#it’s the longing for something you thought would never be possible to you

[miihho]

can do headcannons for Myung-gi? Thank you 😭😭

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) sfw

Myung-gi / Player 333

—HE'S THE KIND OF GUY who found himself in fights more often than he’d like to admit. His past was a tangled mess of mistakes and choices that led him down this path. Most times, when he was beaten down, no one cared enough to stop. They’d walk by, eyes averted, pretending not to see him lying there, bruised and exhausted. The pain was familiar, but it was something he had learned to endure alone. So when he found himself on the ground once again, bloodied and sore, he didn’t expect anything to change. He didn’t expect someone to stop and help.

But then, through the blur of his vision, he saw you. Standing there, glowing like something out of a dream, your eyes full of concern. “Are you alright?” you asked, your voice soft, but it was filled with genuine concern. He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the daze.

“Yeah…” he muttered, wincing slightly as he grabbed your hand and tried to stand. “It didn’t hurt that much.” He forced a weak smile, brushing the dust off his clothes, but his body was screaming from the blows he’d taken. You didn’t look convinced, your eyes scanning him with a frown. “You have bruises everywhere,” you said softly, taking in the sight of his battered form. “You need help, can i treat you?"

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to push you away and tell you it wasn’t worth it, that he was just someone who always ended up in situations like this. But your steady gaze stopped him. He nodded, letting you lead him away from the scene, knowing this would probably be the first time someone would care enough to make sure he wasn’t left to bleed out in a corner.He didn’t expect much—just a quick fix for the bruises. But as you carefully cleaned his cuts and bruises, your touch gentle and your voice soft, something inside him shifted.

The way you didn’t rush, the way you took your time, treating him with more care than anyone ever had, started to break down the walls he’d built around himself. His body still ached, but there was a warmth in his chest, a quiet comfort he hadn’t felt in years. He wasn’t falling in love with you right away. But in that moment, as you tended to his wounds and your eyes met his, something began to grow, slowly and quietly—an unfamiliar feeling, one that made him want to stay just a little longer.

—He’s the type of guy who keeps a distance from everyone, always a little cold, a little aloof, because it’s easier that way. He’s learned to build walls around himself, to guard his emotions, keeping people at arm’s length so he won’t get hurt. It’s become second nature—familiar and safe. But when it comes to you, everything shifts. You become the exception to the rules, the one who manages to break through the armor he’s so carefully crafted.

In your presence, the ice that’s kept him safe for so long begins to melt. The walls that once seemed impenetrable start to crumble, piece by piece, as he finds himself opening up in ways he never thought possible. It’s a vulnerability he’s not used to, one that both terrifies and comforts him in equal measure. For the first time, he doesn’t have to pretend. With you, he can just be. And it’s that warmth, that quiet shift in his soul, that makes him realize—maybe letting you in wasn’t as frightening as he once thought.

—He's type of guy who’d get nervous around you, never having interacted with a girl properly before. This whole thing was new to him. He would rehearse a simple greeting in front of the mirror, repeatedly stumbling over his words.

"Hello, nice to meet you again," he'd say, practicing until it felt right.

But the moment he saw you, standing there, his mind went blank. Flustered, he blurted out, "Meet hello again."

His face flushed red with embarrassment, and without a word, he quickly walked off, leaving you laughing softly at his awkward charm.

—Hes the kind of guy who would drop to his knees with tear-streaked cheeks, begging for another chance. The kind of guy who would plead, his voice trembling with desperation, asking you to take him back.

— He’s the kind of guy who melts under your touch, leaning into the soft strokes of your fingers as they weave through his hair. With you perched on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, he looks up at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world. His eyes, brimming with warmth, trace every feature of your face, and his smile—soft, tender, overflowing with affection—speaks the words his heart can’t contain. To him, this moment is everything: your closeness, your comfort, the quiet intimacy of being held by the one he loves.

—He’s the kind of guy who would drop everything at a moment’s notice just to make you happy. If you told him you wanted your favorite food, he wouldn’t just order it—he’d make sure it came from the best place, double-checking the details so it’s exactly how you like it. If you said you wanted something more, he’d move mountains to find it, his every action steeped in quiet devotion.

—He’s the kind of guy who would hold your bag without hesitation, tie your shoelaces if they came undone, and memorize all the little things that make you smile. If you said you were cold, he’d wrap his jacket around you without a second thought, even if he ended up freezing. If you called him in the middle of the night, needing someone to talk to, he’d show up at your door, no matter how far or inconvenient it was. If you mentioned something you like, he’d make a mental note and surprise you with it later, just to see the joy in your eyes. He’d stay up late if you needed him, wake up early to make your mornings easier, and cancel his own plans just to be there when you need him most.

For him, your happiness is worth everything. He doesn’t just listen to your words—he treasures them, acting on them like they’re his life’s purpose, because loving you isn’t a chore; it’s his greatest joy.

—He’s the kind of guy who pays attention to the tiniest details about you. Like the songs you hum when you’re happy, the exact shade of your favorite color. He remembers your birthday without needing a reminder, but he also knows the little anniversaries you don’t expect him to, like the day you first met or the first time you smiled at him in that special way.

He’d go out of his way to buy you things that match your favorite color—not just big gifts but the little ones, like a keychain he spotted at the store or a pen because he remembered you needed one. He’d surprise you with your favorite snacks on bad days and bring you flowers that match the hues you love, just to see your face light up.

—He’s the kind of guy who listens intently when you talk, even if it’s about something small, and he brings it up later to let you know he was paying attention. He’d notice when you’re feeling off, even if you try to hide it, and he’d do whatever it takes to make you feel better—whether it’s running to get your comfort food, wrapping you in a blanket, or just holding you until the world feels a little less overwhelming.

To him, it’s the small things that matter most because those details are what make you you, and he wants to love every single one of them.

—He's the kind of guy who stumbles over his words when you get too close, as if your presence is too much for him to handle. You don't realize how his heart races, a frantic rhythm he can't control, every beat echoing the weight of your nearness. He tries to pull away, but it's impossible—you're the only thing that makes him feel alive.

—He's kind of guy who would stay away from you for months, not because he wanted to, but because he believed it was for your safety. He worried endlessly that if anyone saw you with him, they’d make you a target—hurt you just to get to him. The thought of putting you in danger was unbearable, so he chose the distance, even if it tore him apart inside.

—Myung gi is the kind of guy who’d make you believe he has pure intentions, but the truth is far darker. He wants you all to himself—every moment of every day, your laughter, your smile, your touch. It's all his in his mind. The thought of anyone else having even a fraction of you fills him with jealousy, and he’ll do anything to keep it that way. You’re his everything, and in his eyes, no one else deserves a piece of you.

—He’s the kind if guy who secretly craves being treated like a precious little one, wanting to be praised for being good, his heart swelling at every word of affection you give him. When you look at him with that soft, loving gaze, calling him "baby" and showering him with overly sweet pet names, something inside him melts. It's not just the words, it's the way you care for him—like he's fragile, like he’s yours to protect. He acts tough on the outside, but deep down, he’s soft for you. Your attention, your affection—it’s everything to him, and he’s more than willing to be the one who melts under your love. He’d give anything to hear you speak to him like that forever.

(he's so IWBWIWHWIWJ😭😭☹️👊🏻)

[heartzfromel]

undercover

detective!agnes x fem!model!reader

summary; agnes has a bit of trouble in the makeup department. tony is useless, and rio is busy. luckily, miss texas is bored out of her mind in the room next door, and just so happens to be looking for something to do.

tags; queer awakening question mark, age gap but nothing overly crazy

a/n; jen mentioned who cheered, fyi reader doesn’t know she’s queer, also its the 90s so take that as u will, ignore any mistakes

chapter 1 | chapter 2

your stylist, jen, glared daggers into the back of marvin’s head as he paced around the room, answering several phone calls per minute and overall just distracting her from her work, which just so happened to be your hair.

“does he ever stop that?” she mumbled, leaning over your shoulder to grab hairspray.

“i don’t know,” you whispered back, “sometimes i think he’s a robot who got sent to spy on me by my father.”

“wouldn’t put it past him,” jen smirked, combing her fingers through your hair as she fluffed it up, “et voila! all done.”

“thank you kindly jen, your’e a lifesaver.” you grinned, showing her out.

once jen had left, you pushed your door closed and threw yourself onto your bed, rolling over to turn the cd player on, before closing your eyes, basking in your moment of silence.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“what?” agnes deadpanned.

“we don’t have anyone to do your makeup.” tony mumbled, repeating himself.

“are you joking?” she spat.

“no…” he began, “we sorta thought you’d be able to do that yourself.”

“tony.”

“yeah?” he replied terror evident in his expression. he loved agnes dearly, but it didn’t take away from the fact that she was possibly the most terrifying woman to walk on planet earth.

“do i look like the sort of person who would know how to do my own makeup?”

tomy paused. now that he thought about it, he had never in his life witnessed agnes in a dress, nevermind makeup.

“get out.” she spat.

“huh?”

“get out! is that so hard for you to grasp, tony? i said GET OUT.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

you groaned, the sound of a woman yelling filling your ears as you tried to get 20 minutes of sleep. now normally, you would’ve just got annoyed but left the situation alone, but this girl sounded MAD, and you were bored out of your mind by now, so you decided to go investigate.

when you left your hotel room, you realised that the yelling was coming from the room next door. huh, these walls must be thick, you thought to yourself, because the yelling sounded like it had been coming from somewhere a lot further down the hall.

the pristine white door lay wide open, and a man with dark hair was anxiously listening to the woman’s angry voice, before she yelled at him to get out.

before she slammed the door, you caught her.

“hey, everything alright out here?” you asked, shooting her a smile. this was the first time you had gotten a look at her, and quite frankly, you thought she was ethereal. her long dark hair tumbled effortlessly down her shoulders, stopping at her hips, and her skin was glowing, despite the obvious stress she was under. her eyes were piercing and as blue as sapphires, and she was in nothing but a plush white dressing gown.

“oh everything’s fine, hon!” she grinned back, giggling slightly, as she leaned on the doorframe.

“you sure? didn’t sound like it a second ago.” you replied, curiosity getting the better of you.

“well, that was my agent.” she began, “he just came to tell me my makeup artist couldn’t make it on this trip, she had to cancel.”

“oh, well that’s terrible! do you think you can do it yourself?”

“sure! i’ll be fine!” she reassured you, but something in her voice just wasn’t quite right.

“you don’t sound so sure. here, let me come in and help you out.” you offered.

she looked taken aback to say the least, and you were almost worried you had overstepped. that tended to happen with the other pageant girls. you had a really hard time getting them to like you. marvin told you they were just jealous, because after the pageants were over, you had a dozen magazines and perfume shoots booked, but you weren’t so sure, so whenever someone showed any sort of interest in interacting with you, you would jump at the chance, and sometimes you could be a bit much.

you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as she stepped out of the way of the doorframe to let you in.

you smiled, and she smiled gratefully back at you as you ushered her to the chair that sat in front of her vanity.

“you got any makeup with you?” you asked.

“i’m afraid i’ve only got this.” she replied, ruffling through her bag, before holding up two bottles, foundation and concealer, looking at them as if she wasn’t fully aware of what they were.

“wait one second.” you grinned, before running back to your room, grabbing your bag and rushing back to the woman’s room.

“i got stuff!” you spoke, excitedly, laying various makeup products out on the vanity.

“oh, thank you doll, you’re a lifesaver.” she sighed, the nickname sending a shockwave through you as it slipped from her lips.

“so- uh, what’s your name, anyway?” you mumbled, trying to brush whatever that feeling was as you kneeled down to her level, pinning her hair out of her face.

“agatha harkness, you?”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“that’s pretty.” she sighed, closing her eyes as you began to apply her foundation to her face.

as you continued to do her makeup, your knees began to get tired, causing you to have to stretch them out every few minutes.

“are you hurting, y/n?” agatha began, “here, get up.” she added, gesturing to the vanity. you let out a sigh ad you sat up onto it. you tried not to notice the fact that her eyes never left you, trailing up and down your body every so often, but you didn’t see that part.

“better?” she asked, and you nodded. as you leaned in to do her eyeshadow, you could feel her breath, caressing your face gently. your own breath hitched as the action, mixed with her unbroken eye contact, sent shivers down your spine. what was happening to you?

you shook it off as you picked your favourite red lipstick off the table, leaning in to paint her lips. as her rich, amber scent enveloped you, all you could think about is how beautiful she was, how inviting her scent was, and how you just wanted to fall into her lap and kiss her right there and then, you hands running through her luscious dark locks and her stunning hands gripping your waist. you tried to shake the feeling off, not knowing what was going on. she’s a girl, you thought to yourself. oh my god, am i-

“am i all done?” agatha asked, staring up at you.

“uh, yeah. all done! i’ll see you later, yeah?” you gushed, not fully aware if you’d been staring at her or not. you quickly rushed out, grabbing your things.

“alright!” she smiled, “thank you!”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

agnes was in big trouble. she didn’t know how she’d managed it, but she’d managed to fall for the one person that she couldn’t, and it was made worse by the fact she couldn’t tell anyone. if this didn’t go away, she’d be done for. she had known you for twenty five minutes and was already struggling to keep her composure around you, which was a really bad thing, considering that her whole goal here was to keep her composure.

suddenly, there was a knock at the door. she groaned, moving to open it, before being greeted with tony’s dropped jaw.

“you look fantastic!” he began, “i saw y/n leaving, by the way. how did that go?”

“uhh..”

one thing was right. and that was that agnes o’connor had messed up.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

taglist; @hannah-0730 @m1vfs @creaturesaphique @push-on-me @chiar4anna (comment to be added)

[requiemforthepoets]

to be in it with you ⟢ OP81

PAIRING: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: as you watch oscar play happily with his nieces and nephews, you’re struck by the overwhelming love you feel for him—deeper than you’ve ever known.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, named side character (brother), fluff, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have an oscar request lined up from last year, and somehow i’m at 40%-ish of completing it. so i’ll dedicate this oscar one shot that i drafted long ago to my ‘osc anon’ who had sent in the request as a compensation for not finishing yet their request 🥹 so i hope you guys will like this one too!

It was a perfect summer afternoon in Australia. The sun shone warmly over the sprawling and perfectly manicured backyard, the sound of laughter and chatter floating through the air as Oscar’s family gathered for the reunion. You sat comfortably in a lawn chair, a cool drink in your hand, condensation dripping down the side of the glass, and a soft smile that played on your lips as you watched Oscar from afar. He was in the middle of the yard, playing tag with his nieces and nephews, their high-pitched giggles filling the spaces as Oscar chased them with exaggerated slowness, his long strides deliberately clumsy.

Oscar was radiant under the sun, his easy laughter blending with the children’s laughter, his cheeks flushed from the activity. His hair, slightly damp from exertion, curled at the edges, and he ran a hand through it as he crouched low to let one of the toddlers ‘tag’ him. The sight tugged at your chest, making your heart swell almost painfully.

It hit you then, not for the first time, but in a way that felt newly profound. You love him. You love him so much that it terrifies you. You never knew that it’s possible to love someone so much. The thought was overwhelming, almost suffocating in its intensity. No one had ever made you feel like this before. The relationships that you had in the past now seemed pale and faded photographs in comparison, distant and dull compared to the vibrant, all-encompassing connection you had with Oscar.

You took a slow sip of your drink, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, but your gaze remained fixed on him. You loved everything about Oscar—the way he interacted so effortlessly with his family, how he was patient, gentle, and kind with the children, how his face lit up with genuine happiness when they pulled him into their little games. He was a mosaic of everything you had ever dreamed of, and yet, somehow more.

With these realizations came a series of flashbacks. You and Oscar go way back, though ‘knowing’ him would be a generous way to describe it. Growing up, you were never more than acquaintances in passing, brought into each other’s orbit because of your older brother, Asher. Asher and Oscar had bonded over karting, spending weekends at the track, their friendship was fueled by shared victories, losses, and countless hours tinkering with karts.

You were always on the sidelines, quieter than most, mostly content to sit with a book or scroll through your phone while Asher raced. Occasionally, your eyes would drift to Oscar—not intentionally at first, but there was something about him that always caught your attention. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, calm and focused, even at such a young age. Or perhaps, it was the easy smile he wore after a win, the way it lit up his whole face. You didn’t actually know when or why it started, but somewhere along the way, you realized you had feelings for him.

It was not a revelation that struck you like lightning. No, it crept up on you, quiet and persistent, until one day, as you unpacked your bag after another weekend spent at a karting competition, you paused, clutching a book in your hands. You loved him. Or, at least, you thought you did. It was kind of innocent, unspoken affection that felt too big to put into words.

But Oscar never knew. You barely spoke to him back then, except for the occasional polite exchange of ‘hi’ or ‘good luck.’ You were not shy by nature, but there’s something about him that always left you tongue-tied. So, when he moved up to F3 and you moved out of Australia to chase your own career abroad, that chapter in your life pretty much quietly closed.

Years passed after that. You had kept tabs on him sporadically, mostly through Asher, who remained in touch with Oscar even after leaving karting behind. When Oscar finally made it to F1, you learned about it through your brother, who called you, his voice buzzing with pride. Though you hadn’t seen Oscar in years, the news stirred something in you—a quiet, enduring happiness for him.

Then, it was months later, on an otherwise unremarkable evening, that your phone rang with a call from an unfamiliar number. You hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen before you finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, is this…y/n?” the voice was hesitant but familiar, a thread of nervousness woven through the words.

“Yes, it is. Who’s this, may I ask?”

There was a brief pause, then, “it’s Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. “Oh. Hi. Um…hello, Oscar.”

Oscar’s laugh was soft, almost sheepish. “Sorry, this is kind of random, isn’t it? I wasn’t sure if you’d even remember me.”

“Of course I remember you,” you said quickly—too quickly for your liking, your heart thudding in your chest. “I just…wasn’t really expecting this, that’s all. How did you even get my number?”

“Well, apparently our mums kept in touch all these years,” he explained, tone a little lighter now. “My mum mentioned that she saw you back in Australia not too long ago, and she told me about it. She, uh, also gave me your number.”

You were not sure what to say to that. “Oh,” you managed. “I didn’t know they still talked.”

“Neither did I,” Oscar admitted, you could hear the smile in his voice. “But when she mentioned you, I figured I’d…I don’t know, take a chance? I mean we never really got to know each other back then, did we?”

“No, we didn’t,” you agreed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

“I always thought you were kind of…quiet,” he said, voice teasing but kind. “Like you didn’t really want to be there, but you came anyway because of Asher.”

You laughed, the sound surprising even you. “That’s pretty accurate, actually. I was there for him, but it wasn’t so bad, I liked watching you race.”

“Really?” Oscar sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You were good. You still are.”

“Thanks,” he said, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though it felt like the space between breaths, waiting to be filled.

“So,” he said finally, tone shifting to something more tentative. “Would you…want to catch up sometime? I know it’s been years, but I’d really like to get to know you properly. No more awkward hi-and-hellos this time.”

Your heart leapt at the offer, but you kept your voice steady. “Yes, I’d like that,” you said. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” Oscar said, and you could hear the smile in his voice again. “I’ll text you, then. We’ll figure something out.”

“Okay,” you said softly, your fingers tightening around the phone.

“Okay,” he echoed.

After that whole conversation with Oscar, for the first time, you realized that maybe, you were not the only one that has been waiting for this moment.

The memory had you smiling crazy, failing to notice how Oscar glanced your way, a smile spreading across his face when he caught you staring and smiling. He stood, brushing the grass off his hands, and made his way over to you, his pace was unhurried but purposeful.

“Having fun watching me make a fool of myself?” he teased, voice warm and tinged with amusement as he dropped into the chair beside you.

You chuckled softly, setting your drink on the small table next to you. “Not at all. You’re doing amazing out there,” you replied, tone playful but sincere.

Oscar leaned back in the chair, his hand quickly finding yours without hesitation, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. “You looked like you were in deep thought,” he said for a moment, his eyes searching for yours. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, not because you did not want to tell him, but because you were not sure how to articulate the depth of what you were feeling. But after a beat, you decided to just let the words flow freely.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” you admitted, voice quiet but steady. “And how no one’s ever made me feel the way you do. It’s like I don’t even have the right words for it.”

Oscar’s expression softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to find the right words,” he said, tone earnest. “I feel it. Every time you look at me, every time you smile like that, I feel it.”

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat. “It’s just that sometimes it feels like too much, you know? Like, I want to memorize everything about you—how you speak, move, even how you laugh. I want to soak up every part of you and carry it with me forever.”

He let out a quiet laugh, his thumb still brushing over your hand. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of masterpiece,” he said, tone light but his gaze were serious.

“It’s because you are,” you replied without hesitation, voice unwavering. “You are to me.”

For a moment, Oscar did not say anything, he just looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. Then he leaned closer, his free hand coming up to cup your face, his touch gentle but grounding.

“You have no idea how much I love you, do you?” he murmured.

“I think I might have some idea,” you whispered back, lips curving into a smile.

Oscar leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back to meet your gaze. “Good,” he said, voice low and filled with affection. “Because I’m all in with you. Every part of me, every day.”

Your chest felt like it might burst anytime soon from the sheer magnitude of what you felt for him. “Me too,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly. “I’m all in with you, Oscar. Always.”

Everything had also made you realize that you didn’t need the perfect words or grand gestures. Being with Oscar, loving him as deeply as you did, was more than enough.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima x fem! reader

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

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

WC: 13.6K

HABITS:

 Sex is not a priority for Gyomei.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What have you done to him?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Voice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His Fingers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DRIVE:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Oral Fixation

Specifically, Gyomei absolutely adores going down on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Praise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orgasm Control

But specifically, Gyomei wants you to control his orgasms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Size Kink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thigh Riding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BIGGEST FANTASY:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “There, huh?”

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

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

And suddenly cum is caked along his front, your eyes watching transfixed as the visible portion of his balls clench and spasm wildly, his ass flexing and the tightness nearly forcing your thumb out. Instead, you keep pressing against his prostate, watching the way he clutches onto the fabric below him, grip so strong that the fabric rips under him, his strength uncontrollable as his orgasm rocks him.

It’s easily a twenty second affair, cum pouring out of him and visibly seeping into the fabric surrounding him, making you lick your lips because oh, isn’t this precious? Your big, sweet, strong Gyomei falling apart with your thumb up his ass, something like whimpers falling from his lips because you’re still rubbing inside him, reaching deeper with every curl and leaving his back to tense up, shoulder blades visible as he fights off the acute feeling overstimulation.

You only press a kiss to the back of his head, pausing your movements for a single moment as you murmur his name in his ear, telling him with a near purr, “You’ll give me another one, right? I know you can do it, my pretty boy.”

And the way he shudders, hand snapping out to grab onto your thigh as he nods tells you enough, as does his muffled, choked “y-yes”.

[your-hockey-mom]

May I have a pregnancy announcement with Quinn? 🥹 Can you make her nervous, please??????

This couldn’t be happening right now. There was no way what you were seeing was correct. 

For the last month or more you had noticed things that weren’t your normal. You had tried to explain them away as just PMS symptoms, but the nausea was the one thing that was the tell-tale red flag. The mood swings were nothing new, but they hadn’t gone away. Poor Quinn had been walking on eggshells for weeks on end despite having done nothing to warrant your attitude. Everything else just aligned with your cycle paying you a visit, however it never came around. You had been more stressed as of late, and a missed period wasn’t something you experienced often, but enough that you didn’t freak out initially. However, with everything stacking up, you bought a pregnancy test to hopefully clear your mind of any uncertainty. 

Now, you stood alone in the bathroom, braced against the vanity while the timer on your phone ticked down to the last remaining seconds, although the test was very clearly completed. The blue plus-sign was the darkest shade of blue on both of the lines that the test could produce. It was a definite positive. With hands over your mouth in glaring realization, you stood there staring at it, trembling. Quinn was just beyond the bathroom door, unaware of the news you now had to give him. 

How would he take it?

You weren’t married; you weren’t even engaged, yet here you were, feeling mocked by the pregnancy test sitting there on the counter. You couldn’t hide the fact now and this was no false-positive. You had to tell him. Your fingers were still shaking when you reached for it, nearly dropping it once it was between your fingers. “Shit~” You spat, just under your breath. You needed to get yourself in order or this was going to be so much harder. By this point, you had no idea how long had you been locked in the bathroom; how long did the test take again?

You tiptoed from the bathroom, hoping you’d find him not in the middle of something so you could get it over with as soon as possible, still unsure what his reaction was going to be. He was in the living room, feet up on the ottoman, streaming a Thursday Night Football game. He hadn’t noticed you approach until you squeaked out his name. 

“Quinn?”

The first time you said it, he hadn’t heard you. The second time, however, it was more shaky and a touch louder, “Quinn?”

The change in your tone was what pulled his attention away from the broadcast. The look on your face had pulled him to his feet. 

"What’s wrong, baby?” His face was drenched in concern and immediate dread. He knew you better than anyone and even he hadn’t seen you like this before. “You look really pale. Why don’t you sit down?”

The test wand was tucked in the palm of your hand and braced against your wrist. When Quinn asked you to sit on the sofa, you did so, but crossed your arms over  your stomach, further helping you conceal the test until you were ready to finally break the news. He was looking at you with such worry. For some reason you thought he would be eyeing you with suspicion, but your rational brain knew Quinn wasn’t that way. 

He’d sit right next to you, both of you turned towards the other slightly. Your eyes were down, staring at your knees before his hands touched you gently. His soft affection made you jump even though you saw it coming. It was like you were split between two different places. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, never dreaming you would have jumped at his touch. 

Your heart was beating so quickly, you couldn’t tell if you had said your reply loud enough because all you could hear was the thumping in your ears. “No.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Still, your eyes were down, unable to look at his worried face. Quinn would actually bend down hoping to catch your gaze. When your eyes met, you began to cry. It was just too hard to keep the amped up emotions inside any longer. 

“Oh, baby! Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” He reached forward, pulling hair behind you ear; his warm touch grazing your ear. “I’m really worried about you.”

“Quinn, I’m~,” you mumbled, your eyes flipping between both of his for something to focus on. “I’m...”

“Hmm?” Quinn’s tone was sympathetic, soft, and unhurried. He had his emotions reined in while you were running a thousand miles an hour. 

“I’m...pregnant.” Immediately, you broke down, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you sobbed.

To say Quinn was shocked would have been an understatement. He wanted to smile, to be excited, but seeing you react like you were stopped his celebration. He’d hold your face with both of his hands and kiss you so passionately. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart! This is incredible!” 

You’d sniffle once he parted from your lips. Reaching up to wipe your eyes, you forgot the test was in your hand, and it would drop from your lap to the floor. Quinn would beat you to picking it up and when his eyes saw the positive indicator he grinned. “Oh baby, I love you! Please, don’t cry! I’m so happy!”

Words were still hard for you; you were still sobbing, though you didn’t know why other than your hormones were running without restraint. Instead, you reached for him, and he took you in his arms immediately. 

"Baby, baby, baby! It’s okay!” He hushed, one hand on your back, the other smoothing your hair. “Happy tears, okay?”

This made you cry more, buried into his neck as your fingers clawed into his back. 

“Shhh, you’re okay. Everything is fine, sweetheart. I want you to be happy...” his voice dropped off, his non-hormonal stressed brain making a very irrational thought appear. “Do you not want to have the baby?”

You pushed back from him, eyes wide and in shock as you searched his face. “Of course I do! I’m just... I don’t know how to feel right now I’m so confused! I’m so sorry!” 

He gave you a smile, “You have a lot going on, babe! It’s okay to be all over the place!” Quinn’s fingers tightened ever so slightly. “I love you so much!”

"I love you, too!” You continued to weep, just wanting to smile and share in his happiness. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset? Absolutely not! Why would I be?”

“Because we weren’t even...we hadn’t talked about this.”

“Everything for a reason, baby,” he smiled wider. “I can’t wait to let mom know. She’s going to go crazy!”

Your face went completely white. Both of your families had to be told, how had you forgotten? You struggled to tell Quinn, how were you going to handle telling two separate families of this news? 

“We’ll tell them together, okay?” He added, seeing the immediate change in your expression. “We’ve plenty of time. Right now, all I care about is you and how you’re doing. I know the last month hasn’t been easy, and this explains a lot.”

“I’m so sorry I’ve been so mean to you, Quinn!”

“No, no, don’t cry! I’m alright, so just let that go.” He smiled again. “You’re okay.”

Falling against his chest again, you’d put your chin on his shoulder and whimper. Everything was hitting you at once and all you wanted was a break from feeling like an emotional nutcase. Quinn, on the other hand had taken to rocking you gently.

"Everything it okay, baby. I promise you. I couldn’t be more happy right now! To have a little family with you, I can’t lie, I’ve had daydreams about it. Now, it’s going to happen and I’m so happy!”

"Promise?”

“I promise. I’ll make sure you have everything you need, okay? I’ll go with you to as many appointments as I can and I’ll take care of you every step of the way.”

“Quinny,” you finally smiled. “You’re so sweet.”

“Anything for you and our little baby.”

[darlingdreadwrites]

Scary? My God, You're Divine

pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader

summary: Toby's been feeling insecure all day, and you snap him out of it.

contains: toby being insecure, fluff

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

a.n: this is the first thing ive gotten myself to write in weeks oml.... and yes im still alive LOL just been depressed and coping horrendously

The forest is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds in the distance and your conversation. The evening air is cool, carrying the scent of earth and pine. The fading sunlight paints the horizon in hues of amber and rose. You sit cross-legged on the slightly damp ground, absently brushing aside a twig as you chatted away. Your voice carries an easy, lighthearted cadence as you recount a ridiculous moment from earlier today. The punchline slips from your lips with a chuckle, and you glance at Toby. Not even the faintest sign of amusement. Just what was going through that head of his today?

Toby sits a few feet away, legs tented with his arms draped loosely over his knees. His hoodie is pulled up, the shadows of the fabric obscuring a full view of his face. His head rests against his left shoulder – angling just enough to keep you out of his peripheral vision.

He’s not even listening, you sigh to yourself.

You had noticed that he was uncharacteristically quiet for hours. And yet – whenever you would ask if he was okay – he would brush you off with joke. It seems that now he doesn’t even have the energy to fake not being upset. Unbeknownst to you, Masky’s voice is still echoing in his head – cruel and biting.

“I don’t know what they see in you, ugly as you are.”

The words had clung to him like burrs – twisting into his thoughts sharply. He hates how easily it got under his skin. He never gave a fuck about his appearance before, why was he so worried about what you’d think of him now?

Toby barely registers your voice anymore – or the fact that you had even stopped talking. It was a soft and familiar hum that would have soothed him on any other day. But right now, he feels undeserving of even that—your presence, your attention. What could you possibly see in him?

He shifts, a quiet tic jerking his arm upward before he forcefully presses it back down. The clicking of his tongue follows, barely audible because of his painful restraint. He lets out a sharp exhale, his jaw tight under the hood’s shadow.

He’s so distant. The way his head is hung – as if the weight of his thoughts is too much to bear – makes your chest ache. Fuck this, I can’t take it anymore.

Scooting closer, you lower your voice to a concerned tone. “Toby… are you okay?”

He stiffens, his fingers tightening around the sleeves of his hoodie.

“I’m f-fine,” he mutters, but the crack in his voice betrays him. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ground; the corners of his mouth tight.

You sigh, leaning in. “No, you’re not. Talk to me. Please.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His silence stretches long enough to almost make you ask again. He lets out a sharp exhale, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread.

“Wuh-why do you ev-even… care?” he mumbles.

“What?” You blink. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

He looks up – just for a moment – before averting his eyes again. His jaw works like he is chewing over words he doesn’t want to say, but something inside him cracks.

“Look at me-me.” His words are bitter. His hands gesture to the scars lining his face, at the deep gash cutting into his left cheek that exposes his molars. You swear you catch him flinch when you follow the movement. “I cuh-can’t even—how can, can you st-stand to look… at me?”

His voice wavers when he forced out the last words as if it pained him to even voice his thoughts. His hands drop to his lap, clenching into tight fists. His head is bowed like he expects you to agree and run away screaming.

You reach out instead, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Toby,” you say softly, waiting for him to look at you. When he doesn’t, you squeeze. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, his eyes meet yours. A storm of doubt and shame swirls in them.

“I adore you,” you begin, your voice steady. “Every single part of you. Your scars, your tics, even the things you think make you unlovable—they don’t. They’re part of you. And I think you’re beautiful.”

Toby simply stares at you, his breath catching audibly. His throat works as if he is trying to swallow the lump rising there.

“You… you d-don’t mean that,” he whispers.

“I do,” you insist, your hand sliding from his shoulder to gently cup his cheek. Your thumb brushes over the rough texture of his scarred skin.

His lips part, but no words come out. He just stares up at you – eyes wide with a blend of disbelief and yearning. He almost doesn’t know how to process the sweet words you’ve offered to him. You hold his gaze, and let your affection speak louder than any of the words you’ve spoken.

Toby is quick, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion despite the way his hands tremble. His arms wrap tightly around you, and you’re surrounded by his warmth.

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, his warm breath uneven against your skin. He clings to you to keep himself grounded. His shoulders shake, and you feel the slight tremor of his tics. There’s a small jerk in his arm, a subtle twitch in his fingers. But Toby refuses to let go.

“Y-you don’t—” His words catch in his throat. He presses his lips to your neck instead. The kiss is soft but almost desperate.

“I-I need y-you,” he murmurs against your skin. His breath hitches as he moves up to your jawline – leaving a trail of featherlight kisses. “Don’t… don’t leave m-me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You run your fingers through his messy hair. Your other hand traces gentle patterns on his back. You let him hold you as tightly as he needs – offering him every ounce of reassurance he craves.

It feels like he can’t decide where he wants to kiss more – your neck or your face. Each one lingers, a quiet hum escaping his throat. He tilts his head to brush his lips on the corner of your mouth before turning his attention to gently suck on your neck briefly.

His hands roam – not with any intention beyond connection. One squeezes your hip, while the other slides along your arm and back. He needs the physical reminder that you are here – with him, loving him. And he loves you. Oh, he fucking loves you.

The hand on your back pulls you closer into his lap. His body twitches again – accidentally causing him to squeeze you hard enough to make you yelp. He lets out a frustrated – and apologetic – huff, but you hold him tighter.

“’S okay,” you whisper, your lips planting a kiss on his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[ipushhimback]

we were drunk, it happens - pt. 2

part 1: here

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: smut (marked with 3 red stars), oral (f receiving), p in v, no protection word count: 3k summary: Y/N attends a GP, saying if Lando wins he will be rewarded

Only a couple days later, Y/N got a message from Max.

The Monaco GP is next week. I know you are not really into F1, but I’d love for you to come, and I am sure Kelly and P would also be happy to have someone to spend their time with. What do you think? – Max

Y/N really hated Formula 1, but not because of the sport itself. She loved the fast cars, the races, how everyone wants to be the best. But her dad had ruined it all for her when they were kids.

She had always loved karting. Sometimes she was even allowed to drive Max’ kart, but when she told her dad that she also wanted to kart competitively, just like her brother, he had said she couldn’t. How could she even think of that as a girl. She would never have a chance in the sport.

Sometimes she thinks that her dad was right. She probably wouldn’t have come far as a woman, but she still would have loved to race.

Maybe it was for the better. Jos wasn’t known for being the best dad to Max. He had always pressured him. Punished him when he wasn’t good enough. And Y/N knew how it affected Max now. She didn’t know if she could have handled that as a kid.

So, from there on she had avoided Formula 1 as much as possible as it simply reminded her too much of her father.

But how could she say no to her brother. Moreover, it could be a great opportunity to spend some time with Lando. Even though they had agreed to no feelings. But honestly, Y/N didn’t know how long that would work. Or if it even could work. She had doubts.

I’m not sure. Is dad going to be there? - Y/N

No, I don’t think so. At least he didn’t say anything to me. But that doesn’t mean anything. - Max

Ok, then I guess I will come. Would you or Kelly pick me up? I don’t want to have to search for a parking lot. - Y/N

Of course. See you then. – Max

Somehow, Y/N was even looking forward to attending the Grand Prix. She didn’t know when the last time was that had happened. But now she just had to hope and pray that her dad wasn’t going to be there as well. Then she would for sure go home. She would just take a walk as it was only half an hour from her home.

She picked up her phone again and opened her chat with Lando. They exchanged their numbers before he left, so they could chat about when they could meet up again – but no feelings involved, of course.

Gonna be at the GP next week. You better win, Norris. - Y/N

She waited a bit, but Lando didn’t go online. He probably was at training, Y/N thought. But just as she wanted to out her phone on the coffee table in front of her, her phoned signaled an incoming message.

Really? How come I have never seen you at one before? But if I win, I wanna be rewarded… - Lando

Long story. But ofc you will. Why else would I tell you to win? – Y/N

K. Have to get back to training, bye. – Lando

Yeah, bye. - Y/N

Y/N couldn’t help but grin. Lando had interrupted her training. For her. To answer an unimportant message. She leaned back on the couch pillows, sighed and smiled to herself.

She sat back up. No feelings. He is probably an arrogant, rich person. She would just end up hurt if she fell for him.

She took a deep breath and got up from where she was sitting. The world champion’s sister made her way to the kitchen where she took a cup from the cupboard and made a huge coffee. The pill she took earlier did little for her headache, so she hoped that the caffeine was going to help.

Then she took her laptop and decided to watch some silly show to take her mind off Lando.

***

A week later, Y/N was ready to go to the GP. She was wearing a bright blue summer dress, her favorite. It had a lot of little white flowers printed on the fabric and it had a quite low neckline, which she hoped Lando would notice.

She actually thought about wearing something orange, in fact it had been one of her favorite colors to wear for quite a long time, but she couldn’t wear papaya-similar colors when she was there to support her brother – or when she was at least pretending to support her brother. Because even though she did not have feelings for Lando – no, really, none – she had been so horny the last couple of day, she just needed Lando to win this Grand Prix.

So now, Y/N sat in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water while scrolling through instagram and waiting for her brother and Kelly.

She watched her Labradoodle puppy trying to catch his own tail which made her laugh, so she got up to pet him.

Eventually she heard the doorbell ring. She quickly went to open the door, but instead of her brother or Kelly, it was P standing on the doorstep.

“P! Hey! What are you doing here? Are you going to drive me to the Grand Prix?”, Y/N was joking which made the five-year-old giggle.

“No, silly. I can’t drive. But Maxie said I could ring, and I have to tell you to hurry because we are late.”

“Ok, I just need to get my jacket from upstairs”, Y/N said.

“No!”, Penelope exclaimed. “You can’t. Maxie said we are late. Now come on.” P grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her outside and towards the Audi that was parked in front of her house.

The young woman new better than to argue with the little girl so she decided to just follow her. Who needed a jacket anyway. In the worst case she would just ask Max or Kelly for something warmer to wear.

An hour later Y/N was hanging around with Kelly and P around Max’ garage and she regretted that she didn’t come later. They have been standing around for what felt like hours and the race wasn’t even close to get started. The only thing that prevented her from going home again to sleep and coming back later, was P who was full of energy and Kelly who just couldn’t keep up with it anymore, being 9 months pregnant.

“Y/N, can we go to Lando? I wanna see him and tell him good luck. Can we go? Now?” P looked at Y/N with that cute little pout. “Please?”, she added after seeing the critical look on Y/N’s face.

“P… Lando is probably really busy, just like Max. Does it really have to be now?” If the Dutch woman was being honest with herself, she just really didn’t want to see Lando right now.

No. That was not correct. She wanted to see him. And that was the problem. She shouldn’t do that. No feelings. Just fun. That can’t be that hard, right?

Wrong. It can be hard. Not falling for a handsome guy with the curliest curls in the world, the cutest, widest smile existing on planed earth, the prettiest blue eyes that seemed to be green in different lightning and – stop.

“It really has to be now! If I don’t wish him luck, he won’t be good and he has to win!” P looked at her with these pleading look Y/N just can’t resist so there she was, walking with P to the McLaren garage.

“You know that Max would kill us if he saw us here?”, Y/N said jokingly. “By the way, don’t you want Max to win? Why Lando?”

“Maxie won too often. Now it is Lando’s turn. It is boring with Maxie. I like drama. And we don’t get drama when Maxie always wins. And Lando is great! He always plays with me and lets me do his hair. He has nice hair. It is curly.” P grinned happily while she explained to Y/N why Lando was so great.

A bit later they were standing in front of Lando’s garage and Y/N went to the first mechanic she spotted.

“Sorry, where is Lando? P wants to tell him good luck for the race. Is that possible?” Y/N just hoped that the mechanic would recognize P or her so she could go to Lando.

“I know her. Who are you? I am sure you understand that I can’t just let anyone to him.”

Y/N nodded. “I am Y/N Verstappen. You know, Max’ sister? Kelly didn’t come with us because, well she is pregnant and probably sleeping somewhere.”

The mechanic looked satisfied with the answer. “Ok. You just have to go straight there and then the third door on the left side. There should be his name on the door. Just knock. He will open if he isn’t preparing for the race at the moment.”

“Ok thank you. Have a nice day, bye!” Y/N looked at the five-year-old next to her who had a content look on her face.

Just a minute later they were standing in front of a wooden door, they could hear loud music from inside, so Y/N knocked again, even louder this time.

“God, how isn’t he deaf already”, she murmured more to herself than anyone else, but P commented it anyway.”

“Because he is Lando. He is not becoming deaf ever. He is great.” The older woman could barely hold the laugh that was threatening to spill over.

“Yes, he really is”, Y/N said with a laugh, shaking her head at P’s enthusiasm.

Finally, the door was opening, and Y/N was standing in front of this handsome guy Lando.

“P!”, he explained.

“Hi Lando! I want to wish you good luck. Y/N said you were busy, but I had to because you have to win, ok?”, the girl asked in just one breath while falling forward and demanding a hug from the driver.

Y/N could only laugh. Too adorable was the childhood crush Penelope obviously had on the older guy.

“That’s great! Thank you, P! So, you are going to cheer for me? Isn’t Max going to be sad?”, Lando asked.

“No, he will understand. You will win. I know because I wished you good luck.”

Lando just laughed, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire how cute he was with Penelope. And that laugh… she could listen to it for hours and- stop.

***

Lando did in fact win. And Y/N couldn’t be happier about it. During the Podium celebration – Lando came in first place, Max in second and Oscar in third – she just stood in front of it, being impatient.

But then finally, Lando came to her, already changed into a hoodie and simple jeans, his hair damp from the shower he probably had.

“So… what about my reward? Should we drive to your place again or mine?”, Lando asked with that damn smirk on his face.

“Mine. I need to feed my dog.” Lando shot you a surprised look.

“You have a dog? Why didn’t I see him already?” Y/N noticed how disappointed Lando looked.

“I just got him like a week ago. He is super cute, but right now he is at my neighbor’s, and I don’t want her to spend even more of her time taking care of my dog.”

Lando just hummed and led the younger woman to his car. She let out a whistle when she saw how nice it was.

“I assume you won’t let me drive that beauty?”, she asked the brunette.

“You want to?” Y/N nodded enthusiastically.

“Go for it”, Lando eventually said, throwing his key in her direction and she caught it easily.

She let out a high-pitched squeal when she sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Carefully, she pressed the accelerator, and the car shot forward.

“This is so crazy, oh my god… I will steal that beauty from you.”

It only was a short drive to Y/N’s home, so she had actually thought about driving differently so she could enjoy the feeling of the car even longer but honestly, she didn’t want to. She knew exactly what would happen when they arrived, and she didn’t want to wait any longer for it.

But it turned out she did not know what happened next. Lando kneeled down and cuddled with her dog who seemingly enjoyed that as he fell asleep right in Lando’s arms.

“Can you leave Milo alone? He’s not the reward I meant…”, Y/N said a bit disappointed because she knew her puppy was cute, but she didn’t imagine Lando just playing with her dog for the next hour.

***

Eventually Lando set down the sleepy puppy who immediately curled up on the couch and they went upstairs, not wanting Milo to watch them do whatever they were planning to do.

“So… now I will finally get my reward?”, Lando asked, this stupid smirk back on his face.

“Oh, shut up! You were the one who needed to cuddle with Milo”, Y/N said before stepping forward and pulling Lando to her by grabbing the strings of his hoodie.

She tilted her head up and just a moment later, Lando’s lips were on her’s. Y/N hummed and opened her lips slightly.

Lando moved towards her bed, not breaking the kiss, until Y/N flopped on the mattress. He pulled back just enough to have access to her dress so he could pull it over her head, leaving her in just her underwear. Y/N then tugged at Lando’s hoodie, and he ended up helping her by slipping it off, as well as his pants. Y/N stared at his chest.

She knew she had seen it all before, when they hooked up after the dinner, but the memory of the night wasn’t too present anymore, and honestly, Y/N didn’t know how she could ever look at Lando and not think how hot this guy looks.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Lando kisser her again, rougher this time. More demanding than anything else did he press his lips on her’s. Her back arched off the bed which Lando saw as his chance to get his hands behind her back to open her bra.

“So gorgeous”, he whispered on her lips and pulled back just for Y/N to feel his mouth closing around her nipples, making her gasp.

His lips trailed lower until he stopped above the waistband of her panties. His index fingers hooked into it, and he pulled them down until he could throw them to where he thought the rest of the clothes already is.

His went even lower until his lips hovered just above her. Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked down at Lando who was spreading her legs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and his pupils dilated.

The first touch of his tongue felt… electric and it made her back arch. He teased her with fast licks and gentle pressure which made Y/N move into his direction.

“Patience. Trust me”, Lando said, and Y/N would throw a pillow at him if it hadn’t felt this good.

But it wasn’t long until Lando grew more and more impatient, and he didn’t want to continue teasing Y/N.

His tongue worked not only faster but also firmer and soon she was teetering right on the edge. Her hands came down to grab his hair, pushing him closer to her and she couldn’t stop the loud moan from slipping through her lips.

Lando hummed against her and the vibrations just pushed her even closer to the edge. His fingers joined his tongue as he curled them in her, pressing into that sweet spot.

When Lando realized that Y/N was about to come he worked even more precise, rougher. And just like that she tripped over the edge, and she felt the release wash over her. Lando didn’t stop thrusting his fingers in and out of her until she rode out her orgasm.

Y/N felt her legs tremble and she slowly opened her eyes again just to see Lando over her. His lips were glistening from her juices as he moved to press a kiss on her lips. She tasted herself on his lips, the taste blending with the champagne he drank earlier on the podium and just the taste of him.

She pulled back just enough to mumble, “Need you, Lando. Please.”

Lando didn’t say anything just moved to get rid of the boxers he still wore. Y/N couldn’t help but stare at him, her lips parting slightly.

“Like what you see?”, he teased her though it was apparent that he wanted it just as much as she did. His cock was hard and leaking and huge. Y/N really didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that.

“How did that fit the last time?”, she blurted out and wanted to take it back immediately when Lando chuckled.

“Wanna find out?”, he said and even though he was just teasing, Y/N knew that if she just said no, Lando would stop immediately, no questions asked.

But she nodded, wanting to finally feel him in her. Lando positioned himself between her thighs, teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock.

Y/N breath hitched as he pushed into her with one hard thrust. Her hands flew to his shoulder, and she was sure that her nails would leave marks on his skin, as she adjusted to the stretch. Lando stilled just for a moment before pulling out nearly fully before slamming back into her.

Y/N moaned his name which just seemed to fuel the Brit, and he started thrusting into her even harder.

“God, you feel so god”, he moaned, his hands gripping her hips and Y/N was sure she would have bruises by tomorrow.

Only after a few thrusts Y/N was already close again, still sensitive from her previous orgasm.

“Lando, I-“, her voice broke but Lando hummed, knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

“I know. Come for me.”

Her orgasm hit her even harder this time, her body still high from before and Lando came just a moment later, with himself buried deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved but then, Lando slowly pulled away, collapsing onto the bed just next to Y/N.

She stared at the ceiling, her chest still heaving as she was catching her breath.

“Happy with your reward?”, she asked Lando.

“Very. This was amazing.”

Y/N rolled to the side to face Lando, a grin tugging at her lips.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Norris,” she said with a sly grin.

A/N: Should I write a pt. 3? I kinda want to but idk if anyone wants to read it

[solaceseven]

inked

↳ summary: after two weeks apart, Gojo comes home to a surprise—your love, permanently inked into your skin.

→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo satoru x fem!reader

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: tattoo mentioned. unprotected soft sex. nothing crazy tbh.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k+

Nerves you hadn’t anticipated began to bubble up, weaving their way through your chest and settling just beneath your skin. They were spurred on by the text sitting on your phone:

“10 minutes out. See you soon. I love you.”

Two weeks. Two long weeks without Gojo Satoru, two weeks in a bed that felt impossibly empty without him sprawling across it. Seeing him again after he’d been away was always exciting—but this time, there was an edge of nervousness that made your hands clammy and your mind spiral with doubts you knew weren’t real.

Your fingers hovered over the soft fabric of your shirt, pressing lightly against your ribs where the new addition to your body lay hidden. It had been an idea you’d toyed with for months, one fueled by Shoko’s persistent reassurances that Gojo would love it, that it was exactly the kind of thing he’d appreciate. Her encouragement had been the final push you needed, convincing you to do it while Gojo was away on one of his longer missions.

You’d planned everything down to the smallest detail, keeping it secret for weeks, and now, as the faint hum of his cursed energy swept through the apartment and the sound of his key turning in the door filled the air, you realized the moment was finally here.

Gojo Satoru was nothing if not consistent. The moment he stepped through the door, he dropped his bags unceremoniously by the entrance and came looking for you, the one reason he didn’t mind coming back from a mission, the one reason this place felt like home. You felt his presence before you saw him—a ripple of cursed energy that always seemed to announce his arrival—and then his arms were around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

His lips found the side of your neck, brushing a soft kiss against the exposed skin just above the neckline of the sweatshirt you wore. His sweatshirt, really.

“Hey, you,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand moved to rest over his forearm. It was impossible not to smile when Satoru was involved. “Mission go okay?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, his lips trailing lazily up and down your neck, each touch slow and deliberate. “Missed you.”

Your fingers reached back instinctively, tangling in the soft strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. “Missed you too, Satoru,” you murmured, voice warm and steady. “Always.”

He smiled against your neck, his lips brushing just below your ear before pulling back. His hands slid to your hips, gently tugging you, silently asking for you to turn toward him. You didn’t hesitate, shifting to face him, and the second you did, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, steady, and all-consuming, reminding you exactly why every long mission, every restless night without him, every aching moment spent apart, was worth it.

It was worth it because Gojo Satoru loved you. He loved you in a way you once thought was impossible for someone like him, someone so untouchable, so larger than life. He loved you in a way you never thought possible for yourself, in a way that felt like it had been pulled from a story, something too good to be real.

But it was real. Gojo Satoru loved you deeply, with everything he was. He loved you with an intensity that could both quiet the noise of the world and fill it with endless laughter. It seeped into the cracks of your life, filling spaces you hadn’t realized were empty. He loved you loudly, in ways that made your heart race, but also quietly, in the moments when his care spoke louder than words.

Gojo Satoru loved with a kind of intensity that could make your head spin, unrelenting and unapologetic. He wasn’t subtle—subtlety wasn’t in his nature. He’d pull you into his arms without warning, spinning you around just to hear you laugh, or press endless kisses to your face while you half-heartedly swatted at him, knowing it would only encourage him.

He’d take every opportunity to be close to you, tangling himself around you on the couch during movie nights, even if it meant he barely watched the screen. Sometimes, he’d lean in far too close while you were in the middle of a task, resting his chin on your shoulder and grinning as he distracted you with some ridiculous joke or a kiss just behind your ear. Satoru loved loudly, with every part of him. It was in the way he intertwined your lives so completely that it was impossible to tell where his affection stopped and your happiness began. He never gave halfway—it was always all or nothing, and with you, it was always all. Being loved by Gojo meant being smothered in warmth, in laughter, in his ever-present need to remind you, in a thousand ways, that you were his whole world.

Gojo’s hands slipped under your sweatshirt, his touch warm and unhurried as his lips captured yours in a kiss that left no space for doubt or hesitation. His fingers brushed against your skin as he pushed the fabric higher, pausing just long enough for you to pull back and let him tug it over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

His mouth found your neck again, hot and deliberate, his hands steady as he guided you onto his lap at the edge of the bed, your legs wrapping around him like it was second nature. His fingers ghosted over your skin, tracing up your sides, brushing over your back, and then gliding back down in a rhythm that made your breath catch. His lips moved lower, trailing over your collarbone, leaving gentle nips that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I… did something,” you murmured, your voice soft as your hand combed through his snowy hair. His lips stilled, and he pulled back, blue eyes locking onto yours, curious and patient.

“For me?” he asked, his voice tinged with playful disbelief, though his expression softened as he searched your face. Gojo could wait forever when it came to you—especially when you were perched on his lap, his hands steady on your thighs, your cheeks flushed in a way that made his heart stutter.

You nodded, taking a breath, but instead of standing up or moving away, you shifted slightly, your fingers drifting to your ribs. Gojo’s gaze followed, and his playful smirk faded the moment he saw it—the delicate ink etched into your skin, just beneath your breast.

Gojo shifted forward, his hand hovering hesitantly before his fingertips brushed the delicate addition to your skin. The touch was so light you almost didn’t feel it, but then he did it again, this time with a little more pressure, as if grounding himself in the reality of what he was seeing. His other arm curled securely around your waist, pulling you close as his eyes focused on the small, black script etched into your ribs.

Just two lowercase letters—that was all. A single lowercase g and a single lowercase s. Simple, yet it was so much more than that. It was for him, a tattoo for him, because of your love for him. Or maybe, really, because of his love for you. No one loved you like Gojo Satoru did. It was the kind of love that made you believe it couldn’t have been an accident. You were certain you’d loved him in lifetimes past, and you’d love him again in lifetimes to come, because no one could love like this without practice.

His breath caught, and for once, he was speechless. His hand reached out, tentative and reverent, as his fingertips brushed over the tattoo again, slower this time. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his wide-eyed wonder making your chest tighten.

“You…” he finally started, his voice soft and unsteady in a way you rarely heard. “You did this… for me?”

You nodded, the movement small and almost hesitant, your eyes searching his face for a reaction. His breath caught again, and his hand, still resting lightly on your waist, tightened just slightly, as if anchoring himself.

Gojo’s gaze dropped back to the tattoo, his fingertips brushing over the ink with a reverence that made your chest ache. He didn’t speak again for a long moment, his wide-eyed wonder making it clear that, for once, the words weren’t coming easily. Instead, he traced the delicate letters over and over, his touch warm and deliberate, like he was trying to etch the memory into himself as deeply as the ink was etched into your skin.

“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft.

Too because that’s what this told him so clearly, without a single word spoken. Too because you’d marked yourself with his initials, a permanent reminder that no one else could ever hold your heart, though he’d always known that to be true. Too because no one had ever loved him as effortlessly or as completely as you did, and Gojo was determined to make sure you knew how deeply he cherished the way you loved him.

Gojo’s eyes lingered on the tattoo, his fingers tracing the delicate letters like he was trying to memorize every curve and line. Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and deliberate, pouring all his unspoken gratitude into the connection.

You kissed him back, your hands cradling his face as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. It wasn’t until your fingertips brushed his cheek that you noticed the dampness there. Slowly, you pulled back, your breath catching at the sight of a tear sliding down his face.

A tender smile tugged at your lips as you brought your thumb to his cheek, brushing the tear away gently. “Baby,” you whispered, the word filled with so much warmth it made his breath hitch.

He let out a soft, shaky laugh, leaning into your touch, his hand still firm on your waist. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, full of meaning. “So much.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before his lips found yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper now, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted in his lap. When your hips rolled against his, a low groan escaped him, muffled against your mouth, his hand pressing you down, encouraging the movement.

Gojo Satoru didn’t just love you—he showed you in every touch, every kiss, and every quiet moment. It was overwhelming, consuming, and so uniquely him, leaving no room for doubt that you were his everything.

Gojo’s lips trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, unhurried and deliberate. He was never one to rush moments like this, savoring every touch, every kiss, every second he could have with you. His mouth moved lower, pressing soft kisses over your chest until he reached the tattoo. His fingers brushed against the ink as his lips hovered over it, and he mumbled something, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

You caught fragments—half-formed “I love you’s” that spilled out like they were too big to stay trapped in his chest. His lips pressed to the tattoo once, then again, and again, as if he was trying to make his love sink deeper into your skin, becoming another part of you.

“I need you, baby,” you murmured, your fingers threading through his soft hair as you gently pulled him back, reminding him that you were still in his lap, ready for more than just his kisses.

His lips curved into a smile against your skin before he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I need you too,” he whispered, his voice rough and full of want.

You fumbled with your clothes together, hands reluctant to leave each other’s skin even as you tried to shed the layers between you. When you finally managed, Gojo pulled you back into his lap immediately, his hands finding your hips as though they belonged there. His lips were back on your neck, his fingers gently kneading your skin as he whispered, ���I love you,” against your shoulder, over and over, like a mantra.

His hands guided you as you placed yours on his shoulders, lifting yourself just enough to let him align with you. His breath caught as you slowly sank down, your hips meeting his in a motion so deliberate it made his eyes flutter shut. For a moment, he didn’t move, letting himself feel everything—the warmth of your skin, the way you fit so perfectly with him, and the overwhelming love that seemed to buzz in the air between you.

When his eyes opened again, they met yours, pupils blown and lips parted, every ounce of his love for you written across his face. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his hands tightening on your hips, grounding himself in you as you both began to move together.

Gojo’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you in a slow, deliberate rhythm on his lap. His touch was strong but teasing, pulling you forward, then pressing you back, encouraging you to move exactly the way he wanted. His mouth was relentless, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach.

His lips found yours first, the kiss deep and dizzying, stealing the breath from your lungs before he moved to your neck. His tongue and teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, pulling soft, broken moans from you that he drank up like they were his favorite sound. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction.

He kissed lower, his lips brushing across your collarbones, lingering there in a way that made your head tilt back, your hands tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. His groan vibrated against your skin, his hands starting to wander, no longer content to stay still.

His fingers skimmed over your thighs, kneading the soft flesh before sliding up your hips, pressing into your skin as if trying to leave a mark. They trailed to the small of your back, where his touch had you gasping and arching into him, then down your arms, brushing over your wrists and tangling with your hands in his hair.

“God, you feel so good,” he whispered, his tone rough and needy as his lips returned to yours, claiming you in another kiss that left no doubt about what he wanted.

All you could feel was him—his touch, his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours—and all he seemed to want was more of you. The way he whispered your name, the way his hands gripped and slid over your skin, told you he wasn’t going to stop until every inch of you was his tonight.

“I love you, Satoru,” you whispered, your voice catching as his lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that he undoubtedly felt.

His head dipped lower, his lips trailing over your skin until they found the tattoo that had already become his favorite part of you. He kissed it softly, reverently, like it was a sacred promise made just for him.

You didn’t have to say you loved him again—not in this lifetime. It was there, inked into your skin, a mark that said it all. It was a message for him and him alone, a declaration that your love was as endless as his, something he would carry with him forever.

His hands slid over your body, one brushing against the tattoo as if grounding himself in the reality of it, the other slipping between your bodies. His touch was slow but deliberate, fingers teasing until they coaxed a gasp from your lips. His lips returned to your neck, murmuring soft words about how beautiful you were, how perfect, how much he loved you.

“Satoru,” you moaned, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his movements sent you spiraling. You felt the tension building in his body, the way he was unraveling with you, and the realization only heightened your own release. His name tumbled from your lips like a prayer as he whispered yours against your skin, his voice low and breathless, grounding you both in this moment.

When it was over, you collapsed against him, your face pressed into the crook of his neck as you caught your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice softer now, his lips brushing against your temple.

“I love you so much, Satoru,” you replied, your voice steady, filled with the weight of your emotions.

“I know,” he said, his tone serious but tender. It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. He understood the weight behind the two small letters forever etched into your skin. He knew this wasn’t a fleeting love or the kind you’d given to anyone before him.

Your love was his anchor, a safe harbor he could return to no matter what storms came his way. It was a promise, a forever mark that would hold him together when the world threatened to pull him apart.

And in return, Gojo Satoru loved you in every way he could—with his words, his touch, his whole being—but most of all, he loved the way you loved him.

[bewaryofpity]

NEXT STEP IS LOVE - L. HUGHES

[2.0k] luke brings you to the family skate, surprising his teammates, and the usual “i didn't know you had a girlfriend” comes up, but this time luke has enough of calling you just his best friend.

warnings: none ! just some cute ol' fluff; probably really cringey 😔

a/n: she's a short one, and i’m not really fond of it but here it is anyway. sorry guys :(

“Didn’t know Luke had a girlfriend.”

“That’s because he doesn’t. That is his best friend.”

“Bullshit.” Kovacevic laughed in Jack’s face before turning his head back towards Luke near the bench.

Luke was kind of a private person so the idea of him having a secret girlfriend would have made sense to anyone, especially to the new guys he wasn't close with yet. But when Jack revealed that the girl in front of Luke was simply a friend had to be the biggest lie Kovy ever got told. Because friends don’t look at each other that way.

Luke’s fingers were trembling as he tied the laces of your skates carefully, making sure they weren’t too tight or too loose. He felt nervous having you here with him, which was strange because it wasn’t like you’ve never been around the guys before, but the new season meant new guys too. Which also meant that the same old dreaded question was going to come up at any moment.

“Good?”

You nodded in response before stretching your hands out so Luke could help you up the bench. You were wobbly at first, as he tried to hold back the teasing grin creeping on his lips, definitely not used to being on skates as often as him. 

You slowly made your way onto the ice, clutching his hand like your life depended on it. He couldn’t help but keep his gaze on your concentrated face, cheeks flushed from the chill of the arena as you found your rhythm. He was lost in his thoughts, stomach filling with butterflies when your hands squeezed his tighter. And if it weren’t for the little squeak you left out, he would’ve let you fall.

“Sorry,” he said with no hint of honesty in his voice while you shot him a playful look. 

It wasn’t long before you found your footing and let go of his hands to skate side by side. There weren’t many chances for you to hang out with Luke in these settings. The last time you skated together was when he was still a rookie, and he almost got in trouble too many times for using the rink after hours just to teach you how to skate, but you loved every single moment of it. So when he realized your day off coincided with the family skate, he didn’t hesitate to mention it and you couldn’t wait to be there for him, doing something you know would make him happy.

Though, the only thing that was different from those times was the fact that holding Luke’s hands now had your heart doing funny tricks on you. The newfound warmth that has taken over your body in his presence this past year or so was unexpected and scary because you were well aware what this meant and you couldn’t lose Luke over a stupid crush. 

If only you knew that he too got to a point where hiding his feelings for you was actually painful. He tried everything to spend as much time with you as possible. Faking being too tired to drive back to his place and sleep on your couch, missing optional skates, staying up at night before an away game just to hear your voice, letting you nap and waking you up only to convince you to spend the night at his place because i don’t want you to drive, it’s too dark outside and dangerous. It was all worth it in his eyes. But the ache in his chest everytime he had to leave you was becoming harder to suppress than he thought and he couldn’t take it anymore.

As he tried to grab at your brushing hands, Pesce stopped abruptly in front of you and almost knocked you down in the process. 

“Didn’t know Rusty here had a girlfriend.” He said with a grin before turning his attention to Luke, wiggling his brows in a teasing maner.

“Oh, no, I'm just a friend.”

“Oh.”

“His best… friend, actually.” You tried to smile as sincerely as you could. The question never bothered you before, you two were close enough that such was expected, but the way Luke couldn’t look at you during the exchange with his teammate created a pit in your stomach.  

Before he could take you away from the awkwardness of it all, Cotter skated over too. “Here we go,” mumbled Luke. 

“Meeting the girlfriend without me?” 

“Not the girlfriend apparently.”

"Really?" He asked, his tone skeptical as his eyes flicked between you. "Could’ve fooled me."

Luke groaned, not missing the way his teammates exchanged knowing looks and chuckling under their breaths. He couldn’t really blame his teammates for jumping to conclusions. If he were in their shoes, he might have assumed the same thing, it happened way too often anyway.

He grabbed at your hand and pulled you towards him, skating as far as possible from everyone. Was it really that obvious he liked you? Yet, you were still by his side, seemingly not phazed by the constant nagging and teasing from outsiders about your relationship, which could only mean that you didn’t like him back. 

Luke was tired of all of this and the months he spent burying his feelings for you, convincing himself that your friendship was enough, were all coming down on him now with everyone assuming you were a couple. Feeling heavy, he hoped the family skate came to an end soon.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about them.”

“That’s okay.”

You nodded but didn’t press further, not yet at least. Your hand came to rest around his bicep, seeking his warmth and pretending to need balance as you grew tired. 

The easy rhythm you found earlier was now gone. Luke could tell you were trying to bring yourself comfort by staying close to him, though you kept your gaze on the ground which could only mean you were absorbed in your thoughts. And he hated that it was all his fault, he hated the idea of you thinking he was embarrassed or annoyed by the assumption that you were together. Because he wasn’t, he had dreamed of being your boyfriend more times than he‘d like to admit. And he wanted nothing more than being able to call you his. 

Sensing your exhaustion, he led the way towards the bench to change back into normal shoes. The rink was quieter now, families thinning out. You leaned back, stretching your legs, and looked at him with a small frown on your lips. You didn’t have time to reach down when he brought up one of your feet to untie your skate.

“What’s on your mind, Luke?” 

Luke hesitated, his fingers fumbling with your skate laces. “Nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, Luke. You’re too quiet, what’s wrong?”

“Does it not bother you when people ask if we’re a couple?”

You blinked at him, startled by the question. It wasn’t what you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Luke had stopped untying your skate, his hands frozen mid-motion as he waited for your answer. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw tightened.

“Bother me?” You repeated softly, the chill of the rink seemed to seep into your skin, though you weren’t sure if it actually was the cold temperature or the sudden shift in the conversation. “No, not really. I mean, it happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Luke nodded slowly, looking down at your skate again. He resumed working on the laces, but his movements were slower now, almost hesitant. You shifted slightly, your other foot tapping lightly against the rubber mat beneath the bench. 

“Does it bother you?” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. 

Luke let out a quiet sigh and dropped his hands on your leg. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Sometimes, I guess. Not because of what they think, but… because of what it implies.”

“And what does it imply?” 

You echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart began to race, the steady rhythm you’d been clinging to slowly slipping away. You couldn’t help but search his face for clues, for anything that might explain the sudden vulnerability in his tone.

Luke hesitated, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours for something — permission, maybe, or courage. And for a moment, he seemed to be weighing his next words, his brows drawing together in a way that made your chest ache. 

“Luke…”

“I like you,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he waited any longer. “I’ve liked you for a while now and I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that I don’t. I can’t stand being apart from you, I need you close to the point where I am not my own person anymore. I’m tired of the ache in my chest everytime I have to leave you, not just for roadies, but every time we part ways, it’s like I’m a different person without you that I can't recognize.”

“When they say stuff like that, it just makes it harder because I want it to be true. I want us to be more than just friends. I want to wake up next to you and come home to you every day.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. You tried to open your mouth as if to speak, but he pressed on, the words tumbling out like water breaking through a dam. His words started fading in your racing mind. His confession hung in the air heavy and raw, and all of it felt like you’ve been hit by a truck. Luke, your best friend, liked you and you were glad he hadn't stopped talking because, truly, you didn’t know what to say.

Luke’s heart felt like it might burst from his chest, every beat echoing in his ears as he braced himself for rejection, for awkwardness, for the possibility that he’d just ruined everything. The silence that followed when he stopped taking felt like an eternity. And for a moment, you just stared at him, expression unreadable. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… wanted you to know.”

You dropped your foot to the ground and scooted closer to him. As he turned to face you, your hand pressed against his cheek and you leaned in to place a delicate kiss on his lips. It was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make Luke freeze. His mind blanked, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. When you pulled back, your face was mere inches from his, your hand still lingering on his cheek. Your cheeks were flushed, though whether from the cold or the weight of the moment, he couldn’t tell.

His heart pounded in his chest as you bit your lip, your hand dropping from his face to rest on your lap. 

“It’s always been you, Luke.” Your gaze met his once more, the blush on his cheeks making him cuter than he ever looked. Luke’s eyes widened, still incredulous even after your kiss. 

“Really?”

“Really.” You smiled, a small, tentative curve of your lips as you nodded.

He leaned forward slightly clearing his throat, his eyes searching yours. “Can I kiss you again?” He asked, voice barely audible.

This time, the kiss wasn’t hesitant or fleeting. It was soft and tender, a promise of everything you both hoped to build together. When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested against each other, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

“Hey, lovebird! Tone it down a bit, there’s kids around.”

Luke groaned at one of the guys’ teasing from the other side of the rink, and you laughed at his antics, the weight on your shoulders had finally been lifted off. 

“So… does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” You didn’t know your cheeks could flush any more, and smiling at his question, you reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from his face.

“Eh, I’ll have to think about that.”

[echo-riot]

Random sevika thoughts/headcanons NSFW

Once Sevika…

• Bent you over her poker table at the Leaky Drop, clearing the cards and chips with one sweep of her arm. She didn’t care who was around; she wanted to make sure everyone knew you were hers.

• Caught you teasing her in public by being overly flirty with someone else. The second you were alone, she had you pinned to the wall, growling in your ear about how you’d pay for that later.

• Kept you in bed all day, completely ignoring work because she couldn’t get enough of you. Every time you tried to leave, she’d pull you back, muttering something about how she wasn’t done with you yet.

• Left marks all over your neck and chest, smirking every time you winced at the sight of them in the mirror. “You wanted to play games, huh? Now wear them with pride.”

• Whispered filthy promises in your ear during a slow dance, her hand slipping lower and lower on your back as the night went on.

• Left you dripping and unsatisfied on purpose, just to punish you for not listening to her earlier. She told you not to wear that dress out, and now she’s going to make you pay for it.

• Made you hold onto her biceps while she completely wrecked you, her smirk growing wider every time you squeezed harder. “C’mon, sweetheart, you can handle more than that.”

• Pulled you into her lap during a poker game, forcing you to sit still while she played. Every now and then, she’d lean down to murmur in your ear, making your cheeks flush as you struggled to keep it together.

• Ruined you so thoroughly that you were too weak to stand afterward. She carried you to bed, lit a cigar, and smirked as she watched you try to catch your breath.

Sevika would…

• Make you apologize for being a brat by kissing her knuckles or her neck, her smug grin letting you know she wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

• Punish you by teasing you with her strap until you were trembling, but never letting you have it until you begged properly.

• Growl in your ear while she’s fucking you, her voice low and rough as she tells you exactly how good you feel.

• Keep you on edge for hours, only letting you finish when she was completely satisfied with how desperate you’d become.

• Look at you like you’re the most delicious thing in the world whenever you wear her favorite outfit, knowing damn well she’s going to tear it off you later.

• Drag her metal arm up your inner thigh, letting the cool touch send shivers through you as she grinned at your reaction.

• Take her time teasing you, kissing every inch of your skin until you were trembling and begging her to stop torturing you. She loves drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible.

• Call you out for trying to act tough in the bedroom. “You think you’re in charge now? Cute. Let’s see how long that lasts.” Spoiler: not long.

• Use her size to completely overwhelm you, pinning you down with one arm while the other worked you over mercilessly.

• Keep her hand on your throat, not enough to hurt but just enough to remind you who’s in control.

• Grab your chin mid-argument and kiss you just to shut you up. She knows you’re mad, but she can’t resist that fire in your eyes, and it’s her favorite way to end any fight.

• Make you beg for her, dragging every whimper and plea out of you before she finally gives you what you want. She loves the power she holds over you in those moments.

• Tie your wrists together with whatever’s nearby—her bandages, a belt, or even her tie—just to keep you from touching her when she’s in a teasing mood.

• Make you wear her shirt and nothing else when you’re lounging around at home. Seeing you wrapped up in her scent gets her every time.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Cool Daddy Russell

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: While watching your son grow up and supporting his racing career same as his father’s, you need to find balance in your family life. Being pregnant again, with the possibility of your husband retirement (he’s just joking, but you never know), it looks much easier this time.

Warnings: none, just love and pregnancy

A/N: To be honest, I really struggled with how to name this one. Started this between Christmas, when I saw some photos of George from earlier years of his career, and woke up today to finish it. I really love the idea of being pregnant with George, so… Enjoy it!

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

As much as you adored your son, it was really exhausting to attend the races, now F3. Apart from your super successful husband George Russell, who was in his last years of the F1 career (as he liked to say for most of the time), you were the one to be with Alex, your fifteen year old son, at his races. He practically grew on the grid, when you were accompanying George through the seasons, his own desire to start karting grew rapidly, same as his feet out of his shoes.

Now you stood at the sideline, watching the practice session, where your son participated. George promised to make it, to jump from his tight schedule. Alex really wanted his father to be there, because this weekend he had the best chance to win a championship, being only a few points behind his leading teammate.

When you nearly lost a hope about George’s presence, he just appeared next to you with a wide and proud smile, looking over the track for the sign of his son.

“Well, hello, Mr. Mercedes.” You let out an amused chuckle at the nickname you used from the time he won his first F1 championship. His smile grew into a grin, kissing your cheek, while his hand rested on your baby bump.

“How’s our little girl doing?” Whispering into your ear, while he nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo he immensely loved, he still managed to hold his gaze over the track.

“She’s good, but mommy is tired.” You chuckled, enjoying the much needed closeness of his body.

“I know, I’m sorry. I tried to be here yesterday already, but you know how it goes..”

“That’s okay. Alex nearly had a panic attack and was about to lose his mind, at the idea of you not being here.”

You said it so casually, that it made George back off a little to look at you with concern.

“Well, happy to be here.”

The age gap between your kids really didn’t bother you, you were happy to be pregnant again after that long time, because there wasn’t time for parenthood with George’s hectic life. You spent so much time at the sidelines with your son, that idea of having another child hadn’t crossed your mind. You were grateful that your due date was at the end of the F1 season, when your son and husband will be home with you, waiting for arrival of a new addition to your family. What was worrying you more, was that with Alex possible move up to the F2, there would be no one to accompany him on his races as you did to this time.

“You’re worried again. What is it this time?”

George’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Just.. who will be with Alex next season? It surely can’t be me.” Your look dropped at your swollen belly.

George fixed his cap, thinking for a few moments, his face having that strange expression he always had, when he hid something from you.

“George?”

He looked at you, then over at the track, when he caught a glimpse of the car of his son’s team. Smiling proudly, he now stood in front of you, his left hand over your shoulder and the right over your belly.

“I wanted to tell you later, but.. I was thinking about it for a long time, I’m practically champion again, but it’s not as it used to be. Through those years I managed to win it for five times, and now I feel that it’s enough. That I want to spend more time with my family, with you. Time fly by so fast and I really don’t remember the last time we had a time for ourselves only. Oh, yeah, I remember, it was that night that resulted in you being heavily pregnant now.”

You let out a soft laugh, his smug smile flashing at you, caressing your belly proudly.

“So… what I’m trying to say is, that I want to retire. And I’ll be there for Alex next season. He’s gonna have the best couch he can get.”

Looking into your eyes, he tried to catch on your reaction. But you were shocked at first and then relieved.

“Finally..” you teased him with playful smile.

“Hey! I’m not that old.” George pouted innocently.

“Being nearly forty is not that old.” You were still making fun of him.

“Well, yeah, I was talking about retiring for past years, but it was just a joke. Now it’s not.”

Placing your hands over his cheeks, you kissed his nose sweetly, taking in his growing facial hair.

“You really plan on to stop shaving your face?”

“I look more cool now. Cool daddy Russell.”

George smirked and you just bursted into laughter.

“You’re surely daddy, but cool…”

“Little miss, you’re enjoying this too much, don’t you?”

“I love to tease you, baby.”

———

Alex stepped out of the car, his frustration clear, he was concerned about his performance next day, he needed to qualify on top positions to win a championship.

“Great job on the track, buddy.” George’s voice interrupted his thoughts, he couldn’t believe that his dad was there.

“Dad.. you’re here.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss your big weekend.”

George hugged him tight, always being proud of him, even though he didn’t score, he was still proud that name Russell was present at the motorsport.

Alex wrapped his arms around him too, nearly losing his emotions.

“But what if I won’t get it? What if I’m not good enough to be a champion?”

George gave him a reassuring pinch on his cheek with smile. Alex was like his carbon copy, but he had your eyes and smile.

“Son.. you were always enough and surely there’s always place for being even better, but don’t underestimate yourself. You’re strong, you have a great mind, you’re determined driver. I believe in you.”

“Thanks, dad. This means so much to me.”

“I’m proud of you already, Alex.”

You were watching them from afar with wide smile, happy to have your little family reunited.

———

With Alex’s F3 championship and George’s F1 championship now secured, you were ready for Christmas but also for the birth of your baby girl.

George’s retirement was wild, everybody on the grid was shocked but understanding. He was enjoying his time with the family, being glued to your side now, when the baby was about to come.

Day before Christmas your water broke and you went into labor, the birth being quick and easy, which was like a gift for you.

Laying on the hospital bed, propped against the pillows, your face being slightly exhausted, you were holding your baby girl against your chest, while she cooed from her sleep. George, sitting beside you, his finger caressing the small soft cheek of the baby, was smiling proudly. The room was quiet, holding the peaceful moment of the new life.

“Well… we named Alex after your best friend. So, what do we have in mind this time?”

You chuckled softly at the memory of naming your firstborn after Alex Albon.

“What about Charlotte?” George smiled, looking at you.

“Mmm… that sounds nice. Charlotte Russell. And who do we honour this time?”

“This name stuck in my mind lately. But some would say that it’s close to Charles Leclerc.” George rolled his eyes annoyed.

“Still not over that year he stole your championship?”

“I will never- hm. Even though you had a hard time birthing our baby, you have energy to tease me.”

You let out a soft laugh, kissing his cheek. “It wasn’t that hard. Quite easy.”

“Yeah. I saw it on your face.”

George scrunched his face in slight frown, his eyes now full of worry.

“I hate to see you in pain. Even though I’m making fun of it later. Because I’m trying to lighten up the situation.”

“I know you, George. I know that you care for me. But I’m good now. Healthy and safe, same as our little girl. I won’t be in this situation again.”

George gave you a mischievous smile. “You sure? With me home now, retired, I’m ready to give you more babies. I kinda like you pregnant.”

You gave him a feigned offended look saying ‘I just gave birth, are you kidding me?!’

He started to laugh, placing a soft kiss to your temple, looking down at their daughter.

“Don’t worry, just kidding. It’s up to you. I’ll be just a donor.”

“George!”

With your voice raised up, and his loud laugh, the baby started to cry again.

[pendarling]

Spying Through Binoculars

Villain licked their lips and leaned closer, their eyes presser further into the binoculars in their hand as Henchman sat in the nearby bush looking bored as ever.

"Why are we doing this?" Henchman spoke.

"It's just principle."

They had stayed like this for days, looking for a sign of anything of interest from Hero during their off-time at home, but Henchman was convinced that they were doing this for far more selfish reasons than simply to fulfill a mission.

"Can't we come back tomorrow?" they whined and lay down on the grass. Henchman's eyes stared up at the empty, dark sky.

"No," Villain said sharply, "We aren't leaving yet. Not until I find out..." They trailed off. "Something."

Henchman rolled their eyes. They knew there was no significance in any of this at all, yet they kept their boss entertained for this long. Henchman released a long, drawled out sigh and sat up. "Well, I'm bored. I think I'll go home now." They started to move out.

"What—" Villain's eyes temporarily pulled away from the binoculars. “I need you!" they whispered harshly. “Get back over here right now!"

Henchman shook their head, "Please, I think you have this all under control; besides," Their head gestured toward the open window, looking straight into Hero's kitchen, "Hero doesn't seem to be a threat like this."

"Threat or not!" Villain looked back through the lens. "They're definitely up to something."

"Like what?" Henchman frowned.

"Like...." Villain tapped their finger on the binocular, "Like... uh.." their focus quickly distracted. Henchman tsked under their breath and went out of their way. If it was going to be like this, then it was time to clock out.

Villain's eyes stayed firm on their target; Hero looked far different outside of their hero uniform, much more calm and natural. None of that feral gaze in their eyes.

They walked away from the kitchen as they set something down on the counter. "Dammit," Hero moved away from their line of sight, and Villain quickly crawled to the next side of the house, eagerly searching for their nemesis. They found a small crack between their window and Hero behind the curtains; Villain tried moving closer without making noise to get a better angle. They bit down on their lip and tried to make out the movements as best as possible. They seemed to be in their room now, a much more private space, it made Villain feel a certain kind of nervousness, but they couldn't look away, especially as Hero's hands went to hook themselves at the hem of their shirt and pull it up so easily. "Fuck." Their eyes left the binoculars as they looked away, instead gazing at the row of trees in an attempt to temporarily find a distraction until it felt like it was safe to watch again.

'But what if they're doing something suspicious now?' Villain thought.

It couldn't be possible; it would be stupid, wouldn't it? Why in the world would Hero do something dumb while they were half-dressed? Unless, of course, they knew someone was watching them. Damn them, they were as slick as a fox.

'It's all a show.' Villain couldn't help but agree with their reasoning; Hero was smarter than they looked after all. They nodded and quickly returned to their sights. It wasn't like this was for their own guilty pleasure anyway.

'It's all part of the job; I have no interest in a good little hero such as them.'

Instead, Villain was met with Hero's refined waist and skin marked with faint scars from previous encounters. Their face turned hot, and Villain once again snapped their eyes away.

This was getting a lot harder than they thought. Hero wasn't supposed to be a problem for them at all; they're usually never this threatening to Villain when out on the battlefield. Someone so easy to defeat? How was it possible that they could get away with making Villain feel this way?

Villain's eyebrows furrowed, and their pulse quickened.

'It's nothing.' They took a deep breath. 'Nothing. It means nothing.' Yet the image never left their head; Hero's less-than-appealing form stayed imprinted in their vision like a curse. They could still see what little skin they showed underneath their shirt, and Villain wondered how many of those scars came from them. How many times did Hero look at themselves in the mirror and think of them through each bruise and every cut. It made them grow lightheaded just thinking of it.

Their stomach churned; it must've been an illness overcoming Villain, but they had to brave it out. Villain wouldn't let this get to them at all; they took a deep breath as if it would change the speed of their heart. But as soon as Villain caught sight of Hero again, taking their sweet time going through every single shirt in their closet, disregarding their current vulnerability, it made Villain melt under pressure.

"Hey, boss, do you have the car keys?" Henchman returned.

"What?" Villain blinked and looked beside them as Henchman tried making out Hero's figure between the leaves.

Henchman squinted. "What's going on?"

Villain slapped a hand across their eyes, "No, don't look!" They shouted.

Hero's ears perked up at the sudden noise, and they looked around them.

The two quickly ducked under the bush, stilling their movement as best as possible until Villain was certain Hero had left.

"Did you find anything, boss?" Henchman whispered. Villain straightened up and immediately looked for Hero again, only to find the curtains fully closed.

They cursed themselves. "No...." Henchman caught Villain's disappointment.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." Villain tucked the binoculars into their coat, "Let's get out of here."

~~~

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[gh0stsp1d3r]

hi can u do brother jj and reader is dating rafe, but rafe is toxic and abusive af. jj is confused why she is so distant and wears really baggy clothes cause of the bruises. then he forces her to raise her shirt and then he finds the bruises. ANGST ANGST ANGST PLSS u can add more stories and plot

I’ll fucking kill him

a/n: oh the angst! I love it

WARNINGS: Abusive relationship, bruises, incescurity, he does see some of see your stomach and chest but only so he can clean the bruises

For the past few months, the time you spent at the chateau lessened and the days you seemed upset had increased.

Every time someone asked you about it, you brushed it off, replying with a “I’m tired.” or “I’m okay.”

You began to wear long sleeved shirts, despite it being the middle of the summer and almost 100 degrees outside. Your shirts got baggier and your self esteem diminished.

JJ had missed your presence, whether he’d like to admit or not. His little sister was pulling away from him, and it was slowly destroying him inside. It was destroying you inside too, but JJ wouldn’t understand, you thought. He’d flip out if he even knew you were dating him.

Rafe was sweet at first, showering you with expensive gifts and his attention. But something in him snapped after about 5 months, he began angrier, more closed off and more stressed than ever. He treated you more like arm candy those days, like a cute little trophy he earned.

He got worse, despite your multiple attempts of trying to help him, he never accepted it. He got angry, each and every time.

The more angrier he got, the more aggressive he got, until eventually, he began to hit you.

You blamed it on the coke, knowing how he was when he was on it. That and his daddy issues.

You tried to rationalize it all, find excuses. He was going through a hard time, he was a troubled boy, he had no other outlet or way to take out his anger.

The bruises began forming, black and purple spots blossoming on your body, and you hid yourself more. Cropped shirts and tank tops were discarded, along with shorts.

You wore baggy clothing, long sleeved shirts and hoodies that almost reached your knees and pants that drowned out your body.

Whenever you did go back to the chateau, you could feel JJ’s confused and upset stares. He didn’t know what he did, he didn’t know what happened to make you so distant from everyone else.

He wished he’d noticed the signs, the baggy and long clothes, the way the circles under your eyes got deeper, and the way you hugged your body every time.

Every time he asked you if you were okay, the only response he got was an “I’m okay” before you were out of the chateau again.

He decided that he had to take some action, figure out what was going on if you wouldn’t tell him.

It was late at night when he snuck into your room, and despite it feeling wrong, he continued. He needed to figure it out. You were his little sister. It was his job to protect you, this was his way of doing it.

He rummaged through your drawers, through cabinets and everything else he could.

He was going through your drawer when he saw something peek out, a little white corner. He moved your clothes, picking it up.

Arnicare bruise cream.

Okay, that was odd. But, that could be for anything, right? Right? He thought, opening the bottle to find it almost completely empty. Okay, not so normal.

He did some more digging through that drawer, to find bottles of ibuprofen. His heart sunk at the possibilities, holding both the bruise cream and a bottle in his hands as he sat down in your bed.

He remembered himself doing the same thing when your guy’s dad would hit him, the long sleeves, the hiding ointments and pain killers.

He heard you walk into the chateau, but he was frozen, not moving even as you walked in, staring at him with widening eyes.

“JJ.” You spoke, stepping forward into your room. You shut the door behind you, and the both of you stared at each other before he spoke up.

“Why were you hiding this?” He asked you, voice eerily quiet. He held up the two objects in his hands, and you didn’t reply, just stood there and stared at the ground, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.

“Why are you even in my room?” You argued, still not looking at him.

“Because I’m worried about you! And this- this is why, because I knew something was going on. Y/n, tell me. Please, tell me why you have these.”

“I’m sorry.” You cried out, and his demeanor had changed. He stood up, wrapping his arms around you, letting you cry into his shoulder, tears staining his shoulders.

Your hands fisted his shirt, and he frowned, hands pulling you closer to him.

Once the sobbing died down, he sat you on the bed, his eyes going back on the ointment on the bed. He looked at you.

He gripped your arm, pulling up your sleeve to reveal blossoming spots of dark purple on your skin. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, you staring at the ground, avoiding his gaze.

“Who- who did this?” He asked you quietly. “Was it dad? Did you go back home?”

You shook your head, “It was…” you sniffled, shaking your head for a moment again. “It was Rafe. I’ve been- I’ve been dating him for months. But he was so sweet, JJ.” You let out a sob at the end, “You have to understand-“

“Rafe? Rafe did this to you?”

You nodded, him going to stand up before you pulled him back down.

“No, no!” You cried out, “please, don’t do anything. Don’t leave me alone.”

He hesitated, but nodded upon seeing your state. He sat back down next to you, his hands going to the cream next to you. He held it in his hands, and he spread it onto your arm, getting all the spots that began to form on that arm. He moved to your other one, before asking if you had any more.

You sighed, lifting your shirt up slightly, to reveal even more on your stomach and chest, scattered around. He clenched his jaw, anger bubbling in his chest at the thought of it.

He wordlessly began to smear it on those spots as well, and when he was finished, he put it onto your dresser, standing there for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” He heard you mutter out, him furrowing his eyebrows.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, him frowning, moving to wrap his arms around you again, pulling you into his chest as you began to cry again.

“He’s never gonna fucking touch you again, okay? You hear me?” He asked, you nodding against his body. “I swear, I’ll fucking kill him.

[tinkerbellknockoff]

beautiful blue hair // jinx x fem! reader

jinx eased quickly into her new life at demacia, deciding to do something for the first time in her life- see a hair stylist.

-- a/n: had this idea after staring at s2ep9 jinx and realizing that haircut would probably grow out terribly. this was written at 3am, enjoy!

jinx found being at demacia good enough. it was a very different culture than the life in zaun that she was used to, but arguably, she thought that was great for her. she was free to be herself, with no repercussion because here- she had no weight of the past weighing her down.

the only thing? she mildly regretted the haircut of choice that ekko had given her. during her crisis back in zaun, ekko had came to her side- he helped her. and, even with jinx's hyperindependency, she knew she had bits to thank him for.

looking in the mirror, seeing the comically long bang hanging in front of her face compared to her bob length hair, she figured this was the one thing she wasn't going to thank him for.

it looked great when it was first cut, though, which was a bonus.

but jinx's hair grew freakishly fast. weekly in her workshop she'd give herself little trims to tame her hair. unfortunately for her, she grabbed a whole lot of things while packing her bag- one thing she didn't?

scissors.

jinx let out an annoyed huff, "oh, c'mon! seriously? out of all things?"

she spoke to herself, the walls echoing back nothing but the sound of her own voice. jinx's hands continued to brush through her hair, looking at the chopped layers in mild distaste. she had never been one to ever care about her appearance but for some reason, this peeved her. real bad.

during her examining, her eyes caught a glimpse of something. during her time walking and exploring demacia, she was given scattered flyers, business owners wanting to promote their stores. she chose not to throw them away, believing that since she was making a new life for herself, she might try to get out more. normally. without explosives, even though she'll find it significantly less entertaining.

"daffodil's," jinx muttered, the name slipping off her tongue as she picked up the flyer from the pile. she hummed in interest, eyeing the design, promoting a small salon that had recently opened.

jinx scanned it over one last time before sighing to herself, "... why not?"

☆☆

jinx slowly pulled open the door of the tiny salon. it was in the downtown area, tucked into a less busy area. she liked that a lot.

she was greeted with a soft smell of sandalwood, the sound of the heater in the building slightly humming, giving a background to the idle chattering of the few people that were inside.

a girl, possibly around jinx's age, sat at the front desk. the desk was a little bit to the side of the entrance, the person sitting there catching a glimpse of whoever entered first. but, the girl was too preoccupied.

the girl sat comfortably on a chair, slightly reclined back as she calmly chewed gum, occasionally popping a small bubble. her feet were elevated, resting on the desk, a magazine in her hands as she loosely flipped through the page.

jinx's eyes scanned her over, biting her lip almost nervously. why hadn't she just decided to go out and buy a damn pair of scissors? would've been much less work. she walked up to the front desk, her boots clanking against the floor in a rhythmic, melodic kind of way. this caught the girl's attention, causing her to look up from the magazine, her chewing stopping for a second.

as jinx finally got up to the counter, the girl adjusted, sitting upright and giving the blue-haired girl a grin. she tilted her head, her (h/c) hair tumbling to the side as she looks at jinx.

"hi there! how can i help ya? do you have an appointment?"

the girl's relaxed, bubbly demeanor was almost nauseating to jinx. she never once dealt with someone so... she doesn't even know. she took a deep breath in, calming her nerves she didn't realize existed, giving the girl a grin in return.

"hi! i was wondering if you could do... erm..." jinx's voice trailed off for a moment. she doesn't know terminology. an appointment? is that the word? no, those are in advance-

her thoughts stopped yelling at her as the girl gave jinx a soft smile. "we do walk-ins. you looking for a new do?"

the girl giggled at her own terminology, moving the chair back to stand up. jinx nodded, "yup, one of those."

"great. i'm free to take you back," the girl beckoned jinx with her hand, leading her to the furthest chair in the corner, patting the seat as she grabs an apron from the side. "what can i do for ya?"

jinx slipped into the chair. it was so comfortable to her, it almost felt foreign. it was wood but it was lightly cushioned, and had a slight modern feel. jinx's reflection greeted her, one that she only recently got used to with having a new unbroken mirror.

jinx cleared her throat, "just.. wanting it fixed. or whatever."

the girl lightly ran a finger through jinx's hair, bringing it up to assess the layers in her hair. jinx slightly tensed at the new touch, but didn't let it alarm her too much.

"at home hairdo, huh?" the girl spoke humorously, meeting jinx's gaze in the mirror. jinx huffed, refraining from giving the girl a glare. she didn't want to be made fun of for her decisions, and before she could make a retort, the girl started speaking again, "i get it. once i accidentally cut my hair up to my ears- wait i shouldn't be telling you that."

the girl cut herself off, and that got a laugh from jinx, giving you a lopsided grin in the mirror, "don't tell me that when you're gonna be chopping at my hair, toots."

the girl gave a sheepish shrug, before asking, "anything in particular in mind?"

jinx pursed her lips for a moment. did she? no. "just... whatever you want, yeah?"

the girl rose her eyebrows, "trusting a complete stranger with ya looks? bold. i dig it."

jinx found the girl funny. jinx watched the girl begin to even out the layers in her hair, chopping her hair to a length just right underneath her chin. jinx liked it so far.

eventually, the girl came around to the front, bending slightly to meet jinx's height as she grabbed at the long strand of hair, evening it out as she chopped a pair of bangs on jinx. the position got jinx to awkwardly clear her throat, looking away.

even with the avoidance, the girl started speaking up, "ya know, people say that hair holds memories."

jinx didn't know that.

"so what was so special about this one piece of hair?" the girl grinned in a playful manner, and jinxed watched the long strands fall onto her lap. she looked in the mirror and there were a pair of bangs just falling right above her eyebrows, nicely blending in with the rest of her hair.

"aren't you nosey?" jinx quips back, though without malice. jinx thought this girl was nice, even without knowing her for that long at all. and, seeing her new hair, she couldn't but have some approval.

"just makin' conversation, yeah?" the girl giggled. "let's get you washed?"

jinx hadn't realize how long it'd been since she washed her hair.

feeling the girl's hands and manicured nails shampoo at her scalp was almost a moan worthy, toe curling experience as the girl didn't speak, but only chewed on the piece of gum that had been in her mouth. she could tell jinx was enjoying it, but she didn't judge. I mean... who doesn't like getting their hair shampooed?

time passed quickly as eventually jinx ended up back in the salon chair, the girl eventually wrapping up blowing out jinx's hair, leaving her hair straight and soft, the heat nice against jinx's neck.

jinx couldn't believe who she saw in the mirror. this is what she needed. what she wanted. when she saw herself in the mirror, she didn't think "jinx" or "powder". she just felt.. like herself.

the girl eyed her expression in the mirror, giving a soft grin, "ya like it?"

jinx stopped admiring herself for one moment as she met your gaze in the mirror, nodding vigorously, giving you a grin, "love it, toots."

she paused for a moment, "what's your name?"

the girl tilted her head, telling jinx her name, "recommend me to your friends, yeah?"

jinx repeated your name, letting your name roll off her tongue. she wasn't going to let you know that she has no friends, but she gave you a grin, "definitely."

jinx became a regular after that.

[cuppajj]

Curious about your thoughts regarding the end of Beast Yeast’s story…

What do you think the fate of the beasts will be? Redemption? Rebirth? Death? Getting sealed again? Etc

Two ideas

Idea one is that their soul jams are taken by the ancients, and we get them being resealed, or some finality that doesn’t remove their villainy. The Beasts exist as cautionary tales for the ancients, what would happen to them if their power corrupted/they never grew attached to the world they protect. There’s no way for them to be as strong as they were if their soul jams are gone, their power stripped from them and instead used for good by the Ancients. The beasts being resealed keeps their staying power/trademark as villains, which I personally prefer…

…but there is a lot of potential in the second idea of them being redeemed. While I don’t fully vibe with it rn, it would make sense if it happened. If we’re being shown why the beasts corrupted, the two logical actions afterwards would be to either put them down or make them see the error of their ways, giving them that second chance to start anew. It would also be the ancients doing something different from the witches, something with less of a chance to repeat the cycle. It’s in character for PV to wish something like that, I think.

Then there’s the whole Dark Enchantress Storyline that is going to wrap itself up within the year according to Devsis, which means there’s likely going to be a fast turnaround with the Beast Yeast story after the end of whoever’s story is last (which I really think will be Lily’s and Silent Salt’s since it’s the best segue into it). If the DE storyline is wrapping up next year, and we’re still midway through Beast Yeast, then how will the beast stories wrap up? If not them being resealed with the ancients possibly taking their soul jams, then I’m pretty sure that DE’s whole “I’m giving the beasts bodies and then i will take their soul jams” plot she has will backfire. I won’t be surprised if the beasts are double crossed and reluctantly join forces with the ancients, either a) directly or b) having similar motives enough to assist them. If they weren’t redeemed before, there’s a chance for them to be redeemed by the end of it.

But really, I like the idea of them not really returning to the cookies they once were. They may not have to be the same level of diabolical per se, but I don’t believe in their actions and histories being completely undone on a whim. They could strive to be better but still have a long way to go, become more docile while their morals haven’t been fixed… that’s the extent I’d hope for them to be redeemed? I was there when the Diamonds were redeemed in Steven Universe within the span of two episodes, I have my “misused redemption arc creating missed potential” trauma 😭

But TLDR, my thoughts are either resealing or redemption. Death would be metal as heck, but I don’t think they’d go that route for the beasts. If they do get redeemed, then I wouldn’t want them to be a perfect “sorry for all my wrongdoings, im a good guy now”, I’d want it to be more ambiguous and up for interpretation. But we’ll see, Devsis hasn’t had the best streak with nuanced storytelling as of late

[heartandsoulcomic]

Replaced.

(Facing ghosts of your past.)

Previous

Beginning of Part Five

First Page

Next (Coming next Saturday)

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Though I did kind of try to hint that this was a possibility, I think this is probably the part of the comic that will make the most people go “wait, what?” so I thought I’d so something a bit unusual, and talk a little about this page!

Flowey hasn’t turned back into Asriel, but he does have the ability to sort of… “project” who he used to be into the world, temporarily. Think of it as kind of like a hologram from Star Trek.

I had the idea he could do this waaaay back when I first saw Undertale’s True Ending end credits, with Asriel coming back:

This is not something he does very often, if even at all. Flowey does not WANT to be thought of as “Asriel” any more. He tells Frisk not to think of him as “Asriel” should they meet Flowey again, after all.

It’s very, very difficult to do. Physically, it takes a tremendous amount of energy for him to do this – as well as using his Determination. It burns through his Determination quickly, so it’s not a form he can hold for long.

It’s also extremely emotionally and mentally painful for him to be so close to being “Asriel” again, even for a short time.

It hurts him, and leaves him utterly drained to do this.

So why didn’t Flowey appear in this form to Sarafina? you may be wondering.

He wasn’t sure he could take this form at this time. It’s something Flowey found he could do AFTER the barrier came down. Even though he retained his memories in these “resets”, he didn’t know if he could still take this form. But to speak with Chara, he is willing to take the risk and try.

He also had no way of knowing how Sarafina would react to seeing a “ghost” or even if she would know who he was – until this moment, Flowey had no idea how much, if anything, Toriel may have told Sarafina about Asriel.

“Sarafina, it is I your long lost br- no, wait, stop screaming you’ll attract – never mind the human found you. Aaaannnd you’re dead.”

Not an ideal situation!