#oh look i managed to finally draw something

[ballsandbabes]

Harder than I thought

authors note: Hi everyone, this is the first time I've done an illustration for one of my stories. I draw under the tag ‘D.Mon’. I hope you like it. // y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

pairing: michael kaiser x fem!reader

summary: What if youd swapped duties with Kaiser, after nagging him forever about how hard your job was. So when he decides to drag you onto the pitch, its not the only reason your heart begins to race ;)

genre: romance, enemies to lovers I guess

word count: 6.2k

You just got your bachelor's degree in marketing and management. Happy to have finally done it, you were faced with the next challenge: What now? You hadn't really thought much about what you wanted to do with your degree during your studies.

A good friend of your mother's, Anrei Teieri, had a job with a football programme and suggested that you try the sports industry during a visit. You had always been sporty and were particularly interested in basketball and swimming.

For lack of alternatives, you decided to give it a try. And now you were here. For a year now. But this wasn't how you had imagined your very first job. Because you were pretty sure you had the hardest job in all of Bastard München—not because it was technically demanding, but because your job involved him.

Michael Kaiser.

Football’s golden brat. Germany’s arrogant "crown prince". And the absolute bane of your sanity. You were his personal assistant. Emphasis on personal, which, as it turned out, meant "do everything short of breathing for him."

And right now, that meant sprinting across the training grounds with his cleats in one hand, his protein bar clenched between your teeth, and your phone buzzing in your pocket with overlapping meeting notifications. It was stressful, although that is probably an understatement. It was as if you were living two lives. You had to think about everything, his diet, appointments, press, even his private appointments like dates, were managed by you.

“Kaiser!” you shouted, skidding to a stop near the pitch, sarcasm dripping from your voice,“Your royal shoes, Your Highness.”

He didn’t even glance at you at first. He was stretched out like a cat in the sun, all smug smiles and silky hair that glinted gold in the light.

“I didn’t forget them,” he said lazily,“You’re supposed to bring them.”

“I’m your assistant, not your maid,” you grumbled, tossing the cleats next to him.

“Semantics,” he replied, finally turning his smug, beautiful face toward you, “You look winded, Schatz. You should start training with us.”

He loved calling you that. It started when you asked him for his passport for the game in seville. While you were busy giving his details to the team's airline, he'd got hold of your passport, which you'd left on the table. It turned out that you were also German. Knowing that you would also know what this nickname meant, he now always called you that. You hated it. You weren't his ‘treasure’, you were his servant. At least that's how it felt when you had to run errands at six in the morning.

“Oh, you mean actually collapse instead of just feeling like I will?,” You plopped down on the bench nearby and took a long sip from your water thermos, “If I knew this job meant babysitting a full-grown toddler with a God complex, I’d have picked something easier. Like working in a marketing agency or something.”

“You love it,” he said with that annoying lilt of arrogance,“You’d be bored without me.”

“You left your phone in the fridge yesterday,” you said flatly,“I had to defrost it to get to your text messages.”

“That was a creative decision. Cold calls, you know?,” he smirked. You snorted, shaking your head,“You’re impossible. I hope you know that.”

He grinned wider,“And yet, you’re still here.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but the smirk he shot you made your heart betray you for a beat.

Damn it. It wasn’t that you didn’t like your job. It was just that Michael Kaiser made it very difficult to focus on anything except the way his shirt clung to his abs, or the way he always seemed to know just how to fluster you.

So you’d developed a strategy over time: complain about everything. Constantly. Loudly. He thought it was funny. You told yourself it wasn’t flirting. (But it was definitely flirting :)

___ _ _ _

It was one of those days, the mountain of work barely manageable. yes, and then there was kaiser, an active blockade that prevented you from going about your tasks. You would have liked to nail the door to his office shut. Unfortunately, you couldn't. Which is why you've been standing in the playing booth for the last ten minutes or so, having what you think is a much-needed conversation. you didn't want to admit it, but inside you loved these little random moments.

“Michael,” you said flatly, “you cannot keep texting me ‘important question’ and then follow it up with a selfie and ‘do I look hotter in blue or black?’ That’s not urgent. That’s narcissism. I got actual work to do...”

Michael leaned back in the locker room bench, one leg lazily draped over the other, spinning his phone between his fingers. His eyes sparkled with the kind of smug mischief that usually preceded international incidents. You had actually called him about the press appointment for the game at the weekend, but then it had once again slipped into a lecture from your side, when you had to actually step into the locker room, because he didnt want to come to you to discuss the matter.

“I’m cultivating my brand, Schatz,” he replied without shame, “You’re the keeper of my empire. You should care.”

You crossed your arms,“Your "empire" is built on ego, dry shampoo, and late-night calls to ask whether your features look too sharp in certain lighting. Like fans could die from you looking to good...”

He tilted his head,“You said they were devastating.”

“That’s not a compliment, it’s a warning. People trip over them,” you replied with annoyance. Michael chuckled, a low, warm sound that always made your stomach do backflips. He leaned in, elbow resting on his knee, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” his face displaying a smirk.

“I’m always annoyed,” you deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your tablet. You were trying to update his schedule, but it was difficult when he kept staring at you with that smug little smile—like he was watching a show only he understood the punchline to.

“I’m filing a report,” you muttered, “Personal assistant verbally abused by narcissistic striker. Emotional damages include migraines, sarcasm fatigue, and... chronic exposure to shirtless selfies.”

Michael smirked, “You save those selfies.”

“Because I need evidence for HR,” you explained.

He stood, stepping close, just close enough to loom—annoyingly tall, annoyingly confident, annoyingly aware of the effect he had on you.

“You could just admit you like me, you know,” he said casually, brushing a golden strand out of his face. “It’d save you all this dramatic whining.”

You looked up at him, unimpressed,“I don’t like you. I tolerate you. The same way people tolerate reality TV. It's chaotic, it lowers brain cells, but it’s weirdly addictive.”

“Ouch,” He clutched his chest,“Brutal.”

“You love it,” you now teased him.

“I do,” he said, that cocky grin softening just slightly, “Especially when you get all flustered trying not to smile.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you turned back to your iPad screen and said, “If you’re done stroking your ego for five minutes, you have training in twenty. And you still haven’t filled out the media request forms for the pre-game interviews.”

“I thought you were handling that,” he said.

You glared, “I’m your assistant, not your secretary, Kaiser. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, moving toward the exit, hands in his pockets,“You’re the girl who yells at me every day and still brings me my favorite protein bar.”

You called after him,“That’s because if I don’t feed you, you might collapse mid-backflip and sue the club.”

He turned around with a wink,“Or maybe it’s because you care.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Damn him. You hated how he made teasing sound like confession. How every throwaway flirtation felt like a test—and how badly you wanted to fail it.

“Stop looking at my mouth, Kaiser!,” you snapped.

“I was looking at your lips, actually,” he said, backing out the door. “There’s a difference. They are pretty.”

And with that, he vanished down the hallway, leaving you with a heart pounding far too fast and a very dangerous thought:

If you didn’t do something soon, this entire job was going to turn into one big, unavoidable, steamy disaster.

___ _ _ _

You dramatically flopped into his chair in the team lounge one morning and announced, “I deserve a raise or a Nobel Prize.”. He barely looked up.

“What now?” he asked, sipping an energy drink that absolutely wasn’t approved by his nutritionist.

“You had three interviews booked at the same time yesterday,” you said. “Three. I had to call your sponsors, your agent, and your mother to fix it. Also, you’re scheduled for two different hair stylists today. At the same time.”

“I like variety,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re a menace. It was a total disaster to rebuild your calendar so everything would work just fine,” you muttered. He set his drink down, leaned back in the chair like a king on his throne, and raised an eyebrow,“You know what, if it’s so hard, how about we trade?”

You blinked,“Excuse me?”

“You join me in training. For a month. Full schedule. And I’ll take care of my own life. No assistant. Total independence. More free time for you.”

Your jaw dropped,“You’d forget your own name after three days.”

He grinned, “Then prove it. If you last a month on the pitch, and I keep my life together, the loser buys dinner.”

“And the winner picks the outfit,” you added, smirking.

He gave a low laugh,“You’re cruel. Deal.”

___ _ _ _

Training was hell. Cardio at 6 a.m., tactical drills that made your legs feel like jelly, ice baths that nearly made you cry. The team, of course, found it hilarious. Raichi gave you a supportive thumbs up. Ness tried not to laugh every time you tripped over a cone. The boys were very pleased that you were now part of the training programme. And then there was Kaiser?

Kaiser was having the time of his life.

“You’re sweating,” he teased one afternoon, tossing you a towel,“Cute.”

“I’m plotting your murder,” you muttered. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear,“Do it after dinner. I already made reservations.”

And meanwhile, his life without your help?

An absolute disaster. He missed two interviews, forgot to reply to three sponsors, got his hair cut wrong (a national emergency), and was late to practice twice.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped when you smugly handed him a crumpled fan letter he’d forgotten to answer.

“I’m just impressed,” you said sweetly and full of sarcasm,“I didn’t think it was possible to double-book yourself with yourself.”

He groaned,“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You bet your smug ass I am,” you laughed as a reply. But somewhere between the playful bickering and the chaotic schedules, something shifted between the tow of you. What had begun as a serious hatred of his schedule and his person had now become something like an edge. something that belonged to him, without which he would not be himself. Something you tolerated, because of him.

It was no different on his side of the emotional world. He missed the sarcastic jokes you used to make when he messed up again. Or how you'd fall asleep cutely on the keyboard in his office because you couldn't take it anymore. The constant moaning and fussing about his inability had become music to his ears. So he started lingering near you after practice.

You on the other hand, started looking forward to his stupid texts.

You caught him watching you during drills, expression softer than usual. You’d both been dancing around it for weeks, really—like one long, drawn-out press conference of denial.

Until the final day of the bet: You were sprawled on the pitch, utterly exhausted. Sweat dripped from your forehead, your muscles screamed, and your lungs felt like they’d been lit on fire. Kaiser had given you two sets of his own tracksuit clothes to make it feel like his everyday life, he had said. that meant you were sitting there in the black shirt with the gold trim and the bugunder-red tracksuit bottoms with his initials and his match number. The others had made fun of it. They had said it was like a house number, so you knew who lived in the house together. It was an open secret that the others thought you were like an old married couple when you were together.

Kaiser dropped down beside you with a water bottle and that stupid grin,“You survived.”

“Barely,” your breath still unsteady.

“You win,” you gasped,“You’re… actually in shape. Who knew?”

He laughed,“And your schedule was a living nightmare. I missed three hair masks and I think Adidos is mad at me for not showing up to the shoe launch.”

You rolled your eyes,“Really??? The shoe release?? I worked so hard on that deal for you...You can’t function without me.”

He leaned closer,“I don’t want to.”

You froze. He was looking at you—really looking at you. No smugness. No jokes. Just something real.

“I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he said softly,“You’re not exactly subtle either.”

You blinked,“Was it that obvious?”

He grinned,“You called me a ‘walking migraine with abs.’ That’s basically German for ‘marry me.’”

You laughed—nervous and bright and maybe a little breathless.

“And now?,” you asked. He smirked, “Now I cash in on my prize.”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, “Dinner. With me. No running around. No emails. Just you.”

You stared up at him, “And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll just have to keep booking back-to-back hair appointments until you give in,” he teased. You laughed again, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned into him.

“Fine,” you whispered,“But only if I get to pick the outfit.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling, “Deal.”

___ _ _ _

You sent the message an hour ago:

"Be ready at 7. Suit. Formal. I’m picking you up. Don’t ask questions. Just trust me." – Y/n 😘

No response. Just a single read receipt and a suspicious lack of follow-up sarcasm. You were wearing your favorite dress—dark red, sleek, perfectly sculpted to your figure. Modern lines, no frills, just class and edge. The matching lipstick had taken you three attempts and two makeup wipes to perfect. But one thing was for sure, the two hours of styling where totally worth it. It felt good to be able to really doll up. You weren’t even sure why you were this nervous.

It wasn’t a date...Okay, it was definitely date-coded.

But still.

You had pulled strings to get tickets to a private advance screening of your favorite old German film—one Michael had, in his words, “definitely pretended to have seen to impress someone once.”

You smiled just thinking about his face when he realized the theater was empty. He didn’t know you knew he had rented it out.

Of course he had.

___ _ _ _

You pulled up outside his place at 6:59 sharp. The building was sleek and modern—exactly the kind of penthouse palace you’d expect a Kaiser to inhabit. And then the door opened.

Your mouth went dry. Michael stood there in a deep navy-blue suit that somehow made his hair look even more golden than usual. A white shirt underneath, buttons half-done, tie in his hand. And he was staring at you like he had forgotten the entire German language.

“Wow,” he said finally.

You smirked, stepping inside,“That’s it? Just wow?”

“I’ve seen you in sweatpants, high ponytails, and with three pens stuck in your bun yelling at me for double-booking a photo shoot,” he murmured,“And I thought that was cute.”

He let his gaze travel down slowly, lingering just enough to make your skin feel too tight.

“But this?” he continued,“You’re trying to kill me.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking,“Then die quietly and put your tie on so we wont be late.”

He held it up,“You’re the assistant. Help me. Besides you were the one, who wanted to dress me...”

You rolled your eyes but stepped closer, taking the silk from his fingers. His scent hit you—clean cologne, a hint of mint, and something just inherently Kaiser. Warm and impossible to ignore. You looped the tie around his neck, fingers brushing his collarbone. He watched you the whole time, eyes flickering between your lips and your hands.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You huffed,“I’m not.”

“You’re breathing like I just made you run laps,” he stated the obvious.

“I’ve seen you run laps. That’s not impressive.”

He laughed under his breath, and you paused with the tie half-knotted. His hand came up, fingers brushing your wrist—lightly, casually.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice dropping.

You swallowed, “You’re stalling.”

“I’m enjoying the view,” he smirked. You stepped back, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks, “Shirt next. You’re barely decent.”

He smirked, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Michael.”

“Y/n,” he got back at you teasingly. You rolled your eyes again and reached for his waist, grabbing the button of his pants.

And then it happened. You looked up. He looked down.

A second stretched thin between you—his breath catching, your fingers frozen at his fly, the silence charged with something very different than before.

He was close. So close. And when your knuckles brushed against his abdomen, he tilted his head like he was already leaning in.

“Stop looking at my lips,” you whispered.

“I’m thinking about kissing them,” he whispered back.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

But when you finally buttoned the last piece, his hand slid gently to the back of your neck—and this time, there were no jokes. He kissed you like he'd been waiting all month. Like all the teasing and tension had finally found its spark.

And god, did it ignite. His mouth was warm, commanding but careful, like he didn’t want to rush but couldn’t stop himself either. Your hands curled into his jacket, pulling him closer, lips parting like second nature.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, breath shallow.

“That was... overdue,” he murmured. You licked your lips,“We’re late.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” you smirked, still flushed from the kiss.

“Fine,” he said, “But I’m kissing you again after the credits.”

___ _ _ _

You tried to play it cool when you arrived. Act surprised. Gasp a little. Look impressed. But the second you stepped into the dark velvet of the private theater and saw the single set table tucked to the side—candles, wine, catered food—you turned back and smacked his chest,“You rented the place.”

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Didn’t want distractions. Or other people seeing me cry if the movie’s boring. I have an image to obtain.”

“You are ridiculous,” you said under a light laugh.

“You love it,” he said as he gave you one of his charming winks.

You glared,“A little.”

Dinner was incredible. The movie was even better. And through it all, Kaiser stayed close—but not in his usual arrogant way. He asked questions. Listened. Smiled when you quoted your favorite line before it happened. Let you grab his arm during the emotional parts.

It was the softest you’d ever seen him.

And the most honest you’d ever felt with him.

___ _ _ _

The city lights glowed below as the two of you stepped onto his terrace. It was late. Quiet. Cool wind brushing against your bare shoulders. You leaned on the railing. He stood behind you, his suit jacket draped over your arms.

“I had fun tonight,” you said softly.

“Me too,” he smiled, looking at you. You turned, meeting his gaze again in the silver-blue light.

This time, you didnt felt like teasing. Just the space between you, waiting to close.

He stepped in, cupped your face. You let him.

The kiss was slower this time. Deeper. More certain.

You curled into him, fingers in his hair, lips parting with soft sighs and lingering touches. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and it wasn’t just tension anymore—it was want. His mouth found your jaw, your neck, your smile as he placed a hickey onto it.

And when you kissed him back with a soft, breathless laugh, you finally admitted it to yourself:

You weren’t just falling for him.

You already had.

I hoped you liked the story and the illustration.

[pomegranate-fawn]

Weekly Update: ?!

Hiiiiii. Not a lot happened this week but I’m slowly becoming more emotionally stable so that’s like awesome! I was worried I’d only get worse and I am by no means in a great place, but just doing my best is all that I can. And I’m managing to keep my head above water so I should be a bit kinder to myself!

This is your only sneak peak at my super awesome and totally original story, Dear Nightingale. I left my bedroom to make some tea and when I returned I saw my cat sitting at my tablet like she was the one writing! I was really endeared by this and had to get a photo! I am on chapter 11 of this silly story and I’ve written over 36k words so far…It’s not even halfway done. I’m structuring it in books so this is just book one then I’ll move onto book two. I guess the reason I’m a bit shy about sharing it isn’t even the fact that I was inspired by Black Butler, it’s more so that in the past I knew a lot of people who claimed to be my friends and then would legit just take my OCS and stories from me. I’m not talking like oh I made a egl oc and then they did, it was like I made an egl oc named Chloe who had blue hair and a pet crow and then one of my friends would just draw her and be like “guys look at my new egl oc named Chole, she has blue hair and a pet crow”. And I wasn’t a great artist so often times I’d get harassment despite me being the original creator and it pushed me to give up on art, even now I’m still fearful that someone cooler or more popular than me will see my ideas and take them and I’ll somehow be called the copycat. But I promiseeeee I’ll try sharing my original works more!!!

I stated last week that I may stop my playthrough of Crimson Flower and I did. When I first got FE3H I was playing the game with two ex friends, one of them insisted to do Black Eagles, the other swooped in and declared herself the ultimate Blue Lions fan (she’s not she literally doesn’t even get Dimitri but whatever) and I was left with Claude. These two people were always so weird about claiming things as theirs and only theirs, it’s so strange looking back on it cause like even at my most defensive I’ve never been that way. Anyways jokes on them cause I ended up loving Claude and more over, Verdant Wind with my heart. I’m replaying it then I plan to do Crimson Flower then finally Azure Moon. A fire emblem compliment sandwich as I call it. I’m sorry I’m just not the biggest Edelgard fan but I may revoke that opinion after playing Crimson flower! But for now I want something I’m familiar with. SPEAKING OF FAMILIAR!

So I do plan to make a video (maybe just a dedicated post) to my mugs but I wanted to share one of my prized possessions! So I rlly love Rilakkuma and his little friend Korilakkuma. But finding merch of them I like it a bit tricky. While I love cute things I’m not a big fan of the “make something pink now it’s cute!” aesthetic that a lot of Sanrio and San-X characters usually have in merch. If a design is cute then it’s cute! It was hard to find a mug that wasn’t just that vibe until I found this. This mug wasn’t sold but was rather part of a lottery done at Lawson, a convince store in Japan. The lottery was held in 2011 and offered a few different merch offerings. Finding these mugs in good condition and for cheap was not easy. Listen unless a mug is really special I’m not paying a lot for it, like would I love to have the offical Funtom company tea cup and saucer? Oh absolutely. Am I paying over 200 for it from a scalper on eBay? No, not even a consideration. But I managed to snag both the Rilakkuma and Korilakkuma mugs for 20 bucks! Considering their age, quality, and relatively rare production, I consider it a good deal. Fun fact, just like how Korilakkuma is a little bit smaller than Rilakkuma in official art and merch, the Korilakkuma mug is a bit smaller than the Rilakkuma mug, I nearly sobbed at that!

This week I watched The Last Unicorn since I had only seen the first ten minutes one time in a doctor’s office. I don’t really know what to say about it. It’s such a strange film, I really loved it but it was just…like I said, it’s hard to articulate my feelings. It felt like a dream, not a fever dream but rather a dream that brings you joy and yet when it’s over, you wake up in a cold sweat, your heart isn’t racing but you still feel like you lost something as your dream slowly fades from you. It’s given me some ideas for my current writing which makes me happy. Now going onto a different topic, I wanted to talk briefly about fanfiction.

I studied English literature and got my B.A. in it and a minor in Queer studies. I believe fanfiction is important and is literature, but with that being said I think it’s limiting. I find that so many people just write fanfiction not because they like to but because they’re afraid to branch out and attempt to tell their own story. It’s bad in the fire emblem and twst fandoms, where people just write fanfiction and completely misinterpret a character to the point where they’re bastardized or repetitive. I think more people need to not only read literature outside of fanfiction but also just write what they want. It’s scary to write and not know if anyone will like it let alone read it, when writing for fandom you have a built in audience and it can provide a bit of a safety net, but sometimes it’s best to just branch out! Idk just my thoughts…I think so many people are deeply creative and I love seeing their oc’s so it makes me sad whenever someone who tries to do oc art eventually stops and either stops posting all together or only draws fanart…anyways music and video time!

I need to inject this song into my veins I need all of the Fullmetal alchemist cd’s so badly I may die!!! I love fma and fmab and the music is a big reason! It’s always so perfect, like I don’t know any other word for the ost other than perfect! I wish FMA wasn’t forgotten about except for when people wanna bring up female mangaka, I think it’s incredible that one of my favorite and first animes was made by a woman but FMA is so much more than a manga made by a woman. It’s a story about tragedy, war, violence, humanity, it’s beautiful. Though pls start with FMA if you plan to watch then watch fmab, just trust me…

I still start my morning with music videos and I also play them when I’m doing my daily yoga, it makes me feel like I’m at a fancy yoga studio and not in the front room of my house! I wanted to highlight a video from Duran Duran’s golden era! When I came out as lesbian to my mother (rather when I came out AGAIN to her at 20) she told me to watch this music video. I think this was her way of being like “I support lesbians” and recently she even told me she wants me to be the best lesbian to ever exist so even though she can still be weird with my sexuality she tried to find a way to connect with me. But I wanted to highlight this music video cause Duran Duran made a whole music video using ai not too long ago. It broke my heart when I saw it, I was already sad when my fav new wave band, Tears for Fears, used ai for an album cover, but seeing Duran Duran do a whole music video in ai was so upsetting! They haven’t done one since in AI like why did they make a single bad ai music video before returning to decent non ai music videos?! I’ll never know…

Now…I will not spoil Karma, I am not cruel. But if anyone wants to talk about it in dm’s or the comment section I’d love to! This is both a song recommendation and my video of the week! Alien stage is now over with Karma, the story that Vivinos and Qmeng wove was beautiful, heartbreaking, and hopeful. I could have not asked for a better ending for alien stage. If you haven’t checked it out yet, now is the best time to do so as the story is over. Karma was everything I could have ever wanted from alien stage and though it is a bit sad to see it end, I wouldn’t ask for any other ending.

[lovesickgoose]

I was reminded of a tiktok recently

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[tonycries]

WILD WILD WILD

Synopsis. No time like the first time, and his first time with you is enough to drive a man wild wild wild.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, first time fúcking you, PÚSSYDRUNK BOYS, BRÉEDING, pússy-slápping, creampíes, true form!Sukuna, dp, GOJO’S POWERS, mentions of having kíds, spítting, praise, cúmplay, vírginíty loss (Choso), proposals, slight chokíng, slightly mean Geto, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hoping you all have a lovely lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Oh baby, baby.

You’ve made it about five absolutely shattered condoms before Toji simply growls and flips you over with such a branding slap! to your cunt - as if it was your fault he hasn’t gotten to ravage his pretty girl already.

Running his tongue over that sinful scar on his upper lip, he’s spreading your puffy pussy lips open with a slow swipe of his thick thumb. Mouth just salivating at that easy, languid trickle of your sweet sweet juices glossing down his wrist. 

“Wouldn’t have even tried so hah- hard with those goddamn rubbers if I knew what ya were holdin’ out on me, doll.” Toji jeers from above, jostling your dangling legs even tighter around his slender waist. Before planting a drippingly wet smack! smack! smack! of his swollen, reddish tip right on the peak of your sensitive clit. “Just look at how drenched that makes ya.”

“Toji–” your honeyed, dragged-out whine makes him just twitch on top of you. Squirming at the way that has him gushing out a saturated puddle of sweltering hot precum onto your pre-soaked cunt. “Won’t you just put it in alre- ah!”

And Toji’s so fucking mean with the way he inches in just the very curve of his fat tip past your gummy entrance, shutting up those cute complaints on your tongue for the most delicious whine he’s ever heard.

“Heh, there we go. Finally- finally.” he gruffs out, moving over the grip of his long digits around his thickened base to wrap around your splayed-out thighs. Such an awful tease - making you do all the work shuffling down the silken sheets trying to milk his achy shaft. “Ohhh yeah- oh my god, there we fuckin- go-”

A particularly harsh clench of your velvety walls makes him throw his head back deliriously. Hoarse, baritone moans wrenching from his chest, “Yeah- you were so fuckin’ holding out. Heh, didn’t know it could feel so good. Feels like heaven, ma. Think I could fuck this cunt for forever-” He drags a hazy kiss down your lips, “Could fuck a baby into ya-”

“Hngh! I-if it-” you’re managing to mewl out, blinking back the big fat tears in your eyes to wrap your limp arms around his neck. “-if it feels so good then why aren’t you fucking me properly.”

Another heated smack! has the imprint of all five fingers of his raising on your flesh, and Toji just shoveling the rest of his long, solid inches into your clingy insides. And- shit, he’s so jaw-droppingly massive. No matter how many times you’ve seen him, taking him is a whole other feeling.

Fuck. This was heaven.

He grunts, “Might be the first time but yer suckin’ me up so- well.”

It’s like your poor pussy was gaping around him, being molded along every tiny crevice of his cock. That slight upwards curve was just spearing into the very spongy depths of your cervix head-on, drawing wet, glossy glides across your g-spot. 

You were finally, finally being fucked by him. 

And it was maddening. 

“Say that again, doll?” he quirks his head down at you after a few heaving breaths to try and stop that pathetic cracking of his words. “Because I think you were hah- s-saying something.” Each word is punctuated by a ruthless thrust, making a sloppy mess of your insides until you could feel the thundering throb of his pumping cock, the sticky thwack of his cum-filled balls on your ass. Toji leans down until his entire body weight was pinning you against the damp mattress, holding you hostage to the way he tugs on your ear lobes with his sharp canines. “Or are ya just too hngh- cockdrunk for it already?”

Smack! 

As if you could speak.

Jaw dangling open, hulking body hunched over, his big beefy arms cage you in. “Awww, come on now. Answer me. Don’t tell me you were ah- beggin’ for my cock so badly for weeks n’ won’t even gimme your pretty compliments?”

You’re barely even able to keep up with his syrupy sweet words, locking your ankles around his waist.

Toji hisses when that slight movement has him jolting even rougher against the bulbous bullseye of your sweet spots. “I-I didn’t-”

“I-I-I didn’t-” he snickers against your lips, swiveling his hips into slow sultry swirls until his fat girth was dragging his prominent veins along all your sweet spots. You’re just keening at that, making your back arch up sluttily into Toji’s muscled chest. “Honestly. If all it took was my ngh- d-dick to make you forget those good girl manners, I’d have done this- much- sooner-”

He’s babbling out just as deliriously as you no matter how much he’d like to pretend he isn’t. Because oh Toji Fushiguro was no match for your pretty pussy.

No match for the way each of his ramming thrusts had every shred of rationality flying out of his honeyed mind, puffs of breath coming out more feverish. Heavier. Words slurring and jumbling together at every fresh coat of your slippery slick down his raw length. 

“Shit.” His eyes lock on your utterly fucked-out expression, he can’t even bring himself to look downwards at how well you’re taking him. “Let’s see how much of a cockdrunk slut ya really are- open that mouth, ma.”

And Toji could almost laugh at how readily your spit-glossed lips sag open for him. Taking it all in one go when he spits out a hot, steady stream of spit right onto your pink taste buds. 

“Yeahh, heheh-” he’s grinning darkly, feeling his tight balls squeeze painfully. Gliding the soft pad of his thumb down that translucent trickle of drool along the corner of your mouth. “Now swallow.” Rock-hard tip mashing against your g-spot in a way that only makes you head his instructions without a second thought. 

“Good. Now you realize-” His rough hands wrangle your boneless legs on top of his broad shoulders, bending down, down, down into the meanest mating press possible. “-that I was serious about fuckin’ a baby into ya, right?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “Marry m- take it.”

“Ken- Ken–” your sultry mewls only grow louder, batting those teary eyes up at where Nanami’s got you folded into the firmest little mating press he’d allow himself. “I want more.”

Oh, and he thinks he could pass out. He thinks he’s stopped breathing. Nanami thinks with all his bleary head and his achy, furious dick that he’s going to marry you right here, right now on these expensive silken sheets. 

He’s leaning in close enough to kiss his forehead against yours, sweat-slicked lips clashing into yours in a way that makes your knees weak. Hushing out, “Shhh, s’alright, my love.” And his tone is so sweet that you almost forget the absolutely mean way Nanami was splitting you apart. Your sopping pussy bulging out at the intrusion of his fat, hot girth. “Good girl, takin’ me so well for the first time. Tell me- hah- tell me where.”

And all you can do is dazedly guide his massive hand along your tummy, so warm and comforting. Pressing down where he gets to the lewd little nudge of his thick tip, sheathing in deeper and deeper and-

“H-here–” you’re mewling, big fat tears streaming down your eyes now. Ones that he wastes absolutely no time licking long, languid stripes to taste. He groans at the salty flavor. “Can feel you right here, Ken. Didn’t- hngh- didn’t think you’d be in so- deep-”

Those simple words have Nanami’s body shivering, sucking in a deep, shuddering inhale when his leaky tip just twitches. Convulsing in a jagged little line along the spongy crevice of your sweet spots, he huffs out an exasperated laugh. “What did ya expect, darling?” He purrs, tucking his face into the sensitive crook of your neck. “M’gonna be in even deeper soon y’know-”

And if you thought that he was already rummaging inside you brandingly, he was barely even halfway in yet. 

“Shhh you got this.” Feeding you inch after inch, it’s like it was never-ending. You’ve never been stretched out to this extent ever before, having your cunt all gaping and spread wide open for him. Nanami didn’t even have to crane his head to eye down at you glistening hole, winking up at him sluttily. Just filling you to the brim, the very tip of his drooling cock shoves against your g-spot in an addicted little kiss. Each collision has you slamming further and further up the bed, struggling. Because while Nanami Kento acted the part of a gentleman - his achy dick sure didn’t.

You hips jerk so prettily when he runs a calloused thumb over the very peak of your neglected clit. “You alright, my love? Need-”

“More!” you cut him off with such a cute whine. And it makes his cock act in a way he’d be almost embarrassed about, puncturing deeply into your plushy walls. Leaving a harsh sting of the very divot on his thick tip along your cervix. But it still wasn’t enough. “Please- Wan’ more more more- faster, Ken.”

By now, Nanami knew he was going to marry you. 

Oh, how he was going to fuck you exactly like this on your wedding night. And every night after that and after that and-

“Fuck, I love you-” he sputters out, stealing a few lingering kisses on your needy lips. Depraved. Filthy. Bruising with just how fast he was pistoning into you. “Love you love you- gonna marry you, y’know?” His eyes roll to the back of his head, head throwing backwards when you clench. “Gonna buy us a house, make y’my pretty wife- ah- fuck fuck fuck-”

Whatever’s left of Nanami’s rationality knows how ridiculous he sounds - the first taste of his pretty wife- well, future wife’s pussy and he’s already babbling about marriage. Fuck. 

But you only kiss him back as drunkenly as ever, hungry. Bucking your hips up in a wild way for more. “Mhm- wan’ you to- ah- fuck–” Drool drips down the corner of your mouth, and your eyes are drooping such after every smashing kiss against your g-spot. It’s all you can do to whimper, “M’so close ah- think m’so–”

“Me too-” he grits out, jaw clenching. “Me too me too- hah-”

The raspy baritone of his voice shakes with the incessant smack! smack! smack! of his painfully heavy, cum-filled balls against your skin. Riotous and relentless. Only accompanied by your sweet ah! ah! ah! and those slurping noises from below. 

“Cum inside me, Ken-” you moan, voice shaking into a whine. “Don’ want you to waste a drop, p-please cum inside-”

“Then take it-” he gasps out. He’s clinging onto you so tight, so deep. Fingers moving before his useless mind when his thumb grows steadily sloppier on your clit. Tight circles patterning into a rapid M-A-R-R-Y-M-E-M-A-R-R-Y-M-E-M-A- “Take it like my ah! good lil’ wife.”

And you don’t know who’s cumming first, but it only takes a few more throbbing strokes before Nanami just fills you to the brim with all his warmth. It seeps out of you - thick, velvety ropes of his potent seed that can’t stop spewing from his furious, weepy tip. So red and jolting with each of your constricting squeezes. 

You gasp, waves of your own high crashing into you over and over with every piston of his hips. And leftovers of Nanami’s cum gushes out of you with each buck of your needy ips.

“O-oh my god-” you’re whimpering, dragging your nails down his flexingly broad back. Babbling away cockdrunkenly, “How am I so- full ah-”

Nanami heaves out ragged sighs, pulling out his twitchy tip ever-so-slightly to let his cum form a glossy sheen of milky white between your legs. And he’s so gone, so utterly fucked-out when he swipes his thumb across that creamy puddle. Bringing it up to plug it into your slack-jawed mouth, “Think I s-skipped a few steps into making you a pretty momma before I made you my pretty wife, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - KEEP UP!

“Is that-” Geto hisses, gritting his teeth ferociously, and it’s all he can do to not just throw his head back pussydrunkenly. To all but grip your trembly thighs in two of his rough hands, peering up at you through long, dark lashes. “Is that all you got, gorgeous?”

The only response he gets are your hips grinding down in sticky swivels to smack against his toned ones. Geto’s thighs come up behind you to just squeeze your glissading body, gyrating up even deeper. 

“W-well–” you whine at his mean smirk, your hands greedily dancing upwards to smooth and knead all over his pale, sculpted skin. “-you’re not doin’ any ah- better-”

Fuck, was that the understatement of the year.

It was only the first time Geto was sinking into your sweet, sweet pussy and he’s already so fucked-out. So hungry for more with the way his hips just up ravenously, heady scent making your head spin. Making his head spin - the only thing on his mind right now being why the fuck didn’t he fuck this pretty cunt of yours sooner?

“Heh, thought you said you weren’t all that affected, Sugu?” you’re giggling smugly, which only makes his rosy lips slack open. Wet, gurgling moans being wrenched out with each snap of his hips. It’s only then that you realize - he didn’t even mean to say that out loud. “Wait- You’re not serious, are you?”

“Shut up.”

That vice-like hold on the plush of your hips turns bruising, Geto’s entire body just wracking with a violent shudder until he’s sitting upwards. Hauling you along with him to be splayed out all prettily on his lap, mashing his lips in a simpering kiss. 

“Shut up shut up shut-” he spits against your glossy pout. The only thing he can do is thrust, letting his mouth foam with each rut into your sopping wet walls. Growing harder and harder with each jiggle of your ass against his tightly thwacking balls. “Shut up n’ just let hah- let this cunt speak for herself, m’kay?”

His words catch you by surprise, and the relentless squelch! squelch! squelch! of your slobbering cunt rings in your ears.

You lean down to kiss the very tips of Geto’s reddening ears, “So mean.” 

At your pouty huff, he bullies in two of his fingers into your drunkenly slacking mouth. Forcing you to suck. To shut up. “So mouthy.” he spits. “So so–”

Geto trails off with a guttural groan, big beefy arms wrapping around your convulsing body until he has you pinned to him like some perfect cocksleeve. He’s whining, “Oh, I can’t- I can’t I-”

And before you know it, he’s pulling out all at once, leaving you whimpering at the hasty drag of his thick cock down your clingy walls. Missing him already. 

“I can’t- I need to-” Snap! Geto’s rock-hard dick only engorges even bigger when he tugs on the thin rubber condom covering it, the slap of cool hair mixed with your syrupy sweet juices driving him wild. Rubbing his angrily raw length along your drenched slit, “Please- let me. I need to feel ya for real, please, gorgeous.”

“Yes.” you mewl. “Yes yes yes-”

He’s purposefully leaning backwards on the mattress to shove every inch of himself into your deepest, most sensitive depths. Rummaging his weepy erection inside you until he’s kissing wetly against your sweet spots. And even through his slender fingers hitting at the back of your throat, your whimpers get louder. Pitching up higher. More slutty.

“Hah- ya scream even with my fingers hah- inside your pretty mouth.” His nose breathes a slow, delicate trail down your thundering pulse. “And you say I’m the one fucked-out with jus’ one t-taste.”

He stutters. Geto Suguru stutters. 

The one always so sharp with his tongue, and quick with his words can’t stop his voice from cracking. From bearing you with the full brunt of his pussydrunken gaze, and immediately Geto bites down on his lower lip. Pathetically trying to stop any more of his pretty noises from reaching your ears.

“Hngh- Sugu-” you manage to mumble out around his digits. Dragging up one of your hands to pull roughly on his long, inky hair. “So mean.”

“You’re the hah- m-mean one, my girl.” Geto’s next words come out absolutely ruined. Disheveled strands falling all around your face and sticking to both of your sweat-sheened bodies. His dark brows scrunch together, mouth dry like he’s starved. “So mean- taunting me with such a-a perfect pussy. Holding it-” Those dripping wet fingers inside your mouth make their slow, sloppy trail down to toy with your puffed-up clit. Rolling over gently, and back again. “-back from me for so- hah- so fuckin’ long. Y’know how fuckin’ long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this-” His kiss is messy - salty, it hits you each each juttering slam that he’s tearing up. “-Oh, if you knew you’d be scared.”

He’s sounding desperate. Ruined. 

Each and every one of his sultry swipes into your g-spot making his head throw back, abs clenching with every blissful shiver. You were so hot. So soft. And Geto fucking cursed the days he spent not fucking you right then and there from the moment he first saw you.

“Y-you said that-” your greedy hips push downwards against his saturatedly cum-filled balls. Sparks of pleasure making something so hot coil at the very bottom of your stomach. “-out loud again. Sugu- ah-”

“And?” 

With a smugly smacking kiss against your lips, he’s plowing on, “Can feel how ah- badly ya wan’ me to fill you up. How wet how wet it hngh- gets you to see me s-so ruined like this-” Cold rings of his fingers swirling coolingly inside your mouth - deep. “-my little sadist.”

You moan uproariously, which only makes him chuckle. Low, and hoarse. Dangerous. “And you best believe that when I cum-” Patting your bulging cunt, “-m’gonna have another taste.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Too sweet…

“O-oh–”

Choso can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at the pathetic way his deep voice cracks, the way his pretty pink lips fall into a lewd oh! Eyes rolling to the back of his head, thighs shivering after each shuddering little hump. 

You let out a drunken giggle, feeling the sloshing of his sopping wet precum splatter all along your inner thighs. “Something wrong, Cho?”

“No!” your dear boyfriend is gasping, dewy eyes just wrenching open in a panic. Long, jittery limbs so fearful of losing even an ounce of that hot drag of your puffed-up pussy lips against his swollen tip. “No no no-” His strong arms come around your body, pinning you against where he had you on all fours. “Please don’t take this heavenly pussy a-away from me, baby.”

The words are so hastily spat out, like it hurt to even say them.

You’re whirling your head over your shoulders, glassy eyes spying down at that ragged rouge blush all over Choso’s face, that pussydrunk trail of drool down his lips, the way his achy cock hung so angry and heavy between his legs. Between yours. 

So pretty. 

“Well then, Cho.” His bruised lips just wobble at your sweet, sweet nickname. “Why aren’t ya putting it in already, then?”

“B-because-” his breath comes out in a hot puff against the back of your neck, and Choso takes the languid time to leave such a wet stream of kisses up your arched back. “Because m’worried s’not gonna be all you want, my baby.”

And he sounded so desperate. So needy, holding himself back. 

A deft hand of yours tangles its way into his dark hair, pulling until your pretty boyfriend just keens. Dragging the sweltering hot tip of his swollen cock along your dripping wet slit. It mixes your honeyed juices together with an obscene squelch! 

You steady yourself to just push - ever-so-slightly - down the plush mattress to take a mere inch of him. 

And oh that turns him into such a babbling mess, moans hitching in his rumbling chest. Gasping and stuttering out sultry curses while Choso grabs his hands onto the curve of your waist. Hips reeling - forwards.

It only takes a mere moment before Choso slouches over, pinning you into him until you couldn’t move your filthy hips anymore. But the damage was already done. 

And before you know it, he’s cumming - before he knows it, he’s cumming. Plugging in your tight hole with just his fat tip, he’s sobbing out thick, potent ribbon after ribbon of cum into your overstuffed pussy. So much of his slippery slick seed, hitting your spongy cervix, knocking on your womb. The sheer volume of it that sticks all around his cock in a creamy ring.

“Wait- oh-” he whimpers, voice shot. There was just something about the way your soaked, gummy walls were closing in on him, trying to just suck something delicious out of him that made it unable to stop himself. “Wait- I can’t oh-”

Muscled thighs spreading out even farther on the plush bed, he gives absolutely no warning before just pounding into you ruthlessly. No rhythm or reason at all. Just reveling in the way your slobbering cunt molds all around him, that jiggling smack! of your ass as he fucks you from behind.

“Is this…” he breathes out unsteadily, chest heaving. Hiking up one of his legs to drive his fat tip against the very bottom of your pussy even deeper. To drill across in thorough, wet glides of splashing cum. In wonderment, “So is this what you f-feel like, y baby- hngh! Is this ah- what- what sex feels like?”

He’s so sloppy, and he’s not even trying to be. Having that glossy puddle of cum spread wider and wider underneath your fervently ramming bodies.

“Mhmmm–” you’re batting your lashes at him. 

Choso mashes his lips into yours, groaning out with each sharp hit of his hip bones against the curve of your ass. Whining, “Does- does it feel as good for you?” The hefty swell of his balls grind up greedily into your pussy, getting messier and wetter with every cascade of your juices down his eager length. His long fingers dip down to rub the very tip of your clit. Languidly. “T-tell me, baby.”

And just one swipe of his trembly thumb against your sensitive nub is all it takes for you to just clench, to throw your head back and arch into him even more sluttily. 

“Hngh! Feels so good, Cho-” you mewl, big fat tears of stimulation welling up behind your eyelids. “K-keep going-” 

“Oh.” he sucks in a shaky breath. And you feel the rotund curve of his cock expand even girthier, stretching out the already-taut channel of your pussy. Roughly, Choso’s grabbing a handful of your ass, kneading. And if you didn’t know any better you’d have said his moans were almost pained. “Wait don’t squeeze me like that- fuck fuck fuck- feels too good don’t-”

And when have you ever listened to your poor boyfriend?

It only takes a long, hard clamp around his heated cock before Choso sees stars behind his eyes again, throat run raw with moans of your name. And then he’s cumming - again. At least, whatever sense is left in him thinks he’s cumming.

“Baby, you’re- you’re so mean-” Choso lolls out his tongue deliriously, sucking on your own. Steady tears of his splash onto your skin with each sticky leftover dredge cum shooting out, and you’re left taking each of Choso’s jackhammering thrusts. Leaving you whimpering, being held back to paint your entrance even messier. Until he’s shooting out blanks. “S’only m’first time n’ already so mean.” He swipes a hand over your now-bloated tummy, coating his fingers all over with the absolute sin oozing out of you.

Seconds later, those syrupy fingers bully between your lips. And in a hoarse, husky whisper Choso continues, “You hafta t-take responsibility, y’know?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Twin b*tches, twin b*tches

“Both.”

“Brat-”

“Both.”

And while the infamous King of Curses can do nothing but stare down at you with one of his dangerously quirked eyebrows, you take it upon your stubborn self to bite down on Sukuna’s lower lip. Tugging, “Did I stutt- hngh!”

Whatever bratty sentence on the tip of your tongue is being fully overtaken by such one of the most cockdrunken moans that Sukuna has ever heard. Forcing from your syrupy lips as soon as he’s ramming his angry cockhead upwards into your melty insides. 

“Heh, I think ya did stutter.” he’s leering down at you, feeding your drooling cunt with inch after hefty inch of his cock. “First time actually takin’ my cock and you want both? Ya wanna die, woman?”

“N-no–” you’re whining out. “I j-just want all of you-”

In milliseconds, he’s flipping the two of you over - having you thoroughly and deliriously straddled on one of his swollen cocks. You feel Sukuna’s other erection stacked behind twitch at the curve of your ass, gushing out such voluminous amounts of steaming hot precum seeping into your skin. Skin that absolutely thrills when he plants a harsh smack! 

“Don’ say things outta ya slutty pussy, lil’ human.” he growls. Shutting you up with pound after pound, engorged shaft stretching every nook and cranny of your gummy cunt open. “S’gonna end up with me havin’ ta take care of your cockdrunk self and you-” You squeal when one of his four large hands wrap snugly around your throat, hauling you to his snarling lips. “-very, very pregnant with my heir.”

If that was meant to be a threat, Sukuna already knows that it didn’t work.

Because it only made your dripping pussy more drenched, more swelteringly tight around his girth.

“Ohhh ya liked that, didn’t ya?” he grins such a feral grin that shows off those sharp canines. And Sukuna’s taking his lazy, blissful time thumbing your bulging pussy open. “Might jus’ be the first to ever want to take both, greedy lil’ thing.”

“K-una–” you push up your ass against his other matchingly rock-hard cock. “Don’t care. Just wan’ you so bad.” 

“Aww, jealous are ya?” Throat hoarse, chest heaving now, the bulbous tip of his other cock kisses insistently and wetly at your puckering cunt. He laughs, “Heh- No need, brat. Because- here-”

In true Sukuna fashion, he barely even gives you any warning before just hammering up with both cocks into the very bottom of your heated pussy with a pressurized thrust. Twin heads twinging so harshly that they knock against each other, nudging against your g-spot twice. 

He knew what you wanted.

And you were finally getting it.

“Oh.” Sukuna’s red, devilish eyes roll to the back of his head at the way your dripping wet walls were so welcoming. Rubbing up against himself with each shuddering thrust, he’s gripping your chin with another hand, pressing wet kiss after kiss. “Oh you realize that- that m’gonna be filling this cute cunt up hah- twice as much now, hm? S’not too much for yer t-tight pussy the first time takin’ your king?”

He sounded almost…concerned. Benevolent 

And all you can do is nod, taking the sloppy staccato of both cocks spearheading you like no other. Feeling stuffed so full, it was like he was knocking up into your lungs. 

“Lungs, huh?” he’s tittering, and it barely even registers that you’re speaking out loud. “Didn’t think you’d be this cockdrunk.” He babbles away, feet planting flat on the mattress to fuck up even impossibly deeper. “Gonna give ya my heir- two heirs. Hah-”

Just the very thought of it has you stumbling through the very filthiest of bounces on Sukuna’s cock, pathetically trying to meet his feral pace. 

“C’mon now, look at me.” he spits out, leaving harsh bites down your lips, your jaw, your neck. Anywhere and everywhere he could reach without stopping that incessant mashing up against your g-spot with his thickening, throbbing cocks. You’re forced to peer into his greedy gaze. “Look at while I breed you- yeahh–”

“M’so close- Kuna-” you’re mewling, lolling your bleary head down on Sukuna’s push pecs. “M’gonna- hngh- cum-”

For this, you’re rewarded with another stinging smack! onto your ass, before Sukuna easily grabs a handful to drag your drooling cunt up and down his length. “Heh, what a brat. Begged for both my- hah- cocks n’ you’re gonna cum already?” Fucking into you so hard now that you were sure he’d left two matchingly circular bruises on your cervix. “Whatever, cum for me then- but-” His cocks hit the back of your g-spot, making you painfully light-headed, “-ya better give me twins after this, my queen.”

And when you cum, oh it was like you couldn’t stop. Not with Sukuna still dragging you through your high, achy cocks so hard it was like they were about to burst. 

Smoothing against your sweetest spots once, twice before he himself cums from one of his lengths such a throaty moan of your name. And for each white-hot jolt of pleasure, Sukuna was painting you all white inside. 

“Sh-shit-” you whine, pulling him into the messiest types of kisses that you knew he loved. “M’so full- so- so full-”

Not enough, apparently.

Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that his second, equally as filthy cock was streaming out thick spurts of cum. Staggeringly steamy hot inside you, those sticky sloshes reach your very womb, just slamming up into you mind-numbingly so that Sukuna can be sure it reaches each of your buried depths.

“Would ya look at that.” Sukuna whispers, reverant, almost. Sounding for all the world like he’s so utterly fucked. You follow his line of sight to the creamy sheen of seed drooling from between your thighs, glossy puddle forming underneath you two. 

Still-hard cocks jutting up into you without warning. Hard.“One more. I wan’ both of ‘em to cum at the same time.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 360°

“It’ll be just hah- just the tip.” Gojo puffs out hotly against your ear, powerful hips jittering up in a way that made him feel like such an animal. Rubbing his leaky tip rawly between your swollen folds, “Promise- promise ah-”

Your dazed, blinking eyes stare right up at the absolutely ruined strongest. His cerulean eyes all watery and drooping shut with every tentative swipe up those puffed-up pussy lips of ours. And your head throws back with each pretty peck of Gojo’s rotund head against your clit. Sticky. Depraved. Oozing with precum and the lust to fuck into your cute cunt exactly the way he’s been dreaming of for so long. 

“What are best friends for, r-right?” he whines against your neck, snickering delightedly at the way your squirming hips buck up mindlessly into his. No matter how much you tried to huff and puff your way into pretending that you don’t want it as much as he’s dying for just a taste right now.

“Toru…” you start, in a scolding tone that already makes him twitch. Entire body jolting with excitement, and you feel his heavy balls rested against your thighs squeeze almost-painfully. “We stopped being just ‘best friends’ about twenty make-outs ago.”

And Gojo only rubs his head along your skin like some overgrown cat, sighing out. “Exactly.”

Biting your lip, you can only watch when he shoves apart your thighs even wider roughly. That thick, red tip positioned precariously between your lips weeping and weeping angrily.

You’re rolling your eyes, “Toru just fuck me-”

And then he’s sinking in - pushing past that first ring of resistance, stretching out your elastic cunt so mind-numbingly wide. You can feel him thrust in sticky, filthy little pushes and pulls of his hips - but you can’t see it, no.

Because just a single inch sunken inside your hot cunt was enough to drive Gojo mad. Eyes blowing wide, breath being just heaved in, and the last thing you caught was the briefest little flicker of blue lightning in his eyes before those seductive bedroom lights just burst.

It wasn’t going to be just the tip - and both of you knew it.

“Hah- Woah.” Gojo’s mouth felt dry, heart thundering when he blindly grips your body with a bruising hold. He sounded almost angry, “I didn’t know it could feel so fuckin’ good.” Voice higher pitched and unstable, he winces when it cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. “Hahaha- ohhh fuck, sweetheart. Remind me why we didn’t hngh! do this sooner?”

Oh, the intensity of it was too much. 

Six eyes was rushing at him in full force, and Gojo just hiccups being able to see that outline of his swollen cock enter and split your pussy open. He couldn’t stop. The way that fat, rounded curve was jostling and invading your insides, having your walls melting pliantly around him so good- “Takin’ me so well, especially for the first time. Greedy girl.”

“Oh- oh my god-” you’re chanting, and you feel his cock thicken with each whimper. Blood rushing forwards to mold your walls even wider after each one, gushing out wet honeyed wet precum that sticks to you like a second skin. 

“Jus’ Toru s’fine.” he titters, sinking his sharp canines into the side of your neck. It was like a claim. A little message, because after that Gojo was well into rummaging all around you gripping walls. “Though- I don’t mind if ya call me ‘baby’ or-” Smoothing his rosy lips over in a kiss against your forehead, “-your ‘husband’.”

You smack his sculpted chest, with only half as much strength you’d put into it than usual. “Gettin’ s-so ahead of yourself- hah.”

This makes him glide a greedy thumb along the outer edges of your bulging cunt, your pre-soaked slit- all the way up, up, up to where he could see himself knocking up against your g-spot. 

“Oh, my girl.” he whimpers into your mouth. Those electric sparks of purple and blue lighting up that drunken look in his eyes, the way his abs flex and contort with each ravaging push fucking you into the bed. “With a pussy this sweet m’never lettin’ ya go.”

One of his greedy thumbs come up to nudge at that curving head of his cock, head throwing back deliriously at the lewd little massage. 

You’re just whimpering tearily when his other long, slender fingers dance upwards to tease your sensitive clit, soft pads of his digits unapologetically pinching it. Hard. 

“Wait- are you-” you gasping, sitting up on your two elbows at the sudden jolts of electricity. That tiny humming vibration of jujutsu that sparks all the way from your pre-soaked clit - from those big hands toying with it. It makes you just gush, airy and light-headed when you’re coating him in all your saturated juices.

He was fucking you like he was out of control - just long, animalistic drags of his fat cock down your plushy walls. Massaging himself on each and every one of those gooey crevices at your insides, you were so goddamn addictive. And Gojo was hypnotized.

But he wants more. He needs more.

“Shit- shit shit shit-” Gojo already sounded so utterly wrecked, body bowed on top of yours. His face was unabashed - feral, looking at you like he wanted to positively devour you. “Hope y’know I can u-use Six Eyes to tell whether this pretty pussy’s gonna ah- take- to my seed, pretty girl. Whether yer gonna- ah be bred properly like you should be.” He’s nuzzling at your neck, “So get ready for a mess-”

Cutting himself off with a moan, another sloppy stroke that meshes messily with your g-spot. Gojo grins oh he grins, and you’re suddenly reminded why so many fear him. Why he’s the strongest. In the bleary distance, you think you hear another light just explode. Whispering raggedly, “Because I intend to use it.”

A/N. I feel like every time I write for Sukuna I just HAVE to make a reference to that song.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[plutotheplum]

chapter one | the proposal

multi x fem!reader

chapter summary: the spring season seems to have brought on an unrelenting case of baby fever. being single is a problem though... so who better to ask than your five, handsome friends?

cw: modern au, fluff, kissing, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of sex

wc: 1.7k

a/n: first chapter is here! something short and sweet before we get into the smut teehee ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the magician

“I want a baby.”

Usually you’d be sitting across from your head-over-heels, doting, caring husband that would be willing to do anything for you whilst having this conversation. It’s an important decision after all, having a baby and taking care of it, having the finances to dote on your child. It’d be nice… except for the fact you don’t have a husband, or a boyfriend for that matter.

Instead, you’re sitting across from five men, currently lumped together uncomfortably on your couch, staring at you with slight bewilderment in their eyes. It was your best shot, inviting them over. 

Besides, you’d decided that it was the spring season that had caught you in its snare. Going out to a cafe, taking a stroll in the park, perusing a bookstore; babies were everywhere. It hadn’t bothered you so much until you’d set your eyes on one of the cutest, chubbiest babies you’d ever seen, its little hand curling around your finger when you’d been waiting in line to buy your book. 

Yeah… you’d gotten baby fever.

“A baby?” Rafayel asks, his brows raising, “are- are you even ready for a baby?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you reply, fingers fidgeting nervously in your lap, your eyes drifting across each of them, “a lot. I even made a short presentation if any of you would like to-”

Zayne shakes his head subtly and you sink back down into the chair, having gotten up half-way.

“I am ready,” you breathe out finally, “I’m not getting any younger and I just think it’d be nice, y’know? I wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.”

“Why’d you invite all of us over at once?” Caleb asks, his hands folding behind his head, drawing a sound of annoyance from Xavier who he elbows in the process.

“I didn’t want to have the conversation five times,” you sigh, “besides, I figured none of you would actually agree to this. I mean, it’s sort of crazy. Do I sound crazy?”

“Maybe a little frantic,” Sylus muses, propping his elbow up on the armrest of your couch, his head tilting lazily to watch you.

“There are other options,” Zayne offers, “other than what you’re proposing. I could help you look, if you wanted. I know someone I went to medical school with, maybe they could help?”

You flush lightly, shaking your head. “I um- I want to do it naturally,” you squeak out, cheeks growing hotter when you spy the grin on Caleb’s face. “Less- less complications that way, which is why I decided to ask all of you.”

“Well,” Caleb yawns, stretching his arms above his head, managing to knock one against Xavier’s head again, “I’m in.”

“What?” you sputter, staring at him with wide eyes. “You- you can’t just agree! I had a whole thing planned and we still need to go over agreements about how this is going to work.”

“I’m not just going to disappear once you have the baby,” Caleb sighs, staring at you, his gaze never wavering. “If we do this, we’re doing it together.”

“Oh,” you say, sitting back in your chair, “well if that’s what you’d like, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything.”

“Obligated?” Sylus interrupts, raising his brows, “Sweetie, if you decide to have one of our kids, we aren’t going to abandon you to handle everything on your own. It’s as much of our decision as it is yours.” He pauses for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “With that being said, I also accept your proposal.”

“You do?” you ask, your head tilting. “Wouldn't the two of you be overkill? I really think one of you agreeing is enough-”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Xavier pitches in finally, having had enough of being squished on the couch as he stands up, sending a brief glare towards Caleb. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he repeats, shifting on his feet, “if only the two of them got to have you. Besides, you said it was up to us to decide.”

Was he jealous? Maybe you’d dug yourself in a little too deep. You’d had fleeting moments with each of them, shared lazy kisses every now and then, had a few of their heads buried between your thighs on some nights, but nothing serious… especially not this serious.

“So all three of you,” you look pointedly at Caleb, Sylus and Xavier, “want to help?”

“Yes,” is the unanimous reply.

“I can’t have sex with all three of you!” you protest, looking at each of them, “I mean, I could but that’s besides the point!”

“You’ll have to alternate between us,” Zayne supplies, adjusting his glasses, his lithe fingers pushing them up to sit more securely on the bridge of his nose. The action distracts you for a moment, your mind conjuring up the memory of those very fingers sinking inside of your pussy only a few weeks ago when he’d been pent up and you’d been eager to help.

“Right,” you reply as though the situation made complete sense and nothing about this entire thing was crazy. “Alternate- wait,” you pause, your eyes flicking over to meet Zayne’s. “Us?” you echo, “what do you mean ‘us’?”

“Us,” Zayne says simply.

“Us- us as in you included?” you ask, voice pitching upwards with how incredulity takes hold of you, part of you hoping that your faith in the english language was now failing you.

“Yes,” he replies, his head tilting to take in your expression. “I am the most… qualified for this position.”

“This isn’t a job interview!” you snap, glaring at him, before pointing at the others accusingly, “and you are all way too eager to agree!”

“We’re helping you out,” Caleb counters, turning his attention to Zayne, “and what do you mean by qualified? You just have to cum inside of her.”

You wince at his crude words.

“I often see children during my rounds in the wards,” Zayne says coolly, “I don’t see you handling any children while you fly your plane around.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Caleb mutters, sending Zayne a glare.

“Okay,” you pitch in, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Rafayel?” you say, eyes focusing on the purple-haired man who’s been watching the situation unfold with amusement, “I’m glad you haven’t said anything, because four is more than eno-”

“Who said I didn’t agree?” he asks, raising his brows, “I’d be the odd one out, wouldn’t I? As Xavier said, that’d hardly be fair.”

“So what you’re all telling me, is that you’re all ready for a baby?” you ask bluntly, tilting your head skeptically. “Because I feel like none of you have thought this through.”

“We’re just giving you the best chance of having a baby,” Xavier says, meeting your skepticism with his own bluntness.

“Fine,” you breathe out, your eyes flitting across each of the handsome men. You’d be lying if you weren’t somewhat excited about the idea. “You’re all accepted.”

“Great,” Sylus says, standing up.

Your eyes widen when he approaches you, his arm tugging you to your feet, before wrapping around your waist.

“What are you-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours. You make a noise of protest until he presses closer, your eyes fluttering shut at the soothing stroke of his thumb against your cheek. A soft whine escapes you, arms sliding up to wrap around his neck, your lips working against his eagerly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Caleb snaps.

You squeak when you’re pulled away from Sylus, arms reaching out to grab for him, only for Caleb to swat your hands away, sending you an equally harsh glare.

“I thought we were getting started,” Sylus drawls, his eyes flashing with a hint of disdain. “I’m not one to sit around and watch.”

Caleb snaps out a retort and your shoulders sag as you watch the two men begin to argue.

“Are you sure you wanna have a baby with one of them?” Rafayel asks, his voice hushed as he sidles up to you. “They seem awfully… ill-tempered.”

You blink up at him, face falling. “Do you think that’ll affect the baby?”

Rafayel nods, putting on a grave disposition until you see Zayne roll his eyes.

“We’ll alternate,” Zayne says, rubbing his temples, “like I said. It’s the fairest way and none of your egos will get hurt in the process. We can draw numbers to figure out the order.”

You end up scrawling the numbers one to five on a piece of paper, ripping them up before scrunching them, so they can’t see what’s written on the paper.

“Take your pick,” you offer, opening your hands up for each one of them to choose a crumpled piece of paper.

You stare at each of them expectantly as they open up the pieces of paper, rocking up on your toes to peek over Xavier’s shoulder. 

Two.

Well, you could handle that. You smile up at him and he smiles back, dipping his head quickly to kiss your cheek.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Caleb groans staring down at his paper.

“Did you place last?” Rafayel asks smugly, waving his paper around as though he had won the lottery. “I’m first!”

“Asshole,” Caleb grouses, ripping up his paper agitatedly, “third.”

You turn your attention to Zayne and Sylus, raising your brows.

“Fourth,” Zayne says, tucking his paper away neatly into the pocket of his trousers.

You swallow nervously, glancing towards Sylus. He gives you a devilish grin in return, flipping his paper to show you the messily scribbled five. 

“You’re not… mad about it?” you ask tentatively.

“Why should I be?” Sylus asks, running a hand through his snowy hair, the strands falling across his forehead prettily, “It just means that I get to spend the longest with you.”

Well, that sounds more like a threat than anything. You weren’t a stranger to Sylus’ ways, you’d spent a few nights in his bed, face shoved into the pillows while you’d sobbed and cried pathetically with every snap of his hips against your ass. 

“Right,” you clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray your nervousness.

Your gaze drifts over each man. Smug Rafayel, mellow Xavier, disgruntled Caleb, stoic Zayne and devilish Sylus.

Yeah, you think, you were definitely in for it.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless

[bloomseishiro]

itoshi rin x fem!reader. suggestive content, implied smut, not explicit but still mature???, mdni, timekskip!rin, rin loves thighs :), just a lil drabble of rin drooling over how u look in his shirt

Rin has never seen anyone wear his clothes before today. 

Other than his parents accidentally switching his and Sae’s shirts around as children, Rin has never willingly shared his clothing with anyone. 

Even now, it was done out of necessity. 

The two of you have only been dating for a few weeks and he brought you to his place for a baking date after you begged and pleaded with him to have one the moment you got together. Little did Rin know, right when the date finally started, you would spill his bottle of cooking oil all over your pretty dress. 

Your eyes were wide as you looked at him in shock and he wordlessly gestured for you to follow him into his room and change into one of his shirts while he washes your ruined outfit. He had always known you were a clumsy one, it’s one of the things he liked about you, so he can’t say he’s too surprised that something like this happened.

Rin is fully prepared to tease you endlessly about your ungraceful accident, but the moment you step out of his room, his throat dries up and all thoughts leave his brain. 

The sleep shirt he lended you engulfs the frame of your body, landing softly at your supple upper thighs. It hits the perfect length— One that covers your underwear when you are in a neutral standing position, but the second you make any strained movements, you would give Rin a front row peek at your lacy garments. 

He forces himself to look away from the smoothness of your skin, drawing his gaze up to meet your amused one. 

“Like what you see?” you tease, toying with the hem of your shirt. 

Rin can’t help but notice how a hint of your baby pink underwear is exposed at your endless twiddling. He wets his lower lip at the sight. 

“I’m beginning to think you meant to spill all over your dress,” he manages. “You’re putting this show on for me too well.”

You shake your head with a giggle. “It wasn’t on purpose, but what can I say? I always make the most of a bad situation.” 

As you walk past him and head to the kitchen, you grin and motion for him to follow along. For once in his life, Rin was perfectly happy being behind someone. 

“What else do we need for the cake? Just the dry ingredients left, right?” you ask, skimming through the printed recipe. 

Rin nods, gesturing towards his pantry. “I have the flour in there.”

Dutifully, you nod and open the door of his cupboard. The bag of flour sits near the top shelf, high enough that you have to stand on your tip-toes to be able to reach it. 

You stretch your arms over your head and your shirt lifts in unison. The hem glides from your thighs to your hips, exposing the curves of your ass along with your thong—oh, fuck, your thong—that it was so scantily clad in. The small strip of fabric that Rin did see was silky and pink and inviting. 

The moment ends too soon as you swiftly bring the flour down from its shelf. Rin doesn’t bother to hide the dejected look on his face as you spin around. 

“Got it!” you chirp. 

Rin huffs in annoyance. 

“What’s the matter now, Mr. Grouchy-Pants?”

“I don’t want to bake right now,” he states. No, Rin would much rather be doing other things with you at this very moment. 

Your eyes widen as you pout, “But our cake…”

“You already have enough, we don’t need to make some,” he says dismissively. “I’d rather have yours, actually.”

“M-mine?” you stammer in surprise, but a pleased look graces your features. “Well, perhaps you can have just an appetizer before we bake.”

Placing the bag of flour down, you walk over to him, granting his wishes as you slowly wrap your arms behind his neck. Instinctively, Rin’s own hands rest along the small of your back, pulling your body closer to his. 

As he leans in to kiss you, you pull away.

Rin frowns. 

“After this, we have to finish baking though! Promise?” you ask sweetly. 

He nods. In this moment, Rin could be persuaded to do whatever you have ever wanted. 

[pucksandpower]

Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

[16wolke11]

Actual Girlfriend - Lando Norris

A/N Okay, okay you guys convinced me to post it! I am not hating on any the drivers girlfriends/friends/situationships or whatever, and this shot was written before the GP on Sunday, just updated slightly (:

WORDS: 2529 _____

I knew what I had signed up for when I started dating Lando Norris. Late-night calls due to different time zones, meeting in secret, and trying to stay out of the media's focus. He is a public figure and I am just about to graduate from university. Keeping our relationship private felt safe at first, romantic like in a novel, but the downside came around quicker than I thought it would. 

Monaco was the downfall. The weekend, I couldn’t even attend if I wanted to. My final exam was coming up in the following week, and as much as I wanted to be there for Lando, I needed to sit this race out. Lando was understanding, even encouraging me to stay home and ace my exams, but the distance hurt deep down in my chest. 

Lando made the effort to keep in touch with me. He texted me in the morning, between the sessions, and I tried to reply to him and keep things light, but it felt harder and harder with every short message or blurry picture he sent over. 

Good morning, Love. Quali is today. Wish me luck?

I smile softly at his message, him acting like I might forget how important today is and I can only think about that smile on his lips when he asks for some luck. 

Stay out of the barriers (:

It feels cold-hearted even to me, but I can’t bring myself to write anything else. My chest feels hollow, and I am unable to display the affection he deserves, but I hope all of this will fade when we are back together. 

By the time qualifying came around, social media was buzzing. Usually, I try to keep myself away from gossip pages, but some pictures draw me to them. There is Magui, laughing in the paddock with some friends, even spotted with Lando’s parents and my heart sinks. The pictures aren’t overly confirming, but they bring on even more speculations. Fans are picturing things with the crumbs they collected over the last months. 

Oh god, Magui is with McLaren!

They are so soft launching.

This is a hard launch for their standards. 

May I present to you Lando “Magui is just my friend” Norris.

Guess the rumours were true for once. 

Every comment feels like a knife being dragged over my heart. I know that it is just fan theories, Lando being the one loving me, but it still gnaws at me. This is what comes with dating someone famous: rumours and everything I should keep my distance from. But as much as I want to ignore it, every time I open any social media, it gets worse. 

The algorithm is laughing at me while showing me more pictures of Magui around the paddock. Being in the team hospitality, lingering around Lando’s crew and even more pictures with Cisca and Adam. I stare at the last picture for a whole minute before locking my phone, throwing it face down on my bed. 

I didn’t say anything to Lando, not wanting to seem jealous, insecure or clingy. But the ache is real, and it doesn’t fade during the day. It doesn’t fade when Lando gets pole, breaking the lap record in Monaco and even though a smile comes to my lips while seeing him celebrate, it doesn’t soothe anything. 

That night, my phone lights up, a FaceTime call from Lando and I answer it, managing to put half a smile on my face. 

“Hey there stranger.” Lando greets me, grinning widely, but his eyes are tired. Curls still damp from the shower, and it looks like he is ready to drop onto his bed and sleep until the race is about to start tomorrow. 

“Look at you, breaking records and snatching pole.” I tease him, feeling genuinely happy, no matter how much my heart aches. 

“You should be here.” Lando says, not accusing me of something, just simple honesty. “It's not the same without you.” He adds and it doesn’t help the aching feeling in my chest. 

“You have company.” I say, tilting my head slightly, trying to indicate his parents being around him all the time, but it comes out way too bitter. Lando’s smile drops and my stomach twists, knowing he can sense my discomfort through the phone. There is a pause, dreading and long enough to sting. 

“She is just around because of mutual friends and stuff. You still know that.” Lando speaks up quickly, before a sigh leaves his lips. “Right?” His eyes scan my face, like he is trying to figure out through the screen if I am serious or not. 

“Yeah.” I just hum and we look at each other for a moment. 

“I miss you.” Lando whispers and I hate it even more that I can’t be with him. That this dam exam has to be this week and not when there is no upcoming race weekend. But I worked so hard for this degree, and I will finish it. After that, I can go to more races, hopefully, being right by Lando’s side. 

“I miss you too.” I admit, I feel the urge to explain something to him. “It just feels so hard this weekend, Lando. Seeing and reading all of this. It makes me feel like a dirty secret.” I feel bad for my feelings and know I shouldn’t be, but the pressure on my shoulders does get less with telling Lando. 

“You’re not a secret.” Lando rubs the back of his neck. “You are mine and I like to keep you safe.” My heart flutters softly. Lando always had a protective side. When it comes to his family and when it comes to me. No harm through the media and the fans, especially after what happened with his previous girlfriend and every girl he just looked at for a little too long.

“Just…just do well tomorrow, okay?” I whisper, not wanting to keep this topic any longer. We will have to speak about it again, but not now. I don’t want to pull his attention away from his race and Lando’s face softened.

“For you? Always.” Then he grins softly, and everything feels like it's going to be okay. We hung up not long after, the screen going black again, drenching me in silence. 

I wake up early on race day, even though I don’t want to. Having way too much time now to cover before the race starts. Revising for my exam doesn’t help, wandering around in the apartment makes waiting even worse and even though I usually don’t even watch it, I put on the prerace coverage, hoping it will help me to be distracted. Celebrities walk over the grind, Monaco shining in all its glory and then the race is about to start. 

Part of me doesn’t even want to watch the race, but in the end, I didn’t move from the TV or shut it off. Curled up on the couch, cameras showing the grid for the last time, before the lights go out. Just in the first corner, I fear the race is over for Lando when he locks up, but manages to keep his car safe. My heartbeat is way too quick, but slowly the nerves die down. 

Monaco isn’t the most exciting race when it comes to overtakes, but every little mistake can cost the people on the grid everything. Lando drives around with ease and with every lap nearing the end, lets a proud feeling rise in my chest. He is going to nail it. 

The day would be great if it weren’t for two sentences from the TV commentators that stick with me. 

“And there is Lando Norris' girlfriend.”

“Lando Norris' parents and his partner.”

All the happiness that was building up falls apart when Magui is displayed on the screens and the commentators are calling her Lando’s girlfriend. It feels like betrayal and tears rise to my eyes. I don’t even want to cry, but it seems to be the only thing that soothes the ache in my chest. 

Lando wins the Monaco Grand Prix for the first time, and I cheer at the screen, softly, not as loudly as I usually would. I feel broken, but still full of pride, with a mixture of disbelief and joy. He did it. 

The camera follows him when he jumps out of the car, when he is hugged and kissed by his parents. Loving to see them so affectionate, but still, heart-aching about what happened. The podium ceremony went by like a blur and I can’t bring myself to turn off the TV, just staring at it, until my phone buzzes. 

It's Lando. 

Please watch the post-race interviews.

I sigh, eyes focusing back on the screen, making the sound a bit louder, when Lando appears on the screen, still grinning widely. Curls damp by sweat and champagne, but he bubbles with happiness. 

“Hi Lando, congrats on the race win here in Monaco.” Nathalie Pinkham starts, sounding like a proud mother while speaking to Lando. 

“Thank you, Natalie.”

Then they talk about the race, making me zone out, until I hear one particular question. 

“Is there anyone particular whom you would like to thank?” Lando pauses for a moment, eyes flickering to the side to his PR, before he starts to answer. 

“I want to thank so many people.” He laughs softly and starts his list. „My parents, I love you; they gave everything for me, and they are the reason I am where I am.” It's sweet to see Lando’s love for his parents, and not just because of the cameras, but also in private. 

“McLaren, my team and everyone believing in me.” Lando continues and then he hesitates, like he has to think about his next answer.

“Well, and of course, thank you to my love, who unfortunately couldn’t be here today, but supports me every second, no matter where she is.” My heart stops, before softly fluttering at his words. Without saying much, Lando just revealed that Magui is, in fact, not his girlfriend. I need to blink a few times, reminding me that this is reality. 

“She probably screamed at the TV for a bit today.” Lando laughs and I snort softly. Usually, I do scream at the TV for a bit, but it wasn’t so bad today. 

“Your girlfriend couldn’t attend today’s race?” Natalie asks after a short pause, like she had to sort her head, probably thinking the same as everyone else. Lando is taken, but not to whom everyone thinks he is. 

“No, she is busy with preparations for her final exam at university next week and being at the racetrack isn’t exactly the perfect environment for learning for something so important. So, we decided she will sit this one out to ace her exam.” Lando explains willingly and for the first time this weekend, I feel warm again. A few happy tears slip down my cheeks because now it feels like everything is going to be okay again. 

By now, my social media is flooded with pictures from Lando’s win. Him being hugged by his parents, cheering with the team, and celebrating with Oscar and Charles on the podium. It is like the grey clouds have been blown away by celebrations, showing the happy sun again. And I do come by one of the gossip pages again, slightly hesitating to click on the comments, but open them anyway. 

Lando is silencing all the rumours about Magui by dropping an even bigger bomb.

He seems to be so in love!

If I was his girlfriend, I would be so pissed at the TV commentators right now. 

A bit later, my phone buzzed again with an incoming call from Lando. and I take it without hesitating. 

“Hi.”

Lando’s face fills up the screen, eyes still sparkling with happiness, hair messy and him still in his race suit. I can hear the music nearby, cheery voices and people in the background. 

“Hey.” Lando says, voice tired in the best kind of way. 

“Hi.” I say again, quieter this time. “You did it.”

Lando just grins, “We did it”, making me frown. This is his big moment, his big win. 

“I didn’t do anything?”

“That's not true.” Lando’s gaze is soft on me and even though there are celebrations for him, his attention is fully on me. 

“You were the one driving 300km/h. You are the one who won Monaco.” I remind him that it was all his effort. Steering precisely around the track, not crashing, not losing his nerves. 

“And I was only able to do it because of you.” Lando hums, and just when I want to protest, he continues. “You think our late-night calls didn’t help me sleep? That your texts before quail don’t help to clear my head?” I doubt that I have that much of an effect on him, but if it makes him feel better, I believe him. 

“I watched everything, couldn’t move.” I admit how my eyes were drawn to the TV, not willing to let any bit slip by without my attention. 

“I felt you.” Lando promises, “I mean my engineer was yelling at me to stay focused, but it was your voice telling me not to crash over and over again.”

I laugh softly, remembering that I told him that before the qualification, “Sounds like something I would say.” Lando hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering around and I tilt my head to the side, waiting for him to speak up. 

“And I meant everything I said in that interview. Keeping you private was safe, but at this point, it hurt you more than it protected you.” I blink slowly, trying to keep the tears back this time, but one still rolls down my cheek. My heart, which has been aching the whole weekend, feels like it is being hugged by Lando’s words, making the harsh cuts heal bit by bit. 

“I love you.” I whisper with my whole heart and Lando’s smile gets just a bit brighter. 

“Says that again.” He mutters and I gladly follow. 

“I love you.”

Lando sighs, “Oh, I love you too.” We look at each other for a moment, both faces filled with adoration and happiness. 

“Are you going to get any sleep tonight?” I ask him, already doubting it. He won Monaco, many of the drivers live here and partying after Monaco is kind of mandatory. 

“Probably not, too many people want to drag me to a club.” Lando says, hand gesturing around and I can only imagine how many people want to party with him tonight.

“Are you going?” 

“Forcefully,” Lando grins, “But I show my face and then sneak away again, back to the hotel.” He explains, making me tilt my head to the side. 

“To do what?”

“Call you again, talk till the sun rises.” His soft voice, his words, the love in his eyes make all the pain go away. Cause in the in the in I am the one he loves with his whole heart. And just like that, the distance between us doesn’t feel so wide anymore. 

[lustagel]

⊹ fuckin’ amateurs rick sanchez, smut

brief. feeding his god complex

rick fills his free time with inventions and fucking his sweet girlfriend—his sweetheart who laughs at all his stupid jokes, patiently listens to his endless rants, cringes whenever he makes a joke about their sex life around his family and adores his cranky moods cause she likes to be fucked silly while he goes on about his day.

“and oh, baby—the way i shot their heads off,” he drones on, barely paying attention to his own words as he watches your wetness cling to his pubs. he always does this, so consumed in the way your pussy is pulling him in, your hole so sloppy and wet that it’s damn near disgusting, that he barely remembers what he talked about after. you’re no better than him with how foggy your brain gets. he hears you hiccup, the soft sound snapping his focus back to you.

“are you uurrp listening?” he slurs, narrowing his eyes at you, the smugness in his voice impossible to ignore. it takes you a moment—almost too long—to nod, your breath shaky as you cling onto his lab coat. but he’d put up such a stubborn fight that you finally let him win. it doesn’t help that last time, he refused to wash the damn thing for weeks, claiming it smelled like you (not like he does anyway), and he wasn’t ready to lose that like clingy dog and its favorite toy.

“good,” he mutters, a grin tugging at his lips. “’cause I’ve got some news that’ll blow your tiny little mind.”

you hate this part—hate how he always demands a reaction to every word, every sound he makes, even when he’s completely wrecking you. it’s not like you can form coherent thoughts when he’s like this, but that doesn’t stop him. no, he thrives on the power trip, on making sure you’re there for every word he spits out. and when you tell him to tone it down, to maybe not be so loud for once, he just sneers, his voice dripping with arrogance. “i can do whatever the hell i want, babe. i’m rick fucking uurrp sanchez. let ’em hear.”

and you let him. you always let him because he’s got you wrapped around his finger, and he knows it. besides, if you don’t, he’ll draw this out for as long as it takes, leaving you dangling just out of reach. “mm, w-what is it?” you stammer, barely able to form the words. he grins, pushing himself closer, deeper, so you can feel every word reverberate through you.

"y'know, word on the cosmic grapevine is you've got the best uurrp pussy in every universe—at least, that's what all the other ricks won't stop runnin' their mouths about." he chuckles, the sound rough and guttural, before clearing his throat, his tone dropping lower. his hips move in deeper, slower rolls, and your eyes follow suit, fluttering back as he pulls every bit of control from you.

“but they don’t know what the real one feels like, do they?” his teeth grind slightly as he mutters under his breath, “amateurs.” you almost laugh at how ridiculous it is—him getting jealous over his own clones—but the thought barely takes root before his hips snap into yours, stealing the breath from your lungs.

through glossy eyes, you look at him, your voice trembling, thick with need as you reply, “no, no—you’re my god, rick.” you know it's what he loves to hear most, no matter the situation.

he looks back at you with bloodshot ones, his smirk widening as his ego swells with every shaky word you manage. “that’s right,” he huffs, his voice dripping his smugness. “means something coming from you, sweetheart. don’t let it go to your head.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a ENA DREAM BBG short with Reader busting a gut at the Shaman's "go away Ena, and get a life" statement, while Ena is unamused?

"Now...go away, Ena! And get a LIFE!! That shall be your quest for today!!" The Shaman declared, his hands waving around wildly before he vanished back into the machine he came from.

You and Ena stood there for a brief moment, with her staring into the glowing pink pool surrounding the contraption, wondering what this "life" was and how she could acquire it.

But you, on the other hand, couldn't help but crack up.

Hearing the odd sound that left your lips--one that you were desperately trying yet failing to conceal--she turned her head to you, confusion and concern displayed on her face in equal measure.

"Did he just tell you to get a life??? Oh my god--that's.....I'm sorry--" You began laughing hysterically, damn near keeling over as you held your stomach. "That's INSANE. "Get a life"! God, I can't breathe--oh, man.."

"I'm not qualified in CPR training, so please continue breathing..for both our sakes." Ena muttered, unamused as she stood there awkwardly. "Tell me...what was so funny about his request?"

Once you were able to catch your breath, you looked at her, still trying to hold back your giggles. "O-Oh. I forgot..uh..."get a life" is another human idiom. I'll tell you about that one later." You coughed into your fist, finally managing to settle down and not look like a crazy person anymore. "Whew...I'm okay now. Looks like we need to find something he can use to create life. Maybe the witches know a thing or two about that practice. Let's visit them next."

"What insight you have, my friend!" Her Salesperson side grinned. "Let's go check off that box, shall we? And you can enlighten me on this idiom along the way. You're like an endless well of knowledge, and I crave more understanding!"

You weren't sure what to say to that, but it sounded like a compliment, so you just nodded and followed her out of the Seal House.

In less than ten seconds, you've explained the idiom to her. Somehow she manifested a pen and paper from her suspenders, taking long detailed notes about how and when she should appropriately use it--only to throw them away as you approached your next client.

Apparently, her Meanie side didn't like the way she was being spoken to, despite them only saying all but two words to her.

And that was enough for her to draw out the megaphone.

"AT LEAST WE'RE CONTRIBUTING SOMETHING TO SOCIETY!! STOP COMPLAINING AND GET A LIFE, MORON!!"

Once again, you find it difficult to contain your laughter, tears coming to your eyes.

You've trained her well.

[purinfelix]

just for the weekend ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ - franco colapinto

summary: your teammate has an absolutely ridiculous plan to bring your team back from the dead - but it might be just crazy enough to work w/c: 5.5k + some smau style tweets warnings: a little angst, some uncomfortable touching/kissing since it's fake dating (not too bad but better safe than sorry), some miscommunication - just two idiots in love i fear

a/n: WOW it's finally here, fake dating is literally a guilty pleasure trope for me so i hope yall enjoy this HAHA - also sorry to Williams fans bc there's a lot of slander in this but trust its all for the plot <333 (also holy shit this is the longest fic I've ever written WOW)

"You're actually insane."

"Oh c'mon, at least think about it for a minute, it's perfect!"

You fold your arms over your chest and try your best to look uninterested in whatever it is your teammate has to say. The two of you had been racing together for a little over half a year now, and you had witnessed him make (at least in your opinion) a grand fool of himself. Flirting with interviewers, winking at cameras, having absolutely no filter during press conferences - but this, this was by far the craziest thing you had heard come out of his mouth.

"A fake relationship?"

"Ah ah ah," he tuts, jutting a finger in your face, "a media relationship, one that will draw the attention away from how crap we're doing and onto the personalities of the team. Think about it, McLaren has whatever Oscar and Lando have got going on and Ferrari basically has two models for drivers. We need something to put us on the map, to make people care about us!"

You pause, and for a minute you seriously consider his outrageous proposition - he isn't completely wrong. For the two of you, making it into the points range was a rare occurrence, and even though the team always made sure to celebrate it like a podium there was something that stung about constantly being at the bottom.

"Do you realise how much trouble we could get into?"

"Ah," he sighs, and it's starting to annoy you how lightly he's talking about this, "ever the pragmatist."

"Well one of us has to be if the other's going to keep saying stupid shit," you huff before turning around and beelining out of his driver's room.

Seriously, a fake relationship? Had he lost his mind? Maybe if he focused more on his racing you wouldn't be constantly outperforming him.

"At least think about it, okay?" You hear him call out from behind you, and consider yourself lucky to be facing the other way so that he doesn't catch your obnoxious eye roll. Surely he had to be kidding because there was no way you were going to devote any amount of time to this ridiculous thought.

God fucking damnit.

It was frustratingly confusing, the kind of power Franco had. You had witnessed it first hand with how smoothly he spoke to anyone and managed to get his way almost instantly - but this was your first time experiencing it first-hand. It was another weekend, another country, another race, but the only thing you could think of was his stupid consideration - which, with each passing moment, seemed increasingly genius.

You had almost a year of experience with the team over your teammate, and with that, your fair share of embarrassment and disappointment. Sure, his idea was a little out there but you were close to being at your wits end and if nothing else, you hoped this would at least be a little fun. Plus you were pretty sure at this point if you didn't act on this thought soon, it would start interfering with your performance.

"Fine," you said a little breathlessly as you burst into his driver's room ahead of a race.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, looking at you with a shocked look, "whatever happened to knocking? I could've been naked in here!"

You roll your eyes before continuing, "You still up to the ..." You pause, thinking of how best to word it, "Fake relationship thing?"

His eyes light up immediately, "Ah, I knew you'd come around eventually."

Letting out a soft huff, just to let him know that you still aren't fully convinced this will work, you sit down on his couch. "I think we should lay down some ground rules first."

"Yes ma'am." He nods, straightening up and forcing a serious expression you can only assume is mocking yours.

"Firstly, no kissing."

"Understood."

"Actually no public affection at all, holding hands, hugging, nothing."

"Oh sure and how exactly are we going to convince people then?"

You pause, thinking for a little, "Okay maybe hand-holding and hugs are fine, but you better not push it - that goes for the pet names as well." He nods with a satisfied smile.

"And no one other than us two can know this is fake, alright? Otherwise, it'll spoil the plan."

"Trust me, I don't need anyone knowing I'm going along with something as ridiculous as this. It'll be our little secret."

"Our little secret," he repeats with a hum, a sly sort of smile spreading across his face as he gets up from his spot. "See you after the race, my love."

You sighed in exasperation, tossing your phone to the side of the couch in your driver's room where it fell with a light thud. You had about a thousand other things to be worrying about - your pretty disappointing result in qualifying for one - but for some reason, the main thing on your mind was your 'relationship' with Franco. Somehow, it had proved even more intense than you had expected, which planted a seed of worry in your mind as you realised how hard this was actually going to be to pull off. Since his not-so-subtle announcement to a hoard of hungry press members at last week's race, the media had managed up a flurry about the two of you.

There were supportive fans who liked you both enough not to see any problem with two teammates dating, as well as others who were more sceptical about how it might impact your performance. However, what really seemed to get to you were those who doubted you more than the relationship.

Your social media had been bombarded with comments and theories about the reason behind your relationship, doubting your place on the grid, and calling you names that - after shedding the status of 'first girl rookie', you thought you had left behind. Regardless, you feel a little stupid for being so unprepared for all this - not just the tweets but the harsh articles, the questions during press interviews and even shouting fans. Maybe if you had done a little more thinking about it first, you would've realised this was a stupid idea that should've been left at just that.

Throwing your head back you let out an exasperated sigh, trying to clear your head so that you could move on and focus on the race that was happening tomorrow. The last thing you wanted was for this plan to start impacting your driving. But Franco always seemed to have the worst timing - or best, depending on who you asked.

"Hello?" A couple quick knocks alert you of his presence before he cracks the door just wide enough to peek in. "There's my beautiful girlfriend." The way the pet names and affection seem to come to him so easily makes you simultaneously impressed and concerned, unsure of whether it's an indication of his great acting or flirting skills.

"What do you want?" You try to make it as obvious as you can that you're not in the mood, and he realises this right away.

"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to ask if you were free after this."

"You know I'm not really a huge fan of the big team dinners, especially not when we have a race tomorrow."

"Oh it's not like that, I was just going to go check out a restaurant near our hotel and wondered if you wanted to join me."

When you finally speak it's just above a whisper, "Is this a part of the fake dating thing?"

He laughs softly, his ability to find everything entertaining has always amazed you. "If you want to, it can be. If that gives you a reason to come hang out with me, though if you don't it's totally fine."

"No, I'll come, not like I've got anything better to do." You hate how every word you've said so far has sounded so pathetic.

"Great, I'll meet you by the paddock entry in ten?"

"See you then."

The street lights were dim, just bright enough to illuminate the street the two of you were walking down. The night was cool and still, and there were barely any people out other than you. You weren't sure why, but you had ended up telling Franco a lot more than you had expected. Maybe it was the extremely fancy restaurant you had initially gone to or the local one the two of you agreed to ditch it for instead, or maybe it was just the freeing feeling of being in another country.

The two of you had talked before, of course - as teammates it was difficult to avoid. But beyond the casual small talk, discussions about strategies or banter during challenges your relationship never extended beyond casual co-existence. It was one of the reasons you were glad your higher-ups had never tried to force the two of you into a professional friendship. There was something about Franco, his ability to strike up a conversation and maintain it even when the topic clearly strayed far beyond his interests, that made him so likeable, so easy to get along with. And the support he got from fans and the media reflected this well. You just never felt like there was any room for you in that equation.

But here, away from the cameras and shedding the roles of drivers, the two of you became normal people. You spoke, you laughed, you vented to him everything that worried you about your 'relationship' and he listened throughout all of it - all the while the two of you shared the biggest, best, pizza you had ever had.

"I have to say, I don't know if our engineers will appreciate the extra weight I've just put on," he jokes, breaking the comfortable silence that had been lingering around you two as you walked.

"Me neither, they might have to roll me into the car at this rate."

"You know, I think this is the first time the two of us have hung out, just us two."

You think for a little before answering, "You're right."

"Do you think there's a reason for that?"

"You mean besides us both being extremely busy people and already seeing each other pretty often? Not really, no."

"Good point, though with our little plan, we're definitely going to be seeing each other a lot more."

There's a beat of silence. "This is nice though, right?" He asks, and his voice is so tentative you almost find it endearing.

"It is nice, this was fun." You try not to think too much about the fact the two of you could be mistaken by any passer-by as a couple of lovebirds on a first date - or that fact that even to those who knew you, you were.

"I appreciate you telling me all that stuff, you know, about what people are saying about you."

"Oh, if anything I should be thanking you for listening to me vent about it."

"It is serious though, I'm so stupid for not even thinking about what you'd have to deal with."

"Well I don't think either of us gave it enough thought but," you pause and look up at him, "we're too far in to back out now."

He shoots you a comforting smile, one that shows how reassured he feels that you seem to finally be coming around to his idea. That is, at least, before his face morphs into one of discomfort.

"God, I'm so full."

"We're almost back at the hotel now, let's just sleep and then we can wake up early tomorrow morning to-"

"Wait, is that ice cream?" Franco interrupts you to point out a street vendor who's about to pack up for the night, and before you know it he's running up to the man eagerly. You can only follow suit with a sigh, knowing full well you wouldn't mind some dessert either.

"You two are lucky, you'll be my last customers for the night," the moustachioed owner of the cart says with a warm smile.

"Thanks," you reply kindly, before turning to Franco, "what flavour do you think you'll get."

"Hm, not sure, maybe chocolate?"

"Wow, boring."

He scoffs, "Oh yeah? And what exotic flavour are you going to get then?"

"Mint choc," you smile, but your face drops once you see your teammate's disgusted expression.

"You've got to be kidding me, that's like the worst choice."

You feign offence, "How dare you insult the best ice cream flavour of all time?"

"Ah, you two are quite the couple," the man laughs and you watch as Franco's eyes widen in embarrassment.

"Oh we're not-"

"Thank you," it's your turn to interrupt him, turning to the man with a smile. "One chocolate and one mint choc chip please."

You go to reach for your wallet to pay but you feel a hand on yours, stopping you.

"No, it's okay, I got this."

"Wh- Franco c'mon you know full well both of us could afford about a thousand of these ice cream cones don't be ridiculous."

"I know," he smiles and even though he's trying to be serious you know he's also trying not to laugh, "but I just figured you know, I'm the one who dragged you out here and like, got you into this whole fake dating mess."

You furrow your brows, a little confused at what exactly he's getting at.

"I guess I just want to say thank you, you know?"

"Alright, alright," you laugh softly, watching as he pays and takes both of the cones, handing you yours. Once you grab yours, you instinctively loop your arm around his, pulling him close and resting your head against his shoulder. The ice cream man laughs endearingly at the two of you.

"You're the best boyfriend ever!" you say in as high and cute a voice you can manage, cringing a little but determined to keep up the bit - you don't even bother to think about how fast you can feel Franco's heart race when you do.

Last night was really nice. You're sitting next to your race engineer, nodding along as she points to various multi-coloured dots and lines on the screen. You hear yourself agreeing with a couple quick "mhms", "of course" and "yep"s even though you can barely hear what she's saying. You're mere minutes away from getting in your car for a race, getting briefed on your strategy, and the only thing you can think of is the 'date' you had with Franco last night - if you can even call it that.

You had thought that getting everything off your chest, the hate comments, the doubt you had, would help you feel better and relieve any worries you had. And it did, at least until you got back to your hotel room alone and caught yourself smiling at the thought of seeing your teammate again the next day. How, even as you washed up and got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking - pizza, ice cream, walking at night together, isn't that something a real couple would do?

"Are you listening to me?" your race engineer's voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, causing you to straighten up immediately.

"Yes! Sorry," you mumble, but just at that moment, you see him walk into the garage, greeting a couple of the mechanics warmly. Before you realise it, he's beelining straight for you, his arm coming around your waist as he leans in close to your ear.

"There's a ton of cameras, I just wanted to be believable," he whispers, and when he pulls back you can see the smile on his face. You nod curtly, fully aware of how red your face feels over such a small interaction as he waltzes away.

"Okay, so as I was saying," your race engineer pipes up again, though you couldn't be paying her less of your attention - watching as your 'boyfriend' walks off, his brown hair illuminating in the afternoon light. For a fake relationship, the quickening pace of your heart felt far too real.

"Well you two have been teammates since the beginning of this year, can you tell us a little about when you realised you might be more?"

Your struggle was never-ending - or at least, that's what it felt like, finding yourself at the centre of an impromptu interview with Franco. Around you, the other drivers were getting questions about their place in their teams, how they felt about their current strategy and about their racing futures. And there the two of you were, getting thrown question after question about your 'relationship'.

"Well," you begin, before being saved by your teammate. You had to give it to him - he was great at making stuff up on the spot.

"Well, I think it was somewhere around a month after I first joined the team, and met her. It was just something about her, she's sort of electric in this almost untouchable way, you know?"

You try not to look too awkward standing next to him as he talks, feigning your best-interested smile - though a part of you is extremely intrigued by this fake story he's creating.

"At first I thought I just wanted to be like her, her passion and talent were just so respectable, but the more time I spent with her the more I realised it was something completely different."

He turns to look at you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your expression falters a little as you're caught off guard by the sudden contact and as you turn away from the journalists and towards him, your eyes widen in shock at the sight of his pursed lips nearing yours. Before you realise it, his lips are against yours and you're pulling away as quickly as possible, face bright red. You're just barely aware of the thousands of flashing camera lights as you turn to quickly excuse yourself.

"Thank you all for coming, it was nice talking to you but, uhm, I have to go!" You hurriedly blurt out before slipping out of Franco's grip and darting off to your driver's room.

You hear his footsteps following closely behind you, as well as the sound of him calling out your name. When you near the door of your room, you turn around and grab his wrist to yank him in before you shut the door.

"What the hell was that?" is all you can muster out, "I thought we agreed no kissing?"

"Look, I can explain!"

You cross your arms with a huff, looking at him expectedly.

"I was just going to peck you quickly on the cheek, you know because we were getting all romantic and I wanted it to be believable! B-but then you turned, and then we," he's struggling not to ramble and his quickly moving hands do little to help. That's when you also realise his face is bright red as well, and he doesn't seem any less flustered by it than you do. "I'm really, really sorry I really shouldn't have done that."

You'd be lying if you said his explanation didn't make you feel any better. You're not actually upset about the kiss itself though, in fact, it's the opposite - actually, the grudge you're holding is doing little to help the internal struggle going on in your head. The kiss didn't make you angry, but the realisation that you wanted it to be real, did.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump down in the nearest chair. Franco does the same on the adjacent couch, though his gaze stays carefully on you, almost afraid of what you might say next.

"It's fine, I think we just need to coordinate our PDA a little better then."

"Yes, of course," he nods quickly.

There's a beat of silence. "You're really good at acting though."

"What?"

"That whole story you made up about how you fell in love with me, it was really believable." You laugh lightheartedly trying to lighten the situation and alleviate the awkwardness that's settled between you two.

"Well it's pretty easy, I didn't need to make up much of it," his eyes catch yours and his gaze is soft when he smiles at you.

"What?" you're confused.

"Never mind," he scoffs lightly, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. He looks almost disappointed at something, though you can't realise what. "Well, I'll leave you alone now. I really am sorry about what happened before." You watch as he pushes himself up from the couch, his head hanging guiltily - looking almost like a scolded puppy.

"It's fine Franco, really, please don't feel too bad about it." He nods thankfully before slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

Being a driver, hotel rooms had come to be a companion you knew far too familiarly. Their high ceilings, plush sterile white bedsheets, the empty bathroom - almost everything about them felt a sign of loneliness, of temporality, a house that never felt like home. Even though you knew how ridiculous it would be to complain about something that others would see as a privilege, it was hard to deny the isolation you felt whenever in a new country, away from most of your family or friends.

Maybe that's why you had been so eager to latch onto Franco's idea - it made sense, he had become the person you spent the most time with so why not give yourself some ridiculous reason to be around him even more? However somewhere along the way you stopped needing the reason of fake dating, somewhere in between hushed conversations, planned posts and candid photos - and instead found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. It was a little strange and sometimes acted as a sour reminder of how lonely you'd become but more than anything it felt like a blessing in disguise.

You were reminded of this fact as you lay, wrapped in a plush white hotel robe, across your messy bedsheets - laughing to yourself at the tweets your boyfriend had sent you. They were all about you, or the two of you, of course. Comments on the tiniest things, the way the two of you looked at each other, the way Franco held your hand, the way you worried about him.

"I feel a little bad, they're all so gullible," you typed quickly.

"Oh, so now you feel bad?" His response was almost instant.

"Don't you?"

"It's fun, isn't it? All this playing pretend."

Right, pretend. You rolled onto your back with a deep sigh, staring up at the tall hotel ceiling. All of this was just so confusing - as if figuring out how you felt about someone wasn't difficult enough, the two of you had complicated it by tricking the entire world into thinking you were in love. Whether you truly liked him or not, the idea was doomed for failure - and the more you thought about it, the more it seemed like the former.

"You're right," you typed back, watching intently as the three tiny dots appeared, disappeared then reappeared. What could he be saying that would need so much thinking?

"Can we talk tomorrow, after the race?"

You felt your stomach drop, had he finally caught on to how obvious you were being about how you truly felt, and decided that actually it might be better to just drop this whole act and go on as just teammates? With trembling hands, you typed back.

"Sure, what about?"

"I'll tell you then, for now, we should sleep."

"Goodnight Franco."

"Goodnight mi amor." You laughed softly to yourself at the nickname he had given you, though a small part of you took it as salt to the wound - almost as if he was dangling the possibility of something that could never happen right in front of your desperate little face.

However, not like you had a choice - all you could do now was get ready for bed and brace yourself for whatever tomorrow brought.

You couldn't believe it. The sounds of celebration erupted around you, but you sat completely still in your car, silent, attempting to process what had just happened. Your first win, and, your first double podium, with Franco. Your head was spinning as the never-ending stream of thoughts raced through your mind. Suddenly, you heard a voice coming from above your car's halo, muffled by your helmet. You flick the visor up, lifting your head as highly as you could - locking eyes with your teammate.

"We did it! Oh my god!" The excitement on his face is enough to send a slight surge of energy through you as he offers you his hand, helping you out of the car. When you do though, you stumble a little - the nerves are almost too much for you.

"Woah, you alright?" Even through the fog clouding your mind you can make out the concern in Franco's voice and feel his arms steadying you.

"Yeah, just-" you mumble, gesturing to your helmet and making weak attempts to undo the clasps underneath it. It's almost suffocating you, and the chaos going on around you isn't helping the pounding headache.

"Oh, let me," he reacts immediately, dropping his own helmet and bringing his hands below your chin to swiftly undo the clasps and pull the helmet off of you. You take a deep breath of air as you pull off your fireproof mask, though it sounds more like a desperate gasp.

Around you, the crowds roar with excitement, both your team and others as they make attempts to gesture at the two of you to join them. Your head spins though, and you wobble backwards into Franco.

"It's too loud," is all you can stutter out, though he understands you almost immediately, a strong hand gripping your wrist and pulling you away from the noise and somewhere quieter. You're not entirely sure where he's taking you but at that moment you feel as though you'd follow him just about anywhere.

Luckily though, when your eyes refocus you're in his driver's room, and even though outside you can hear the cheers continuing, you're offered some solace here, the walls muffling the sound. You sigh, sinking into his couch as you throw your head back, panting still.

You feel like it's all just too much - not just the physicality of the race, but the feeling of winning it, winning it with Franco, just Franco himself. When you finally manage to catch your breath you lift your head to see him standing over you, watching intently.

"Better?"

"Much better, thank you." You smile earnestly, "Though I don't think we'll be able to hide in here much longer, there is a cooldown room for this exact reason."

"Oh, I mentioned it to someone, not sure who but he looked important, and he said it would be okay."

You laugh softly, amazed at how he can seem so calm even at a moment like this.

"We did it," you say, still not being able to believe it.

"We did," he smiles, sitting on the couch next to you, "a couples podium."

You feel your heart skip a beat at the sudden reminder of your conversation last night, him mentioning he had something to tell you. Was this it? The two of you had achieved what you had been wanting this entire time, and there was no better time to let this ridiculous bit go than now.

You stare at the wall of his room, the gigantic flag of his home country, and let out a shaky breath, mustering up the courage to break the silence. "So..."

He turns to you, one eyebrow raised in interest.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" You're trying your best to keep your voice lighthearted, "it sounded serious."

"Oh, well about that," he seems to have forgotten it temporarily as well, but the fact that he turns to look at the flag as well, almost unable to maintain eye contact with you, isn't a good sign.

Maybe it's the adrenaline from the race, maybe it's the fact that both of you are going to be needed out on the podium in about ten minutes - or maybe it's the fact that you're so desperate to get out these feelings and make him understand how you feel, but you start talking before you even realise it.

"Look, Franco, I," you start, not entirely sure of where you're going to end up, "I know you asked me to do this whole fake dating thing with you and I completely understand if you want to end it now, I mean why wouldn't we? It's perfect!"

He looks at you confused, lips parted as if about to interrupt you but you continue anyway, stupidly.

"But, look, here's the thing," you turn to him now, and you're sure your face is bright red, "I don't want this to end!"

You let out a deep sigh, and clutch your hands together to stop them from shaking, though it doesn't help that Franco looks even more confused now.

"What?" he says, and your heart drops.

"I," you pause, struggling to find the right words, and struggling to get them out, "I think I like you, like, for real." Okay, not exactly the best choice of words but it'll do.

"Like, not for the whole fake relationship thing?" his tone is still concerned and he leans in a little for clarification.

"Yes! Okay, I know it's not exactly what we thought would happen and it'll probably jeopardise our relationship as teammates but there, I like you okay."

"When did you realise?"

"A couple days ago, I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence, and you're left with the agonising feeling of your heart racing in your chest, waiting eagerly for his response - for him to laugh in your face, for him to get mad, for him to reject you.

But instead, you watch as Franco's confused expression melts into one of pure relief as he sinks back into the couch with a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

It's your turn to be confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," he says, eyes fixed on the ceiling with the widest smile you've ever seen.

"Wait you mean you-"

"I win!"

You're absolutely speechless, not a single coherent thought on what is going on or how to respond. All you can get out is a confused sort of grunt.

"I win, I've liked you for longer!" he laughs, sitting up and grabbing your hands in his.

You feel as though your jaw is going to dislocate at how fast it drops, "I'm sorry?"

"Oh c'mon, we've been teammates for a year I know you're not that oblivious."

"Well, apparently I am because I'm really confused."

"I've liked you since the moment I met you, you idiot."

"Wh-" You're about to be offended at the name-calling until what he says finally hits you. He likes you. He has liked you. For ages. You idiot.

"Even when you proposed this to me?"

"Yep."

"Even when we went to get ice cream?"

"Yep."

"Even when you kissed me?"

"Y- well wait no that was completely unintentional," he holds his hands out in defence. You slump back, trying your best to process everything today has entailed, it's almost too much. That is until you feel Franco move a little closer to you, his arm stretching around your shoulders and gently moving your head to lay on his. At that moment, it all becomes clear, and you're suddenly unsure about why you ever felt confused about any of this.

"What now?" You say, barely above a whisper.

"We go and get our trophies," even though you're not looking you can hear the smile in his voice. "Though, before then."

You lift your head up off his shoulder to turn to him with raised brows. "Hm?"

"Now that we aren't fake dating, do the rules still apply?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd really like to kiss you right now," he whispers, and there's a hint of nerves as you watch his eyes dart in between yours and your lips.

"Really can't wait can you," you tease, though you still move to close the space in between you to. But just before your lips can touch his there's a knock at the door, causing you both to slump back with a sigh.

"Hey, are you two in there?" it's your race mechanic, "you're needed, you know, on the podium."

You roll your eyes to show your obvious disappointment at being interrupted, though Franco just watches you with an endeared smile.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, not being able to hide your own smile.

"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you're going to look up on that podium, and how I won't have to pretend not to be in love with you anymore."

Taglist : @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @cinderellawithashoe @vanicogh @taasgirl @claudiajacobs

@dripostsstuff @boiolay @earth-to-lottie @dejavuontrack @dudududu-fangirl

@kravitzwhore @gavisuntiedboot @reiofsuns2001 @musicmie @danielle12002x-blog

@alelo23 @corrodeddeadlydoll @aliwritex @nina-or-anna-or-nora

@5sospenguinqueen @araunahj @sbrn0905 @halleest @lottieliveslife

@lovestruck-sky @im-an-op81-fan @blubra @vienoiserieetc

(don't ask me why it's formatted so weird, tumblr hates me)

[ang3ltine]

𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐬 ꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ - 𝖿𝗍 𝖲𝖾 𝗆𝗂 𝗑 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (18+) MDNI!!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you were getting ready to meet up with friends who you've missed so much and haven't see them in a while, Se mi on the other hand became a little jealous.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dirty talk, fingering , mean dom! Se mi, slightly bratty sub!freader and implications of angst

" You're the worst "

You were a breathless mess, with mascara stained tears streaking down your rosy cheeks. The pretty little lace dress was stripped from your body and was thrown next to your vanity.

"Oh...? Trust me sweet thing , we're only just getting started "

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

It was around 7am in the morning as you started getting ready for an important date with your friends.

Lotte World usually has a long line soon after opening , so you guys decided to arrive there early by 9 am sharp.

You hadn't seen them for a while, so you were pretty excited. Today, you picked out a white lace dress with a layered skirt and puffed long sleeves with cuffs. It had a corset like design, and you paired the dress with thigh-high socks with trimmed lace and pale lavender ballerina sneakers.

"Hm? Why're you getting dolled up so early in the morning?" a pair of arms hugged your waist, the voice hoarse from sleeping. Se mi rests her chin atop your shoulder. She had messy bedhair that fell over her eyes, as she watched you intently while you applied the final step to your makeup.

Your sugary pink lipgloss that smells of Strawberries and Vanilla.

"Oh uhh well I'm going out with some friends today. I thought you already knew?", Se mi hummed to yourself as she thinks back to yesterday.

"Nope," giving an emphasis on the p, "I thought we we're gonna sleep in today...".

"I'm sorry Se mi but I really miss hanging out with my friends, I haven't seen them in so long," you say gently while you turn around to cup her cheeks and gingerly kiss her lips.

The kiss awakened something within her and she wanted to taste more.

"Can't you cancel and go another day?", the finger that was tracing the shape of your hip came up to swipe at your bottom lip.

"There's no reason for you to not spend time with me right now..", her voice going an octave deeper and you can see the pools in her eyes darkened with desire.

She had already reached for the back of your dress,undoing the neatly tied bows. You swiftly caught hold of her hands before she could fully take it off.

"Look babe, I'm really not in the mood for your jealousy act right now. I can't just cancel my plans just because you wanna satisfied your needs."

You had no intentios of snapping at her but before you could apologise, she hauls you over her shoulder and plops you down onto your shared bed. Making you sink into the plush pillows beneath you.

"Shit, please, I didn't mean to-" , Se mi shuts you up by locking her lips with yours. Nibbling on your bottom lip, making you whine. Almost drawing out some blood.

She carefully hikes the hem of the skirt up, revealing your dainty pink underwear.

"Oh? What do we have here..?", she drawls as her slender fingers crept over your throbbing cunt. You're not sure when it happened but you only grew more wet just by her painfully hot touch.

She gathers your slick, making it act as lube as she glides over your clit. You tried closing your legs cause you didn't want her to win so easily.

But she was too quick and pried them open and then reached for you phone from the dresser.

" You can't seriously be cancelling my plans just because you're horny are you??", you managed to breathe out as she types with one hand and skillfully undresses you with the other.

" I can and I will," she simply states after sending the message with a ping.

At this point you were oozing of annoyance as you tried covering yourself. There was no way you were gonna let her have you after ruining your planned day out.

"Aww is the princess upset? I'm sorry your highness but nows not the time to be pouty", Se mi mused while trying to get you to look at her. Refusing to look at her.

" Hey I'll make it up to you ok? Just work with me here" Just barely giving in you gave her a 'get on with it' look. Honestly it turned her on seeing you so mad.

Only making her want to ruin you even more.

Slipping past your underwear she teasingly ghosts the hole of your cunt, making you shiver with anticipation. Deep down you want this. You wanted her.

She smirked as she noticed your facial expression contour into pleasure and finally stuck her index finger inside. Deep enough for an audible squelch to echo in your bedroom.

You mewl as she groans at the feeling of your walls squeeze around her, hitting the spongy part just right that makes you go absolutely insane.

"Not so poised now are you?", she snickers while you roll your eyes at her comment. You grab the hem of her shirt and pull her into a seering hot kiss. You couldn't let her have all the fun.

Tugging at the ends you asked for permission to take it off. She tuts and guides your hand towards the nape of your neck.

"Uh I don't think so. A spoilt little brat like you doesn't deserve to be rewarded..", her voice going an octave deeper as she only became more amused at your reaction.

God you hated her.

An hour into the session, she has you in her lap as you lay your head on her shoulder. Already becoming exhausted from the constant thrusting from Se mi's slender fingers.

"Fuck", Se mi hissed as the grip on your hip tightened. Almost certainly leaving a bruise mark on your supple skin.

"Do that for me again love", you didn't have time to react as she pulls out tantalisingly slow and eagerly shoves it back in.

You keen, long and guttural as she continues hitting at your g-spot. Your pelvis unkowngly bucks into her hand, wanting more than you could take.

Se mi nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving a series of dark hickeys all over down your bare chest. Your nipples perked as she has one mound in her mouth and the other between her unoccupied fingers.

After a while she let's go with a pop and grabs your ass making you rise up and slam back down on her fingers. You cried out and instinctively reach up and tangled your fingers in her raven hair

"I" slam "Still hate you", you sneer slightly despite being in a euphoric state.

"Oh, rude aren't we?" She snickered as your breath caught in your throat, you would've retorted had she not stuck another finger in. Twisting and going deeper than before to make you more dumbed out.

A dirty cheater for sure.

"Ugh...!! I-- did you have to ruin my dress too-?", you managed to hiss out while you peered down at the smug women beneath you.

You were an absolute mess, mascara stained tears ran down your cheeks. The curls of your hair unravelled and cascaded down your shoulders and your perfect pink lips, swollen and slightly bleeding.

"Don't worry babe, I'll buy you a new one", she cooes while she moves a stray strand of hair away from your face.

It was one thing to fuck a pretty girl, but another thing to have a partner so smart yet bossy as you, being desperate for her to ruin your cunt.

"Shit babe!! Right there--!"

She had you fucking on her fingers for so long you couldn't even check the time on the clock, your vision blurred from your tears. At last you finally burst, unleashing a wave.

Helping you ride through your orgasm until the only thing heard in the room was lewd , wet noises coming from your sopping cunt.

Se mi, was stuffing your own juices back into you at this point, you couldn't really tell if it was that or her fingers were just too filling.

You both were panting, one more than the other. Se mi lifted you up, carrying you bridal style. She softly placed a kiss on your damp forehead as she makes her way down the corridor, heading for the washroom to give you a nice warm bath.

Your beautiful lace dress, discarded and long forgotten.

" Let's get you cleaned up princess" ♡

[bananastarlo]

yandere Isekai trope

What if you wake up in another world and nothing is quite as it was before you fell asleep? Everything looked different—hell, even you looked different, wearing a strange school uniform.

That’s when a screen appears before you:

“In order to leave this place, you must get along with the yandere of this universe and identify—plus avoid—their darling. Good luck, and don’t get yourself killed.“

So that’s why you’re standing in front of the classroom the screen assigned you to. Peering inside, nobody seems to notice your presence. You take a seat and inspect every person carefully… 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Is he not in this school?

But then he walked in, head slightly bowed to avoid drawing attention to himself. Yet somehow, you knew it had to be him. It was a gut feeling, strong and undeniable. The boy was quite tall and lean, with little muscle, a gentle appearance, and hair that fell over his face. His expression was unsure.

He’s supposed to be the yandere? You smirked to yourself. Definitely manageable.

As he took his seat, you came up to him and warily sat yourself down next to him. He didn’t even bother glancing up, absorbed in whatever he was sketching in his notebook. 

You’d figured you should try befriending him—gain his trust so he (hopefully) wouldn’t hurt you.

Your first interaction with him was short-lived 

“Hey, I’m new here. Uh…what’s your name?“

…

Shit. 

You take a peek at his notebook.

“That’s a really pretty drawing! You’re very talented!“

“…Thank you.“ 

Were you the first person he’d spoken to? It sure felt like it. You almost felt bad for him.

As time went on, you tried every tactic to win him over. After countless failed attempts, you finally earned his tolerance, maybe even fondness. Now, he even waits for you after class, which was…kind of cute. You learned his name was Luca, a shy boy who loved to draw and read comics.

It made sense for him to be a yandere, you thought. 

Eventually, he grew clingy. You didn’t mind. If anything, his attachment meant he wouldn’t turn on you later…right?

But you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t grown on you, too. If not for the yandere thing, you’d actually enjoy your late-night talks (it’s more of a one-sided conversation, but oh well…) and the times when you did school projects together at your house and he gets flustered by being in your space. 

But you’re forgetting something really important, aren’t you? 

“Hey, my name is Lola! It’s nice to meet you all!“ 

She was an awfully cheery girl who just transferred here. The kind of girl boys fell for. Even…

You turn your head to study Luca’s reaction.

His expression was unreadable, but this has to be her—the darling. Now, you just had to avoid her as much as possible.

“Thank you. You can sit now. Uh…you! You’ll show Lola around and partner with her for the upcoming project.“

The teacher pointed directly at you.

Aw, shit.

Arguing was pointless, so you agreed. But you could feel Luca’s glare burning into you as Lola beamed beside you.

“I hope we become good friends!“

You spent the rest of class ignoring him, but dread coiled in your stomach. 

After class, as everyone scattered, you grabbed Luca‘s wrist before he could leave. “Listen, I…I really like you. I don’t want anything to change what we have. Once I finish what the teacher asked, I‘ll stay away from her, okay?“

He blinked in surprise, then smiled. “I-I didn’t think you’d understand. Thank you so much.“

And with that, he left.

At least that went well.

Or so you thought.

Lola was determined to befriend you. No hint, no brush-off worked. The more time you spent with her, the more Luca withdrew. His distance made you paranoid—rightfully so.

Today was another dreadful day and you were the only one left in school working on an assignment—too scared to walk home now that it was already this dark out. After packing up, you sighed and headed out—until a strange noise made you stop in place. 

Against your better judgement, your feet dragged you to the source, scared of what you would find.

That’s when you saw an open classroom and heard a piercing scream from inside. Your stomach dropped and hands started shaking.

There he was, repeatedly stabbing a person, who was so familiar to you, you almost threw up. Lola. Luca was hunched over her. He must’ve heard you, because his head slowly turned, blood splattered across his face.

“You? My darling… you weren’t supposed to see this.“

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!“ You backed away.

He looked like he was the one who had just been stabbed. His lips trembled.

“W-What do you mean? I did this for us! She wouldn’t stop bothering you! She deserved this—ALL OF IT! She wanted to take you away from me, can’t you see? You told me you didn’t want anything to change what we have, so please, please don’t look at me with that look. I love you so much, please…“

What have you done?

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[thepossummoldypasta]

Okay okay, the people have been heard, part 2 of the accidental baby acquisition thing (part 1)

Sometimes Steve wonders how his life turned out this way. Most of the time the omega jokingly says it’s all Dustin’s fault. This time it’s definitely Dustin’s fault.

Steve kicked the kid out after he cracked wise about Eddie being in a coma for 9 months—He did it nicely under the pretense of the pup being sent to find a nurse, but he’s forced out of the room all the same—now he’s desperately attempting to get Eddie calm.

The heart monitor is complaining loudly at Steve and the alphas breathing isn’t giving him any comfort, and it’s all around not an ideal situation. Steve shifts the baby (still asleep thank god) so he has an arm free to offer Eddie to scent. The movement catches the other man’s eye, and when the alpha he turns his head Steve can see Eddie’s crying.

“Oh Eddie.” Steve croaked “No, don’t cry. Dustin was just being a dick—you’ve only been under for six days—everything’s alright.” Eddie finally accepts Steve’s arm but instead of scenting he cradles it with shaking hands and doubles over awkwardly against Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie,” the alpha sobs “Stevie.” He lets Eddie cry it out for a minute or so.

“Do you want me to walk you through what happened?” Steve offers.

Eddie nods against his neck; yes.

“How much?”

Eddie leans in even further, lungs drawing as much air as they can hold; everything.

“Nancy blew Vecna’s head off, but uh, we could tell something was up.” Steve grimaces “so, so I got worried and went to grab you and Dustin.”

Eddie stiffens as Steve talks, but doesn’t give any other indication that he’s heard enough, so Steve keeps going.

“ I found you just outside the trailer park—I don’t know if you remember it but the bats kinda beat your ass—I got to you before Dustin did thank god ‘cus it was gnarly. They, the bats, they nicked an artery so there was a lot of blood. We managed to drag all of us out through this new gate that spat us out at the Creel house on the right side, I don't know how that happened by the way…uh what else…there was an ambulance there because Carver’s gang broke Erica’s arm. The EMT guys were so freaked out when they saw us they shoved all of us in the back of the ambulance and hauled ass here—“

“Wait,” Eddie buts into Steve’s rambling explanation, “Erica got hurt? Who else got hurt? Is—“ now it’s Steve’s turn to interrupt.

“Everyone’s gonna be okay Eddie” Steve promises “The pups have a few minor breaks between all of ‘em but nothing serious. You and me got the worst of it.” Apparently not the best thing to say because Eddie jerks back with a whine, frantically checking over Steve’s injuries.

“You, I, WHAT?” Eddie, well, he screeches, unfortunately waking up the baby with his noise (the omega can’t stop himself from shooting him a dirty look for it).

“We’re both out of the woods now that you’re awake.” The omega reassures while soothing the tiny puppy’s cries. “There’s the bites, obviously, but none of them on you or me were particularly life threatening apparently. Although you lost enough blood to go into cardiac arrest—” Steve thinks he could put it nicer but there’s no point sugar coating it “the doctors did put you in a coma so you could recover but you were out less than a week, nowhere near nine months” Steve rolled his eyes at Dustin’s shithead antics.

“As for me, apparently the bats had some kind of venom that was rattling around long enough to cause some nerve damage and speed up this weird genetic thing I apparently have that messes with connective tissue. Now I’ve got this sweet new ride to help on the bad days but that’s about the worst of the damage ” Steve pats the armrests of his new chair, the one Jack helped him adjust to be his and not the one on loan from the hospital, and smiles in a way he hopes makes Eddie believe “bad days” will only happen some days instead of most days.

He expects Eddie to laugh at the attempted joke, or maybe crack a watery smile, But the alpha starts crying with renewed vigor.

“Is that why? Stevie is the puppy okay? How could Nancy let this happen?” Eddie gasps, reaching out to hold Steve’s face. The omega leans softly into the hold, but he’s soooo confused.

Before he can ask what the hell Nancy has to do with any of this,Jack waltzes through the doorway with a sheepish Dustin in tow. If that brat thinks that going out of his way to find Steve’s favorite nurse will get him out of trouble, he’s got another thing coming.

“Well now, sleeping beauty is awake.” Jack grins politely “I’m Jack, nice to officially meet you mister Munson.”

“Uhh, yeah, back atcha” Eddie nods

Jack ruffles Steve’s hair as she passes him on her way to Eddie’s IV line. Over the past few days She, Steve, and the others have grown close. The baby had imprinted on her as part of his pack, and the baby is part of Steve’s pack, so on and so forth until they all shared a bond. It’s nice.

She checks the levels of Eddie’s saline drip, and the numbers on the monitor that Steve can’t remember the meanings of no matter how many times it’s explained to him. Whatever they say must be good because Jack looks relaxed when she turns back to Dustin who’s haunting the entrance to the room leaning on his crutches (Steve resolutely tries not too give him pity points for the broken ankle).

“Alright kid, clear out.” she chimes,“I got to give your friend the full checkup and it’s feeding time.”

Jack clearly tacked on the last bit to get the stubborn pup to leave, and once upon a time it would have embarrassed the hell out of Steve, but it serves its purpose as Dustin turns heel and calls out that he’s going to visit Max.

Jack checks Eddie’s reflexes, then she has him push against her arms, follow a pen with his eyes, and tap her palm as she moves it around. All that good stuff to make sure Eddie’s brain still works right. Everything seems to be fine, the only exception being Eddie’s heart rate seemingly picking up when Steve takes his shirt off to feed the baby. Jack laughs under her breath when it happens though, so it must’ve been fine whatever it was.

“Alright Mr. Munson, you’re looking good. Your whole merry band still is being kept under observation otherwise I’d say you’re free to go. Do you have any questions for me?” Jack asks as she slips off the gloves she donned before she ran her tests. Eddie nods.

“When did Steve have the baby?” What?

“WHAT?” Steve crows, Jack’s absolutely no help as she’s too busy cackling to set the record straight. “I didn’t have a baby, Eddie!”

“But—you—You’re literally holding a baby right now big boy! And you smell like a mom!” Eddie retaliates, but he’s keeping his voice low so he doesn’t disturb said baby. That’s sweet actually.

“That’s my fault I’m afraid” Jack chuckles “he was supposed to be looking after baby nameless for me temporarily, but the little guy had other plans and decided Steve here was his new Ma. What you’re smelling and seeing right now is the result of that baby doing a very good job of convincing Steve’s body they’re his puppy”

Eddie’s mouth is hanging open on a broken hinge, Steve watches him collapse back into his bed. He would think the alpha brain dead if he wasn’t just given a clean bill of health.

“So you weren’t pregnant when we were in… you know?” Eddie prods weakly

“No, I was not knocked up when we were in the Upsidedown!” Steve shuts that line of thought down as quickly as he can, Jack might be “in the know” thanks to her job but Steve does not need his new, basically older sister, to know he did the hanky-panky with Eddie in an alternate dimension.

“Oh thank Jesus” Eddie sighs and he’s so lucky that Steve’s beginning to think he’s in love with the idiot (and that he’s a little too distracted burping the baby to smack him). “What’s the baby nameless thing about?”

Steve goes quiet for a second. Not bad quiet, just shy quiet. It’s kind of an embarrassing question to answer. Jack lets him know she’ll be right outside if he needs her, but he’s been shyly waiting for this moment and just waves her off with an appreciative look.

“He technically doesn’t have a name, before he imprinted I was only really allowed to nickname him” Steve starts “but now he’s my baby so I can name him whatever I want. I’ve had a name picked out for a while but I wanted to talk to you first. Jack’s been trying to guess the name for days now and she’s been calling him that to try to annoy me into spilling the beans” he says with a snort.

“Why did you want to talk to me first?”

“I want to name him Theodore, after you?” Steve admits but when he looks to where Eddie is propped up against his pillow the alpha sucks in a breath between his teeth. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Eddie isn’t actually short for anything, so uh it wouldn’t really be naming him after me” Eddie says hesitantly “But! But I think Theodore is a great name!” And he smiles so brightly at Steve, the omega has to kiss it off Eddie’s stupid little face.

A week later the whole group is lounging in the ward’s common room just waiting for time to pass.

The roads are back open and the town is slowly knitting itself back together. Owen’s says that his team is waiting on one more thing before they all finally can go home. The older teens haven’t said anything to the pup’s yet, they don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s looking like home might be one of the recently vacated houses for packs instead of where they lived before. Steve thinks he’ll sleep easier having everyone safe under one roof, that at least some good will come out of so much of his family being left displaced by the “quakes”.

Steve’s cozy on a squishy couch with Robin tucked against his one side, Mike and Will are tangled together on his other, he’s even got Theo napping on his chest. God it’s a far cry from the nervous buzz that thrummed under Steve’s skin at the beginning of their stint in the hospital. He basks in the calm that comes with the rest of the pups piled on top of Eddie taking a nap instead of being obnoxious. Nancy has even huddled together with Jonathan and Argyle.

It’s really nice except for one thing nagging at the back of Steve’s mind, he hasn’t seen Jack or El for a while.

“Hey Steve?” Oh, speak of the devil and all that, Steve thinks as Jack pops her head into the room. “Your adoptive dad is here looking for you.”

Steve looks at Robin then to Nancy and Jon. It’s very clear that none of them know what she’s talking about.

“I don’t have an adoptive dad?” Steve replies.

“Okay rephrase. A man, who is not Harrington Senior, and who matches your emergency contact information is at the visitor’s desk asking for his kid, who he says is you.” Jack doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before El slips into the room her dragging with her—

“Hop” Steve cries weakly, the name catching in his chest. No matter how much he blinks Hopper is still there. Will bursts from Steve’s side and launches himself at Joyce Byers, who Steve hadn’t even noticed was there, Hopper is here.

Steve somehow manages to get on his feet. Theo, the sweet angel that he is, doesn’t even fuss at the abrupt movement, instead he coos at the newcomers as if he’s confused why they haven’t started fawning over him yet.

Steve is pulled into a side hug the literal second Hopper’s close enough. Steve missed him so much. He hadn’t told anyone about how in the early days of his parents leaving him home alone he would sneak over to the police chief’s trailer because he was afraid being by himself. Or about how many nights the man spent driving him to or picking him up from the hospital after Steve’s dad got too drunk. Nobody knew how confused Steve was after Starcourt, when he didn’t know how much he was allowed to grieve. But now Hop’s back, and Steve missed him.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating the baby” Hopper laughs into Steve’s hair. He laughs like he doesn’t know how else to react, which is fair, but he also laughs like it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while so Steve doesn’t really mind.

Very helpfully, Mike pipes up with “Thats Theo.” At the same time Dustin says “That’s Steve and Eddie’s puppy.”

Steve barely has enough time to playfully warn Eddie to run before it’s too late.

——————————————————————————————————

Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t really planing on continuing this so it to a while to figure out what I wanted to do.This is going up on my Ao3 as a one shot at some point by the way, so maybe look out for that I guess. I hope you enjoyed!