around your body as she bounced on top of you, welcoming your fingers into her once again. And again, and again. 

The two of you fucked in that otherwise empty church parking lot until you both grew tired, after which you dressed Wanda back up in her clothes. 

Sitting on your lap with her head on your shoulder, Wanda uttered, “Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.”

“Which verse was that?” you whispered back. 

“It’s not a Bible verse. It’s Shakespeare,” she answered and kissed your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut as did Wanda’s, her hand brushing against your cheek softly.

Wanda lifted her head. When you opened your eyes, she was looking down at you. A smile was on her face and her bottom lip was taken between her teeth. “Years it’s been since I’ve quoted him,” she thought aloud.

She tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed the tip of your nose. She then confessed, “I’ve missed it gravely.”