#just got off work and I'm beat lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorusugurugurl · 7 months ago

Note

Ermmm. Speaking from my current experience. How would jjk boys (gojo geto nanami toji and choso) react to after a *session* finding out reader didn’t finish bc they hear her trying to use her toys to get off.

Lmao my bf is mad and went to sleep but I’m like … there could be more done 😆

JJK Men: You Didn’t Finish? Let Me Help You.

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji, Kamo Choso, FAB!Reader

Warnings: smut, sex toys, language, dirty talk, smutty smut!

Word Count: 7,477

A/N: This literally took a life of its own! Love it! It was super fun!! Thank you Nonnie!! (hope you BF wasn't that mad, but really there could have been lots more fun to be had! But I feel like we've all been there!) 💚

Gojo Satoru:

You loved it when Gojo came home after a long mission. He was usually feral, throwing open the door, all but tackling you as he went to unbutton your pants. When he came home like this, he needed to fuck in the nastiest of ways. Not that you’d complain you were usually as pent up as he was.

This time, well, Gojo was even more pent-up than usual. He caught you in the laundry room, bending you over the dryer. He slid your leggings and panties down before sliding his cock over your pussy, teasing your entrance, rubbing his tip against your clit.

All you needed was a few kisses on your neck his deep voice in your ear, and you were wet and ready for him. He fucked you fast, deep, and hard. It felt so good, his cock slamming into your g-spot, as the vibrations from the running dry stimulated your clit. This was new and exciting. To be wanted this bad, for him to fuck you right where he found you, you loved it!

Your boyfriend loved it just as much as you because his cock throbbed hard inside of you right when you were beginning the climb toward your release. You felt his cum spurting inside of you as he whined, his pace slowing down, slowly fucked his cum inside of you. Satoru groaned slowly, pulling out of you, spreading your cheeks, watching his cum leaking out of your pretty cunt.

“Fuuuck, I needed that.” You were panting, gripping the sides of the dryer, waiting for him to do something, anything to make you cum. “Mmm.” To your utter disappointment, Satoru smacked your ass and started walking out. “I'm going to shower; when I'm done, let's order dinner. I'm beat.”

For a moment, you thought he was fucking with you. That he just wanted you to complain about not cumming, to beg for it. But looking over your shoulder at him, you saw how tired he was. He had pulled his blindfold down, pooling around his neck, allowing you to see the dark circles under his eyes. The exhaustion on his face wasn't from sex. It was from the mission.

How could you bother him to help get you off? You were fully capable of taking care of yourself. You just grinned, pulling your leggings off and tossing them into the washer. “I like the sound of that. Go ahead and wash up; I need to finish this.” And yourself. “Then we’ll order food.” Without any questions, Gojo stripped out of his clothes, tossing it in with yours.

“Sounds like we got ourselves a stay-in date.” Your boyfriend's lips pressed firmly against your cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Toru.”

The second you heard him head into the bathroom, shutting the door, you hurried. He took about a five to ten-minute shower. So that gave you more than enough time to cum. Opening the nightstand drawer, you pulled out your wand vibrator before lying in bed, your eyes darting toward the bathroom door.

Wasting no time, you pressed the wand over your clit, turning it on its highest setting. Your hips jerked forward as a whine passed through your lips. Fuck you were still worked up, pussy clenching, thinking about how Satoru fucked you just minutes before. That was the perfect thought to lose yourself in as your clit was twitching under the pleasant vibrations.

God, if he weren’t so tired, you would have begged him for more. You take you on the dryer, the floor, fuck even the wall. You missed him; god, you missed the soft tufts of his white hair, the smell of fresh sheets and musk. The need to have him bullying his cock inside of you was so strong it had you dipping your hands between your legs. Fingers pushing through your tight entrance, attempting to make you feel as good as Satoru did.

They were nothing compared to Satoru. His fingers reached places you never could. While it wasn’t what you wanted right now, that being your boyfriend's fat cock, it would suffice. You cried out softly as you curled your fingers up, just barely grazing your g-spot.

“Mmnh fuck, oooh fuck.” You could feel yourself climbing towards your orgasm. “T-Toru, yes, yes~.”

Just when you were about to cum, the door to the bathroom flung open. Satoru stood there, leaning against the door frame as you threw your vibrator to the side of the bed. What you failed to do was take your fingers out of your cunt just as fast.

“S-Satoru!”

He took in your form, shaking his head with a sigh. “Most people would wait for the shower to start running before they start masturbating, right after their boyfriend fucked them.” He strode forward, his throbbing dick standing at attention. “But my sweet, not so innocent girl. She starts fucking herself when I’m in the other room.” He walked around the bed, picking up your still buzzing vibrator. “Was one time not enough for you?” Gojo got on the bed, cerulean eyes burning with furious lust.

“I-I well,” words evaded you, “I uhm—“

“Tsk,” he crawled on top of you, pressing the vibrator against your clit. You arched your back off the bed, whimpering. “Such a little slut, trying to make yourself cum right after I fucked you. Well, go on, do it, little slut.”Satoru pressed the vibrator harder against your clit. “Cum again, then maybe I’ll make you cum a third, fourth, maybe even a fifth time. Seeing that you want to cum so bad after I just made you.”

You tried pulling away, but Satoru grabbed your hip with his free hand, holding you in place. “I-I didn’t!”

“Oh, don’t try to lie to me; I caught you red-handed.” The hand you had been fingering yourself with was snatched. “Look at that, still wet and slick with both our cum.” Your boyfriend took your cum slick fingers in his mouth, sucking on them while his eyes burned holes into your skin.

“Y-Your cum.” Satoru stopped sucking, glancing down at your flushed face. “I-I didn’t finish.”

From the expression on his face, your poor boyfriend went through the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. His mouth opened and shut like a fish before he pulled the vibrator away.

“You didn’t cum?!” You shook your head. “Why didn’t you say something?!” Being questioned like this, right after he caught you beating off, wasn’t the conversation you wanted to have. Groaning softly, you sat up, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re exhausted, and I didn’t want to bother you with something I can handle alone.”

“You seriously think me getting you off is a bother?” He touched your shoulders, shoving you back against the bed. “Sweetheart, I get off on making you cum.”

“T-Toru, I-I can do it. You should re-A-Ahh!” Satoru’s cock is pushing it’s way forcefully inside your cunt. “Oooh, of fuck!”

His lips slammed against yours as he pushed the vibrator back against your throbbing clit. “Baby~ you feel so good~ fuck, your pussy is so fuckin’ tight. Ah~! Ah~ fuck~ does that feel good baby?” Stars, you saw stars as he pulled out, stopping just before the tip slipped out before he slammed back into you harder.

“Oh, my fuck!!” You cried out as he repeated his pace, fucking you, pressing the vibrator firmly against you. “O-Oh god, feels s-so good when you slide inside!”

Satoru chuckled with a groan. “Oh, I know it does~” His hot breath fanned over your lips, “I felt that tight cunt clamp down each time I thrust.” You dug your nails into his shoulders.

God, the smell of him washes over you as he kisses and sucks on your neck. Teeth grazing the overly sensitive skin as you wrap your leg around him, pushing him deeper inside of your aching pussy. You were losing control over yourself, and Satoru wasn’t doing any better. His cock was already throbbing; his eyes screwed tight as he pushed himself further into the mattress, deeper inside of you.

Hearing you scream, feeling the vibrations while he fucked you, your soaking walls that were eagerly milking him, had him feeling like he was eighteen again. Satoru never got over how good your gummy walls felt. How you pussy didn’t want him to leave, how it tried to pull him back in. Having sex with you was something that constantly changed and grew into something more. Something more profound.

“Gah—! Fuck!” Satoru cried out against your kiss-swollen lips. “You’re so close, you’re twitching.” Your blubbering whines confirmed what he knew. “That’s right, cum for me~ cum all over this fat fucking cock.”

“C-cumming ah~ ah~ Satoru!!” With his hips angled, hitting your sweet spot with every brutal thrust, you clamped down on him. But it was the sweet buzzing of your vibrator in time with his harsh pace that had you gushing.

Satoru watched the stream of clear liquid squirt out of you. Coating the v-line and happy tail of his crotch, soaking the bed underneath you. Who wouldn’t have been cumming with you after that sight? Satoru stilled, hands digging harshly into your hips, holding you still as his cum filled you. He stayed like that for a long moment. Buried deep inside of you before he collapsed, groaning against your collarbone.

You gently scratched his scalp with your nails, breathing heavily as you came down from your high. “Fuck, I needed that so bad, thank you.” You watched as Satoru lazily lifted his head, hazy eyes watching you.

“Mm, anythin’ for you.”

The two of you drifted to sleep like that. Any thoughts revolving around showering or dinner were placed on the back burner. The most important thing was that you were finally together again.

Geto Suguru:

“Ah~ nngh, good~ feels good~” You cried out softly as Suguru lazily fucked you. “K-Keep going~”

The bed gently groaned under Suguru’s sleepy thrusts. His arms were wrapped around you, large hands grabbing your breasts. They massaged the soft flesh, groping them, teasing your nipples as he licked and kissed the side of your neck. Mornings where he woke up after having the nastiest dream sex with you, were his favorite kind of sexy mornings.

The morning when you both were stirring, only focusing on the raw instinctual need to cum. These were the times when he didn’t need to focus on the pace or the dirty words he would whisper in your ear. All the two of you could focus on was the sweet pleasure and warmth of each other's bodies.

Suguru cried out against your skin, his cock throbbing deep inside of you. The things you were doing to him in his dream, sucking his cock, riding his face, letting him fuck you on a towel on a faraway beach, it was so good. Too good. When he first slid inside of you, he was dangerously close to the edge. His sexy dream had nearly become a wet dream before he woke up. So it came as no surprise to him that he just needed to feel you, the real you, to reach that sweet climax.

You listened as he huffed and grunted, his hips moving just a bit faster as you felt the warmth of his cum filling you. His load was thick, seeping out of you, sliding down the length of his cock, pooling at the base. Feeling him fill you up this good at six thirty in the morning was the equivalent of a hot shower or a good workout at the gym. You were ready for round two.

Suguru, however, was ready to drift back to sleep. His breathing went from shallow, uneven gasps to deeper and calmer breaths. This wasn’t happening, right? There was no way your husband just lazily fucked you as a form of foreplay just to fall asleep. Your worst fears became a reality as he snored softly into the crook of your neck.

Your pussy clenched in sorrow as his cock remained buried inside of you. If he were anyone else, you would have woken him up, urging him to finish what he had started. Unfortunately for you, Geto Suguru was a deep sleeper. The only thing that would wake him up was either a blood-curdling scream from you or an earthquake. Meaning you were on your own for now. Horny, sleepy, and desperate to cum, and drifted back to sleep in his strong arms.

Luckily, your vibrator was just an arm's length away, resting in the top drawer of your nightstand. With careful and calculated movements, you freed one arm from Suguru’s koala bear grasp and grabbed your best friend. Your clit sucking toy was your favorite toy Suguru bought for you. He knew how much you loved him going down on you, so he bought you the highest-rated toy that would at least come close to mimicking his talented lips and tongue.

The toy was great; you loved using it when your fiance was at work or on a mission. Nothing would ever be able to replace him. Right now, seeing as your husband was out of commission, this toy would have to suffice.

You slid the toy under your shorts, pressing the small opening around your clit before turning it on to the lowest setting. The pulsating hum was low but perfect enough that it had you whining. You were still incredibly turned on from your lazy sex session. Having been so close to release, you knew this setting (or two or three higher) would be all that you needed to cum, seeing as Suguru’s cock was still buried inside of you, his thick load keeping you wet enough.

Your hips jerked, walls clenching around Suguru as your hand came up, clamping firmly over your mouth with a groan. Your pussy twitched As your toes curled; it felt so good. The flutter sensation beginning to build up in your lower stomach had your blood running hot. What would make this even better was if Suguru was up, fucking you with hard and shallow thrusts. Hitting your g-spot, whispering in your ear, telling you to cum on him.

The temptation to push yourself back against him was strong. His thick, girthy cock, was perfect in every way, shape and form. The tip was pressed right against your sweet spot, making you moan louder into your hand. You didn’t want to wake him up; he always worked hard, taking good care of you—the moments when he. Getting to unwind and relax was precious to both of you.

While you were being courteous regarding the volume of your moans. Your pussy was not as well-behaved as the rest of you. She clamped, twitched, and hugged Suguru’s cock. The warm pulsing twitches had Suguru stirring, his eyes slowly opening as his cock jerked inside of you, as he felt the low buzzing sensation of the toy you were using against yourself.

His hand slowly slid over your conjoined bodies, his larger hand wrapping around yours, pressing the toy harder against your throbbing clit. “A-Ah, Sugu~” He hummed, kissing and sucking on your neck. “I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean to wake you.” In reality, you weren’t as sorry as you claimed to be.

”Mmm,” Suguru exhaled heavily through his nose, “didn't get enough?”

You shook your head, your hips full back into him, pushing his cock further inside of you. “No, baby, I didn’t cum.” Suguru’s eyebrows furrowed together as you humped his cock gently. “Just give me a few minutes, please; I’m almost there.” Your husband groaned, lifting your leg and draping it over his hip. “Sugu, what—nngh, fuck.” Your toy was tossed to the side, Suguru’s fingers replacing it.

”My princess just told me she didn’t cum.” His voice cracked as he rocked gently into you, his fingers rubbing circles around your clit. “What sort of husband would I be if I made her get off alone.” Teeth dug into your neck before his tongue slid over the stinging mark. “Let me give you a hand.”

Your eyes were rolling into the back of your head as Suguru hit your cervix with every thrust. He was so fucking deep; you could feel every thick inch of him spreading you open. His dark eyes peered down, watching his hand working at your clit. He could hear how wet you were, the squelching sounds egging him on.

“Ah~ fuck Sugu~ you know me so well.” you tilt your head back, eyes shutting, losing yourself in the please. “Y-You always hit my g-spot, fuck!”

Your husband cooed, rubbing your clit faster. “Yeah~ you’re going to cum aren’t you~? You keep getting wetter with every thrust, baby.”

“Y-Yeah, fuck yes! Please~ please, Sugu~!”

The rich smell of Suguru’s expensive shampoo wafted over you; his hair fell over your shoulder as he pressed his lips against yours. You reached a hand up, cupping his cheek, moaning as he nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue darting out, tracing over the spot before sliding his tongue into your mouth as he fucked into you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You didn't even have a chance to warn him that you were cumming. You just cried out into his mouth as he massaged your tongue with his own. As the rolling waves of pleasure rocked through you, Suguru’s pace faltered, becoming messy sloppily as his ball tightened. Spurts of warm cum filled your aching hole, filling you up to the brim.

“Mmm,” Suguru pulled his mouth away from yours, spit connecting your tongues, “does my needy girl feel better~?”

“Mhmm~” you hummed happily, snuggling back against him. “Felt good.”

All your husband did was wrap his arms tighter around you. He pressed a kiss against your chin before he buried his face in the crook of his neck. Out of all the places he’d seen and been, your king-sized bed, with you in his arms, was his favorite place in the world.

Nanami Kento:

Wet was a bit of an understatement. You were soaking wet when Nanami slammed you up against the door of your apartment. You both were buzzed from the bottle of wine you shared at dinner. The sweet liquid had you rubbing Nanami’s thigh, whispering obscene things in his ear, and had led to him pulling your lace panties to the side as he lifted you, your legs wrapped around his waist.

“You've been such a bad girl.” You groaned over, panting in pure lustful desire as you listened to his buckle being undone.

“Hurry up.” You begged, only to receive a smack on the side of your ass. “Eep!”

“You are in no place to be making any demands.” His words were slightly slurred before he rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit. “Teasing my cock, whispering those lewd words in my ear.”

The wine had given you liquid courage; you grabbed a handful of blonde hair, tugging it back. “Then take what you want~” The moment those words left your mouth, Nanami was fucking into you.

His thrusts were sloppy, messy, and full of pure need. The wine had him lost in the raw feeling of your tight cunt, the way your walls hugged his cock. Your pussy was so wet, warm, and tight. Nanami whimpered fucking you harder and slamming you against the door.

“Y-Yes! Oh fuck yes! Keeento~!!”

“Oh fuck love, fuck you’re s-so t-tig-gaaahk!”

The familiar sensation of cum filling you drew you out of the wildly erotic moment. Both you and Nanami were stiff. Your sweet, loving boyfriend's face flushed dark red, his eyebrows pinched in tipsy confusion.

“K-Ken? Did you just?”

“I-I—“ he honestly wasn’t sure, but he confirmed his fears as he pulled out. His cock was coated in white cum, the tip dribbling out more as it sadly softened. “F-Fuck, sweetie, I’m sorry.”

When he looked up expecting to be met with an expression of disappointment, he was instead met with your gentle smile as he put you down. “It’s okay; I was teasing you the whole way home.” While you attempted to comfort him, Nanami still felt a twinge of shame.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ken, you’re fine.” Fine was not the way he would describe the way he felt. But you were persistent. “Do you wanna lay down?”

Your boyfriend nodded, sulking towards your room with his head hanging low. “If laying down means I can forget about this whole ordeal, then yes.” He unbuttoned his shirt before lying on his back, watching you closely. “That’s never happened to me before.” A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth as you removed your jewelry.

”I made the Kento Nanami experience pre-mature ejaculation for the first time. I’m so honored.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

“Right, sorry, sorry.” Nanami watched as your hips swayed as you approached his side of the bed.

“Seriously, don’t feel too bad about it. I could easily take care of myself if I wanted to. Do you need anything? Like water?” He shook his head, his eyes slowly shutting as he drifted in and out of the waves of his afterglow. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

Just as Nanami turned to lay on his side, you reached into the sock drawer of your dresser. Hidden, there was your g-spot toy. You glanced back at the sleepy Nanami before sighing as you tip-toed into the living room, cracking the door shut.

You were still worked up, wet, and horny from the combination of wine and teasing touches on the way home. You didn’t mind that Nanami had finished first, but you couldn’t ignore the aching between your legs. You needed to take care of that ache, or you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.

As you lay on the couch, your mind drifted to Nanami. How his large hands gripped your thigh in the car, how his ankle brushed yours at the restaurant. You whined, imagining his cock slipping inside of you as you pushed the toy into your wet pussy. His cock was so girthy and fat it stuffed you; this toy was nothing compared to him. But it would get the job done.

You twisted the end of the toy, turning the vibrations on; the sweet lazing immediately stimulated your sweet spot, making you arch. Fuck it felt good, especially when you began thrusting it in and out of your tight heat. You were so tight and needy, longing for an orgasm that would tide you over until Nanami was able to fuck the life out of you.

God, you wanted him; you wanted him so bad. The need for his cock to plunge in and out of you. To have him tugging and pulling on your hair, to choke you. The raw desire for him had your moans increasing in volume. Maybe it was the wine or the horny need that had you gasping as if your boyfriend wasn’t in the other room.

Oh, and Nanami heard. How could he not listen to you whimpering and crying out his name? The buzzing from your toy had his cock throbbing back to life. He couldn’t just let you handle this on your own. His legs, while still shaky, moved with a purpose. He flung open the bedroom door and stormed off to the living room, where the sight of you had his pace faltering.

Your legs were spread, the vibrant pink vibrator was moving in and out of you, coated in a milk substance of his cum and your slick. The same sticky substance coated the inside of your supple thighs, making you look even more erotic. Seeing you in such a vulgar scene had Nanami stripping out of his clothes.

“Fuuuck~ fuck yes~ K-Kento~!” Your head was tilted back, eyes shut as you imagined Nanami inside you. His lips and teeth dug into your skin. “Ahh fuck~!”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you could care for yourself.” The deep voice of your boyfriend was the only warning you got before the toy was yanked out of you and clattered to the floor.

Your eyes went wide as the toy was replaced with the fat girthy cock you had been imagining. “Haaah!” A breathless yelp escaped you as you met Nanami’s honey-brown eyes. “K-Kento!” He groaned, his cock slowly slipping in and out of you. “Fuck~!” He smirked, kissing your neck.

“Mhmm lover, your pussy is hugging me. Were you that desperate for my cock?” All you managed to do was cry out as you nodded. “Such a desperate girl~ but that toy is nothing compared to me, right?”

“N-No, it’s not!” You whined, gripping his shoulders as the couch creaked under his thrusts. “N-Nothing c-compared to you, Kento!”

Skin slapped against the skin, Nanami groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “Fuck~ fuck, your pussy feels so good~ it’s so wet, love, so fucking wet~” Nanami kissed and sucked onto your shoulder, biting the skin as hard as he could, drawing out a pleasurable gasp from you. “G-gonna make you cum this time.” His words were mumbled as he bit into another part of your skin. “M-make up for last time.” your toes began to curl as Nanami reached down, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

“Y-You don’t have to make up for last time—“ Nanami’s cock throbbed, rubbing against your g-spot. That, in time, with his thumb on your clit had the coil tightening in your abdomen. “I-I’m close, oh god, I’m close!” Your legs began violently shaking as your pussy tightened, heat rushing through you. “K-Kento! Keeento!!”

You came hard, so incredibly hard a scream ripped through your throat as tears filled your eyes. Nanami’s cock twitched, his hips stilling as your pussy convulsed around him, drawing out a second orgasm from him as you rode the waves of yours. His hips jerked, pussy hi load intense of you, working the both of you down from your highs. It was until beads of sweat ran down his chilled ab’s that he finally came to a stop.

His breath was hot against your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. He slowly pulled away, smiling ever so sweetly at you. “Fuck I needed that.” The sheer relief and exhaustion in your tone had Kento grinning, lifting you, and carrying you to the bedroom.

“Well, I hope you’re ready for more. Because I’m ready for round three.”

Toji Fushiguro:

You were minding your own business scrolling through your phone when your boyfriend came into the room. He said nothing; he only grabbed your pajama pants and yank them off. You giggled in between moans as rubbed your clit before sliding his spit-coated cock inside of you.

“Ah, ~ rough day at w-work?” You gasped out, throwing your head back against the pillows as Toji grunted in response. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” The words held all the truth; you did feel bad that he had a rough day. You also loved it, though. Days like these, when he came home all pent up and frustrated, were the days he fucked the breath out of you.

He got to work off pent-up frustration while you got to get fucked into the mattress. It was truly a win-win for the two of you.

”Fuck, fuck yeah,”. Toji sighed, kissing the leg that was draped over your shoulder. “I missed your fucking pussy all day.” His thick, strong fingers dug into your other leg that was wrapped over his hip. “Kept dreaming about filling it up, painting the insides white. Nnngh, you’re such a fucking good little slut for me.”

You hummed drunkenly in response, back arching as you tried to keep up with his fast-paced thrusts. “Mhmm, I’m glad I could be a good dream for you, Toji.” Cock throbbing inside of you, Toji let out a needy growl, bucking his hips faster, cock hitting every sweet spot buried deep inside of your cunt.

“Y-Yeah, you’re the best dream a guy could ever have.” Those sweet words had you reaching your hand down, rubbing your clit as he fucked you deeper, faster. “That’s it, look at my slutty little girlfriend. Making herself cum all over my cock.”

“C-Close, Toji! P-Please!”

“M-Me too~! Me too~!”

Toji sunk his teeth into the side of your leg as his thrusts lost all sense of rhythm as he began cumming inside of you, fucking himself through his orgasm. All while you tried to follow up, rubbing your clit faster, bucking your hips up against him. But as the sensations of hot cum filled you, your stomach was filled with disappointment as your orgasm evaded you. Toji grunted, resting his head against you, his eyes shut tight as he felt your walls twitch.

You reached up, stroking his head, humming as he slowly sat up. He liked fucked out of his mind as he licked at his lips. But behind that fucked out look, you could swear there was desire. A desire for more, to keep going until the two of you couldn’t breathe. A desire that you might just be able to reach that orgasm you had failed to grasp moments before.

Toji leaned down, kissing you deeply, his cock twitching deep inside of you. You were just about to wrap your legs around his hips, to pull him in deeper, to encourage him to keep fucking into you, when his phone rang. He glowered at it, sitting on the nightstand. You turned his head to focus on you instead, your hands trailing up his chest, your thumbs brushing over his nipples. But his damn phone kept ringing. Whoever was calling was desperate to get a hold of him.

Toji snarled, snatching the phone off the nightstand and answering it. “I’m in the middle of something pretty fuckin’ important. What?!” The other voice on the line sounded much like Shiu’s shot back a shout. Toji’s eyes went wide, taking in the words before he smirked. You knew that expression.

“Paid up already? Ha, awesome, cool, yeah, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“What was that about?” You asked as Toji slipped out of you. “What happened?”

Toji slipped his half-hard cock back into his pants. “Client already has money for a job I just did. Six figures, baby. They want to take me and Shiu to dinner.” Wait? Seriously, he was leaving?!

“B-But!”

“It should be fast. I’ll be back before you know it.” Toji pressed a kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll have round two.”

“But—“ You watched in despair and anger as Toji headed out of the apartment, shutting the door. “I didn’t finish.” You pouted, plopping back down on the bed.

Toji must have been out of it to have not realized that. Plus, he just left! But he was bringing home the big bucks so you couldn’t complain. There was always tonight; maybe he’d let you sit on his face as an apology once you told him. The aching pulse between your legs, however, wanted to be satisfied now. It couldn't wait for god knows how long Toji would be out.

So, without any hesitation, you reached under your bed, pulling out your container of sex toys. You pulled out your vibrating dildo and a bottle of lube before sitting up at the head of the bed. Wasting no time, you lubbed the clean toy before slowly working it into yourself with a harp inhale. It felt good, not as good as Toji, but it would get the job done.

Your pace was fast and hard; you attempted to match Toji’s. But that was humanly impossible. The man fucked like a god, nearly sending you to the afterlife with each orgasm. So you managed to do the best you could, which didn’t feel bad at all. Your pace had your eyes rolling back as you curved the toy, rubbing it against your g-spot before you turned it on.

The vibrations were strong. So strong it sent you to your own personal heaven of pleasure. You propped your legs up, spreading them wide as your thrusts increased in speed, while your free hand gripped the sheets, tugging at them gently. The pleasure was so overwhelming, so stifling, that you never heard the apartment door open. You were a moaning mess, and that’s what Toji heard as he looked around for his phone.

He’d stopped, eyes drifting towards the room as the wet squelching and buzzing sounds flooded the apartment. Following the noise, he peeked into the bedroom, finding you fucking yourself with a dildo. Your pussy was hugging it just like it had done to his dick. And you looked like you were enjoying it, but not as much as you wanted his dick.

Toji entered the room, taking full advantage of you and rolling your eyes back. He hummed, crossing his arms over his chest as he got a heater view of you pathetically trying to fuck yourself, into an orgasm. His poor, sweet girl. It would just be cruel to continue to watch.

Your eyes jolted open as a large hand swatted yours away, gripping the toy that was buried in your cunt, while the other hand pushed your legs

Further apart. “T-Toji!” You yelled out as he began fucking the toy into you with a sadistic smirk.

“Looks like you needed a hand.” His deep voice had you clenching around the toy with a whine of our need. “Me makin’ ya’ cum once wasn’t enough, huh? I was gone for five minutes. Missed me that much.” He jabbed the toy against your spot with ever-calculated thrusts.

“Oooh! Oooh fuck oh my goo-ah ah!” You screamed, your hand gripping the sheets tightened while the other tangled in black strands of hair. “Ah~! Agggh! I -I didn’t cum! I-I couldn’t w-wai-fuck! Wait for tonight!”

Toji’s pace didn’t falter, but his eyes widened for a second. “Well, ya’ should’ve said something, honey. I would have made you cum.” He learned over your leg. “I can’t fuck you, but I’ll at least make you cum for now.” He kept fucking the dildo inside of you as he knelt over you, flicking his tongue over your clit.

“Gahhhk!” You screamed as Toji chuckled over your clit with a hum. “T-Toji! T-Toji!!” You arched your back as your mouth fell open into an ‘O’ shape as your toys curled. “D-Don’t stop! P-please, don’t stop!”

Toji was nowhere close to stopping, not when you were so close. He healed his scarred lip over your throbbing clit, sucking, flicking, and nibbling at the sensitive bundle of nerves. He drew you closer and closer to the edge, and it was him rubbing your g-apt with the vibrating tip that was your undoing. You screamed out loud, bucking your hips into his face as you squirted a clear stream of liquid all over his chin.

You were crying at the intensity of the orgasm as Toji gently worked you down. He glanced over you as his tongue dared over his lips, licking your juices off with a smirk. Your body trembled and shook how you gasped madly for air. It was a sight he loved to see.

“There ya’ go.” He said, pulling the toy out and placing it on the nightstand. “I’ll be home in a little bit.” You grumbled in response, struggling to keep your eyes open as Toji pulled a blanket over your half-naked body. “Get some sleep.” He kissed your forehead, grabbing his phone off the bed. “Because you’re gonna need all the rest you can get for what I have planned for you tonight.”

Choso Kamo:

Two weeks you had been on a mission for two long weeks. Which meant you had been away from your sweet loving boyfriend and his long cock for two weeks. So, of course, the second you got home, you begged for him to fuck you. He eagerly agreed, fucking you on the floor of the entryway. The two of you hadn’t even passed there before you were ripping each other's clothes off.

“A-Ah! C-Choso!” You cried out as he slammed his fist on the wooden floor, fucking you deeper. “Ahh!” His brutal thrusts drew out a scream from you as his other hand palmed your breasts.

“Missed you, god I missed you so much.” He mumbled over your collarbone, sucking and licking your skin. “I missed you so much, babe.”

“C-Cho!”

He gritted his teeth as you clenched down on him. “Oh~ good god, I-I edged myself a-all week waiting for this.”

Hearing him say that had your stomach and pussy fluttering. It had just been a suggestion in passing. You mentioned to Choso that edging yourselves when you were separated would be fun. You, of course, had done it, working yourself to the edge before stopping your movements. You had no idea Choso would be doing the same thing.

It made your heart soar as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. God, what did you do to deserve such a sweet and sexy man in your life?! Your walls fluttered around him, and Choso shut his eyes tight at the overwhelming pleasure.

Something you failed to mention to him was that edging would make him overly sensitive. More so than usual. His nails dug into the wood, scrapping at it as you whined and whimpered into the crook of his neck. Everything was too much to handle, too much to bear. Feeling your skin against his, hearing your cries of pleasure, your scent, all of it was way too much. He had been doomed from the moment you kissed him when you got home.

Choso pulled back just enough that he was able to put into your neck as his cock throbbed, cum spilling inside of you. His sudden bite as his cum filling you had you clenching against him, so hard Choso thought you had come with him. A satisfied groan sounded from your neck as he gently bucked into you, riding out your (his orgasm).

You both lay there on the floor of the entryway, panting heavily. Choso’s teeth left your skin, and he kissed it gently before looking into your eyes. You were smiling, gently reaching out, pushing his bangs out of his face as he slowly pulled out of you. He cleared his throat, and he helped you stand, sighing as the dropping adrenaline had him feeling drowsy.

“I-I didn’t think I’d cum that fast.” He said in a timid tone as you giggled. “B-But you were right. It did feel good, like a hundred orgasms in one.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Choso nodded sleepily as he wrapped his arms around you. “Welcome home, baby.” You could feel his muscles relax as he held you in his arms. He sounded like he was exhausted from the sound of his voice.

“Glad to be back.” You whispered as the two of you headed into the bedroom. Choso collapsed onto the mattress, holding his arms out for you to join him, but you shook your head, holding up your duffle bag. “I need to unpack and shower real quick. I’ll join you in a bit.”

Choso gave you a sleepy nod before shutting his eyes. You returned his smile, heading into the bathroom and closing the door with a heavy sigh. You were still on the edge, not having reached that sweet, blissful release you’d been working yourself up to for the last couple of weeks. There was always tomorrow. Once you both slept well, you held out for two weeks; what would another eight hours do?

As you started the shower and began unpacking your toiletry bag, your thoughts were blank for the most part. Your brain was moving on autopilot mode. Put away your travel-sized bottles, your hair brush, and skincare products. It wasn’t until you reached the bottom of the bag that you snapped out of the trance you had found yourself in. At the bottom was your bullet vibrator, sealed in its velvet travel bag with the toy cleaner.

You pulled out the clean toy, eyeing it in your palm before your eyes darted towards the door. One orgasm wouldn’t hurt, would it? Choso was so tired he might be sleeping. You stared at your reflection before finally carving in. If you were quiet enough, Choso never needed to know that you hadn’t finished, then tomorrow it would be like nothing happened.

You wasted no time sliding the vibrator down between your legs. You turned it on low speed with the little remote. It buzzed to life, bouncing off the walls as you whimpered softly. The vibrations were so good and vital that you knew it wasn’t going to take very long for you to cum. You chewed on your bottom lip, losing yourself in the pleasurable sensations, unaware that Choso was standing just outside the door, staring at it in confusion.

Your sweet boyfriend fully intended to nap while waiting for you to unpack. But the moment he heard the shower start and your lovely, soft humming, he stood up. Why would he stay in bed when he would be showering with you? Feeling your smooth, silky skin under his hands as he lathered you with soap and massaged tension out of your muscles.

Naps could wait; shower sessions were more important than sleep.

So, of course, as he stood in front of the bathroom door naked, listening to the buzzy hum of a sex toy, he was confused. Like why would you be using a toy right after the two of you just made love? And why would you be doing it without him helping you out? He loved making you cum, whether it be from his tongue, finger, dick, or the use of your toys.

Choso didn’t even bother knocking on the door; he just pushed it open, finding you hunched over the counter, hand between your legs, as the silver bullet toy buzzed over your clit. Your eyes went wide, but you didn’t move your hand away from your wet sex. You couldn’t not when you were so close. Choso just walked into the bathroom, stepping to stand behind you, rubbing his throbbing cock over your entrance.

“C-Choso~”

“I can help you, ya’ know.” He said softly before gently pushing inside of you. “All you needed to do was ask.” You whimpered as his thick cck stretched you open, your knees buckling. “I wouldn’t have minded going another round.”

His hand joined yours holding the vibrating toy harder over your clit. “I-I ah! Fuck I know, I’m sorry! Y-You came, and I didn’t; you just looked so tired I didn’t want to ask you to overexert yourself.” Choso’s eyes met yours in the mirror as he began fucking into you with a groan.

“I’m never tired when it comes to you. I’m always willing to keep going until you are fully satisfied.” His cock slid in and out of you faster as his free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it.

”I-I fuck s-so-fuckin’ good Choso!” You gasped out a shaky cry of pleasure. “Feels so good, please baby more.”

“Yeah, I feel you clenching.” His hips were grinding into you, rubbing your g-spot as he helped you rub the buzzing bullet up and down over your clit. “Are you going to cum for me? Going to squirt?”

“Y-Yes Choso! Yes, I’m so close!”

He let go of the toy at your warning. Both his hands gripped your hips, using them as leverage to pound into you at full force. He was hitting every spot you loved while your bullet buzzed. The combination of all these factors had you cumming for the first time in two weeks. You came, squirting all over the tiled floor, making your feet slip as you tried to keep a grip on the sink. Your pussy clenched so hard around Choso that he stilled inside of you, cumming even harder than he had in the entryway.

You were so grateful that Choso was holding you up by your hips. If he hadn’t been, you were positive you would have ended up on the ground, a heaping puddle of useless limbs. Choso, who you had thought was tired before, was the first to move. He kissed down your back, gently massaging your hips as you slowly came back to your senses.

“Mm, come on, babe.” He whispered against your skin, slowly helping you shuffle towards the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we can take a nap.” As you stood under the running water with Choso massaging your shoulders, you couldn’t help but shut your eyes as he kissed your temple.

It was good to be home.

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causenessus · 5 months ago

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ran out of tag space bc I yapped too much bc I love wdo too much but just know I'm the number one wdo fan

oh rjeisisjJEJWJWJ!!! WHITE DENIM OVERALLS THAT HE SO LOVES ON YOU I'M SHAKING I WANT TO MARRY HIM I LOVE HIM (I'll stop now sorry tumblr limited my tags BUT I WAS NOT DONE TALKING ABT THIS CHAPTER BUT I NEED TO SLEEP)

home┊006┊epilogue

007: blue door deja vu

────────────────────────

[ SUNA POV ]

for the past month, he’s been flipping a coin heads and tails in his mind trying to figure you out. it’s like driving in circles.

what happened to the version of you at the bakery, and why are you two different people?

why are you shutting him out, when you really just let him in?

after matches, his routine is to fall asleep on the bus and forget. he’s good enough to play well — but not to make it pro. even if he was, he doesn’t have the passion for it like tsumu does. nor the heart samu does. his heart is kept elsewhere.

a few stop to high five him, one or two pats on the back, till he makes it to a hallway lined with doors.

locker room.. he repeats instructions to himself. folder, second shelf.

rin checks the doors, one by one, till he finds a pickle-green one, labelled “boys lockers” — colors really do stand out.

and just for a second

he let it slip

even if not aloud

he let himself

wish it was blue

& wish it was you

walking out of it

batter stained and lemon scented

wearing those white denim overalls

he so loves on you

────────────────────────

author’s note: I HAD TO DIG TO FIND THAT ATSUMU EDIT IT WAS STORED SO FAR BACK IN MY BRAIN I HAD A BIG DEJA VU MINDBLOWING MOMENT WHEN I THOUGHT OF IT

epilogue going up when I turn my phone off to go to bed 😋

@phoenix-eclipses @thechaosoflonging @yuminako @nbcvs @tenjikusstuff4 @intergalacticrory @sonicsolos @yenonnoff @wyrcan @cnnmairoll @causenessus @reads-stuff-quietly @giocriedpower @applepi25 @gra-eae @lilchubbyyy @thvvluvr @toges-cough-syrup @steiins @girlkissersco @wolffmaiden @iluvaquaphor @mfcherry @k0z3me @alienvarmint

#don't say it ness don't say it ness don't say it ness ree is gonna get real sick of u saying it #OMG I LOVE ATSUMU AND OSAMU THEY'RE SO FUNNY I CAN'T HANDLE MYSELF #what is wrong with me i feel SO BAD IT'S ALL I EVER SAY LMAO 😭😭#no wait bout to lock in with these tags i just had the time of my life #me: man i really need to sleep i want to wake up at 7 am tomorrow #it is currently almost 1 am #BUT HERE I AM READING WDO #I REGRET NOTHING #this chapter was so funny OMG #“easy dub”#“they beat ushiwaka's team”#“watch” “we finna win”#I WAS DYING #I MIGHT HAVE TO SAVE THAT PHOTO INTO MY ARCHIVES OF FAVORITE FIC MOMENTS #NOT MIGHT IT'S GOING IN THERE #THAT WAS SO FUNNY AND THE TWEET RIGHT AFTER LMAOOOOO “karasuno wins!! 🥰”#AND THE TSUMU AT MCDONALDS I SWEAR I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT THAT PHOTO EARLIER LMAOO I'M SO GLAD YOU DUG IT OUT #ugh and we can talk about the written part #ree u r truly only one of a kind for getting thru this writer block and still delivering the best masterpiece i've ever read /gen #gotta put my tone tags (I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT THEY'RE CALLED RN I'M SORRY) there so u know i'm EXTRA SERIOUS #suna was written so good like his feelings abt volleyball and everything #AND THE LITTLE POEM YK #HE WISHES IT WAS BLUE #THAT'S THE BAKERY DOOR IK WHAT WE'RE DOING THE ONE YN'S DAD PAINTED BLUE BC BRIGHT COLORS TO BRING PEOPLE IN OH MY GJGKGOGOOEISIDIDJJE #UR SO GENIUS I'M CRYING #I READ IT FIVE TIMES AND GOT CHILLS #screenshotting that and putting it in the favs too #might have to go back and tag all of WDO with a special absolute ness' favorites tag #I GOT OFF TRACK 😭 I'M SORRY UR HAVING TO WORK THRU THIS WRITER BLOCK SM WHILE I'M JUST ATTACHED TO WDO DON'T STRESS URSELF OUT OR ANYTHING #PLS (MY TAG WAS TOO LONG I COULDN'T FIT PLS IN THERE)

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year ago

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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

#jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner dark fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #red eye fanfic

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randomhealer · 2 months ago

Text

(L&D) When a hot scene comes

characters: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Luke & Kieran

warnings: Crack, don't take it seriously, not reviewed, GN reader, use of the word dick in Sylus' part only once, but really nothing explicit I think

n/a: did you see some parts cut? if so I'm sorry, this has been with me for a while and it was a big smut actually but I tried to redo it- sylus part was so big it was a whole one shot i cut off lmao, Happy bday Doktah zayne

Xavier

Xavier is watching attentively but not like a movie but like a documentary in his mind, he is using all his brain cells to remember important points of the scene. Do you like the scene in front of you? Do you like it when the man does those things? Okay, so he'll remember to be a little more dominant next time, the movements, some lines... he'll try to remember that if you find it hot...

Xavier is more attentive to observing you and your reactions than in the scene, he already has what he needs so he observes closely... your cute little smiles, your lip bites, your low giggles, sighs... he doesn't really like you giving such reactions to another guy, even if it's on TV, he'll still let it go this time since he'll use what he learned to his advantage

(If you look to the side you will see Xavier looking at you sideways while he has a pillow on his lap, he looks a little angry)

Zayne

He's fine with what you chose to watch, he won't blink because of you even if the movie is boring, although he's a little surprised by the kind of movie you like, he expected something more... innocent? romcom... something like that, not a dark romance full of whips, ropes, candles being used in unconventional situations... even fruits are in it?!

He is shocked... although still cold on the outside, looking at you, the little creature next to him, looking innocent, smiles at the scene unfolding on TV, he just sighs after all you are small but you are still a big box of surprises.

At the end he will be warning you about the risks of using items or anything unconventional for that type of thing.

Rafayel

"Oh you destroyed my innocence, you monster"

That's what he'll say at the end of the movie, even though he watched it all the way through and with a carefree smile on his lips, he seemed more used to all the heavy stuff in the movie. Of course, none of those fake scenes can beat the dirtiest thoughts he has about you. If that's what people like, then his thoughts about you would win four Oscars. He could make a movie with more than four hours in seven different settings with more than twenty hotter scenes than this one with you in a single day.

He is more interesting than a lame movie with bad acting performances and he will show you after the movie is over

Sylus

Sylus is judging the entire movie, laughing at how different things are from real life, and how bad the lead actor was, although the movie was a bit similar to your first meeting...

"Do you like watching this kind of stuff? I thought you were a well-behaved kitten..." Sylus murmurs softly in your ear pulling you closer as he tightens his arms around your waist as the two of you lie on the couch.

"My dick is way bigger than his, and who needs so many toys to make sure their partner come at least once?" He says with slight sarcasm, a chuckle almost like a light heavy purr echoes from him before you respond.

"but you have a room just like the one in the movie with some toys too"

Sylus just raises an eyebrow at this before sighing and replying while drawing circles on his waist with his thumb "No Kitten... those are not 'toys' they are items for real torture, the first thing you thought when you entered my work room was 'wow bdsm toys?' you are dirtier than I thought love."

Luke and Kieran

You got Luke, You got Kieran

and now you have one on each side sitting next to you while the three of you watch the movie together, even though it didn't go as planned.

The movie was more of a comedy to them than anything, it was almost like taking the boys to an amusement park, first they didn't like the male actor, they found him tacky or even compared him to Sylus a little to the point of choking on laughter, they were rooting for the girl in the movie to break up with the guy and have an independent life, saying lines from the movie to you and telling you how lucky you are to not have just one guy but two guys who could make a better dark romance and that you wouldn't need to call the police on them...

"Boss has a room just like this room in the movie... do you think Boss is actually a dom who likes BDSM?" Luke asks looking at you and his brother on the other side of the couch, both with their arms around your waist, Kieran just rolls his eyes slightly

"no, I still think Boss is a secret Wanderer, I'm sure he turns into one every night, that's why he doesn't sleep...Mc can confirm this"

#love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #lnd x reader #luke and kieran #love and deep space x reader #rafayel x reader

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pantherxrogers · 4 months ago

Text

happy birthday sannie - choi san x fem!reader one shot (smut 18+) 🎂

📱pairing: choi san x fem!reader (established relationship)

📱warnings: smut (18+), porn with no plot, explicit language, mutual masturbation, slight degradation, slight angst, use of petnames, phone sex, dirty talk, san has a filthy mouth lmao

📱summary: reader calls to wish san a happy birthday. luckily, they both get a happy ending! 😀

📱a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML 🥳 also, i'm just now realizing how much i write about phone sex lmao. i can't help it! it's fun! 🤠

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"happy birthday, sannie!"

you squeal into the phone, clutching the comforter to your chest. despite the time difference, you'd never miss the opportunity to wish your boyfriend a happy birthday.

"thank you, my love," he hums, grateful to hear your voice. he knows it's super early in the morning for you, so the gesture makes him happy. even though he feels a little guilty, it's pointless to tell you to get some sleep. after all, he missed you too.

"really wish i could be there with you." san can hear your pout through the phone. it reminds him of the hollow ache in his chest, only filled by your presence. nonetheless, he's happy to have this moment with you now.

"i know, honey. wish you could be here, too," he sighs, relaxing into the stiff hotel couch. "at least you'll be here tomorrow, though."

"that's not soon enough!" you whine, suddenly annoyed by the job that you so desperately wanted all those years ago. you have your dream career. but, days like this make you wish you could pack yourself up in san's suitcase and be with him always.

his answering chuckle is low and deep, causing you to rub your thighs together beneath the comforter. it's been almost a week since you've seen him. he had a fan meeting overseas, and the distance is wearing on both of you.

as your boyfriend rambles about his day, you find yourself getting distracted by flashbacks of the day he left with his members. his strong body hovered over yours, giving you everything he had. that familiar ache between your legs is back, much stronger this time.

"honey, did you hear me?" his inquisitive tone cuts you out of your daydream. your heart beats faster, somehow feeling like san can access the dirty thoughts running through your mind.

"sorry, sannie. i got a little distracted. what did you say?" you mentally scold yourself, embarrassed by your lack of self control.

"i was asking about how your day was?" his innocent question makes shame creep into your heart. he's the caring boyfriend, while you're the horny girlfriend who can't stay focused long enough to answer questions.

"oh, it was pretty good. just missing you a little more today."

"me too, i've been jerking off like crazy."

"san!" his casual tone catches you off guard. but, you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

"don't act coy now, baby. i could hear you breathing heavy when i was trying to talk to you about your day." his tone is slightly condescending and very sexy. if he were here, you can bet he'd be smirking at you and teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

your silence confirms his suspicions, inciting a knowing laugh from him. "you're just so easy to read, sweetie."

"don't tease me," you whine, basking in the slight humiliation you feel. san always know how to push your limits, turning you on like never before.

"tell me what you're wearing." his low pitch is rich and smooth, causing excitement to swirl around in your belly. you mindlessly bring your hand up to your chest, teasing yourself through the thin t shirt.

"i'm wearing your tour merch." a loud groan comes through the phone, followed by the sound of san shuffling around. your words never fail to make him hard.

his mind is overtaken by the thought of you in nothing but his t shirt. if he could have it his way, he'd be with you right now, buried between your thighs. instead, he settles for his hand, teasing himself through the fabric of his pants.

"bet you look so sexy, baby. all laid out on the bed waiting for me." the desperation in his voice strikes through to your core. "bet you do, too," you whine back, picturing his strong body once again.

"need you to touch yourself for me," he instructs, leaving no room for argument. not that you'd even dream of that.

you follow his command, gliding your fingertips down to the top of your panties. blood rushes in your ears, heart beating a mile a minute. taking the plunge, you dip your hand into the fabric, drawing light circles against your clit.

on the other end, san eases his zipper down. his bulge is prominent, and he can feel it throb with everyone sound you make. he teases himself, running a hand along his shaft. his boxers are the only barrier left now and they will be gone soon.

the faint gasp you let out is almost too much for san. unable to tease himself any longer, he pulls his hard cock out of his underwear. the coldness of the room makes him hiss, suddenly feeling more sensitive. he's lewd in the way he spits into his hand, making sure you can hear him.

"t-tell me what you're doing, baby," you pant, now drawing steady circles on your clit. the pressure feels amazing but you need more.

"i'm thinking about that tight pussy. you always squeeze my cock just right." his tone makes you clench around nothing, eager to have him back with you. you slow down, using your fingers to tease the outline of your pussy. "i'm thinking about your cock." your admission makes him pump himself faster, unable to hold back.

the only thing on his mind is you. you. you.

how you look when he stretches you out with his thick fingers, wetness leaking into the palm of his hand. how you look when he's between your thighs, using his tongue to draw figure 8s on your clit. how you look when he's inside you, one hand splayed across your lower back, pounding into you from behind.

that's the image that excites him the most. more precum leaks from his tip, messily mixing with his saliva. he imagines the way he'd paint your body with it.

"need tomorrow to come soon, so i can stretch that pussy out again," he grunts, prompting you to ease your fingers into your opening. "you gonna let me wreck that pussy when you get here?"

another gasp slips through your lips, the slight stretch adding to your pleasure. "w-want you to fuck me now," you whine out, making a scissoring motion with your fingers.

"yeah, bet you'd like that, huh? what a slut. can't even call your boyfriend to wish him a happy birthday without sticking your fingers in your cunt."

"mhmm, 'm your slut, sannie!"

"s-shit. you're so fucking sexy," he huffs, eyes rolling back in pleasure. the only thing to be heard in the hotel room is the vulgar, slick sound of his hand against his cock. he's a mess now, every nerve in his body is awake. every time he gets close to the tip, he feels a zap up pleasure shoot up his spine.

"wanna hear a secret?" the only answer you can offer him is a whimper.

"remember that thong you wore the last time i fucked you?" your voice is so faint, he almost misses your soft yes.

"i brought it here with me. i've been jerking off to it almost every night, imagining your pussy wrapped around my cock."

"ooo, i'm gonna cum, sannie!" it's the last thing you get out before a string of moans. you're seeing white, eyes shut tightly in pleasure. you imagine san fucking your through your orgasm, his hips bumping against your ass.

the sound of your orgasm has san seeing stars. he imagines himself buried inside of you. your pussy is always so slick, wet, and hot. he swears he can almost feel it. with a couple sloppy pumps, he's following right behind you. thick ropes of cum shoot out of his cock, painting across his abs.

both of you pant into the phone, slowly coming down from your high. after catching his breath, san is the first to speak.

"you did such a good job, baby. love hearing you pleasure yourself." his praise makes your cheeks burn, basking in his sweetness.

"thank you, sannie. i love hearing you, too." he snickers at your bashfulness, always surprised by how quickly you get shy on him. he finds it adorable, making him love you even more.

the rest of your conversation carries on, both of you complimenting the other throughout. you can pay attention now, finally feeling satisfied after a long day without your man. san's warm voice makes you feel relaxed, dragging you into a state of tranquility.

"baby? you there?"

silence answers him. he can't help but laugh and think about his sleepy girl. with a dopey smile on his face, he decides to let you get your sleep. he's grateful he was able to satisfy you.

"goodnight, angel. i'll see you soon."

#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics #choi san smut #choi san ateez #choi san x reader #san x reader #san x black!reader #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez

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guiltyasdave · 4 months ago

Text

a long time coming

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You were supposed to go to a concert with your best friend. You end up going with her dad instead.

word count: ~1.1k

tags/warnings: best friend's dad!Dave, fluff, allusions to smut, huge age gap, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, please be warned: Dave has inappropriate (though reciprocated) thoughts about his daughter's best friend - if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read

a/n: daphne @sizzlingcloudmentality and i were freaking out about those new photos of pedro, and because daphne apparently wants me dead, she said that it's giving bfd!dave who's at a concert with you and also provided me with a snippet that still has me in a chokehold and that's part of this story now. i am already experiencing heavy brainrot because i'm going to the eras tour in three (3) days and this was the final nail in my coffin tbh. i should be working on my dress, but instead i did this. the most self indulgent shit i've ever written lmao, please enjoy <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my whole masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

“Please, daddy? Please?”

Dave sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Molly’s hoarse voice keeps pleading with him before it dissolves into a fit of coughs.

With a groan, she lets her head fall against the pillows, wide eyes still trained on him.

“No one else wants to go, and I can’t let her go alone, I’d feel terrible. Please?”

She pouts at him, knowing fully well that her father doesn’t deny her anything when she looks at him like this.

“Fine. If you’re sure that she’s okay with it?”

“She is! I already asked her.”

Dave cocks a brow at his daughter, earning himself an exhausted but triumphant grin.

“Don’t look at me like that. It will be fun!”

Admittedly, Dave really has much more fun than he expected when his daughter all but begged him to accompany her best friend to the concert that she wanted to go to herself before she got sick.

He knows most of the songs, has been witness to you and Molly singing along to the music while dancing through his kitchen often enough. It’s not bad music by any means, and the show is nothing short of spectacular.

It’s not the reason he’s enjoying himself so much though. He’s barely watching the show, eyes only occasionally flicking towards the stage.

His gaze is fixed on you, has been since before the show even started. Watching you interact with other fans, beaming smiles and giggles, eagerly exchanging bracelets, excitedly cooing at the especially pretty ones.

Meeting your eyes when you turned to him, not able to suppress his own smile at the sparkle in them. Suppressing the flicker of something in his chest when your fingers wrapped around his wrist, tugging it closer to put a few bracelets on him as well. You don’t seem to notice the faint blush that’s rising up in his cheeks at the unexpected touch.

He’s watching you bouncing on your feet seconds before the show starts, snaps a few photos of the pure joy on your face without you noticing. Just to send them to you later, having enough experience from being the father of two daughters to know how much you’ll love them. After that, he’ll delete them from his own phone. Of course he will.

He’s watching you dance, your body moving to the beat of the music, your lips forming every word. Your silhouette shimmering with the lights reflecting off your dress. It’s mesmerizing. You dance with the girls beside you sometimes, shouting lyrics at each other. Other times, you turn to him. He doesn’t protest when you take his hands, starts moving with you without a second thought, starts singing the words that he knows along with you. You’re laughing, your eyes shining with pure happiness. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more, wants all of it, wants to be part of that happiness. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled this wide, the last time his body felt this light.

It takes a long time, longer than it should, until he remembers why this is bad. Until the weight comes crashing back into him. Until he remembers that he shouldn’t feel like this with you.

You’re so much younger than him. His daughter’s friend. His daughter who asked him to come here with you, because she trusted that you’d be safe with him.

Your brow furrows when you catch his eye and notice the change in his expression. No. He wants you to enjoy yourself, doesn’t want to be the reason for any kind of worry for you right now. He allows himself to drink in your energy right now, to let a smile grow on his face again.

There’s no harm in indulging just for one night. Just a little bit. No one has to know. Least of all you.

So he keeps singing with you, keeps letting you move with him. Keeps watching.

It’s easy, being with you, talking to you. Effortless in a way that he’s not used to.

It’s just because you’re at his house more often than not, going wherever Molly goes. It has to be.

But it’s different, your giggles ringing out in the confines of his car, not mixed with his daughter’s, the sound that he knows. And he’s the one who’s elicited those laughs from you.

"Explain it again, please. You’ve glued every single of these stones onto your dress?" He laughs and gives you another once over, glad he can disguise his inappropriate ogling with an appreciating glance. Act like he’s studying the intricate, shimmering patterns on the fabric. Not the way your tits are straining against the low cut over your chest. Not the way the skirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing a new inch of bare skin. "Great job, sweetheart. You look good. The dress looks good, too."

He wonders how the dress would look bunched up around your waist. Or on the floor of your apartment. If your skin is as soft as it looks in the dim shine of the red light he’s stopped at. How it would taste under his tongue. The sweet sounds you would make when his teeth dig into you.

You breathe a thank you and bite your lip at the compliment, and his cock twitches with interest. Wrong, wrong, so wrong.

He has to be imagining the way that you keep glancing his way, stealing looks when you think that he doesn’t notice. Wishful thinking on his part.

He pulls up in front of your apartment building, killing the engine and turning towards you. You’re already facing him, more shy than you’ve looked all evening.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly, lips pulling up into another smile. “I’ve had a great time. I— I hope you did too.”

His hand lands on your thigh before he can actively think about it. A soft gasp escapes you, but you make no move to back away from his touch.

“Trust me, I did.”

He doesn’t intend for it to come out as low and breathy as it does. Teeth dig into your lips once more. Your contemplative gaze burns into him.

You inch closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his face.

Wrong. He swallows thickly, forces his grip off of you. You blink, eyes growing wider, the growing tension’s fog lifting from you. Clearing your throat, you sit up straighter.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

He needs you to leave this car. Right now.

You nod, shakily bidding him a good night as well.

He watches your retreating silhouette, finally able to exhale deeply when you enter your building.

He’s fucked.

comments and reblogs are love and make my day every single time <3

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #janas fics

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togament · 5 months ago

Note

as much as i love cute festival fluff with togame (someone else pls send in an ask for it lmao), consider confessing to togame on valentines with homemade chocolate since he’s a big foodie & he, more than anyone, would appreciate the effort 🥰

i can see him maybe not clocking the intention right away either bc he didn’t have friends until shishitoren (+ find it hard to believe anyone would be interested in him like that) & the thought of choji of all ppl making him realize it’s romantic bc the chocolate reader gave him “wasn’t as nice looking as kame-chan’s :<” is soooo funny to me

GHHRHRJRH GNAWING ON YOUR ARM THIS IS ADORABLE!!!!! kinda teared up a bit ngl. imagining a soft blushy togame got me in my feels. i feel like (Also yes pls someone send in a cute festival date hc with togame/any of your faves!!!! I have things to say about our turtle guy in particular but we can do your other faves too. idk i'm in a yappy mood.

“you’re finally ready to confess to togame after mulling it over for months. you even made chocolates for him to (hopefully) immediately devour. things don’t go quite as planned though.”

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : none just fluff, gender neutral reader, reader’s jelly and an overthinker, togame’s in looooove, choji’s a little shit (affectionate)

full story under the cut! fully SFW.

standing at the gates of the ori, you bounce on your heels in sheer nervousness, eyes tirelessly darting around in search for togame with two chocolate boxes in one hand. one smaller one and one huge and beautifully decorated one. god your heart’s beating a mile a minute and your brain’s working overtime. what if he got into trouble? a possibility. what if someone’s confessing to him? of course someone would. he’s tall, handsome, kind, can cook—what’s not to love?

what if someone asked him out on a date? shit.

..what if HE asked someone out on a date? double shit.

oh god. oh no. your form visibly slumps at the thought, doubtlessly breaking your own heart again. but hey, on the bright side, you could eat your own chocolates, right? you made them extra delicious too, making them into flavors you know he’d like. you even snuck in some ramune flavored sweets for him.

…you know you’d hate eating chocolates for the rest of your life after this.

but then, the sun in the form of choji, shines through the dark clouds in your mind. your body visibly straightens back up when you hear his distinct laughter and endless yapping along with the soft crinkles of cellophane and boxes. listening even closer, you can hear togame speak and get promptly cut off by the smaller boy.

breathe. he’s here.

shit— what if those boxes you heard were all his and choji was just carrying them with him? what if he already gave someone a kiss today? what if he’d take your box of chocolates and hand it to his date instead?? what if—

“oh hey it’s bunny.”

you were just ready to walk away when you were stopped in your tracks by his deep voice calling out the nickname he so annoyingly picked for you. even when you’re looking away you could just hear him smiling. you turn, giving both boys a slight wave before you’re met with the absolute mountain of chocolates choji and him are carrying.

you’re not the only one who wanted to confess to him then.

“hey uh-mind adding these to your pile?” you say, failing to mask the sadness in your voice. you catch yourself though, immediately correcting yourself. “got these for you guys. no biggie, really.” you made the chocolates. granted the smaller box’s for choji and it’s way less decorated compared to togame’s. more ‘default’ chocolate box than ‘I have liked you for the longest time please accept my love’ chocolate box. you yap some more, digging your own grave, “these were on sale today so… thought you guys might want a snack.” you didn’t get them on sale. hell you made each and every single one by hand for the both of them to suit their tastes. god knows how much time you and him have spent talking about cooking and food.

but then choji gasps.

“hey! lying’s not nice!” choji chirps at you, dropping the boxes of chocolates on the ground unceremoniously. togame could only look on since his hands are already occupied with even more of choji’s valentines chocolates. the smaller boy looks at you suspiciously, albeit playfully. "you made these, didn't you?"

fuck. he noticed. you stare at choji like a deer in headlights now, too stunned to utter a single word.

he eyes the beautifully painted box in your hands and you pray for the ground to just eat you.

“iiiiis that one mine?” choji points at the larger box, eyes shining. togame looks on though, silent but his mind’s racing too. little did you know the chocolates they were carrying were all choji’s, given by his droves of admirers and friends alike. while togame didn’t mind not getting any chocolates this year and all those years before that, he finds himself hoping.

please don’t let that be choji’s.

“Wh-no! it’s-“ “-kame-chan’s? waaah his box is way larger and prettier than mine is!” he cuts you off, eyeing the boxes as you hold them in your hand. still, he takes his smaller box from you. “why’d you give kame-chan a bigger one? you like him or something?”

a pause.

“is that why you’re blushing?” he prods, wiggling a finger at you. "is that why you're blushing too, kame-chan?", he adds, wiggling two fingers at the both of you.

you could just explode at that moment.

“HUH?? What??? n-no! I mean YES-“ “oh so you do?” choji adds, cutting you off again. Taking togame’s larger box of chocolates from your hands, he shuffles through the chocolate boxes he dropped on the floor, handing the taller, now stunned boy his first legit box of valentines chocolates.

you three are blanketed in silence. with the exception of choji’s giggles.

"choji wait-" “welp, I’ll be in the ori!” he brightly exclaims, swiftly taking all of the chocolate boxes from togame’s arms and off the floor, leaving him with the single, most prettiest one in the bunch.

yours.

choji leaves you both with a playful wink and you both stand there, glancing at each other and fumbling awkwardly.

silently, he opens your chocolate box and is immediately greeted with a beautifully arranged selection of chocolates and sweets. his gaze flits from the box, to your reddened face and back again. you motion for him to eat. and he does.

he didn’t think it was possible to like you even more.

he pops one of the ramune shaped bites in his mouth and his eyes immediately widen in delight behind his amber sunglasses. pushing the glasses up his forehead to meet your eyes properly, you fail to tear away your eyes in time.

“sure you made these yerself, bunny? could've fooled me. these are restaurant quality. ” he says in between bites. his tone’s something he only uses around you and choji. vulnerable, safe, gently.

your heart’s beating way too fast for your own good.

“mhm. thought you might like that one because y’know… ramune and all.” you respond, “your favorite, right?”

with an acknowledging hum, he closes the box, twisting and admiring the beautifully decorated container, a forest green box speckled with gold and ornate lines. you really set the bar way up high for him. he smiles softly to himself and you swear you see his cheeks redden a tint.

“…can ya teach me to make them?” his voice grows softer, just enough for you to hear him. “how’s next weekend?” as soon as the words escape his lips, his heartbeat rises up to his throat. what if you didn't want to? he's never done this before, making the first move. he still can't fully grasp why you'd go so far as make something for him, someone who's only respected out of fear, someone who's wronged so many for just one cause. it haunts him sometimes. the Shishitoren could forgive him but he can't forgive himself. why would you?

you'll convince him soon enough. make him see what you see in him, what others see in him.

now's not that time though. your mind’s already in another dimension, thinking about him giving his date YOUR dessert with the recipe YOU made for him. letting out a soft disappointed sigh before opening your mouth, you respond, “maybe I could.“

“Maybe huh.” he echoes you, arching a brow at you with a small frown ghosting his lips.

“yeah, maybe. I could send the recipe over to you if you want. you could try making it with your date-“

“date? I want to make them for you next month, doofus. only you.” he retorts, wanting to get his point across. he realizes you're overthinking again. he's assuring you. meeting your eyes, he sees the shade of red on your cheeks darken. you look like a fish out of water, mouth agape and eyes wide. extending a hand towards you, he nudges your chin up with his knuckle. “y’know what that means right? I like you.”

a small gasp escapes your lips.

“you do..?” a pause. “why?”

he laughs, playfully pinching your cheek.

“I just do, cutie. always have. I take it you like me too?”

you nod. do it properly this time.

“yeah. I really do.”

he smiles, dimples deepening on his cheeks. he looks so relieved you like him back. you swear you feel like you’re on cloud nine — is this really happening?

“it’s a date then." he says as he reaches over to pat your head. "you better not flake on me, bun. Else I’d take that imaginary date of mine out instead.”

scoffing, you push his chest and he lets out a soft 'oof'.

“you wouldn't dare—“

“ARE YOU GUYS DATING YET??”

choji screams from the distance, the entire Shishitoren gang’s staring at you both from the ori, desperately waiting for the both of you to finish. they've been watching you both the entire time with bated breath. his friends are all cheering him on.

a pause.

togame reaches over to hold your hand, intertwining his long fingers through yours. hoots and hollers echo as he waves them off with a hand.

you could only smile up at him, squeezing his hand into yours.

he squeezes back.

a/n: hehehehe self doubt togame making me soft. MAKE HIM FEEL WORTHY GOD DAMN IT. DATE HIM AND DATE HIM HARD.

#wind breaker #windbreaker #nii satoru #satoru nii #jo togame #togame <3 #togame jo #windbreaker x reader #jo togame x reader #togame fluff #windbreaker fluff #wind breaker fluff #bibi asks #bibi yaps #winbre fluff #TAKE TOGAME ON COOKING DATES I BEG.

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iamespecter · 1 month ago

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Oh yeah, I have another AU and just like the Harlequin AU, it's a huge one

For the uninitiated, Origins AU is a slice of life + action adventure comedy centered around the Glamrock cast, as they try to get by starting their own band and maybe, kicking ass. No, Security Breach & Ruin isn't canon to this AU, its it's own world (though SB characters can show up as a minor cast).

I'm pretty sure the reason this au started was because I saw the baby Monty decal from Gator golf and thought, "Why is Monty the only one with this? The others should also have their origins too" (hence the name)

These are all SUPER old art btw, from all the way back to 2022

One thing led to another, and with the joint effort with my bf @nobody-nexus, Origins AU began with baby decal concepts, to fleshed out world(s), backstories and lore.

Lots, and LOTS of em. But for the sake of not boring anyone with details, I'll summarize.

Freddy is an Alien space bear Supersoldier called an "Ursin'ul" (play on words on "ursine" and "arsenal") crash landing on earth, refusing to participate in propaganda and colonizing other planets once he found out the truth about his kind

Chica is a rebellious yet naive meravian Princess who learns forbidden knowledge to be able to walk on land and explore the world beyond the sea, as long as she keeps hydrating

Roxy is the bad girl small-time rockstar that's closed off to most people due to her upbringing, and transforms into a werewolf when full moon hits

Monty is a 9-foot tall irradiated alligator being pursued by the government after he broke out, whom wants to study him in order to create potential bio-weaponized supersoldiers

And Bonnie is... Roxy's roommate getting caught in the crossfire. A normal guy with a lot of uncles (almost ALL Bonnies from the entire franchise are related to him), and owns a bowling alley. That's it lmao, he doesn't have a secret or a superpower like everyone, he's just the average menkisser

They're always pursued by The Rockstars in this AU, all with personal motives behind their actions: Francois being forced to find and retrieve Freddy by Levi's (Lefty) orders, Clarabelle wants revenge for her eye from Roxy, Felix is down horrendous for Chica and wants to marry her against her will, and Brian is tasked with retrieving Monty.

Other variants in the franchise have their own thing too lmao, HW dlc being weird country guys, Toys being a Mafia group/Toymakers with an ongoing feud with the Funtimes, Withereds/Classics being veterans in the ent. industry, and Fury's Rage enemies aren't enemies, but Monty's friends from his time in confinement. There's Nightmares too, but they aren't a thing until the end.

I've made lots of shitposts, artworks and designs alongside Nexus for this au, and one day, I wanna come back to it and work on tweaking stuff as well as story beats. For now, I got a lot of things I have to work on first and this serves as an archive for the au's ideas.

#ziku's insane rambles #fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf origins au #origins au #security breach #fnaf security breach #security breach au #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's #glamrock chica #glamrock freddy #glamrock bonnie #roxanne wolf #montgomery gator #freddy fazbear #bonnie the bunny #chica the chicken #fnaf foxy

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a-disturbing-self-reflection · 9 months ago

Text

🏁 Winner, winner, chicken dinner - EO31

SUMMARY: Social media au, y/n is an f1 driver for porsche. 2 best friends finally get a clue. PAIRING: Esteban ocon x fem!reader

Y/N13

Liked by Estebanocon and others

Y/N13 Proud of porsche 🖤

Sorry to end silly season before it begins, but here's to another year!

View all comments...

Estebanocon how long did that take you to think of?

↳ Y/N13 dont...

↳ User1 not him exposing her like that 💀

User2 yesss! Our queen is slaying staying

PorscheF1 We'd want no one else! 🔥💛

↳ alex_albon do I mean nothing to you?

↳ Y/N13 I love you Porsche admin 😍😍

↳ PorscheF1 😳

↳ Estebanocon stop flirting with the poor admin

↳ landnorris jealous? 🤨

↳ User5 ok Grandpa, lets get you into bed

User3 Can't wait to watch next weeks gp

User4 I'm taking time off work to watch next weeks grand prix! Cant wait to see you smash it, Hungary here i come!!

User5 She's such a porsche girly, I'm living for it

User6 I dont want, I NEED that jacket

↳ User5 ikr, its GORGEOUS

Estebanocon

Liked by Y/N13, fernandoalo_oficial and others

Estebanocon I don't know what to write I'm lost for words we just won the Hungarian @ f1GrandPrix i will forever remember this moment!!🔥 Thank you to @ alpinef1team, without them I would not have made it, and what a drive by the legend himself @ fernandoalo_oficial he's part of this too

View all comments...

alpinef1team 🔥🔥

↳ User6 alpine fr love their fire emojis

↳ alpinef1team 🔥

Y/N13 King of long captions and king of the podium!

↳ Estebanocon let me celebrate in peace

↳ User5 Mum help, they're flirting again

↳ User7 you are delulu

User8 You only got that win cause of Fernando clown 🤡

User9 💩

User10 Not the toxic Fernando fan boys in the comments 💀

fernandoalo_oficial Congrats 😁👍

↳ Estebanocon next win is yours 😉

Y/N13 added to her story!

Y/N13 Estie my bestie, we party like no others.

Reply...

landonorris I was there too you know

Y/N13 🥱

landonorris Of course you're only focused on him

Y/N13 whats that supposed to mean?

landonorris nothinggggg ;)

lando.jpg

Liked by Y/N13, charles_leclerc and others

lando.jpg Podium pals 😎

View all comments...

User11 She looks like a godess... And they're... there.

Y/N13 Did Estie dirty there lmao

↳ lando.jpg Estie? interesting

↳ User5 HA he's so us

User6 lando got those moves 🕺

Estebanocon It was a great night to end a great day

mclaren looking good Lando! 🔥

charles_leclerc This is charles erasure

↳ lando.jpg Next time dont DNF then 🤷‍♂️

↳ User15 He didnt 💀

User14 Ocon embracing the squirrel

F1gossip

Liked by landonorris and others

F1gossip seems it's not just lando norris who got tired during the Belgian GP! Y/n L/n and Esteban Ocon caught snuggling up during the red flag

View all comments...

User5 INTERESTING

User15 They're childhood friends, obviously they're comfy with eachother

↳ User16 Let us L/nOcon shippers live in delusion ok

User17 When is it my tuuuurn

User18 why is no one talking about how cute lando looks

User19 Lando in the liiiikes??

↳ User20 He's the #1 f1 gossiper, of course he's in the likes

Y/N13

Liked by alex_albon and others

Y/N13 And thats how you celebrate P2

View all comments...

User16 Who's the person you're playing uno with?

↳ landonorris Ocon obviously

↳ User1 More importantly who won

↳ User3 As if Y/n would ever let a man beat her

Liked by Y/N13

↳ User8 She did in the race today

↳ User5 You did NOT, thats FOUL

Estebanocon I'm not accepting this slander, I beat her

↳ Y/N13 LIES

maxverstappen1 Congrats on P2, offended you didn't come out partying with us

↳ Y/N13 But merlin...

↳ User15 She's so real for choosing to watch her fave show instead of going out partying

PorscheF1 p1 here we come! 🏆🔥

↳ User21 why do all admins love the fire emoji?

↳ PorscheF1 🔥

↳ mclaren 🔥

↳ alpinef1team 🔥

landonorris You watched merlin WITHOUT ME???

↳ Y/N13 sucks to suck ig

↳ landonorris :(

User6 Her celebrating her podium with him instead of the rest of the grid 😚

↳ User10 It's so cute

↳ User22 I dont get it, are they dating

↳ landonorris not yet

↳ User5 He ships it harder than us i swear

User23 Soft launch?

↳ User24 They're BEST FRIENDS, this is not a soft launch 😭

Y/N13

Liked by Estebanocon, landonorris and others

Y/N13 Happy birthday Estie bestie, 15 in a caravan turned to 25 in an f1 car so quick 🖤

View all comments...

Estebanocon I hate you

↳ Y/N13 you love meeee

↳ landnorris Just kiss already pls

Liked by Estebanocon

↳ User5 Ayo?

User17 The media team did NOT see this one looool

User5 Bestie, the last pic I-

User23 I love it when me and my bestfriend cuddle all platonic style, jokingly flirt and have date nights... girl who you fooling?

User18 He's so baby girl

User15 They're in love

↳ User24 You're delusional (I believe you)

Y/N13

Liked by PorscheF1, charles_leclerc and others

Y/N13 Winner winner chicken dinner, what more can I say?

View all comments...

User5 How about explaining that kiss!!??!?!

PorscheF1 Could not be prouder.

User25 Girl, WHAT does that mean?

landonorris Next step, first ever joint championship 😎

↳ Y/N13 in your dreams buddy

↳ landonorris i dont deserve this

Estebanocon We only know how to win

charles_leclerc Best person to share a podium with

↳ maxverstappen1 What am i?

↳ charles_leclerc a pain

F1gossip

Liked by User5 and others

F1gossip Passionate displays from Y/n after her first Grand prix win, rushing off the podium to kiss childhood friend Esteban Ocon. Does this reveal a secret side to their relationship? Or was it a heat of the moment decision?

View all comments...

User5 WE WON

User24 The pining is overrrr

User22 Y/n and Esteban finally getting together WAS on my 2021 bingo card!

↳ User26 Be honest, how many years has it been on there?

↳ User22 ....

Estebanocon

Liked by landonorris, Y/N13 and others

Estebanocon the spider to my man

View all comments...

Y/N13 you think you're smooth

↳ Estebanocon the smoothest

Y/N13 finally get to say i love youuuuuuu (in a non platonic way!!)

↳ Estebanocon I'll help you reach any apple you want

↳ User20 everyday i wake up knowing ill never have this

User6 I have to know, @ landonorris how much of this was you?

↳ landonorris at least 60%

↳ User14 Only 60?

↳ landonorris the pining was crazy

Y/N13

Liked by alex_albon, Estebanocon and others

Y/N13 finally got a clue

Estebanocon only took 20 years

#esteban ocon #esteban ocon x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #estie bestie #f1 smau #🏁 - matts f1 works

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 10 months ago

Text

The idler wheel is wiser than the driver of the screw.

PART 1 ★ PART 2

Quick summary: After one too many drinks, you find yourself unable to think of anything but a certain smart-mouth detective who is in desperate need of a release.

Word count: 11K (I'm sorry)

Warnings: This is basically just SMUTT with a lil feelings (if you squint) sprinkled in there; kind of angsty at points (mentions of canon-typical death and violence (hellooo they're homicide detectives); gets a bit existential at points, watch out; pretentious.

A/N: YAY! I had this obsession with True Detective S1 all throughout October (watched it at my nan's house lmao), so enjoy the lovechild of that. This is just for fun, so, please, nobody be angry at me if they don't agree with Rust's characterisation, or any of the weird philosophical chat, lalallalal, OKAY ENJOY!!

***

The night air is sluggish and humid with the remnants of a warm summer’s rain, pressing down thickly, close, clogging, simmering just below the surface.

A few times, I’ve interviewed people who live in these sorts of places: motel-types, the “in-between”, where folks stay when they’ve either got no money, no choice or nobody. Other residents include passers-by who’re looking to save money on accommodation, skipping on the fancier places. Not that Louisiana really has any “fancier places”. Places without the paint peeling off walls like dead skin, I guess. A bed and breakfast in the nicer suburbia, with a view overlooking a subpar daydream of a ghost town centre.

I’ve leaned up against the crooked, metal railing, felt the influence of my weight almost sending it and myself crashing down onto the faded parking lot beneath. I’ve leaned up there—after knocking—and waited, waited for a grey face to peer through a crack in the cracked door. I’ve smiled and remarked about how the beat-up, brass numbers up there are hanging by a thread. Sometimes, people are real stingy – they slink out and close the door behind them, or they remain in that little slit, just an eye visible, or they plain shut it in my face. Most let me in right away, maybe a little intimidated by the shiny badge clipped up in my jacket – I’ve sat across from ‘em, felt that mud in the room’s air seep into my pores, inviting me under its still swamp.

Seems like the sort of place for him.

Too many a fuckin’ time, Marty’s come grumbling and muttering into the office kitchen, rolling his eyes, scoffing, huffing, the whole lot. And when I ask him why the strop?—“Ancient fuckin’ philosopher fuckin’ Rust Cohle on it again. Birthday’s comin’ up: get me earplugs and a generous bit o’ duct tape for my dear partner over there, would you?”

Or somethin’ along those lines.

For all his apparent talk about us silly, little “biological puppets”, this seems like Rust’s sort of place. Temporary existence, temporary living. Purgatory?

Whatever.

If you ask me, Rust Cohle’s head is so far up his own ass that it’s no wonder his outlook on life is so dark.

If I was more sober, maybe I’d be thinking about it—about him—less—but this night out has had me so drunk I was maybe even hallucinating at some point. Rust?—sure, he’s been in the back of my mind for some part of the last few months – I have to see him most days I go to work, don’t I? – but, sometime in the space between my third and fourth shot of straight vodka, he was suddenly at the very front of it. I’d seen a guy who smoked like him: cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, a simple, deep drag. I’d thought it was him, but then I realised his face was shrouded in the smoke that he’d exhaled, and I recalled that Rust never seems to do that. Never seems to exhale. All the tar and shit stays in.

With a twist of my keys, the engine rumbles off into more-or-less silence. Fuck, it’s a bad idea, yes, just being here. If he likes to keep his distance, well—he’s entitled to that choice.

I glance over my shoulder, out the window, out at the complex which is all yellow and shining, illuminated by buzzing halogen light bars and, of course, the occasional bug zapper. It’s clean enough. The lines of this parking space were white enough. Apartment 11A, said Marty. Second floor.

“Are you drunk?” he’d asked – Marty, not Rust.

I’d replied, “No,” pressing closer to the phone box in attempts to remove myself from the swarm and bustle of the ladies’ bathroom. And it was an honest reply. Sort of. Despite his scepticism, by that time, I’d long stopped drinking, and all that remained from it was a sort of numb tingle in my fingertips—as far as I was concerned.

I don’t think I’d be in this parking lot, stepping out of my car, if I wasn’t still a little bit gone.

Marty’s sigh had crackled through the receiver. “Don’t bring any o’ tha’ party-this-party-that attitude to ‘im, alright? He’ll hate it.” I’d told him okay, my stomach spiking up with excitement. “Fact is, I don’t think you should go at all. ‘f you do, should be a work matter. This a work matter, detective?”

I’d lied, said yes, perhaps with a slur to my voice.

He clicked his tongue. “Okay, buck, whatever you say.” Then, he’d hung up.

There was something disapproving in the manner of the conversation. I got the feeling that he was talking to me in the same voice he used to lecture his daughters. The only reason I’d called him was to get something from him, sure, so that I could basically get something from Rust, his partner. I could see how that sort of thing might’ve upset someone. Not that Marty Hart should have any right to judge, not when he’s coming into work in the same clothes as the day before, stinking of sweat and God knows what. The unsaid agreement of everyone in the office is to turn a blind eye. I’ve met his wife. Someone should cut off his damn dick.

Quiet, now. Hell, who am I to talk? Marty’s fun to chat with, makes a slow day at the office a little brighter. ‘Course, there’s rarely a slow day at the office.

And I’m at the top of the stairs, now. And I knock—one, two, three—on the pilling, forest-green door. Dulled down 11A. Blinds are determinedly shut, slats flat. For a second, I think maybe I’ll be waking him.

Then I remember Rust doesn’t sleep.

A grey face appears as the door swings just a little ways open, grave and sunken-tired. His expression isn’t so pissed-off as it is just his usual expression.

“Rusty,” I say to him with a small nod, words scraping out dryly.

He doesn’t respond right away – ‘stead, he leans his body out partway, eyes absent like he’s searching for some hooligan criminal in the night.

“Marty told you my address?” he asks lowly. It’s more a statement than anything, but I amuse him with a nod anyways. There’s a cigarette flaring up between his fingers. His hand twitches a little like he’s wanting to take a drag, but his eyes are fixed on my shoes, now, like he’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m a foreign body in his domain.

My toes curl up tight in my shoes – there’s that prick of anticipation again. Ice-cold, you could easily mistake it as dread.

Rust doesn’t exactly subject me to an imploring look—not really his style—but he bows his head down just slightly – that’s sign enough for me. He wants to know why I’m here, and he no doubt wants to know the quickest way to be rid of me.

I sigh. I ask him.

My body trembles, and he notices it, records it, stores it away for later reference, for some other time he’ll find that it and me will contribute to his purpose.

Rust has a face of stone. I get to know it well as I search for a sign there that might let me know what lies beneath. But, of course, a statue is solid through and through. Sharp angles and smooth planes carved hollow. If he’s cold to the touch, I’d like to reach out and be sure. Is he cold where a man ought to be warm? Christ, it makes my pulse jump just to think about it.

There is no greater purpose or cruel intention underlying my words, as far as I’m concerned. Rust, however, lingers there, with his arm up on the door, barricading the entrance, while he peels back and flits over every layer of possible meaning, his attention fixed absently on my left ear.

He then looks at me—briefly—in the eyes, with a sort of paralysing intensity. Even the tingling in my fingers ceases to be.

It takes a moment, pregnant with the chorus of cicadas, crickets and other night-creatures, before he steps back neatly to allow me in.

The door clicks softly behind me as I enter into a room that’s bare as bare can be.

Rust grunts, coming up around me and into the kitchen area. “Want anything?” he mumbles around his cigarette, other hand shoved in his pocket. He’s still half-dressed in his work clothes, his tie strewn on the counter, his blazer slumped over a rickety picnic chair perched up in front of a wall of crime scenes and dead bodies. My eyes linger there—how can they not?

“A beer,” I tell him, still looking at those photographs, then at the stacks upon stacks of books. Philosophy, ethics, religion. Names I’d expect only those with PhDs to know.

“Don’t think you’ve had ‘nuff to drink already?”

I shoot him a look. “I think I can handle it, Rust.” He straightens up, raises his brow. I snort, reasoning, “I’ll only have one.”

“One,” he agrees, opening up the fridge and having a rummage around.

White walls and all of them empty, like some sort of psych ward. Half-sure Rust actually did do some time in that type of care, though, so—shouldn’t make any quips about that. I don’t want him thinking I think he’s crazy – he gets enough of that, I’m sure.

Back at my place, though, I’ve got posters or drawings or paintings up around every corner. My niece’s drawing of a mermaid sits on my dresser, and photographs of my family are displayed in the hallway. One up by the TV, I painted myself when I was in high school. About two years after I graduated, they asked if I wanted my portfolio back, and I’d obviously said yes. And I love my stuff! Some ‘cause it’s pretty, others because of memories and whatnot. Guess some people don’t have that creative trait, or they lose it. Or maybe they detest the sentiments, those strings that have been, are and will be attached to things. When my cousin broke up with her boyfriend, she cut her hair and burned his clothes. “I just want to forget him,” she’d snarled. I’d sputtered a laugh into my tea.

Rust plants a Corona down on the counter, already cracked open.

There’s no mirror in here either – I can’t check whether I look as desperate as I feel. When I focus back on him, Rust is taking a swig from his own beer, turning to glance at the crucifix pinned above the messy mattress on the floor. Huh. Didn’t peg him as a Christian.

His honey-blond hair doesn’t look cold to the touch, that’s for sure ‘n’ certain. Wonder if he just wakes up like that or what. Once, Marty had been teasing him at work, even cracking a smile out of the old guy. “Ain’t them just the prettiest curls y’ever seen, buck?” he’d remarked, nudging into me, cooing at him. Silently, in my head, even then, I’d agreed: prettiest curls I’d ever seen. Rust hadn’t looked up to chart my reaction, but, if he had, he’d maybe have seen my fidgeting fingers or hitch of breath. Or maybe he felt it, heard it.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” I offer pathetically through a nervous smile.

He blinks, takes another swig, leaning over the counter that separates us. “No, y’aint.”

Jesus, I have to turn my head and shut my eyes for a second. I don’t particularly believe in God, but I ask Him to please give me the strength to resist my urges and act like a normal damn person for at least a few more minutes. And then I apologise for only praying out of convenience. In the face of temptation. This is why people shouldn’t drink – still, doesn’t stop me from downing a good part of my beer.

I turn to the wall and try to turn myself off a little bit. It’s not hard – Rust still has Dora Lange (rest her soul) pinned up on his wall, naked, blue, stiff. I don’t want to know why, so I don’t ask him.

His eyes are adamant on the side of my head. Funny how he never seems to look at me at the same time I’m looking at him. Pisses me off a lot of the time – not just him, but in general. A lot of people share this same fear of not being heard, not being listened to and not being cared about. Men in particular, I’ve noticed, have a tendency to raise their voice over others’, to yell or shout or hit things or push ‘n’ shove. Marty’s that way – a lot of men at the precinct are, too. Women who are raised to be the listeners sometimes act out in the same way, frustrated at all the things they have to care about that men don’t, burdened with manners and politeness. I used to hate having to listen, to wait for the man who interrupted me to finish speaking. Rust always lets people finish their point, for better and for worse. Pisses me off in a different type of way. I can feel his judgement seeping out of him, so potent that’s it’s tangible, lapping at my feet.

He doesn’t push and shove – he’s a listener, too. Of course, he has that male privilege where his silence has a gravity, a magnetic pull, where mine is simply as is. At least he pays attention. Sure, on the surface, it might look like he doesn’t care at all, hunched over a case file at his desk, back turned to me and the rest of the lot, but proximity has its power – assigned workspaces put with his personality, and he knows what’s like and unlike me better than my sister. He’s reading into my refusal to talk, to face him – unlike me.

“So, you’ve given this some thought, then,” Rust says matter-of-factly, and my tummy bubbles up.

I snicker nervously, heart racing. God, I’d expected surprise, disbelief, outright refusal, maybe even a little disgust, but, when I manage to turn around and look at his face again, it just seems to me like a calmness. Stoicism found in the affirmation, maybe, of his expectations. It’s like I’m walking right into one of those little theories of his: a proved hypothesis.

I take another sip from my beer, feeling too shy for my liking. “Well, yeah,” I drawl, slumping over the kitchen counter and propping my chin up to look right back at him in a surge of liquid confidence. “I always think ‘fore I do anything that’s anything, Rust.”

Almost immediately, he retreats, standing up straight and resting the small of his back against the lip of the sink behind him. He hums, glances away. “We both know that’s a lie,” he combats, hands tucked into his pockets, chin tilted up, eyes down. A mouthful of beer numbs the sting of rejection. “What you mean is you think you can justify all your decisions. You think you can justify why you knocked on my door and said what you said—” he elaborates quietly, eliciting a snort from me, “—but, at the end o’ the day, all your decisions boil down to what you feel is right, not what is right.”

“‘n' you think you ‘n’ you alone know what’s right?”

Slate-grey eyes flit up and down my face, like I’m a specimen on a slide.

“I think that the girl who’s stumbled up on a fella’s door asking him to fuck her is less inclined to know, without bias, what’s right, yes.”

I swallow thickly, sucking the remaining flavour of beer off of my tongue before going in for another swig.

Christ.

Not a single bat of his eyes. Not a quiver of his mouth, not a twitch to his nose, not a morsel of natural, human hesitation. Does he have to be so crass? I did the courtesy of making it palatable, at least to my own ears, with a euphemism. But when have I ever known Rust Cohle to water anything down? No drink I’ve ever consumed will match his body’s preference of alcohol content. He’s nursing his beer close to his chest, but who knows what poisons lay dormant in these cabinets?

“Rusty,” I say lowly, maybe asking for a break – I close my eyes for just a second, part because I couldn’t bear it if I caught some sort of disapproval on his face, and part because it’s just past two o’clock in the morning.

Late nights have consumed my life recently, what with that sicko rapist connected to a Christian fertility cult. Children of God – “go forth and multiply”. His confession had turned my blood cold. Johansson had offered to sit in the box instead, but I did it anyway. I went home and cried over it, then came into work the next day to talk to some press and then receive my new assignment.

He hums, taking a drag from his cigarette, swallowing the smoke down. Rust knows how it is. To be honest, I’m probably the one who doesn’t know the half of it. One night at the office, he’d casually confessed to his insomnia, like he was just commenting on the state of the weather ‘n’ nothin’ else. So, I guess I won’t pretend to get it.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “Are you into that whole abstinence thing?”

The weak light above flickers gently as he pauses, turns the question over in his mind. Anyone else would’ve surely laughed.

“I believe that man is susceptible to desire, yes—but he can resist it and its consequences should his willpower be stronger than the false promises posed by that temptation.

I snort again, because, now, I really am tipsy, and I can’t hold in my attitude any longer. It’s not that I think he’s lost it or whatever. It’s just—he’s so—objectively—absurd. Well—“objectively”. He’s got points, but those points lose all meaning in the spiralling darkness of overthought and deep contemplation wherein he’ll explain that everything really means nothing—and he’ll be right about that, sure, but also unintentionally prove a point about himself. I’d ask him what it means when, in a world where everything means nothing, a child will give their friend a flower found on the way to school, but I feel like his answer would be too morbid for my liking. Does that make me an unreliable source? The fact that I want to live?

He's absurd. He’s also a little bit awry in the head. Don’t know what he’s lost or what he’s lookin’ for, but it’s not a good look on him. He’s honest, yes – that’s a good trait. But honesty without kindness is cruelty. And he is kind – underneath, he’s kind, and I know that because of how hard he works to weed out evil people in this world, most times at his own risk. That’s kindness, albeit unconventional, whether he realises it or not.

The kindness almost cancels out his arrogance.

“So, what?” I challenge under the guise of a teasing grin. “You can go mouthin’ off for hours on end about how up themselves religious people and all’at are, but you can’t draw the similarities between their philosophy and your philosophy? How does that work, Rust?”

While I was working that Children of God nightmare of a case, he just couldn’t seem to restrain himself – every bullshit word that left him revealed to me his hubris. Now, I’m not angry, and he’s not stupid – we’re not arguing. In fact, he seems intrigued, lean body shifted toward me. He sets his beer down on the counter, crosses his arms over his chest after securing his cigarette between his lips, and lowers his head as if to listen to me better.

I sigh, continue. “D’you know what I think? I think you oversimplify humanity. You’re a great detective—‘nd I guess you know it—and, within the confines of your job, it serves you well, makes you good in the box. But your assumptions are too general. People are who they are, sure, but they also decide to be those people. By their environment and those who surround ‘em, people make the decisions that define ‘em. A lot of the time, their circumstances ain’t fair. People born into badness are trapped by the badness—either physically, or up in their heads—and they have a tough time escapin’ it.”

Rust inhales the smoke again, the only evidence of it happening being the soft whisp that curls away from his nose. I wonder to myself how his lungs are still standing.

“‘s that how you explain that—homicide case you’re workin’ on?” Three-year-old boy died of neglect, his siblings found locked in cabinets, one in a dog cage, by their mother and stepfather. Rust’s eyes flash silver. “Killer had a tough time?”

Asshole.

I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Don’t be mean, Rusty,” I scold, and he blinks in concession. “I think evil exists. I think it’s complicated. I think you summarise things that ought not to be summarised.”

He’s silent for a heartbeat. Then, his hand comes up to pinch away his cigarette, and he waves it in a small flourish, explaining, “When I say “people”, I mean society. Human culture.”

“Last I checked, Rust, you don’t know everybody on the planet. You don’t know their “culture”, or experiences.” That seems to shut him up. My eyes wander to his broad shoulders, trail along the meat of his arms beneath the cheap, polyester shirt that hugs close to the muscle, and they linger there like the quiet that settles between us.

He nods slowly, once. “Our decisions define us?”

I bob my head, unabashedly staring at the elegant column of his throat, his neck, and the stretch of tan skin that is settled beneath the white undershirt revealed by the first one, two, three buttons which have recently been undone.

He’s quieter when he asks me, “Well, how does this decision define you, then?” There’s nothing malicious about the way he says it, or even lustful – just a calm curiosity.

“Ain’t it obvious?” I grin again, laugh a little, blush hotly. “I’m horny!” I hide my face in my shoulder, trying to compose the hiccups of laughter in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I snicker, wiping my palm over my brow, my eyes. “This probably isn’t very attractive to you.”

“You’re a very pretty girl,” he replies. He mutters my name solemnly, like we’re in a formal meeting or something.

I glance up, check whether he’ll offer me eye contact again, but he doesn’t – he’s staring at the wall, lost.

I scoff. “You’re a very pretty guy, Rust.”

God willing, none of the boys at the precinct will ever find out about this. If Marty lets it slip that I even asked for Rust’s address, then I’ll never hear the end of it. Worse, everyone’ll think I’m dead-gone over him. Guess I don’t really fit the standards expected of women around here: “wife”, or “whore”. Or “dead”. It’s hard enough to be taken seriously going about pretending I’m not interested in sex at all. Once sex comes into the equation, I’ll be reduced to that and nothing else.

Anxious, I start flicking up under my fingernails. Is Rust already starting to think those things, too? I’m a great detective, but that’s the only capacity in which he’s really known me.

I wring the neck of my bottle. “I should explain—”

He holds his hand up, stating, “I don’t need you to. Do you feel the need to?”

Curious, wary, I watch his face, a blank slate. Still waters run deep. My eyes drift down, to where his hands are together in front of him, one relaxed beside him the other curled around his wrist with two fingers resting on the pulse.

“No,” I reply.

“You thought it over,” he says, eyes tilting up at the ceiling, aloof, bored, maybe. His words are sort of monotone, like he’s reciting a passage from a book that he’s just recently read: “You chose me because you know me. You haven’t been sleeping well. You’re stressed, you’re scared, you’re frustrated.” He blinks. “You’re attracted to me due to some—unfortunate trigger beyond your control in the reptilian part of your brain.” Brief as the flicker of a candle in a still room, he looks over me, brow raised slightly as if daring me to tell him that he’s wrong. He pauses again, takes a short puff. “It makes you think I can take care o’ your needs.”

Look at the state of him: sallow and wilting on the inside. Reducing me down to a sentence or two, and being right about it.

“Well, can you?” I ask weakly, feeling small. He looks over me, blinks blankly. “How do you take care of your needs?” No reply. “You do have needs, don’t you?” I remark, tapping the rim of my bottle to my warm temple. “Programming ‘n’ whatnot.”

He tilts his head away in dismissal.

I smile, more to myself than to him. “Beat off in the shower, is it?”

For a second, Rust is still. My eyes grow heavy, admiring the strong profile of his nose. He then nods helplessly, like there’s no point in trying to lie.

I hum, a soft, self-satisfied smirk edging its way onto my face. “Must feel like a sin,” I snicker.

He squints slightly, like he disagrees with my logic, but does not interrupt to protest.

“I remember takin’ baths as a teenager and double-checkin’, triple-checkin’ I locked the door,” I confess. “Couldn’t take my time. ‘S that how it is for you, Rust?” I probe, tilting my head to the side, losing his eyes as quickly as I catch them. “You ever let yourself enjoy it? Let yourself want it—?”

“I don’t want it,” he snaps quietly.

“But your programmin’ says you do, right?” I point out, scrambling to hold onto the flaw in his argument. I search his face, my own bright, eager.

He quirks up a miraculous smile, and I myself burst into a wide grin. Still smiling—though, you’d have to admit, it’s such a strange sight, sort of gratifying, almost patronising—he shifts his weight between his feet, scratches at his nose with his pinkie, sniffs, takes a long drag of his dying cigarette. I know he must feel disjointed, though he doesn’t show it: he’s misstepped, and I’ve caught him. And how often does Rust Cohle misstep? I should’ve checked the news for a blue moon tonight.

Interested, now, is he? Breathing quietly, rolling his jaw – he’s entertaining the competition I have goin’ up in my head. From the looks of the gentle smirk on his face, he’s enjoying it, too.

“No,” he corrects with a dry husk to his voice. “No, I know what I want, and, when I think those things are necessary or useful, I know how to get them.”

In this type of context, I’d like to see him try. Though, he is an undeniably attractive man. Thick, solid all the way through, like a rich wood. But he’s got these brittle eyes: fraying.

He continues: “Most of the time, though, what we want is born out of dangerous feelings, like rage or lust. Ruminating on the consequences of those potential actions seems to me the more sensible thing to do than to just leave it and find out.” I sniff. “Desire is inescapable for most, including the sexual kind. I feel it—“ he eyes how I wriggle beneath my skin, “—you feel it. But it can be resisted. You’re lettin’ it dictate what you do ‘n’ say. If I do to you what you want me to, have you thought about how it might affect things down the line? Tomorrow, next week, next month—?”

“Yes,” I hiss, a little too emotionally, such that a gleam of satisfaction crosses his grey eyes at the strain and stretch of my voice. Christ. Desperate much?

I take several seconds to think before allowing myself to speak again, all while staring at him straight on and refusing to look away: I’d just die if I let him catch me out. “Well, how can you be sure of the fallout? How do you know the good won’t outweigh the bad? Not “you” specifically, but, also, yeah, “you” specifically. I can think about something morally ambiguous, and I can evaluate the potential consequences, and, just as you are satisfied to observe, I will decide to follow through with this somethin’ and deal with what I gotta deal.”

He sighs. “Because decisions define a person?”

I tuck my hair tight behind my ears. “Yes.”

And he hums – that beautiful noise resonates in my stomach before sinking down there, low, its weight a comfort. “I agree with you in that respect,” he admits.

A laugh erupts out of me like the sputter of an engine. Luckily, I’m easy to laughter – it’s like me, as is my genuine grin. “Rust Cohle’s agreein’ with me on somethin’?—Call the police!”

“We are the police,” he replies smartly, watching me snort and smile and grow flushed in the face. I feel very grateful to that beer – at least my giddiness can be blamed on the effects of alcohol and save me from embarrassment.

As I simmer down, he looks away, adds, “I agree to an extent. People all think that they’re one-of-a-kind. That they make these—amazing decisions. They speak and do and walk and play and work and fuck and eventually die – all of ‘em.”

“You’re part of the people,” I argue.

He hums, nodding in acceptance. “Yes.”

“If a person acts due to their instinct, whether it’s succumbing to it or fighting against it, then isn’t man simply his programming?” He lowers his head. “You can be aware of it, and you can be a part of it, too. Who are you to deny yourself the good parts?”

He fiddles with his cigarette, svelte fingers nimble and acute. I cross my legs, flex my hips; he notices.

“Because of the consequences,” he replies, a soft whisper.

I thought that everything meant fuck-all?

For someone who sees no meaning in life, he sure seems to spend a lot of time contemplating it. Here, I thought I’d have hot hands sliding all over me, gripping, spreading, pushing, but instead find myself defence in an unprecedented debate.

Rust is breathing slower, deeper, almost unable, now, to look me in the eyes, even look at me in general, whereas, before, it had been a choice, whether that choice be conscious or unconscious. His cigarette burns weakly in his fingers, forgotten. The muscle in his jaw flexes, his expression hollow.

My body buzzes with want, leaves me scrambling for breath like I’ve just run a race. I want. I want, I want, I want. The rough pads of his fingertips, the surest and most confident I’ll have ever known. Sharp tongue, quick and precise. Something about how he smells. All my compliments to pheromones – even in the heavy musk of the bar, I’d smelled him, ashy, warm, alive, and now it’s wreathing all around. Or maybe that’s just me – it’s like when you try to take someone’s pulse with your thumb, and all you’re feeling is your own heartbeat.

I want – my breath trembles with it.

“Rust,” I say softly. He shakes his head a little, looking away still, vulnerable like a wild animal. I sigh, gnawing at my lip. “I really want it. I—I’ve—it’s not just a rash decision,” I explain. “I’ve wanted it for a while, now.”

He shudders – I notice. “Since when?”

I huff out a sheepish laugh, fix my eyes on my restless hands. “You won’t remember it—”

“I will.”

His voice sounds clogged. It sobers me right up.

“A year back,” I tell him. “You were working at the office—late, in the dark. You called me, and I asked you why, and you said—it was because you were tired and thinkin’.” I glance up to check if he’s maybe looking, but he’s not – he’s turned his head even further away. The soft, gentle curls of his hair tempt me.

Blindly reaching for the bottle, securing it almost immediately, he finishes the rest of his beer, then sets it back down.

“I—” he begins, scratching his nose, “—I was—tired.” He pauses to re-thicken his voice. “And—thinking—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the both of us know what he said that night: Of you. Thinking of you—of me .

My stomach flips, leaving me almost nauseous, just like it did when I first heard those words. At first, I thought I’d misheard, that I was so tired my mind was playing tricks on me. Then, I thought he was being cruel, or maybe he was drunk. Those two instances weren’t—aren’t—unlike him, but he never, ever calls to be mean or to be stupid. He’d been quiet and warm through the phone after that, a presence so thick I could’ve sworn he had his arms around me right then. I hadn’t slept well for a time, then, of course, and that made it all the more vivid. His voice had made me shiver all the way through as he told me he had to get back to work.

When I saw him the next morning, I couldn’t look at him. It was the first time I couldn’t, not wouldn’t. It was also the first time I felt him paying attention to me.

I shift, ask the question I’d wondered since that call: “Why?”

A pause.

Then: “You brought me coffee that morning,” he explains softly, speaking to the wall opposite. “I was—looking at the mug on my desk – it was yours. Green one you like to use.” He sniffs. “And…” He teeters on the precipice of that word but does not finish the thought.

Hmm. That’s something to think about. Rust Cohle thinking about me and not picking apart why and why he shouldn’t be. It had been a mindless enough gesture – it’s not unheard of me to be makin’ coffee for other people in the office, not because I have to but because I like to. For the people I can stand, that is: Johansson always, and him for me; Cathleen; Marty, when I’m not pissed off at him; and Rust, from time to time. Everybody knows that green mug is mine, though – nobody touches it, not even the boss. Rust reads far too much into things. Most of the time, he’s dead-on. I should’ve known from the moment I placed that coffee on his desk, from the sharpening of his eyes (that did not spare me a glance) that lingered on my lingering hand on his table, that he knew. Figured out something I hadn’t even quite figured out myself. Not until later that night.

I wonder if he’s ever thought of me when fucking his own hand. I wonder if he thinks about me sometimes, when he can’t sleep, in between horror stories and brutal blows and uncovering the secret truths of the universe. I do, sometimes.

When I push myself back to my feet, stand up, Rust’s attention springs back, and he watches me, looks at me.

Quietly, I relish in the satisfaction of his stare, crossing on light feet to toss my empty beer bottle in the bin. He steps aside to let me open the cupboard under the sink, his hand curled in a loose fist by his side. I’m not trying to tease him – I grant him the space he so clearly needs, retreating about five paces back, leaning slightly myself against the counter.

I could say anything right now, no matter how insane, and he’d treat it with total and utter respect. I could reveal to him the reaction my body has to seeing his fingers fiddle like that with his cigarette, and he’d manage to identify the cogs and wheels in what, when you step back, actually turns out to be a hidden machine. Christ, I could probably remove all of my clothes, stand naked in front of him, and he’d look on as one would look on at a piece of evidence at work. Going over the details, once, twice, scribbling it all down in that big, leather ledger.

Here’s what I think: he needs it. For all his talk about how unoriginal, how predictable mammals are at the end of things, he probably knows that himself. The tension in his jaw, the perpetual tightness of breath. That clipped way of talking he has, wound so tight around himself, like a compressed spring fighting its natural urge to let go.

I could make him let go. Maybe. I wish he’d let me try. It’s nothing possessive, really: wanting to be the one to unravel his tightly coiled body. Just—the release of seeing him be. No thinking in particular – just being.

He is still, however, uncommonly mute, avoiding my eyes.

I sigh. I ask him tentatively, “You think I ought’a be ashamed o’ myself?” biting down on the fleshy inside of my cheek.

“No,” he contradicts.

“But—you think I should be findin’ my fun elsewhere, with—some other guy?”

He sort of pins his hands behind his back, pressing his weight against them there at the edge of the sink. He looks a lot taller from this angle. “I think there’s a lotta fellas stumblin’ over themselves to be with a girl like you.”

“Maybe,” I scoff, “but my reptilian brain don’t want none of ‘em.“ I blush warmly when I glance up and he’s there watching me, though there’s no bashfulness at all on his side of it.

I expect him to maybe dart his eyes away again, like he does, and then walk me to the door, maybe even to the car if I haven’t offended him too badly, and then call it a night. I could stuff it in; I can compartmentalise. Monday would carry on as it always does, except now without the wondering and the yearning and the delusion. Did he have to be so good-looking? His cheap, wrinkled shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows—like they are now—and those lean forearms braced up on the table, caging in the neatly set-out notes scrawled up in his ledger, like they have mind to escape. And he’s—beautiful. He’s tall. Out-of-place sort of tall, where he has this bend to his neck, sometimes, as to not draw attention to himself. Other times, though, he stands to full height, regal, elegant, authoritative, like when he comes out o’ the box.

He sees into people. He feels it all so deeply.

And he’s looking at me, seeing into me, deeply. His eyes are brittle like china pieced back together with store-bought glue. The low light casts long shadows down his neck and harsh face.

“Come here to me, Rust,” I say to him, beckoning him over with a tilt of my head. To my surprise, he does. He does immediately, peeling himself off the counter, eyes drifting somewhere just behind me as if disinterested.

He stubs his cigarette out on an old plate, abandons it there officially, before stepping slowly towards me, feet never dragging, dodging my searching eyes like the plague.

Hmm. Maybe I made a good argument “for” to his “against”. Or maybe he was never “against” to begin with. I’ll watch him carefully tomorrow and see if there was anything I missed.

I reach up and touch his face gently. I used to do this with my husband before he passed, and he’d close his eyes and whisper my name and lean into the touch, tender, loving – my fingers shake slightly with the memory. Rust Cohle does none of that, because he is nothing like my husband. He’s perfectly rigid against my fingertips; his stare flits briefly up right into my soul, his mouth pressed in a hard line. Everything about him is so sharp. The ridge of his cheekbones, the defiant slant of his nose. The lean muscle of his arms and shoulders, slightly sinewy just beneath the skin.

But when I brush my thumbs up along his eyebrows, easing the sharp line between them, he sighs and closes his eyes, neck bowing down, still as stiff as before, just—different. A small gap, an opening, to that locked room of his upstairs.

“Rust,” I whisper, nose brushing his. He hums again, lowly, eyes shut. “What do you think of us havin’ sex?”

“Sex,“ he replies softly, “is the illusion of connection constituted by the release of a mess of happy hormones, simply by touching all the right places—and nothin’ more.”

I hum and watch the look on his face grow brittle as our breaths mingle closely. God, he’s so near to me that my head swings in a bout of lightheadedness, heady, vision centring in on him and only him, such that I wouldn’t know if this place was burning down all around, even if the flames started eating us alive.

“I think you’re full o’ shit, Rusty. Know how I know that?”

He sighs shakily. “How?” It’s like the word is dragged right from the pit of his chest, barely a breath to show for the effort of it.

“I can feel you against my leg.”

He swallows thickly, but he does not blush, and he does not open his eyes. And, contrary to what he might seem, Rust is not cold like stone. When my fingers grow more confident, when they trace and drag lightly along the line of his cheeks, he is warm there. His pulse, when I find it, exists and is hot and slightly erratic, a fact that leaves my mouth dry and open. I can feel the inflexion of his throat as he swallows again, the shift of the skin and the rhythm of his heartbeat, the gentle influence of his breathing.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. So, I ask him, “Can I kiss you?” ever so gently.

Softer still, he replies, “Yes,” with that slight Southern whistle of his, barely moving.

Give me strength. Give me strength.

That look on his face is filling me with a delicious, vibrating power. As I stretch my neck up to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, my eyes are open and watching him, charting him: Rust breathes strongly out of his nose, eyes still determinedly shut, like he’s absent and meditating. He is not tough as stone – parts of him are soft. He barely returns the kiss, but, as far as my brain processes, his lips are soft. Hesitant, maybe.

Then, these soft lips part, and he is sucking in a hot, shuddering breath, capturing me in a deep kiss, as if to breathe all of me in, a strong hand threading through my hair. It hurts a little at first – a small noise escapes my throat at the slight shoots of pain tugging at the roots – but Rust doesn’t seem to notice. Not at first. No, he’s still breathing me in. His lips are dry, rough, a push and tug, a twist, and he’s kissing like a punch, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Whatever oxygen I manage to hold onto is sucked out of me promptly.

I whine, my body going all slack and tired as he smooths the hair out of my face, palms dragging clean back across my cheeks. Those hands cradle the back of my head, making it impossible to keep my eyes open.

Content, I sigh, eyes succumbing to the sensation and falling shut. The last thing I see is his own eyes slipping open to look at my face.

Boy, he’s a good kisser. Must be that lizard brain he has such a distaste for.

My fingers blindly reach and fumble at his belt, hooking into the waist, pulling him flush against me. Rust must forget what he’s doing for a moment, and he pauses where he is, in limbo, eyes far away. When I begin to unthread his belt from its quietly clinking buckle, he goes stiff again, blinks rapidly before perceiving me.

Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.

His hands hover over my shoulders, not quite committed to the contact.

He’s seeing me—really seeing me—as I unzip his trousers and spit crudely into my palm and curl around the length of him, warm, tight. I begin to understand the gentle throb and strain he feels, a delightful thrill running rapid all through my insides. He feels deliciously alive.

But then he turns his head away, neck straining up, breath choked back in his throat. His hands come away, raised, it looks like, as if trying to seem non-confrontational, trying to come away unscathed from a bad situation.

My stomach burns with desire. “Let yourself like it, Rust,” I mumble against his cheek. “Are you here with me?”

I can feel him swallow.

“Yes,” he responds. I guide his face to me, stroking his cock confidently once, twice, as encouragement, maybe. Temptation. Whatever you want to call it. My mouth waters, my head goes airy, when I feel his sex twitch in my embrace.

“Kiss me again, then.”

And he does. Brows furrowed as if in pain, he does, with the tip of his nose dragging and pressing into my cheek. He kisses me sweetly once, then again, and then pants down hotly into my mouth, hovering there before sliding his tongue deep inside, close, smooth.

I let myself love it. I let myself let go with every kiss he blesses me with, growing looser and easier and lighter each second.

The weight of him in my hand inspires a beautiful urge to have him lay down and let me feel every part of his body. Even though his hips stutter, he doesn’t buck up into my fist, doesn’t whine, doesn’t moan, doesn’t curse. Not yet. He just breathes and breathes, and kisses me and kisses me, like it’s all he was set on Earth to do. All he’s allowing himself to do.

Desperate, perhaps, my thighs are pressed against his, feeling unnaturally weak and warm. The throb between my legs coincides with my heart rushing in my ears, a steady ache, impatient. Part of me wants to drag this out as long as possible, because what if this never happens again?—and another part wants to push him inside me already, have him fill me up, fuck me stupid.

This thought stuffs me up to the brim, like cotton punched down into a pillowcase. I whine shallowly and try to slot his thigh between my own.

A switch in his brain must flick on.

It’s like he’s inside my head, like he’s in on my desperation, like he can see and feel every sinful image and thought circulating my alighted brain. He knows it all so well, such that he uses his hips to press us firmly against the counter, spreads my legs with the nudge of his foot between mine, and immediately pushes the rough pads of his fingers right where I need it, through the fabric of my skirt, letting me grind myself against him, hips and all. He circles there generously. I can feel my need dripping from me. He can too, no doubt.

I sigh, he breathes. I gasp, he breathes. My eyes flutter open and shut, but he looks on, eyes half-lidded but stare immovable.

He then lifts his knee to place against my cunt.

“That feels good, don’t it?” he says gently, rocking me over his knee up and down, back and forth, fingers digging into the soft skin of my hips.

My legs widen. When I gasp out weakly, he raises his brow and scans my face, like he had predicted the shaky, wordless nod that I offer to him too late in return.

“Did you want it like this, girl?” His voice is low, intimate, a hit of something just shy of addictive. “Or did you want somethin’ else, too?”

He kisses the hollow of my neck.

His other hand grips at my ass, up my skirt, kneading the flesh there, manipulating it, and his fingers ghost my slit, spreading me around his knee. He fucks up into my hand. I slide my fingers through his hair, which is soft and warm like butter.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid, pretty curls. I’ve proved my point: regardless of whatever act he may try to put on afterwards, we’ll both know that Rust isn’t as numb as he wants to be, that I made him feel good, that I made him want me, and that he’s hot-blooded and thrumming with life. I can feel how alive he is . I hope he thinks of this again some time, whether by himself or surrounded by people. I hope it drives him a bit mad, remembering this.

A hot, sharp breath fans out across my cheek, his mouth slotting back over mine, open, daring me.

I rut against his knee, my fingers teasing the wet head of his cock. I look down between us, at my hand on him, with half a mind to drop onto my knees and make him cum down my throat.

Rust lets out a grunt and swallows hard again.

Then, he gently grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out of his pants, leaving me dazed and confused. With nimble fingers, he unzips my skirt, pushing it over my hips and dragging his hands over my bare skin. He asks me, “You want the bed?”

I step out of the pool of fabric around my feet, slide my shoes off. “‘s not a bed.”

I slide my fingers beneath his sweaty, white undershirt, feeling the taut muscle there, feeling the steady breaths that contradict his racing pulse. He holds my eyes, dipping slightly when I dip, tilting when I tilt. “Seems like one to me.”

How unlike him.

A smile spreads over my face, and his pupils blow wide, dark, imploring. “You wait ‘n’ see what happens when the dust-mites turn up.”

His eyes on me alone are enough to leave me breathless, chest caving in on itself. Of course, when he kisses me softly, it only makes things worse – his long fingers curl around the base of my throat, watching me watching him, and his other hand slides up under the hem of my blouse, palm spread over my bellybutton.

I sigh, try not to squirm.

“You want the bed?” he repeats, heavy, rough. I bite back a needy whine that sits at the back of my mouth. His fingertips press down slightly into my pulse, tightening my breathing.

I nod. “Yeah.”

Think of all the times I’ve sulked over his lack of eye contact with me. Was I annoying? Uninteresting? That, obviously, was an immature way of looking at things, definitely not improved by my distinct femininity undergoing some kind of unspoken disapproval by most I met on the job. This is the most present he has ever been in a moment with me around.

As he pulls himself away, steps back, his eyes are darting over my face, less like he’s judging me and more like he’s trying to find and memorise every detail. I do that, sometimes: if I pay well enough attention, it feels like I’m re-living the moment when remembering.

His hands slot sensibly into his pockets as if his cock isn’t blushing and poking out of his fly right now, belt undone, hanging low about his narrow hips.

Legs don’t fail me now. I slink out of the glowing kitchen and carry on to where the mattress lies in a dim, blue corner, the strange crucifix watching over, a long shadow cast over the empty wall upon which it hangs. He follows shortly behind me, his warmth radiating out onto my back.

I pause and look out onto the darkness revealed behind the half-open slats of the floor-to-ceiling blinds that shield the room from the window to the outside world.

Rust’s presence is intoxicating behind me. He smells like cigarette smoke, still, enticing. I’m trying to quit, but he makes it damn hard. His nose is just shy of my hair, his body so close to enveloping me into him – the prospect of it makes me shiver in delight. I must hallucinate his fingertips along my spine.

I unbutton my blouse with slow fingers, then slide it off and undo my bra.

His breathing is level and grounding by my ear as he comes close, sliding his strong, wide hand up my stomach, along my ribs, and cups under my soft breast. He rubs over my nipple in gentle circles before squeezing over me warmly. He then comes around to pinch the creamy tissue gentle between his fingers and thumb, closing his hot mouth over, drawing along his feverish tongue. I sigh, stroke his hair, let him press soft pecks and kisses to the curve of the soft flesh and to my sternum.

My fingers, cupped around the nape of his neck, dip under the collar, cool. This touch, for some reason, causes him to make some sort of breathless, pathetic noise against me. His eyes are half-shut.

“Anything else philosophical y’wanna get out before we fuck?” I quip smartly (though, not feeling so smart altogether), hand placed innocently on his hip.

He lifts his head, removes his hands from my body – he looks so tragically beautiful in this light. “You want me inside you?” he asks genuinely, seemingly aloof to the fact I’m naked in front of him, open and wanton and pressing my thighs together, his eyes never drifting from mine.

“What do you want, Rust?” I whisper.

He seems to really think about it – he’s always thinking. Briefly, his eyes flit down to my mouth. Then, he looks away, scratches at his forehead.

After a moment longer, he swallows thickly and tips his head down over to the bed, tells me, “Lie down on the mattress,” in a gentle, decisive tone. He’s so soft-spoken – it makes my toes curl.

I do as told, transfixed by the dark shadow in his eyes, and sink down to sit and then recline back on his coarse mattress, coarse bedsheets, with my weight on my forearms and chin tilted up towards him. He watches me, tucking his thick cock back into his underwear.

Still fully dressed in his work attire, he takes a step forward, looming over me, powerful, assertive. Saliva pools in my mouth—again—as I play with the thought of him sitting heavy on my tongue with his stomach tight, shaking, hands in my hair, fucking down my throat. I would let him. Hell, I’d probably let him do anything he wanted to me at this point.

Does he know that? Maybe. I don’t know.

As he reaches his hand out too smooth the hair out of my face, I try to figure it out, but I can’t – he seems too wrapped up in his own desire to be thinking anything at the moment. I feel a flicker of satisfaction jump up in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe that’s something else.

“Lie back, girl,” he tells me.

My cunt flexes.

I thump onto my back, breathless. “Take off your shirt, Rust.”

Without replying, he sinks down to his knees in front of me, my thighs. Instinctively, I prop myself up and watch him unbutton that wrinkled shirt all the way down, shrug it over his broad shoulders. I could fuck myself silly just over the thought of those shoulders, I remark inwardly. He tugs the wifebeater over his head, lean muscles catching the low light, strong, study, solid, and tosses the thing to the side thoughtlessly. My hands reach out to touch him, to feel him and know him. When my fingers press into his skin, glide up his neck and down over his chest, he sighs deeply. He then carefully removes my hands, urging me to sprawl down under him.

“Said lie back, didn’t I?”

Rust doesn’t say another word before placing his large hands on my knees and easing them apart, lowering himself to press pecks and slow, open-mouthed kisses to my thighs, closer, closer, stroking my sensitive skin gently. I almost flinch at his every touch, like it burns. His face is awful serious, like he’s concentrating. I wriggle in anticipation, eager.

“Rust,” I whisper purposelessly. He looks up, hums, searches my face for anything the matter.

I watch on desperately, on the brink of feral distress. A sob clogs my throat as he kisses my fluttering stomach, ducking his head down and curling his forearms, his hands, around my thighs. The dark stamp of his bone-bird tattoo curls over his arm. I realise he is waiting for my attention to return to him, his eyes patient but glazed over with something cardinal. Hungry.

“Can—?”

“Yes.”

He hums. And then he breathes hotly over my underwear before pressing his nose right there into the damp fabric, inhaling my scent there. I whimper at the pressure he applies with the strong bridge of his nose, at the wetness of his open mouth against me. He breathes heavily into me, groaning slightly beneath it all – I can’t tell past the thrumming of my heart in my ears.

“Rust,” I whisper again, my shoulder straining with the task of keeping me up and looking down at the sight of his sweet head buried between my glistening thighs.

“Lie back.”

He kisses me through my underwear, dutifully kneading the flesh of my hips, my inner thighs.

I thump back against the mattress, helpless, keening into his touch as this grey man roughly tugs my underwear down, down, all the way down, until they’re clean off my body, long gone, and then returns his nose to the cleft of my pussy, unseaming me with his tongue, opening me up, breathing me in. It’s enough to draw a shallow, hoarse cry from me. He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t say anything, biting down on my white knuckles.

Rust licks warm over my clit, sucking gently on the bud of nerves (then not so gently), before sliding down, down through my very centre.

Whining breathily, the twist in my stomach tightens and spasms as he presses my hips and thighs right down against the mattress, slow, strong, giving me time to notice it, realise it, give into it, deny the natural instinct to curl my limbs tight all over his face, his neck, his mouth.

Holy fuck. Rust Cohle has his face buried between my legs right now. I have Rust Cohle’s tongue pushing deep into my cunt – he sighs softly, a sound with its own powerful gravity a black hole to envelop me in, and grinds his hips against the edge of the mattress for a split second, just once. My mind pulses with the thought of making him cum. I wonder if he feels the same hunger.

Then, he’s sinking his long, elegant fingers into me, one, then two, and just the knowledge that those fingers belong to him makes my thighs quiver and shake, makes me sigh again. Thick, confident, they curl inside, slow like an experiment, right up to the knuckle. When he taps up against me, when I squeal and crimp up into his hold, he returns himself to mouth dutifully over my clit. My hand threads itself into his hair, holding him steady – I offer a breathless moan when his grip across my hips loosen, an invitation to begin rolling myself up over his pretty face. He pulls his fingers out of me, wet and hot, and encourages my thighs upon his beautiful shoulders, clinging onto them urgently. He shudders a little, I think, when I lock them firmly around his head and grind myself shamelessly against his mouth, his nose. He moves his jaw, his face, in tandem.

I cum after a while like that, because how can I not? The searing buzz reaches a roiling static.

I go loose, moaning softly, melted down flat, and stroke fuzzy fingers through Rust’s pretty hair as he sucks my clit still, as he inhales again and sighs again, reduced to something primitive and needy.

Thick, my heartbeat throbs and echoes like a drum in my skull, threatening. I feel so full that I could mistake the beat of pleasure for nausea pressing in my throat. It was silly to think that this could all be satisfied just from one time. My eyes closed, Rust’s light touch over my abdomen, up to my throat, is acute and heightened, like a million tiny, individual sparks. His fingers fumble over my jaw, then press lightly over my pulse.

He retreats just as I’m playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, coming to stand to full height above me, unthreading his belt from his trousers with quiet, precise hands. I press my shaking thighs together, watching him breathe strongly through his nose, trying to remain somewhat respectable in the presence of the darkening look in his eyes that is locked down on my body.

He pauses, wipes some shine from his nose. Before he can continue with whatever, I find myself sitting up on my knees, grabbing his hips hard enough to bruise all pretty and purple, shoving the trousers down to his knees, and palming him through his boxers.

We don’t have to say anything. He just watches me passively, pushing my hair back again, behind my ears, my shoulders, rolling my earlobe softly between his fingertips.

I remove his underwear, take him into my mouth, thick and long and wanting; he sighs, holds my head with two steady hands.

When was the last time someone helped him like this? I honestly couldn’t have told you, even given a loose theory, prior to this moment: Rust is simultaneously the hottest and most non-sexual being I’ve ever come across in my life. He just happens to be beautiful; he just happens to inspire these sort of feelings choking up inside me. No overarching intention that he’ll ever admit to, no vanity, no preening. So strict to himself, so tight, like a piston, something that fights and pushes and hurts.

So, as I hold him firmly and suck at the head of his blushing cock, kissing him, I watch his face, savour the tart taste of him, and press my thighs together: he’s becoming warmer, looser.

Still, as much as I want him, I know he’s wanted me. However vague he tells it, he’s wanted me. Good Lord, he looks even more stressed now, somehow, than when we had just been talkin’. Hands gently cradling my skull, he tilts his head away, watches the cross on the wall, as he succumbs to it, maybe, and begins to gently, languidly fuck my face. I tuck a hand between my thighs, and I love him, my other with the fingers digging into his hip, his ass. If I’m lucky, maybe it’ll leave some sort of mark, just to remind him I was here, so that, when he’s being all indifferent again, with his eyes lowered to the floor as he shares a report with me at my prim, little desk, we’ll both know that we were once in this room together, here like this.

Rust breathes and breathes, almost mechanically, and slides his cock further into my mouth. The weight of him in there drives me half-insane. If I could consume him, envelop him, and we could be one and the same, I’d readily allow it. When he sinks deeper still down my throat, I sigh around him, rub myself the way I like.

His eyes are determinedly shut, like some part of him refuses to be here.

Before I can make him cum, he shakes his head and tugs my hair back a little bit, mumbling for me to stop and sit away.

For all his mouthiness just a half hour ago, would you look at him now?—Rust Cohle, plundered by the human sensation of speechlessness. I’ve never seen him out of his element before. When he comes down and cages me with his body, hot skin flush against hot skin, I don’t mean that in a bad sense. Shit, he’s far from it. But there’s nothing to say. Nothing of note, nothing to pick apart, no deeper meaning, no theory. Just an itch that has to be scratched. He wants, he is, and it’s heaven to see.

In the dark, he sinks in to me as he is, eliciting from me a soft moan that curls over the shell of his ear. I have to bite down on his shoulder when comes the push, the stretch, the sink, the comfort of him inside. I curl my legs around his waist and grab at his ass, willing him deeper still. He shudders silently over me, thick ripples of pleasure rolling through his lean body.

I curse, but I’m sure it barely registers with him.

His head lifts and his eyes clamp shut as he braces an arm against the wall, lifting one of my legs up over his hip and fucking into me deeper, slipping out and in, and again, and again. I know what I’d see if I took a look down, saw his cock pumping into me, but I can hardly do anything but buck my hips up to meet his effort, my stomach stuttering with that building pressure, hands gripping desperately around his neck and shoulders.

Though, I’m not even sure it is effort that’s driving him.

I mumble into his shoulder, dumb, focussing on the feel and press of him in my belly. I doubt he’s really aware of anything more than the sensation of it, evident from the small grunt that passes his lips as he fucks deep in me. His stomach presses heavier down onto mine, crushing a delicious pressure there, teasing out a long, breathy whimper. He snakes an arm around my hips, pushes his free hand to the back of my knee, tilting my legs back a little more, and then pulls me wider. Tight, he moves me how he wants me, my flesh dipping and carving, fucking himself raw with me, with my hot cunt. His mouth moves over mine, not kissing me, not speaking, just there, present, hot, panting. He doesn’t open his eyes, so I close mine, and I breathe.

Rust stutters and cums and spills over into me with a grunt. He pants sharply, harshly, rhythmically into my mouth, tense again, and then he collapses over my body, and he lays there. I lay there too, burning on the far inside.

I think he only really remembers I’m there when I shift under him.

His eyelashes brush against my cheek. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but the sound of his voice scrapes directly against my brain with the shock of a flesh-wound.

I assume he’s referring to the thick cum that I can feel leaking out of me now. He shifts his hips, adjusting himself in the grip of my cunt. My fingers wrap around his arms, squeeze as I feel him easing out.

“It’s okay,” I reply.

He glances down between us and guides himself out with a lewd noise, swallowing hard. I shiver.

Quiet, sedated, he shrugs his trousers, his underwear, off of his ankles, slipping the bedsheet over both our naked selves. His hand spreads and flattens warm over my abdomen, feeling the gentle swell and sink of the breaths I take and release.

#true detective #rust cohle #marty hart #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle x reader smut #okay cool this is a bit niche hope you liked it #this show made me question my life's purpose #the first season at least #thanks matthew mcconaughey #anybody else here like Fiona apple or what #the idler wheel TD

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nerujikam · 10 months ago

Text

Old Sweater

ushijima wakatoshi x fem!reader

tags 18+, fluff and smut, timeskip!ushijima, pwp, sleepy sex, clothed sex, cunnilingus, creampie, aftercare, pet nickname, i was ovulating

words 2,174

a/n and so, behold... my first smut... *thunder cracks* this was a pretty old draft dating back to may '22 lmao. figured i'm a lot more comfortable in my writing now, why not post it? this was crossposted on ao3 ! anws, happy reading or something!

art is @hk_smith_man’s on twt

Ushijima comes home late again. This time he finds it a little odd when the only source of light that came from the living room was the table lamp beside the couch, with a book you’re reading under it. You never forget to turn off every light when you go to sleep. Though, it does feel kind of lonely since you were practically a night owl on your working days. Now that you finally got your days off, you started to sleep earlier than usual. He misses the sight of you in the late of night, you can say.

He turns the lights off after putting his shoes on the rack. A faint beat can be heard from your shared bedroom, questioning him whether you’re awake or not.

Your body slump under the blanket. Though the heater’s on, the winter wind seems to have its own way seeping through the walls, shuddering you under the covers. Just like how you left it before, the small reading light next to you was still on.

He walks up to you, eyes closed as your breath steady. Seems you got defeated by your own drowsiness while trying to continue reading another book in your hands. He takes it away from your hand, placing the bookmark in the current page before putting it down next to the table lamp. He decides to turn it off later after his shower.

Ushijima closes the bathroom door from the inside, not wanting to wake you up with the loud noise from the hairdryer. He brushes his teeth, puts on his night cream, and turns off the bathroom light before joining you under the cover. He realized that the sweater from his high school volleyball team framed your body. He’s an even bigger and stronger guy now compared to then, yet his sweater still fits loosely on your frame. He wonders if it would make any difference if he met you in high school.

The thought of that tightened his arms around your waist, causing you squirming under him. He realized he woke you up when he heard a faint, “Toshi,” and a cold palm on his cheek. He grabs your cold hand to warm them, placing longing kisses on its knuckles, “sorry, did I wake you up?” You shake your head, turning back to your former position.

“I don’t mind,” you reassure. Ushijima pressed his forehead on your nape and kissed in between it and your spine, carrying out a soft “I missed you,” from your lips.

Ushijima never was a person who relies on verbal affection, so he alternates them more with acts of service, especially in giving. Warm baths after working overtime, a new shelf for your little trinkets, your favorite scented candles, sometimes even phoning his own dad, asking how to season the porridge properly when you had a cold. In rare cases, he'd mutter an “I missed you, too” back, instead of pressing his body closer into you like right now. He squeezes tight, not letting the cold get in between the two of you. He slides his hand down to your thigh to knead them gently before putting it in between them.

His eyelids flutter back awake as he feels a damp spot on your underwear. He gazes down at your eyelashes as you let out a sigh when he puts his hand down there. “You missed me this much?” he teases with a slight naught on his tone. You let out another sigh as he stroked your inner thighs, letting his wrist rub against your wet spot.

The blanket ruffles as his hand makes its ways to your—his—sweater, lifting it up to feel the warmth of your belly. His lips now behind your ear, fluttering kisses and sucking on the skin around it. Your hand found his when he started to slide down, playing with the waistband, eventually slithered inside, stroking between your folds.

So wet, he groans, wondering how you kept this long enough without doing anything about it.

“Want me to do something with this?” he whispered, asking one more time, fingers circling between you. Whining at his motion, you sigh, "please... Toshi,” you let out a breathy voice to call his name.

With your plea, he flips you up, rolls himself on top of you to lower himself, marking down your jaws, trailing up kisses to your lips. You nip gradually on his bottom lip before receiving his tongue. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Your hands stroking alongside his neat undercut. You opened your eyes slowly when he pulled back to see his own eyelids hung low, looking either very tired or very much turned on. The edge of his lips were soft from the toothpaste and the lip balm you share with him, smooth and glistening prior to your make out session.

“Keep this on,” he demands as he slides his whole body down. His hands trails up to your breasts, exposing them to the cold air whilst still keeping his sweater intact on you. He positions his shoulders under your thighs. You were surprised that, The Ushijima Wakatoshi, is willing to deal with something that was your own consequences, with his own mouth and tongue. You held it hours ago, wanting his way first rather than relying on your toys. You’re sure that he’ll come home eventually for this before eventually giving in to your heavy eyelids.

He places one, two, three kisses on the inner thigh slowly leading them up to the center of your wet panties. He pushes down your thighs towards him, licking the damp spot as if making out on it. You let out a high pitched whine from your lips. He ever so slowly pulls down your underwear you’ve been so desperate to be out of. His hot breath blows cold air between them with an eventful languid stroke. Your brain clouded, eyes rolled shut at the sight in the dark. You see nothing but flashes of sparks from the noises he made lapping his tongue over you.

Just as you feel his wet muscle fiddling around the sensitive bud, he (with the audacity) decided to suck on it, alternating between licking wet stripes along the core. You finally let out a moan, grabbing the sheets and his hair messy, pushing him further into you, grinding your own crotch towards him. One finger found his way, rubbing your entrance as the tip of his tongue fiddling your clit.

You throw your head back with your face behind your hand as his middle finger finally reaches in, unsteadily sliding in and out up till the spot where you buck your hips to its contact. Feeling your reaction, he slides in another finger, pressing and focusing them more on the gummy spot within, curling them ever so often. His jaw hardened, constantly fiddling his tongue around your clit, putting pressure on it while the tips of his dominant fingers hitting the same spot, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your walls start to squeeze as your breath gets shaky. His fingers never stop thrusting in and out with a pace you never felt even when you do it yourself. Your back arches before being held down by his non-dominant hand, pressing down on your pelvis as your leg becomes a moving mess before you feel the snap under your belly. You shake as your thighs close around his head, feet pushing on his shoulders unaware. Your vision slurs.

Lips soaked in your own slick, Ushijima licked you down clean as if collecting it after your intense height, giving them one more wet smooch before hovering his body above you. He sucks down his middle and ring finger, cleaning up your mess on him. You raise your hands and grab his cheeks to give yourself a taste, tongue constantly encountering his in between kisses. You push him up, rolling up on your knees, positioning yourself on his lap, not separating your lips.

You eventually pull away with a kiss on his cheek, your hands on his jaw as you find yourself out of breath. You give yourself a view of him with your thumb on his chin. He licked the bottom of his lip before biting them, eyes hazed staring up to yours. His whole face became more and more of a mess, hair disheveled from your constant pulling, lips swollen and soaked down until his chin. You always love seeing him all wet from his own work on you.

It was impossible for you to not get turned on by him all messy and drunk from your cunt. You tug on his waistband, pulling down his PJs alongside his boxers. It’s obvious how hard he is with the ill bulge he had the whole time. His cock springs up as you pull his boxers down, tip flushed and slick, desperate to be inside you. You stroke along the shaft, spreading his own precum as you readied yourself on him. But he insisted. He rolls you back down on your back, holding the back of your thighs, teasing his tip around on your core.

You didn’t have a chance to look where the both of you met before gasping at the sudden intrusion. You were still sensitive and the slick of your pussy prior to his work makes the both of you moan as he slides in. His hips rolled and bucked on you, thrusting deliciously, tip reaching up to the familiar gummy spot.

“You look so good fucked in my sweater like that, dove,” he moans in your ear in the pleasure of your hips meeting his, pelvis to pelvis. The way he whispered that little pet nickname and moaned right into your ears clutches your core. You put your arms around his shoulders, legs wrapping around him, holding on for life as he pounds harder (you swore the bed could crack any minute).

“I’m…” you gasp in between thrusts before you continue, “I’m on birth— ah!”

You couldn’t continue as he pushed one deep thrust, already knowing what you meant. He groans feeling your tightened walls sucking him in as he starts to roll his hips in a way it touches the parts you never knew you’d reach. He pushes your knees to your chest, thrusting in deeper. You feel his skin constantly slapping on your clit, building you up to another climax.

With a groan and his head buried into your shoulder, he came in a rut. Pace went sloppy and eventually filled his warmth inside you. His moans cracked a higher pitch before he finally emptied out on his last thrust. Both of you laid there catching your breath.

He pulls himself out of you, leaving a whine from your lips from the sudden emptiness. You sigh, feeling his cum slowly spilling out of you. Ushijima muttered a low, "fuck," as he looks down and squeezed your thighs, eyeing the sight of you leaking from his cum.

Making sure you’re fine, he hovers above you, a hand on your jaw as he kisses the edge of your lips. Raising his head to look at you as you open your eyes. Greeted by the sight of his softened features, you smile with a sigh and caress his cheek.

He’s worried, you thought. Ushijima brushes out the strands of hair from your face and places a soft, longing kiss on your temple before walking up towards the bathroom.

You hear the tap running for a while before he comes out with a warm damp towel. He gently grabs your thigh to wipe down the remaining of his cum that has spilled out of you. You sigh from the warmth of the towel.

“You need to go to the toilet,” he states suddenly. You furrow your eyebrows trying to process his instruction before realizing what he meant. You nod, “right,” you prop yourself up to sit.

“Can you walk?” he asks. You thought a bit before nodding as he grabbed onto you in case you wobble and fall. You chuckle in contrast to his worry because you did walk fine. Just a little sore. You walked to the bathroom to pee and clean yourself while Ushijima in the kitchen for some water.

You come back with him already finished putting back his boxer. You realize you don’t wanna sleep in soiled panties so you grab a fresh pair and throw the used one out into the hamper. You jump back on the bed with him. You take the glass of water he gave you before laying back down. He spoons you like how he did before. You shuffle as you turn your body towards him, brushing away his messy hair out of his face.

“Should I wear this more so I can get fucked like that more often?” you ask, referring to how his high school sweater on you turns him on. He let out a tired laugh, “just don’t wear that in front of anyone but me.”

---

ushy gushy always be on my top #1 daddy big balls alongside erwin smith

#neruites #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima smut #ushijima fic #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fic

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sebscore · 1 year ago

Note

if you feel comfortable doing so, how do you think the grid would react if gzd was going through a rough patch and she’s being like really quiet and in her head?

i’m kinda slipping back into this era and i just need the grids comfort

THIS IS ALL I NEVER WANTED

pairing: lando norris x driver!reader / daniel ricciardo x driver!reader / sebastian vettel x driver!reader / lewis hamilton x sebastian vettel

warnings: reader feels defeated and is ready to give up. swearing. mention of sexism.

author’s note: the comfort fic is finally hear, lmao :) sorry that it took me this long, got caught up with gentle hit, but it’s here now !!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''That's the car of Y/L that goes into the gravel- another DNF for the young driver.'' Crofty commented as he watched her retire from the fight for the third consecutive race.

Meanwhile in the car, Y/N's radio was bombarded by her engineer. ''We're so sorry, Y/N. A podium was possible, but we'll keep pushing harder for next time. We'll debrief.'' Marco apologised, frustration and guilt audible in his voice.

''Understood.'' The indifferent tone came as a surprise to the team and viewers, but it was understandable as the driver hadn't been able to finish a race in over a month.

The ride back to the paddock was humiliating to say the least. The pitiful looks from fans, the judging eyes of critics and the loud whispers didn't do much to brighten the dark cloud that was her mind.

Her post-race interviews also weren't a great help to her already declining confidence.

''It's the third consecutive DNF for you- how are you managing to stay positive and to not lose hope in the car?'' Nathalie asked her, sounding compassionate.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. ''Nothing is positive at all,'' she sarcastically chuckled, ''I think I'm doing everything right and then it all goes wrong for some reason.''

''I'm working hard with the team, but it doesn't seem like it's paying off at the moment. I'm just very disappointed and I- yeah, well, I hate the car.''

The reporter in front of her wasn't used to the visible pessimism of the female driver. Y/N was known for her cheerful and up-beat character, always open for a chat and ready to take on any challenge. That figure seemed to be missing at the moment.

''I hope it gets better for you, Y/N. You're an amazing driver and I wish you good luck for the next race weekend, thank you so much for talking to us.'' Nathalie rounds up the interview before signalling to her cameraman to stop the filming.

Y/N was about to leave, but a gentle grab of her wrist stopped her. ''Hey, darling- don't let this get you down, alright? There are many people rooting for you here, me included, and we all want to see you do well. You have incredible talent and we know these lasts results aren't a reflection of that.''

The Sky Sports presenter had a soft spot for the young woman ever since her arrival to the paddock. Nathalie has always been amazed by Y/N's ability to shrug off all the sexist remarks and to prove the people that doubt her wrong.

''Thanks, I appreciate it.'' The soft smile on Y/N's face was a fake one, even a child could spot that. However, her words and gratefulness were genuine and that's all that mattered to Nathalie.

The driver moved quickly between the different journalists, not in the mood for the long and lovely chats that would have happened had she crossed the chequered flag. ''If one more person reminds me of all the DNF's, I'm going to knock myself out with one of these microphones.'' She mumbled to her team's press officer, making the woman laugh but also look at Y/N with a bit of concern.

Luckily for her, all the media responsible people must have listened to her prayers and went easy on her- maybe sensing her agitation and worsened mood. She and her press officer moved back to the team's hospitality, where a dreaded team briefing would take place.

''Obviously these aren't the results that we want. We want wins, podiums and points.'' Her team principal started off the meeting, standing at the head of the table. ''It is clear that changes need to be made, whether that be the car, the strategy or the driver even.'' The eyes of the team shifted from their leader to the young woman staring daggers at him.

''It's not my fault that the fucking engine blows up or that another drivers decides he wants to play bumper cars.'' Y/N defended herself, not seeing why she should be replaced.

He shook his head. ''I didn't say it was your fault, but we have to look at all the options and that includes you, Y/N.'' The man clarified, taking a deep breath.

The woman rolled her eyes, causing Marco to send her a stern look that said ''Please, don't make this harder on yourself.'' She got his sign and sat up straight in her chair, figuring her slumping didn't give off a great impression.

The briefing continued for another hour, going over all the alternatives they had and all the work they had to do while waiting for the next race weekend. ''Alright- thank you, everyone! Have a great break.'' The team principal dismissed the team.

Y/N was the first one to get up and leave, debating if she would slam the door, but she didn't want a Kevin x Guenther moment with her boss.

By the time she was on her way to her hotel, most fans had gone home themselves and the paddock was occupied by crew members cleaning the place up. Y/N had a slow pace while walking, not in any hurry to leave the circuit.

''You're going back to the hotel?'' A voice behind her spoke up, making the female driver yelp as she didn't expect someone to walk up on her.

Y/N turned around, Lando looking at her with a grin. ''Did I scare you?'' He laughed, finding amusement in making his friend flinch.

''You could have been a serial killer for all I know, you idiot.'' She slapped his arm, the tension leaving her body as it was only Lando and not some creep.

''Only on track.'' He winked.

The young woman frowned at his action. ''Please, never do that again.'' Her feigned disgust with his wink resulted in a light push from her friend.

''So… you're going to the hotel now?'' Lando asked her again, not having received an answer yet.

Y/N nodded. ''Yeah, I could use some sleep before the flight tomorrow.''

''You, uh, wanna take a car together to the hotel? You know- that way we're not wasting gas, I guess.'' He nervously asked, mumbling the question almost under his breath.

''Sure,'' Y/N chuckled, ''Seb will be proud of us.''

They decided to take his car as she wasn't in the mood to drive anymore and Lando didn't seem to mind. She was grateful for Lando's company, at least her bad day would end on a good note.

''Sorry about the race today, I know you could have done more.'' Despite being competitors, they were also great friends and it's not fun seeing your friends have bad results.

Y/N sighed. ''My team- they're, uh, thinking about replacing me.'' She wanted to get her worries off of her chest and Lando bringing up the race seemed like the perfect oppurtunity for it.

''What?'' He exclaimed, not anticipating that sentence to come out of her mouth.

''They say they just have to think about all the changes they could make to get better results, but they've been talking an awful lot about the junior drivers so I'm just preparing myself for it.'' She clarified for him, resting her head against the window.

Lando let her words sink in. ''They- they can't possibly do that, you're one of the best drivers on the grid.'' It came out louder than he intended, but the thought of one of his best friends not being with him on track anymore upsets him.

''They can do that,'' she sarcastically chuckled, ''I'm impressed I lasted this long- I just know the FIA will be throwing a party now that they don't have to be feminists anymore.''

''What do you mean 'lasted'? You're not going anywhere, we have enough races left where you can show your true skills.'' Lando took his eyes off the road to look her in the eye, perhaps wanting her to see how serious he was.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to talk about it any further.

The car stopped in front of a red light. ''Hey,'' Lando put his hand on top of hers, ''I'm being serious. We've been racing against each other for over 10 years now- you're a good driver. You'll probably be a World Champion one day.''

''You really mean that?'' Her usual confident demeanour had been traded in for an insecure one, her voice coming out smaller than normal.

He chuckled, nodding his head. ''Of course, I wouldn't lie to you.'' The gentle way he was looking at her assured her that he was in fact being serious and meant everything he said.

''Thank you,'' Y/N turned her hand and squeezed Lando's, ''now, shut up and drive me to the hotel!'' She pushed his hand away. ''Enough of this emo shit.''

''This is the one time I am being nice to you and you just reject my love.''

''Stop being so emotional, Norris.''

''There she is!'' Daniel loudly announced as Y/N stepped onto the plane, his hands up in the air.

She tiredly waved at everyone, exhausted from the lack of sleep she had gotten. The young woman groggily sat down next to her Australian colleague, Michael sitting in front of them.

Daniel snickered at her disoriented state. ''Good morning to you, mate.'' He greeted her, his infamous bright smile on his face.

''It's fucking early, what are you so happy about?'' She mumbled, while trying to find a good sleeping position.

''I'm grateful that I get to live another beautiful day, Y/N! We don't appreciate our existence enough, we need to-''

''I'll be grateful for my life when you shut up and let me sleep.'' She interrupted him, closing her eyes and pulling her hat slightly over her face.

The McLaren driver opted for another teasing comment, but he could see the obvious exhaustion she had going on and let her be, a light pat on the shoulder working as his way to say ''have a good nap''.

About an hour later the turbulence of the plane woke her up from her much needed sleep. Y/N took her hat off and noticed Daniel still awake, scrolling on his phone while listening to music through his headphones.

A soft push against his arm brought his attention from his device to the woman next to him, immediately smiling upon seeing that she's awake. ''Sleepyhead.''

The beam on his face slowly changed into a nervous frown, worrying his friend. ''What is it? The reality of life finally settled in?'' Y/N awkwardly said, trying to cheer him up.

''No, uh, it's just that uhm interview you did with Nathalie yesterday- I watched it.'' He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

''Oh,'' she sat up straight in her seat, ''well, you know it was just after the race so obviously I was very frustrated. You know how it is.'' The driver tried to come off as nonchalant, failing horribly.

''Lando told me, Y/N.'' Daniel revealed, wanting her to drop the 'it's not a big deal'-act.

She sighed. ''Oh, that little snake.'' She muttered under her breath.

''No, I'm glad that he told me. He said he's never seen you so defeated and the way you were talking to Nathalie- you haven't given up, have you?'' Daniel had seen how her recent race results had affected her, but he wasn't aware how deep her frustrations and insecurities had settled in.

Her silence to his question was an answer in itself.

''You've been working your ass off since you were like what? 5-6? You're not gonna throw all of that away just because of 3 bad races, right? That's nothing like you.'' The Australian ranted, baffled over her ruined confidence.

Y/N glanced outside her window, seeing they were high above the clouds. ''I'm not throwing anything away, it's just… my teams seems to have already made up their mind and are just waiting on the right time to tell me that someone else is taking my place.'' The young woman clarified, her words not helping Daniel's growing worries.

''They would be fucking idiots to replace you, you know that.'' He sneered, rolling his eyes at the thought of another person driving in her seat.

She weakly chuckled at his response, not finding much humour in the insult to her bosses.

Daniel's shoulder gently pushed against hers. ''Hey, maybe you need to talk to Seb or Lewis, they're better at this pep-talk shit than I am.'' He suggested, figuring the two older men might have more of an influence on her.

Y/N let his words process for a few seconds, considering seeking a listening ear in either of the world champions. ''I- I don't know, Dan. They probably have better things to do.''

''Like what?''

''I don't fucking know- planting trees, feeding Roscoe, whatever.'' She blurted out, making both of them laugh at the random activities they could be doing.

''Just think about it, I think you'd feel a lot better after talking to one of them.'' Daniel didn't want to push her, knowing it would have the opposite effect on what he wanted for her.

A tired smile made its way onto her face. ''I will, thank you.''

''Good,'' his face mirrored hers, ''and if they do replace you, they're just like Netflix.''

''Like Netflix?''

''A bunch of cunts.''

''I've never seen her that quiet.'' Sebastian mumbled to the Brit next to him, observing the young woman who sat slumped over in her chair.

Lewis looked over at her, being as equally bewildered as his German colleague. ''I don't blame her, all the stuff they've been saying about her is awful.'' He whispered back.

''What do you mean?'' Sebastian frowned.

The Mercedes driver uncomfortably shifted in his head, leaning more towards his friend. ''People have been saying a lot of shit on social media and those fucking annoying journalists certainly don't help. Also, that interview their team principal did.''

Sebastian rolled his eyes at the mention. ''Hanna showed me, that was so out of line. He knows people have been wanting her out since the day she got in- shame on him for making all of that so public.''

Her team principal had given a quite lengthy interview over the break between the race weekends, publicising the team's problems and their possible solutions, which included a hint to a potential driver change-up.

''None of the DNF's were even her fault, it's absolutely ridiculous.'' The slander on her name greatly upset Lewis, aware of the talent she possessed and it made him angry that there was even a chance that she might not be on the grid with them the next year.

''I know and it has taken such a toll on her, Daniel said he talked to her, but I'm a little worried.'' The Aston Martin driver told Lewis, his puzzled look turning into one of sadness.

The Brit scratched his voice. ''Maybe you can give her some confidence? You've known her for a long time, I'm sure she'll appreciate it.''

Sebastian slowly nodded his head, figuring the World Champion might be right. ''Yeah, I'll talk to her later.'' He confirmed, still watching the obvious daydreaming woman from across the room.

The driver's briefing went on for about half an hour more, the director seeing the visible boredom on every person's face and calling it a day for everyone.

Y/N couldn't have been more relieved that the meeting was finally over, wanting nothing more than going back to her own hospitality and figuring out ways to make the car work, and actually finish this time around.

She was one of the last people to leave the briefing room, only George, Lewis and Sebastian walking behind her. The latter tapping her shoulder. ''Hey, haven't talked to you today.''

''Yeah, lots of briefings with the team, you know.'' The younger one responded, giving him a quick glance.

''How's that going?''

The woman remained silent for a few moments, considering how much she should tell her mentor about the current state of her place in the team. ''Uhm, well, it's going… decent, I guess.'' Y/N muttered, trailing off.

''Decent?'' Sebastian repeated, as if asking ''are you serious?''

''There are like a bunch of reporters around us, what do you want me to say?'' She replied, a defensive tone to her voice.

The German patted her back, sensing her agitation. ''It's okay, let's discuss somewhere private.'' He calmed her down, suggesting a different place to have a conversation.

''Okay.''

They opted for her personal driver's home, that being the closest space where they could talk with just the two of them. Some of her team's staff had given the Aston Martin driver some weird looks while they walked through the hospitality, but he brushed them off.

The pair sat down on her small couch once they arrived, not much space between them.

Y/N felt some nerves settling in her stomach as she waited for Seb to start speaking, not knowing what he was going to tell her.

''I'm just gonna be straightforward,'' he started off, ''you can't continue with this attitude, cause you're only setting yourself up. You are a great driver, Y/N. We all have our off weeks, we're not perfect.''

''I understand that this isn't a nice situation to be in. Trust me, this green vegetable that I'm driving isn't doing much better at the moment,'' he chuckled, making her crack a smile, ''but if there's one person that can completely turn their season around, it's you.''

Y/N avoided eye-contact with him, not sure how to respond to his kind and encouraging words. ''I appreciate that, Seb. I'm not giving up, it's just… very difficult and people are constantly bringing it up, and making articles and shit- that doesn't help me at all. I'm still gonna do my best, but… yeah- it's just difficult.''

''I know it's hard and I've heard the media has been hard on you. That's what they do and they see you as an easier target for clicks and whatnot,'' Sebastian rolled his eyes at his own mention of the media, ''But you're better than believing their words.''

''You are a talented driver, you have so much potential. Do you think I would have spent all these years with you if I thought you shouldn't be in F1?'' He asked her, a look on his face that told her he wanted an answer.

The young woman timidly shook her head. ''No, you wouldn't have done that.''

Sebastian smiled at her response. ''See?'' He put his arm around her, pulling her closer into him. ''Whether you believe it or not, you're leading this new generation. You're a decent car away from being a World Champion, you know that right?''

''Did you talk to Lando? He also said that.'' Y/N nervously grinned.

''Just accept the truth!'' The German squeezed her shoulders. ''You've proven that you can do anything. You don't want to let down all those young girls that started karting because of you, right? What message would it send to all of them that their role model quit, because she got bumped off the road or her car simply decided to turn itself off.''

''You're right,'' she sighed, admitting to herself she needed to drop the pessimistic attitude, ''I don't just owe it to myself, but also to them.''

Sebastian nodded along to her words, letting out a deep breath. ''I'm relieved you're seeing it, I don't like seeing you like this. It's weird not seeing you smile or making fun of the drivers.'' He smirked, patting her shoulder.

''I guess everyone deserved an off-day, tomorrow I'll start again.'' Y/N grinned, laughing at Sebastian's reminder of her fondness to poke fun at their colleagues.

The senior driver gave her one last squeeze and stood up from the couch, adjusting his pants. ''No more frowns, alright? You're gonna do great this weekend and you're gonna show everyone why you deserve your seat.''

Y/N nodded, more confident than when she first walked back into her driver's room. ''Yes, I'm gonna do my best, Seb.''

They bumped their fists as if to solidify it was going to be a great race weekend for them both.

''And go easy on me tomorrow with the teasing.''

''I'd rather be run off the track again then let that happen.''

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