#pro love and thunder

[mrs-snape5984]

“There is more to love than this. Love is more than just a kiss…”

“And will you, bring the thunder in my life and the fire in my eyes? ‘Cause then, there will be days of pleasure and everything far will be so near…” (“Ich kenne nichts” by Xavier Naidoo feat. RZA)

Struggling with several diseases and disabilities, especially since I’m being tortured by the countless symptoms of this goddamn bitch sickness ME/CFS, made me lose my self-esteem and my self-confidence. For the past two years, I was convinced, that the pain as well as my supposedly unstoppable physical and mental decay have taken a toll on my personality. The bold, strong and self-reliant woman and mother, I’ve been before, was gone.

Well, at least, that’s what I thought! Some months ago, I discovered that this woman had not disappeared. On the contrary, she’s still living inside my soul…stubbornly raging at my condition and the confines of my body…and yet, she’s full of hope for better days.

I must admit, that I had some help with this insight. There are friends in my life, who managed to encourage me opening my eyes to see, what’s laying beneath the weak shell of my body. And I found something else. I found love! An unconditional, honest love, which makes me feel so grateful for being alive, no matter how this life might look like, at the moment.

I’ve always fought with intrusive thoughts and self-loathing…but since I am allowed to see myself through the eyes of this special person, there’s something awakening in me, which I’ve never experienced before: Self-acceptance. Slowly but surely, I’m beginning to accept, that I don’t need to be a perfectly shaped, beautiful, studious and healthy woman to be loveable. It seems as if even I - with all my flaws, my traumas, my vulnerabilities and my fears - am worthy of being loved. I couldn’t be more blessed with this realisation…and with the fact, that this special person welcomes my love with open arms in return.

For this breathtaking artwork of Severus and my - undeniably self-inserted - OC Jules I’ve commissioned my friend @hannisimp. Lin, my dear, you’ve done an amazing job with the fulfilment of my ideas. Witnessing Severus and Jules in this intimate and trustful situation makes my heart melt into a puddle. The exchange of their glances is so powerful, so touching…and despite their flaws, there’s a certain knowledge palpable between them: “Ich kenne nichts, das so schön ist wie du!” (= i don't know anything as beautiful as you).

Thank you for making my dream come true in your art, Lin! You’re an incredibly talented artist and a wonderful person. Feel hugged, my dear! 🫂🖤

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[bisexual-panic]

i’m just dying at the thought that Loki is laughing sitting on his throne in the tree at Thor and Jane being all lovey dovey with each other (because yk Midgard turned Thor soft)

…and then realising the reason he is stuck in a tree is because he couldn’t take the easy way out (like he used to do) because it involved killing the one person he ever loved (romantically) and promised not to hurt

[dimestoretajic]

tfw you equip a sword to a creature that blanks all their removal

[chet-ho7mgren]

2️⃣’s day.

Happy 26th birthday to Shai!

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[g4zdtechtv]

FULL EPISODE: Cinematech NE - The Dark Eyes of Barbie

Top 7 New Fighting Styles for Your Master of Teras Kasi - Number 3 May Surprise You!

(OAD on G4ZDTechTV.com and G4ZDTechTV on YouTube - 12.10.18)

[moonlightcycle571]

The Pros Of Being Omni-Lingual

Saw a while back someone saying Captain Marvel (or Shazam or Captain Thunder or whatever name you choose for him) is omni-lingual. I have no idea if it’s actually cannon, but it lives rent free in my head, and I got no plans of evicting it any time soon.

But anyways, the reasoning makes sense. He got his powers from The Wizard, to be The Champion of Magic, so it makes sense that among his other powers, he’s got all the languages down. And that works in his favour when connecting with Heroes

In general, people are more relaxed and open when speaking in their mother tongue, and with Cap knowing all the language cause of ✨magic✨, no one can blame him for knowing even the most top secret and heavily guarded languages (like Themisquiran, Atlanlantian or other).

See, when someone like Batman or Martian Manhunter speaks to you in your native language, it’s intimidating. When another JL member does it, it’s a pleasant surprise, but you can sense they aren’t that comfy with a language also do it for work purposes.

But when Cap does it? It’s “oh you speak …” “oh, I’m omni-lingual” type dialogue. If he gets a cult after mentioning that it was a gift from the Gods, then that’s a while other story

Pair that with his sunny attitude, and his golden retriever attitude, of course he gets people to like him. He’ll understand all the memes, have fantastic insight (Wisdom of Solomon) and political views (Whiz Kid radio host). To put it blankly, he has amazing conversational skills, and I am convinced that discussions can be the most meme filled talks or the most profound stuff you have ever heard, especially if it’s about Magic.

To get back on topic, these facts make him especially loved, not just by civilians he saves (head cannon that he knows what’s your preferred language of you speak more than one and reassures them in that language), but also by other heroes.

He can be seen with Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian (speaking Martian) while helping them cook some food from their home world.

Or with Supergirl in the lounge Kryptonian (Kal is great and all, as are the other supers, but Kryptonian is not their first language, not like her).

Or with Aquaman, talking about various Sea Gods in Atlantian. Whenever he’s got some Magical duties in Atlantis for whatever reason, he always gets invited for dinner with the Aquafam. He, Mera and Gar have the best Magic discussions

He tries to avoid speaking Themesciran, cause he’s a guy and he doesn’t want to disrespect their culture, but Wonder Woman is always more relaxed when speaking in her mother tongue. Most of the time, he will settle for Greek though (it’s her second language so it’s close enough). Although he did take it upon himself to teach Cassie when Diana couldn’t

For any of the Batfam, he switches languages, every other sentence. They love it, especially Bruce, Dick and surprisingly Alfred. It’s enrichment and tests their knowledge. When Clark and Diana aren’t here and his kids are in the watch tower, they go to the Captain to help with their language education (they don’t know he’s a kid, which makes Billy think he’s adulting right). Later when it was revealed he’s a kid, it makes the JL groan that a child was the better designated Baby Sitter (now Batman sends his kids in to hopefully adopt Billy)

When meeting new heroes, it’s the same shabang. He can instantly acclimatise to them and is just a walking talking Pitbull (looks scary, is a sweetie pie)

The lantern corps love him, and keeps sending him rings. My guy has to give the GLs a bad full of rings before every meeting (although they do wonder why there’s the a red, and sometimes yellow rings in the bag). holy shit I need to make a post about lantern corp and Captain marvel

But anyways, that’s just me ranting as someone who was raised bilingual and who definitely prefers English.

[diazsdimples]

After the lightning, Buck downloads just about every weather app he can find. He doesn’t tell anyone - because he knows they’d immediately become concerned - he’s terrified of thunderstorms. If it’s forecast to be rainy, he’ll check, double check, and triple check that it’s only rain, and not a storm too. What he doesn’t know, is Eddie’s done the same thing.

The first storm happens a couple of months after Buck goes back to work, and he's ready for it. It's one of their nights off, so he gathers all the blankets in the loft, makes himself a little nest with his laptop, a hot water bottle, and some noise canceling headphones and he hunkers down for the night. He's just squeezed his eyes shut after the first flash of lightning when his phone rings. It's Eddie. Initially he doesn't want to answer, because he doesn't want to have anyone asking him how he is right now, but he also knows Eddie will just keep on ringing until he picks up. So he does.

Not once during that call does Eddie ask how Buck is. He immediately lauches into a long tale about Christopher's new crush, which turns into a story about the main characters on the telenovela he watches and "how the fuck have they not figure out they're in love yet", and finally they end up debating the pros and cons of having a smart fridge that shows you what's inside without having to open the door. Buck hangs up feeling a little confused, wondering what the occasion was for such a call, but the storm has passed and he didn't have a panic attack.

The next storm is in the dead of winter and Buck has been watching it brew for days, his anxiety mounting as it builds. He's planning on doing the same as last time, but then Eddie invites him over for dinner. It's not their usual night, and Chris is away with his grandparents in Texas, so Buck is a little confused but he says yes nonetheless. He's looking forward to some time with Eddie - the two of them have been toeing the line between friends and something more ever since the lightning, with long lingering touches and late night phone calls. When he gets there, Eddie has ordered them pizza, there's a case of beers on the coffee table, blankets on the couch, and a new sound system that looks like it could blow the windows out of the Sistine Chapel if given half a chance.

They have a really nice evening and Buck manages to ignore the way the clouds are churning outside, how the wind picks up and rain begins to splatter against the windowpanes. He's comfortable on the couch, with Eddie a warm line against his side from how closely they're pushed together. When the room lights up from the first strike of lightning, Buck jumps. He looks around wildly, just barely fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the thunder booms. Eddie looks up from their movie, and turns up the sound on the TV until the thunder is inaudible. He places a hand on either one of Buck's shoulders and gently guides him down until he's settled against Eddie's chest. Eddie's arms wrap around Buck, holding him from behind and Buck can feel the fear slowly receeding.

"It's okay," Eddie whispers in his ear. "I've got you. You're safe."

The storm rages outside, but Buck doesn't panic. He's safe, in Eddie's arms, and though he might jump and his breathing might speed up every time there's a flash, Eddie strokes his arms and pets his hair and finally, almost nervously presses a kiss to Buck's forehead.

"Is- is this okay?" he asks Buck, so quietly that if it weren't for the fact that his lips were brushing Buck's ear, Buck wouldn't have heard it.

"Yeah," Buck replies, burrowing closer into Eddie's chest as his heart blooms with love, the warmth spreading down to his toes. "I'm safe."

[katsu28]

Kissing away their tears with lando, please and thank you!!🫶🏻

anything for you rachel my love <3 ily!

lando norris x reader, 1.6k, there's a crash but no descriptions of injury. request something from here!

“Norris is doing really well today, isn’t he?” 

You’re not sure whose mouth the words come out of, but your head whips in their general direction, as do the rest of folks in the VIP box. Variations of “Shut the fuck up!” echo around the room, people grumbling to each other about those who obviously don’t know one of the biggest unspoken rules in sports. 

Whenever a player, or in this case, a driver, happens to be doing well in a match (or race), you never, ever mention that they are. You can think it, you can say it in your head, but you don’t ever say it out loud. When those words make it out into the open air, bad things happen. 

Call it stupid, call it superstition, but it’s a known sentiment in sports—Formula One especially. It’s like eating the same breakfast or listening to the same song before every race, or wearing a certain item of clothing every race day because you believe it brings you luck.

Does it actually bring you luck? Maybe, maybe not, but you do it anyway because of the possibility that it could. 

You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut with a prayer to whatever higher power out there is listening.

Please, please, please don’t let anything fuck up Lando’s race. 

Your prayer is futile.

You hear it before you see it on the TV—a loud crash. Tires skidding over asphalt with a deafening screech, metal grinding on metal, carbon fiber snapping off chassis and skidding across the track.

Instantly, you know there’s been a collision. Your heart leaps into your throat at the single thought that screams its way through your mind like an emergency alarm. 

Was it Lando? 

A hush falls over the track, and suddenly the only thing you can hear is the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears.

On the screen flashes an aerial shot of what you assume is the scene of the crash, but you can’t see much through the smoke and dust. The vague misshapen lump of a mangled car, a wheel rolling away from the wreckage, then—

Your heart drops out of your ass. 

The car is bright orange. And as the cloud of dust gets blown away by the strong wind on track, your eyes zero in on the unmistakable fluoro green of Lando’s helmet.

He’s not moving. 

No, no, no, no. 

Your body is in the move before your brain even realizes you’re running, sprinting through the hall, down the stairs that would take you to the McLaren garage. You’re dodging people, you’re dodging equipment and carts and everything of the sort like a pro. All the while, you feel like you can’t breathe because you don’t know if your boyfriend is okay. You don’t even know if he’s alive. 

That’s what scares you the most. 

You’re stopped by track security before you can enter through to the garage. You show the guard your pass, but he still keeps you there, muttering something into a walkie talkie that you don’t understand. 

“Come on, mate! Do you see what it says? Let me through, please!” You plead, near tears at this point. 

The frantic part of you wants to push right past this knob and find Lando yourself, but you know the only good that’ll do is get yourself thrown out, and that’s the last thing you need right now. Your best option is to play nice, despite all the worst thoughts running rampant in your mind. 

The guard takes what seems like a lifetime to look over your pass, glances up at you, then back down to the pass, but steps aside eventually, waving you into the bustling garage. You force yourself to calm down a smidge, not wanting to disturb any part of Oscar’s race. 

From there, it’s not hard to find Lando’s race engineer. Will looks less worried than you, even as he paces back and forth with his headphones still on. 

“Will!” You blurt, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the tall man. “Please tell me he’s okay.” 

“There you are! I sent someone up to the box to fetch you ages ago. Lando’s at the medical center now, he’s conscious, coherent,” Will says. You let out a sigh of barely there relief. At least he’s alive. “He was asking for you. Reckon you’ll be able to see him after the medics check him out, if you want to go wait there.” 

“Yes. Yeah, yes, thank you, Will,” You breathe, wrangling him in a quick hug before making a mad dash back through the halls towards the medical station.

You’re panting when you get there, fully aware you probably look mental to any sane person, but you don’t care. All you care about is getting to Lando. “Hi, where’s Lando Norris? McLaren driver, number 4, was brought in after the crash at turn ten?” 

The friendly looking woman at the front table smiles sympathetically. “You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? He told us you’d be worried. Wanted us to make sure someone found you.” 

“I am, yeah. Is he—can I see him?” 

“Sorry, dear. The medic team is still doing their tests and all that. Best let them be for now, but I’ll tell you what.” She leans in like she’s about to divulge some big secret. “I’ll let Lando know you’re here. Technically, I’m not supposed to, but you both seem like you could use a little break.” 

“Thank you,” You say shakily, inhaling a wavering breath. “Thank you so much.” 

“Of course, dear. You just sit tight over here, alright?” 

That’s exactly what you do. You sit in the metal folding chair and you wait. 

Nearly an hour passes and you’re still no closer to seeing Lando than you already were. The race is nearing its end, and you don’t want to bother the nice lady who’d already bent the rules for you once, but you’re almost at your wits end.

You’ve got your head in your hands when you hear your name called. It’s the lady again, telling you you’re able to go see Lando now. You're not sure what to expect when you make your way into the station, but you've gone through so many possibilities in your head you feel like you've adequately prepared yourself for almost anything.

Lando is sitting on the edge of the gurney when you walk into the room, legs swinging aimlessly as he secures his watch around his wrist. 

He’s okay. He’s sweaty and covered in dust and dirt and looks like hell, but he’s okay. 

You’re not sure why that realization, the one you’ve been waiting for this whole time, is the final crack in the dam. Lando’s eyes snap to you at the same time you rush forward, jumping off the bed with a tiny grimace and crossing the cramped room to bring you against his chest. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” He soothes, holding your sobbing frame tight. You’ve got two fists twisted into the lapels of his racing suit, clutching at it like you're afraid he’ll slip right through your fingers. “I’m alright, love. I’m fine, I promise.” 

“I heard you—I saw—” You can’t even get the words out through the tears streaming freely down your face. 

“I know. Fuck, I know, I’m so sorry.” 

You feel his lips press against your tear soaked cheeks, kissing all over your face until your breathing levels out. Even when you do stop hyperventilating, Lando continues to litter gentle pecks all around, finally stopping with one long, lingering kiss to your forehead. 

You’re finally able to release your death grip on the front of his suit, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles as if it wasn’t already completely a mess. 

On instinct, one of your hands slides over his fireproofs, splaying over his chest right where his heart is. It beats strongly under your palm, if not a little faster when you look him in the eyes. It helps, but it does little to get rid of the knotted ball of fear that’s been sitting right on your chest this entire time. But hey, at least you’re not crying anymore. 

“There’s my girl,” He hums, swiping the pad of his thumb under your eyes gently to rid you of any stray tear tracks. His free hand comes to blanket yours where it remains on his chest, fingers curing over your own. “Hi there. Are you alright?” 

“Fuck me, I’m a mess,” You say, sniffling. “I should be the one checking on you and here I am crying like a baby. How are you? Are you hurt, what did the medics say?” You size him up for any outward injuries, patting around his suit gently. Your hand presses against his torso and he winces a little bit at the sudden pressure, but tuts at the wide eyed look you give him. 

“I’m fine, darling. Few bruised ribs and bumps from impact but otherwise a clean bill of health. Don’t even need to go to the hospital.”

“Thank god,” You sigh, slumping forward against his chest in relief. “That was so fucking scary.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His nose presses into your hair, inhaling as deep as he can without pain twinging in his sides. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” 

You shake your head firmly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“Me too.” 

“How’s the car?” 

Lando grimaces, shaking his head. “Totaled. Not great.” 

“Is Zak mad?” 

“He’s definitely not happy, but I reckon he’s more relieved I’m okay.” 

“That makes two of us.” You hug him again, careful of his bruised ribs. “I would’ve hit him with your front wing if he was more worried about the damn car.” 

Lando lets out a snort of high pitched laughter, though it does sound a little nervous. He knows you're serious. “Babe, you can’t just whack my boss with a broken off piece of the car.” 

“Would you stop me?” 

“I’d feel obligated to or else I might be fired.” 

“But would you?” 

“Let’s just put a pin in that for now.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[kendyzzlewp]

The Right Decision || ART DONALDSON

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pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to a big scary decision but it’s okay because Art supports you. no matter what.

tags: married art, working mom female reader, they have kids, basically the conversation that tashi should’ve had with art when he wanted to retire lol

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“I have to tell you something but I don’t want you to get upset. Just listen.”

Art looks away from the tv, his mouth falling automatically into a frown. You stand next to the couch, your fingers fidgeting with your wedding ring. A habit you picked up on when you first got engaged.

“I might cry,” you warn, already feeling the tears sting the edge of your eyes. “But it’s not because I am sad or anything. I just have anxiety.”

His frown deepens and he instantly turns off the television, giving you his full attention. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

With a heavy sigh, you drop down onto the couch next to him. “I’m struggling at work,” you admit, the embarrassment creeping behind your neck like a tick. “I can’t do it anymore. The demand, the constant traveling. It’s keeping me away from you and the boys. I hate it.”

Art scoots closer to you, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Yeah,” he says softly. “We hate being away from you too.”

“I want to be home,” you say, turning your head to look at him. “I want to be here for them. I feel like I’m missing out in everything. I want to be a good wife and a good mom. I want to cook dinner and help with homework. I want to clean—god I miss cleaning.”

Art chuckles quietly, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Baby, I-“

You cut him off because you already know what he was going to say. That you should’ve quit that job the moment you found out you were pregnant. But you weren’t a quitter, you saw things through to the end but this… this was just too much.

“Yes, I know,” you say quickly. “I should’ve quit years ago but I just didn’t want to take advantage of you. You trained so hard to be where you are. I’m not entitled to it just because I’m your wife.”

You could feel Art tense beside you, he couldn’t understand how you could think that. With a gentle touch, his fingers grab your chin, forcing you to stare into those ocean eye that made you weak.

“You are the mother of my children and the love of my life,” he firmly states. “You are entitled to every part of me. You took care of me, held it down for us when I first turned pro. Let me take care of you.”

Cue the waterworks. You always told him that if the tennis thing didn’t work out, he could look into being a writer. The sincerity in his voice, the love in his eyes, the kindness of his touch really made you fall in love all over again.

“We have more money than we know what to do with. If it quitting your job brings you peace, then do it. Be a stay-at-home mom or get another job if it’s what you really want. And please, cook for us again, I don’t think I can keep eating dino nuggets.”

A watery laugh escapes your lips as you grab the bag of his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The sounds of tiny footsteps, thundering down the hallway capture both of your attentions. Your twin boys, Jackson and Eli, burst into the living room.

They are the perfect mixture of you and Art. Their blonde curly locks, your skin tone, his stunning blue eyes and your nose. You couldn’t help but to stare of them in slight awe, eternally grateful to be able to be their mom.

“Mama, look!” Eli exclaimed, climbing up onto your lap. “I drew a dino.”

You took the paper in your hand, gasping dramatically. “Wow, this looks so good bear.”

Jackson, the more reserved of the too, quietly climbed onto Art’s lap. He snuggled into his chest. “I drew something too,” he says, handing a paper to Art.

Art shows you the paper with a fond smile. “Wow, buddy. Is that our family?”

He nods, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, you, me, mama and Eli.”

Your heart swelled at the picture perfect moment. Sitting there basking in the love of your family you realized the decision you had to make. It wasn’t a hard one at all.

“I have some great news,” you say as the four of you cuddle closer. “Mama is going to be home all the time now.”

Eli jumps excited on your lap, his eyes wide and curious. “No more trips?”

“No more trips,” you confirm, ruffling his hair.

Jackson lifts his head from Art’s chest. “Really?”

Art smiles, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Really,” he confirms. “Mommy is ours now!”

The boys cheer, jumping from the couch and pulling your hand. Both of them babbling excitedly about playing and painting and snacks. You turned to look at Art, smiling widely.

“Thank you,” you say, tears threatening to fall again.

He smiles, tilting his head. “No, thank you.”

[sunsetchicane]

I love your post card series! Could I request Oscar with rodeo reader where they’re penpals and Oscar subscribes to the cowboy channel (that’s actually what it’s called) to watch his penpal and rodeo reader starts to watch f1 and then she gets invited to Austin?

love letters [OP81]

oscar piastri x fem!barrel racer!reader [from southern US]

word count: 4.2k

summary: The one where you meet a certain racing driver as you're both starting your careers and you decide to keep in touch.

warnings: fluff, fluff, oh and a little more fluff! angst maybe if you squint and tilt your head

author's note: To my dearest anon, this is MY love letter to YOU. Thank you for requesting this and letting me write about the rodeo; it brought me back to when I was just a little girl and was oddly healing?? Sorry for being a sap lol! I hope this is to your liking :) Feedback, comments, reposts, and likes are always appreciated!!! Peace and love babes. [xoxo elle]

“Speed. Agility. Determination. This barrel racing pair is one for the ages and the crowd here today knows it,” Janie Johnson says, a bright smile on her face while she stares down the barrel of the camera.

She turns her attention over shoulder when the crowd’s cheers hit a crescendo. You’ve just rode out into the arena, the American flag streaming by your side while you gallop around. Chants and cheers of your name fly from the mouths of onlookers, swallowing everything into a thunderous roar. For this moment, the entire world is yours. The other top riders follow you out into the dirt of the arena, hands waving and smiles flashing. There’s nothing quite like being at the rodeo. 

“And there she is, our winner today and her beautiful horse, Sweet Tea,” Janie says, unable to look away from the way you and your horse run the perimeter. You take your time, soaking up the glory of another win. 

You fly through your post-race duties, one thought constant in your mind: you have to write your letter to Oscar. It’s sort of a silly tradition, but you’ve been doing it for ages. After a rodeo weekend or a race weekend for him, you both would write each other a letter explaining everything in careful detail. You loved it. Even though the information about the rodeo and the race would be released ages before the letters arrived in your respective mailboxes, it was still amazing to hear about things from his perspective and explain your’s to him.

So, once everything is loaded up and you’re back on the road, you lean yourself back in your seat with a pen and pad of paper in your lap trying to put everything you’re feeling into words. Though your sports were different in a lot of ways, there were similarities that pulled the two of you together. The pressure, the adrenaline, the rush of a win. It’s what made you two so close even though there were vast oceans separating you. 

As you write, you can’t help but reminisce on the first time you ever wrote one of these letters. It was years ago, just as you started pro barrel racing. It was a rodeo early in the season. You were dressed and ready for your pool. Sweet Tea was edgy and nervous and so were you. You were the rookie pair that year, just a five year old horse and an 18 year old jockey. You remember that you felt way in over your head that day as you watched the vets take on the arena. 

To ease both of your nerves, you led Sweet Tea on a walk. Whispering to her with your head low, you didn’t even notice the group walk up in front of you. The voice of your manager made you tip your head up, looking at him under the brim of your hat. He smiled at you and introduced you to a group of young, thin, pale looking boys. He explained that they were from a Formula 3 team called Prema. You’d never heard of Formula anything before.

Your manager led the group of boys away after some small talk. They were nice enough, but you didn’t need any distractions. Just as the last of the boys followed your manager to your stalls, you thought you were free to go about walking Sweet Tea again.

“What’s your horse's name?” An unfamiliar voice with an unfamiliar accent said. You don’t get much for foreign accents at the rodeo, so it took you by surprise. Your eyes met his brown ones. His brown hair was cut short on the sides and the top drooped down over his forehead. He donned a white t-shirt that displayed the word “PREMA” in red, coupled with a pair of blue jeans and sneakers. It was the first of the few times that you’d seen Oscar Piastri in person. The memory lives clear and bright in your mind.

“Sweet Tea,” you answered him in a clipped voice. You were still uppity about your impending race and Oscar was quickly becoming a distraction. 

“Sweet Tea,” he echoed while taking a few steps closer. Tightening your grip on her reins, you waited for her to spook. 

“Wait-” you began to warn Oscar as he crept in closer. But you were swiftly cut off when all Sweet Tea did was bray and huff at him. You were nothing short of shocked. She rarely took to anyone, but she seemed to immediately like him. It made you curious.

“You can pet her, if you want,” you encouraged him while continuing to gauge Sweet’s reaction. Together, the two of you stroked the soft brown of her coat. You could tell that her mood was suddenly a lot sunnier, the moodiness exiting her body as you and Oscar brushed your hands over her.

“What’s your name?” you asked after a while. 

“Oscar,” he replied, his eyes darting up to meet yours over Sweet Tea’s head. For a moment, you studied his face. He looked perfectly calm, peaceful even, in the intense atmosphere that surrounded you. It didn’t surprise you that Oscar’s tranquil nature helped to set Sweet’s nerves at ease. His demeanor was even helping you. 

“She likes you,” you said, giving him a small smile while you dragged your hand over your horse’s nose.

“I hope so,” he said, his eyes flicking from you to Sweet and then back up. 

Everything after that was history.

You and Sweet Tea ran better than you ever had, placing in the top three. It was your best result yet and set you up for success for the rest of the weekend. You saw Oscar every day of the rodeo. He would stop by to say hello to you and Sweet Tea while you were prepping for a race or catch you after your pool. Awkward teenage conversation fell away quickly, giving way to long, easy conversations. 

On Sunday, you and Sweet Tea took it all. It was a huge payday which would boost the rest of your season. You were on cloud nine. Oscar walked with you while you led your horse back to the trailer. Back and forth you talked about the race and how it felt. You were so glad to have someone to talk to about all this. You used to talk to your grandpa about everything, dissecting the race and your rides with him. He’s the one who taught you how to race. But, he died shortly before the season started. He never got to watch you race at this level and you didn’t have him to talk to anymore.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you said while turning away and adjusting your hat, suddenly embarrassed at yourself. Oscar wasn’t a rodeo kid. He probably didn’t care how tight your turns around the barrels were or how responsive Sweet was today. 

“No,” he said, quickly cutting you off. “It’s alright. I like to listen.”

Not convinced, you stayed silent.

“It sounds a lot like how I feel when I race, you know. So, I get it,” he admitted then, his shoulders coming up into a shrug. You eyed him from under your hat, glad for the way the wide brim covered most of your face.

“I used to talk to my grandpa about this stuff,” the words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them. If it would have been anyone else, you would have died from embarrassment. But, Oscar just blinked at you and waited patiently for you to elaborate.

“You remind me of him,” as you said it, you want to punch yourself in the face. You really went two embarrassing moments for two that day.

“Thank you?” he said, a small chuckle coating his words. He smiled at you so warmly that it thawed the icy shame in your chest slightly. 

“I just mean that,” you tried to salvage what you thought was meant to be a compliment but just came out really weird. “You’re a good listener, like him.”

Oscar nodded, his small smile still on his lips. His perpetually tired-looking eyes were soft and kind while he watched you walk your horse. You believe that it was in that moment that you became friends, good friends.

Coming up on your trailer, you slowed your pace, wanting to prolong your last moments with your new friend. Feelings that had been growing steadily over the weekend were at their peak, downing you in an intense feeling of longing. If you could do anything to never let him leave your side ever again, you would do it. In a heartbeat. In the span of just a few days, you’d grown so close that it felt like there’d never been a time where you didn’t know him. Friendly affection wasn’t an apt description of what passed between the two of you. A four letter word danced around in your teenage mind. But you couldn’t say that to him. You’d only known him for 72 hours. 

“We leave tonight,” Oscar said then, shoving the toe of his shoe into the grass. You leaned into Sweet Tea, stroking her neck and avoiding looking at your brand new best friend–your brand new obsession. Emotion roared like a tide inside of you, threatening to spill out from your eyes in tears and from your mouth in a confession. 

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” your voice was thick with your southern accent. It always got heavier when you were emotional.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. Your eyes flicked to his then, taking in the soft look that graced his features. He seemed so sure of his words. It placed a little peace in you to know that he was just as intent on not letting go of the relationship you’d built as you were.

“Can I write to you?” you asked suddenly, not sure why this is the way you wanted to keep in contact with him. There was something inside of you that longed to write to him. Handwritten letters seemed deeply personal, intentional, everything that you wanted to convey to him. 

“Write…like letters?” he asked, his small smile turning into an amused grin. Instead of becoming embarrassed at your suggestion, you held firm. Nodding at his question, you sent him a small smile. He shook his head a little and asked for your phone. You handed it to him and he typed in his contact, only filling out the address line and his name. 

Once your phone was back in your possession, he said a goodbye to Sweet Tea while stroking her nose lovingly. She whinnied at his touch, tossing her head affectionately. Then he turned his attention to you, he stepped closer than he ever had. Invading your air, you thought he might kiss you. Your heart stopped for a moment, teenage love sending sparks across your eyes. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. Your arms slung easily over his shoulders, holding him close. You relished the feeling of his chest against yours, his breath against the back of your neck. 

That’s the feeling that you’ve held onto over the last four years. It’s the feeling you hold close on lonely nights on the road. It’s the feeling you remember every time you pen a letter to your closest friend, wishing that you could’ve had the chance to be something more.

Over the years you’ve kept up with Formula racing, just for the sake of watching Oscar. Though, you’ve started to become quite the fan. Especially now, as Oscar is tearing it up for McLaren. He’s had an exceptional season. In his faithful letters, he writes in his subdued way about how thrilled he is about this season. His humility never fails to make you smile. It’s one of the things that makes him Oscar. 

He also writes about watching you on the Cowboy Channel whenever he can. You’re always surprised and warmed when he includes details of your race or compliments your skills. His words, though concise, are eloquent in their own way. Whenever you read his letters, you can hear his voice in your head.

So, as you wrap up your letter, you’re already anticipating his response. Your eyes drift to the window once you’ve tucked everything away. The familiar rolling fields of perfectly parallel rows of crops lull you into a sleepy trance. Dreams of seeing Oscar again flood your mind when your eyes slide closed and fall comfortably asleep.

The final turn into your gravel driveway pulls you from your nap. You’d slept for nearly the entire drive. You’re warm from sleep, your eyes still heavy but your body feeling refreshed after a long weekend. 

You and your small team unload the horses and the equipment quickly, desperate to return to your respective homes for a meal and your own bed. There’s nothing quite like returning to the ranch after a rodeo weekend. As you sling up your last saddle, you wonder if Oscar feels that way about home after a race weekend. You make a mental note to ask him about it in your next letter.

Before heading into your home, you run out to the mailbox and place your letter in it. Flipping the red flag of your mailbox up and walking away, you’re already anxiously awaiting his response. 

Instead of dwelling on your letter and Oscar, which will definitely send you into an anxious tizzy, you decide to catch up on a couple of work related things to keep yourself distracted. Snuggled cozily into your bed after a long shower, you pull out your laptop and open your email. There are a dozen different unread emails from rodeo crews, journalists, and ranch staff. However, one unfamiliar sender catches your eye.

It’s from McLaren.

Ignoring everything else for the moment being, you rush to open the email. Rarely have you received emails from the McLaren F1 team. Every once in a while, they send you PR gifts or things of the like because of your connection with Oscar. But this one looks different. It’s more personal than that.

When your eyes read the contents of the document attached to the email, you nearly fall off your bed. It’s an official invitation from the McLaren team to join them as a guest for the Grand Prix in Austin the following week. Slack jawed, you mindlessly follow the directions on how to accept the offer. Nothing matters right now except for this.

After four years, you’re finally going to see Oscar again.

—

Walking onto the Paddock, you feel oddly at home. The hustle and bustle of a race weekend reminds you of your weekends at the rodeo. Team members and journalists and officials stream around you, everyone hellbent and on a mission. You’re swallowed into the excitement of it all, fading into just another body in the masses. It brings you peace that you weren’t sure you were going to find here. 

“Miss?” a voice says from just behind you. Narrowing your attention to them, you turn around quickly. A small girl with bright blonde hair sends you a quick smile. She’s adorned with the bright papaya of McLaren. Her eyes drag from your hat-covered head to your boot-clad feet. Your light colored Wranglers hug your curves and flair out over your boots. A matching blazer covers your shoulders and the white button-up with the first few buttons undone. The look is complete by a dark orange, silk bandana tied loosely to one of your belt loops. You know you look like the epitome of country, but it was all intentional. 

The McLaren employee confirms who you are before offering to lead you to the garage. Swallowing hard, you trail behind her, cutting your way through the sea of people. Nerves dance around in your stomach. You feel like you’re back on top of Sweet Tea the day you met Oscar, wide-eyed and anxious as all get out. But there’s something deeper that keeps you moving, a desire–a need–to see Oscar again. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of for years. 

Every letter has been in preparation for this moment. Every word you’ve ever written to him saying the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say all those years ago. For the past week you’ve been rehearsing exactly how you’re going to tell the love of your life that you’ve fallen for him, that you’ve loved him since you were just 18. There’s nothing that could stop you, not even the fear of rejection. Four years of longing have put you in indescribable agony. There has to be some sort of resolve, good, bad, or otherwise. Today is the day that you’re going to share the one secret that you’ve ever kept from him. 

The blonde employee, Julia, leads you into the garage and begins introducing you to the team. Smiling and snapping photos with some people, you lose count of how many names you’re told and hands you shake. Not that you’re really trying to keep track, your mind being pulled in a different direction. Desperately, your eyes scan the small garage for the only face that really matters. 

You’re in the middle of discussing your latest race with one of the engineers when some movement from the back of the garage steals away your attention. A mop of brown hair and a dashing smile that you’d never forget comes into view. He’s rounding the car, chatting with his engineers and crew while laughing. He’s dressed in his race suit, the arms tied around his waist and showing off his skin tight fireproofs. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him. The rest of the world fades into a blur while your living, breathing dream shimmers like a mirage in front of you. 

Finally, finally, he turns around with the soft smile that you’ve missed so much on his face. From across the garage, over the massive car between you, you lock eyes. Tears spring to your eyes as his jaw goes slack. You barely have time to blink or breathe before he jerks into action. He’s rounding the car in a hurry, whispering rushed apologies as he gently shoves people out of his way. You break away from your conversation with an ‘excuse me,’ meeting Oscar halfway.

The force of his hug knocks your hat clear off your head, but you hardly notice as he sweeps you up off the floor and into his arms. His arms, which are much larger than you remember, strangle you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. His face presses roughly into the crook of your neck. Smiling like a fool, you keep your arms wrapped around his neck, never wanting to let go. 

When he finally sets you back down, you pull only one hand away to wipe furiously at the tears that have slipped out of your eyes. Sniffing, you laugh at what a mess you’ve become. But when you look up to find Oscar’s tear rimmed eyes and bright smile, you can’t help but choke on another sob.

His hands are still on your waist while you try to sort yourself out. Eyes shining, you take him in fully. He’s so grown. He’s tall and broad and all man. Except for his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, and his boyish smile. Those two things have stayed the same. Looking at them now, it’s like your past and your future have collided and coalesced into one man. Sighing, you shove him playfully in the chest.

“When did you go and get all grown up?” you say, your voice thick with emotion. He captures your hand on his chest, taking it into his own. With his fingers wrapped around yours, you feel perfectly at home. A slight blush has crept into his cheeks, painting a soft rose across his ivory skin. Your chest squeezes at the sight.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says quietly while reaching down to pick up your hat. Playfully, he shoves it back onto your head with a small smile. 

For a couple of comfortable seconds, you just stand there in each other’s presence. Soaking in everything he is, you bask in the moment. He’s here with you. Finally. And the way he’s looking at you with those brilliant brown eyes makes you feel like not a day has passed since he left. The feeling that was born inside of you when you were 18, is reborn with double the intensity. Your love for the man in front of you is overflowing; it’s drowning you.

“Do you have a minute?” you ask after a while, your eyes darting around to the crowd around you. Oscar snaps back into reality with you, following your gaze to the stray looks you’ve been getting. Nodding, he leads you by the hand back to his driver’s room. 

It’s a tiny space, just big enough for a couch and a small closet. But it’s private enough to have the conversation you’ve been equally needing and dreading. Oscar sits next to you on the tiny couch, his side pressed into yours. You can’t tell if the contact makes you more nervous or sets you at ease. For as many times as you’ve thought about and planned for this moment, nothing could have prepared you for the real thing.

Fiddling nervously with the hem of your bandana, you avoid looking your friend in the eyes. But, you can feel him staring at you. Suddenly, a large hand closes around both of yours, causing you to cease your fidgeting. Turning your eyes to his, you take in the crease between his brows and the small frown that pulls at the corners of his lips.

“Is everything alri-” he begins but you’re quick to cut him off. 

“Ah, hell,” you mumble quickly, making a knee jerk decision.

With both hands you grab him by the neck and yank his face to yours. His head knocks your hat back on your head, giving you enough space to kiss him. Pressing your unmoving lips to his, you hold him there in desperation. 

So much for the carefully crafted speech that you’ve spent four years on. 

For a couple heart wrenching seconds, he doesn’t move. He’s gone completely still under your hands, his lips slightly parted in shock. Shame pools low in your stomach as you begin to pull away. But your heartbreak lasts only a split second before his hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you in place while he bursts into action.

His kiss is just as desperate as you feel. Pressing into each other with all the passion you’ve been harboring for four years, you’re both consumed by the heat of the moment. Your head swims as his lips glide against yours, his tongue skimming over your bottom lip before pressing deeper. 

His free hand reaches out, grabbing your knee to haul you onto his lap. Sliding home over his muscular thighs, you sigh into his mouth. Nothing has ever felt more right. Perfection doesn’t do Oscar justice. He’s everything. 

He holds your waist tight between his large hands while your kiss slows down. Lazily, you suck at his bottom lip while he chases you backward. Once again his chest is on yours, your memory flicking back to the last time you saw him. You knew then that you were his, and he was yours. Nothing could keep you apart, especially not now. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and voice soft. You’d never been one to beat around the bush; so why even try when it matters most?

The payoff is better than you could have ever hoped. Oscar doesn’t waste a second before both of his hands cup either side of your face, holding a searing kiss to your lips. He’s firm but kind. He’s Oscar.

“I love you,” he replies breathlessly after a couple seconds.

Your heart soars, leaving your soul in outer space. Seeing stars, you lean your forehead against his, a small laugh bubbling from your chest. Oscar chuckles with you, his chest rumbling under your hands. Pulling back slightly, you take your time to just look at him. Soft brown eyes meet yours and there’s a look there that you know you mirror with your own gaze. Affection, longing, love.

“I had this whole speech ready, you know,” you accuse while adjusting your hat on your head. Oscar��s mouth falls open slightly, faux offense coming over his features.

“You’re the one who kissed me!” he accuses right back. “I was all prepared, too. But someone was just over eager to jump my bones.”

Pinching his side playfully, you watch gleefully as he yelps. Shushing him quietly, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. Silently, an agreement that this was far better than any words you could have said passes between you.

Shaking his head, he settles his arms around your waist and smiles despite himself. With callused fingers, you trace constellations between his freckles. Your heart sings and you wonder how you were ever able to stand being away from him. With Oscar next to you, with his breath on your face, and with his smile for just you, you know that this is it for you.

Four years have been spent dreaming of him. Now, the rest of your life will be spent dreaming with him.

[thesuperiorrobin]

➳ Reminder that all of these are Female reader insert

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── one shots ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

✶| Headline |

➳ Dating Damian Wayne was It’s pros and cons, cons being the press follows you almost every where when you’re alone or with Damian.

✶| Truth hurts |

➳ you find the truth about that scar on his chest

✶| He has feelings? | part two |

➳ Damian has been coming home late after his patrol, coming home smelling like strong feminine perfume. His brother follow him one night and they are in for a surprise

✶| Her laughter brings me joy |

➳Damians is in loved with the way you laugh. His brothers tease him about it

| “I promise I’m not scared of you” |

➳scarecrow uses you as bait and an experiment for his fear toxin leaving you in fear of someone precious to you

✶ | Is that my shirt? |

➳ playing with Titus a fun but sometimes he gets a little to competitive

✶| “Kind hard to focus when you look like that” |

➳ Damian find you staring at him while he does his daily workout session

✶ | “I don’t like sleeping alone anymore” |

➳ Damian confronts you after acting weird this past couple of days only to find out you haven’t been sleeping, but for what reason?

✶| “He’s only soft with you ” |

➳ Damians really whipped for you if he’s nice

✶ | “He lost his virginity!?” |

➳ the batfamily notice Damian acting off these past couple of months and come up with weird ideas as to why

✶ | “Don’t say a word about this” | Ft: Alfred|

➳ Pennyworth has to keep yet another secret

✶ | Media is stupid |

➳ you and Damian play with social apps—giving people taste of your love life

✶ | “Dance with me ” |

➳ you and Damian dance together at one of Bruce’s Galas and the attention is set on both of you.

✶ | lipstick Stain | part 1 | Part 2 |

➳ a TikTok trend that leads to the media coming crazy

✶ | “Crazy idea let’s make out” |

➳ teens being teens Y’know?

✶ | punished by my body |

➳ period are never fun. Especially when they keep you from killing you for seeing Damian.

✶ | untitled |

✶ | Rainy days |

➳ Damian realizes that the rain rain always put you in a mood—getting moody once you fix your attention one the thunder rather then his lips

✶ | Thoughts |

➳ Damian is neglecting his duties as being your husband—I’m result puts bad thought in your head that make your two confront him about it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Headcannons ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

✮ Damian Wayne, the blood son of playboy billionaire Bruce way. Damian Wayne doesn’t live up to the playboy title like his father back in the day

✮ Fem!Reader having a crush on Damian Wayne

✮ Boyfriend!Damian Wayne

✮ Hispanic!Fem!Reader

✮ Damian Wayne doesn’t get crushes

✮ husband! Damian Wayne

✮ bat boys type

✮ random Damian Wayne headcannons

✮ Platonic reader

✮ Quality time

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── scenarios─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

❀ Damian Wayne hates galas , more then he hates his brothers.

❀ Damian ‘Clingy’ Wayne

❀ his bed is more comfortable

❀ “I loves you’s” coming from him

❀ Damian’s not a big fan of holidays

❀ thinking about league of assassins! Damian Wayne

❀ he’s sick to his stomach every time he looks at you

❀ never question why’s your hair is always up

❀ Damian doesn’t get sick often but when he does…

❀ argument | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Random─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

✄ incorrect quotes!

One, two, three, four, five, Six, Seven(Jason Todd)

✄ Instagram!

One, two, three

✄ message between you two!

One, two

This is a years worth of writing that I managed to put on one page 🥲

Just let me know if any of the links aren’t working

[patscorner]

PROLOGUE: HIT

pairings: paige x oc

contains: angst

word count: 686

a/n: let's try another shot at this series thing... here we go

JUNE 2020

I dribble the ball between my legs before taking a step back and shooting the ball. It's almost midnight, and the thunder claps should've kept me in bed, but it seems like the last thing I can do is sleep. It's been three weeks.

Azzi already got her acceptance letter to Uconn. We'd applied at the same time, yet hers came almost a month ago, and I'm sitting here empty-handed.

What if they denied me? What if they just forgot to send it, and I don't find out until I'm in the middle of Texas? Sure, it's not common for colleges to scout one school and find what they're looking for. But with us, I feel like they could. It's always been us two- Azzi and I- and even Paige, and although Paige and I aren't speaking, I don't think I'm ready to let that go yet.

I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to let that go.

But here I am, letting them slip through my fingers. Letting her slip from my grasp.

How did I get here? How’d it get like this? It seems like these past few months have been nothing but loss, love, and the bittersweet taste of change.

I’m a great basketball player, I know that. But if any coach was scouting me right now, they’d cross me off the list immediately. The way the basketball clangs off the backboard once more causes me to groan in frustration, throwing my head back. I chase after it, positioning myself at what would be the wing.

Basketball is a mindless game. Something I do well without even thinking about it. The movement of the ball, the way it bounces off the court, the way my wrist flicks when it leaves my hands, the swish of it passing through the net, whatever; the motions are fluid. Subconscious, even. Something I can do with my eyes closed without a second thought. But right now, I'm thinking about everything, including her. And as though I'd summoned her…

“Dude, it's midnight, what the fuck are you doing?” a groggy voice calls. I flinch at the unexpected presence, and turn around to see Paige. She's got her hair down, the blonde locs frizzy from her sleeping position.

The house lights illuminate her hair, the yellowish glow casting a shadow on the cement. Her red plaid pajama pants hang dangerously low on her waist, her Nike Pro boxers peeking above the cotton material. She's wearing a Uconn hoodie because, of course, she is.

I roll my eyes. “Just throwing shots up.” I say, holding the ball on my hip. I could practically hear her eyes roll. “No, no, I can see that, I just mean, why? It's literally about to rain.”

“Why do you care? Why don't you go back to sleep?” I huff, shooting the ball up again.

She scoffs. “I'd actually love to. In fact, I couldn't think of anything better to do-” I wince as the ball bounces off the rim again. “-but when all I can hear is a fucking ball bouncing, it's kinda hard to enjoy slumber.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, I'll be done soon.” I mutter as the ball bounces towards her, internally sighing as she picks it up. I hold my hands out, motioning for her to give it to me. She doesn't.

“Why can't you sleep?” She asked, her voice sounding genuinely concerned. That's the thing. She's pretty fucking good at that.

I sigh. “Can I just get the ball, bro.” She can't make anything fucking easy.

She smirks. “Nah. Not ‘till you tell me why you're playing basketball in the middle of the night when it's about to storm.” I groan.

Don't let her in again.

“Nevermind, I'm tired anyway. Court's yours, asshole.” I say, shoving past her and stomping into the house.

There's nothing more I've wanted to do than break down in her arms and tell her everything that I'm thinking, and have her hold me and tell me everything's gonna be okay.

But I've already done that.

And I'm not making that mistake again.

=======================

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerrss @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee @st4rrzynight

[rae-writes]

Electric Yellow #FFFF33 — Bachira Meguru

sweet boy, precious boy, love hims || 0.2k || m.list

‘Boom!’ was, as you deemed it, Bachira’s cute little catch phrase. You found him exclaiming the word during or after he made an adrenaline-filled goal or when he knew he outplayed the rival team. Even outside of soccer, he’d use it when he played video games or scored a kiss from you (like a goof).

Boom, boom, boom!

As much as it was a catchphrase, it was also a feeling. It was the word Bachira used to describe the thundering of his heart around you or the feeling he experiences whenever you do something that makes his heart pang.

You never really understood his exact reasoning, finding the feeling he gave you to be more of an electrical feeling: a fuzzy current or a jolt. Either way, hearing him say the simple word was something you’d grown fond of. 

And eventually, you found yourself saying it- or rather, in this case- screaming it. 

Bachira’s very first soccer match with his pro team had you understandably antsy and pumped up; with the time ticking closer and closer to the end of the match, and the score at 3-3, your heart found itself chained up tight, barely any room to even beat. 

But then Bachira swiped the ball out from under someone’s feet, stealing your breath away as he dribbled it all the way to the goal— and the second his foot kicked the ball, the word you knew he was thinking tore right from your throat.

“BOOM!” You screamed triumphantly, cheering alongside his mom with his jersey draped on your frame. Your eyes met Bachira’s, finally feeling what he meant as your heart thundered when he pointed at you, a toothy grin on his face. 

“Boom.”

[tinkerbelle05]

hiii I love ur work, was wondering if u could do a midoriya x reader or todoroki x reader where reader is kidnapped by a villain to get revenge w one of them? and they have to rescue reader?? angst + hurt/comfort, happy ending preferred :>

thanks and have a great day!!!

My Hero

Paring: Pro Hero!Izuku x wife!reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

TW: Kidnapping, violence, angst

You felt uneasy the moment you stepped out of the house. A gut feeling maybe, but nevertheless the hairs on your back were standing tall and stiff, and had a chilling feeling running down your spine.

This feeling followed you like a shadow as you exited the supermarket with bags in hands ready to load the trunk when you felt something or someone hit you hard on the head. You stumbled to the ground, and the last thing you saw was someone standing over you with a smug smirk before everything faded to black.

You woke up to your arms and legs bound to a chair, you looked around the dingy and poorly lit room you were in. It was sparsely decorated and littered with papers and beer cans.

“Look who’s finally awake..” a deep voice, probably a man and you could feel the smugness dripping from his tone. It made you ill.

He roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. He was wearing a balaclava that concealed his entire face, leaving just his eyes visible to you. They were cold and had a crazy look to them, that’s all you really remembered about them.

“Mrs. Deku, huh? Slasher will pay us a hefty price for you.” He revealed to you, taking joy in your face, visibly paling at the name.

While Japan has returned to its era of peace, there were still people who hated the society they live in, and those who would fight for their twisted world to come to fruition.

Your husband, the pro-hero Deku was well-loved by his fans and well-hated by his enemies, especially Slasher. So hostage situations were something you were prepared for, but facing the real thing was nothing like those simulators they had you do.

You swallowed nervously and the man chuckled at your fear and uncomfortableness. All you could think about was “us”. You wondered how many of them were there. How many of them could, would hurt you. How would they hurt you, to what end.

“Well, get comfortable, princess, you’ll be here for a while—ow!” the man paused in his taunting of you to winced as the other kidnapper threw something at him.

“Stop with the taunting already and make sure she’s bound well so she can’t escape. We still need to be on alert, we ain't getting paid until she's out of Japan, dimwit.” the older one barked. He had much serious expression on his face as he

You had to remind yourself to be calm, looking at the window it was still bright outside. So it could not have been that long ago since you were taken. Izuku will find you, he always will. You kept that mantra in your head as you sat helpless in the chair but overtime you started to doubt as the sun dipped in the sky.

You didn’t want to lose faith in Izuku, because well he was your husband, your best friend, and he was someone you could always depend on. But the day was slowly turning into night and there was no sign of him or any help.

Then you heard an explosion. The older man cussed under his breath and in a flurry of action, he grabbed you and ran out the back door.

“Hey, what about me?!” The other man said but he ignored as the older man dragged through the alley.

“Hey! Stop, give her back now!” You heard an enraged voice yelling at your kidnapper. It made you stop in the tracks as the familiarity of the voice reached you and a weight had been lifted off your shoulders as relief flooded you.

Izuku was here. He had found you.

Your husband was in his hero suit, green electricity surrounded his body as he set his thunderous gaze on your kidnapper.

Immediately sensing danger, he moved you in front of his body to shield himself from Izuku.

“Don’t come near or she dies!” He threatened Izuku, you could hear the shakiness in his voice. It was as if all the confidence he had was sniffed out in the presence of Izuku.

The death threat did nothing but increase Izuku’s wrath, his green eyes zeroing in on the man. He stood silently and stiffly, simply tracking him with his eyes. Waiting for an opening to strike. His eyes made contact with you, and his face softened measureable.

He looked back at the man, “You have two options; let her go and cooperate with the police. Or don’t, and I will ruin you.”

The threat wasn’t directed to you but you felt the effect either way. Izuku is usually caring and kind that you forget how intimidating he could be when he wanted to. Especially with his towering height and bulky frame.

The kidnapper backed away in shock and fear from the threat, which made Izuku follow his every step like a predator stalking his prey, waiting for the kill. He must have found it because he pulled out black whip, dragging the kidnapper towards him and they both engaged in a violent battle.

Eventually more pro heroes and police officers arrived at the scene to help and they cornered him. Izuku immediately goes to you once the kidnapper is apprehended and you fell into his arms, resting your head on his shoulders as sobs rocked through your body. He held you tighter, if that was possible in response to your cries.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear—“ Izuku started to mumble as his eyes scanned your body for injuries.

“No, no I’m okay, Izuku. They didn’t hurt me.” You reassured him and saw the look of confusion on his face.

“They? There’s only one of them…?” Izuku looked at you with a puzzled look on his face. Vines spouted from the cracks in between the concrete and slammed into Izuku. He instantly moved you out of the way and took the impact of the kidnapper number 1’s quirk. Those same vines wrapped you up in their tight hold and all your attempts to fight was meaningless.

“Let her go!” You heard Izuku scream in a rage as he fought with the villain and eventually you were released from the vines as the kidnapper’s full attention was on Izuku. You went with a police officer to safety, but all you could do was look at Izuku fighting. You knew his chances of winning were big but you couldn’t help but worry for him.

You watched as he fought with the kidnapper, using all of his quirks in tandem to stop him. Quickly the fight is over and the kidnapper is taken into custody.

After Izuku pulled you into a quiet area, away from the prying eyes of the public; some concerned for you and others curious, he enveloped you into a tight and crushing hug. His arms rested arms at your waist and pushed you into his chest like you’ll disappear at any moment.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to find. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you,” he rambled to you as he cried into the crock of your shoulders. You sniffed as well, feeling your adrenaline rush die down now that you were safe in his arms.

And you didn’t want to let go, ever.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Request info

[animasola86]

Lessons in Love-Making

Notes: So I received an amazing request recently and this is what I made of it! I hope you enjoy! (If you like to give me smut requests as well, please feel free to do so! My inbox is open!)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Fluff/Smut

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Explicit sexual content! Assisted masturbation. Voice kink. Fingering. Sex. (Infidelity?)

Word count: 9.8k

Synopsis: To say you and your boyfriend have a poor sex life would be an understatement. One day after a particularly horrible experience, you find yourself crying in the hallway. And then Sebastian finds you, always eager to lend a hand.

Warning: It's smut time again! Yay! I mean, beware, there's some spice below the cut! Don't get it in your eyes!

-- can be read on AO3 too --

Lessons in Love-making

You are tense. So tense, your entire body is shaking. Gritting your teeth and clenching your hands into fists as you walk through the empty hallway, you are not surprised when the first tears roll down your cheeks. Because you are not just tense, you are frustrated. And you've been frustrated for quite a while now.

It always comes to you when you walk back to your common room, in that post-haze clarity, not that there had been any haze, there was fog, sure, perhaps a few lightning bolts and one clap of thunder, and the rain that should be soothing was just a little drizzle, if it came at all.

And if you had time to think of silly metaphors for your poor sex life, then it really wasn't that good apparently.

You let out a shuddering sigh and stop walking, too wound up to wipe at your wet cheeks. Too wound up to do anything and so you sink to the ground and just sit there, trying to ease your breathing and your drumming heart, trying to clear your head and not think of what has happened and what has been happening over the last months.

Soon you are so focused on creating your own personal pro and con list, that you shriek loudly when you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. You jump and hit your head against the wall behind you, looking up with wide eyes and your mouth open.

“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.”

And just like that your mind is empty. His voice makes sure of that. And that smile. Yet all you do is stare, while the tears still stream down your face.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asks as he settles down next to you on the floor.

You let out a sob and raise a hand to wipe at your tears, before you give him a shrug and half-hearted grunt of confirmation. He raises an eyebrow and watches you closely.

“What happened?” he inquires with that low voice that causes your tense body to shudder deeply.

You swallow and look away, unable to answer him right away. Even though he's been your friend for quite some time now and you've shared a lot of low and high points together and you know you can tell him anything, you feel embarrassed to address your frustration.

You feel him scooting closer and then his hand is on your knee. “Did he do something?” he asks and just the implication that your boyfriend could have done something bad to you makes you turn your head.

“No!” you say quickly, before you pause and let out a dry laugh. “That's the thing, really... he never does... anything...”

Sebastian tilts his head, frowning slightly as his dark eyes wander over your face. “He doesn't satisfy you, eh?” he then states and the brutal straight-forwardness of his words makes you wince.

You don't answer right away and that is probably answer enough. Sighing deeply, you look down at his hand on your knee, feeling his warm touch and how it affects you. And you shouldn't feel like this. Because you have a boyfriend and it is not Sebastian Sallow. You would add sadly, but in truth you are quite content with the boy that asked you to be his girlfriend almost six months ago.

You love talking to him, you feel safe in his presence, he makes you laugh and happy. But when it came to sex, he was really... bad. And for months you've just dealt with it, not complaining, just trying to be happy for him because apparently it was quite enough for his liking. And the sad truth is that you've accepted feeling unattended whenever he would find his release – and then fall asleep right after. You didn't even mind the pain any more, because quite frankly, it was the only thing you could count on whenever you would end up in bed with him.

Tonight has been especially bad, causing your ever-growing frustration to burst through the seams of your patience. And the tears that won't stop flowing are proof of that.

“Please don't mention this to anyone,” you whisper and wipe at your cheeks again. “It... it really is not that big a deal...”

“Are you sure about that?” Sebastian asks and gently grabs your chin to make you look at him. “This does look like a big deal to me...”

You shake your head and his hand away, sobbing quietly. “I'm just frustrated and it's okay, it'll pass, like always. It's silly, really, crying over something like that...”

“It's not, you have needs too. Everyone has. And you shouldn't just be his plaything...” he tells you quietly, his voice vibrating through your very core.

“I'm not! You know he's not like that...” you start defending your boyfriend once more.

The boy next to you watches you closely. “Perhaps you want to be his plaything, but he just doesn't comply.”

“Stop saying plaything, it's vulgar!” you hiss.

He laughs, the sound ringing in your ears. “I can be more blunt, don't worry,” he says and nudges your knee before he leans away and crosses his arms behind his head. “So why don't you take care of your frustration yourself?” he then whispers, his eyes on you.

You stare at him, a little puzzled, before it dawns on you what he means. Averting your eyes, you blush deeply. “I... uh, tried, but it wasn't for me...” you admit eventually under your breath. “It doesn't feel right...”

“Then you may have done it wrong,” he says and leans closer again.

Swallowing hard, you raise your gaze and meet his. “I think I know my body and what it... wants...”

“Do you though?” he asks with a sly smirk.

“Well, of course, it's my body!”

“But then why are you crying in the hallway because your sorry excuse for a boyfriend can't satisfy you the way you like it, hm?”

His words hang in the air, luckily only reaching your ears, and you look at him long and hard. The longer you stare into those dark eyes that practically sparkle in mischief, the hotter you feel, your cheeks positively aflame as they burn your tears right off your skin.

“I can help you,” he then says quietly, and the implication alone makes you lean back from him.

“What? No! I... I have --”

“Yes, I know what you have,” he sighs and tilts his head. “And I'm not saying you should cheat on him with me, okay? I just want to... show you something. Help you out. Fight that frustration with you. Make you feel better.”

His promises sink into your mind and leave you wanting exactly that. You know how good he is at manipulating you, not that you would call it that, he was just very convincing. Persuasive even. And this was for your own good, wasn't it? Like he said, you have needs too. And as you wipe at your burning eyes, you find yourself inhaling deeply, before you nod shortly.

When you look at him, you see his face lighting up, the faint shadow of dimples gracing his freckled cheeks. “Of course this will be purely educational,” he tells you with a wink as he gets to his feet and holds his hand out for you to grab.

When you do and he pulls you into a standing position as well, you bite your lip and square your shoulders. “Of course,” you agree.

*

“So tell me what you usually do with him,” Sebastian asks as you sit down on that old couch in the far back of the dimly lit Undercroft.

You feel embarrassed, but then you sigh. “Well, we sit on his bed and then we... kiss and that's quite nice,” you start, already defending your boyfriend again, almost unconsciously. “And he would touch me...”

“Where?” the boy next to you inquires.

You look at your hands in your lap. “He usually gropes my breasts, sometimes my hips,” you whisper, before you look at him and he nods to make you continue. “Then he'd lie on top of me --”

“Are you naked when he does that?” You wince slightly at the bluntness of his question and look away again.

“No,” you admit, your ears burning. “He... doesn't like being naked...”

Sebastian laughs loudly at that, before clearing his throat. “I'm sorry, I...” he says a little breathlessly, before he shakes his head. “So you just grope each other through your clothes? But you do have sex, right?”

You blush deeply once more and fidget with your fingers. “Well, yes, he would push my underwear off and... stick it in...”

You hear him stifle another noise of surprise or whatever you want to call that gurgle that escapes his throat and you start feeling a little more frustrated, but for a different reason. “And then what?” you hear him ask once he catches himself again.

“He'd...” You let out a groan. “Tell me again why it is necessary to share these things with you?” you ask and stare at him.

“Well I have to know what you already do know in order to teach you more,” he tells you with a smile. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ridicule your boyfriend, I'm sure he has other redeeming qualities...”

“He has!” you confirm with narrowed eyes. “That's why I put up with that, okay?”

He raises his eyebrows, then nods. “I see. So, please, continue, tell me what exactly he does that leaves you so frustrated.”

You sigh and inhale deeply. “Well, he... comes very quickly. He's barely in there before he... grunts, pulls out and comes all over my stomach...”

“He doesn't even finish inside?” Sebastian exclaims in surprise.

“Because he shouldn't!” you reply a little more agitated than you've expected.

“Why not? You do take those contraceptive potions, don't you?” He tilts his head, looking genuinely concerned now.

“Yes, I do, all the girls do, we are basically forced to. Nurse Blainey makes sure of that...” you whisper.

“But then why doesn't he come inside you?” he asks as if you were talking about what to eat for breakfast and he was really appalled by your choice of cereal.

You take a sharp breath and look away. “I don't know, he probably doesn't like it...”

“I bet he never even tried...” you hear him whisper. “Trust me, it's the best feeling...”

You swallow and look at him. His smile is both boyishly charming and devilishly sultry. “So you know your stuff, eh?” you whisper under your breath.

He laughs. “I do, love,” he says with a wink. “And I'm going to teach you a thing or two. If you let me,” he adds quietly.

You are intrigued, certainly. And you've already shared all those embarrassing things with him. Talking about more couldn't possibly hurt, right?

But you haven't taken into account that Sebastian Sallow was more for learning by doing than anything, so you suddenly find yourself sitting sideways on the couch, your legs lying on his lap as he gently pushes your skirt up to reveal your underwear. Biting your lip, you watch him.

“So how would you normally touch yourself?” he asks as he looks into your eyes, making it sound so easy and simple as if he wanted to know your favourite colour.

You blush and look down, moving your hand between your legs slowly. “I'd... rub right here...” you whisper and put your middle finger against the thick fabric of your bloomers, lightly teasing your heated skin.

“No skin contact?” You shake your head and he huffs quietly. “Love, you have to give your body room to breathe, let the air caress your skin, put your fingers right in there, properly feel yourself. May I?” he then asks and you look up in surprise when he gently grabs your hand.

You nod hesitantly and watch how he moves your hand against your centre, repeating the motion you just made, guided by his slender fingers pressing against yours. “Remember this feeling, okay?” He then grabs the waistband of your underwear with his free hand and without hesitation pushes your hand beneath the fabric until you feel your fingers gliding over your hot, wet skin.

You gasp and almost jerk your hand away if he wouldn't hold it. You can feel not only your fingers, but his as well, as he presses your hand firmer against your skin. “How does that feel?” he whispers and his voice alone makes you issue a tiny whimper.

Taking a shuddering breath, you feel him letting go of your hand, before he puts his fingers around the waistband of your underwear and in a swift and unexpected motion pushes it down your hips and off your rear and legs, and you barely even noticed him raising your body for that. Too shocked about his brash action to fully react to it, you instead focus on your hand resting on your exposed mound, your fingers teasing at your folds. Your first instinct is to cover yourself with your other hand, but you hear him shushing you softly.

His hand is lying on your thigh now, his touch warm and somewhat comforting. You bite your lip and look at him. With a smile he tells you: “Come on, don't be shy, touch yourself.”

Oddly enough you don't feel shy at all in his presence, a little taken aback maybe, but not shy. And so you start moving your finger over your skin, exploratively, literally testing the waters as you let it slide over your lower lips and then between them. After just a few rubs, you feel your breath accelerating.

“You might want to move your finger a little higher,” he whispers, his voice not only helping you calm down under the unusual task he's given you, but also helping you in other ways that are quite the opposite of relaxing.

You follow his advise and move your fingertip higher until you feel the little nub that causes your stomach to tense slightly when you touch it. You breathe loudly through your nose as you push your finger against it and start rubbing slow circles around it. Closing your eyes you focus on the sensation, until you feel a warm breath near your ear.

“That's it, keep doing that,” Sebastian whispers right into your ear after he has leaned closer to you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh. You open your mouth slightly and take a shuddering breath. “Feels good, right?” he continues, his voice causing goosebumps to ripple over your skin like waves. That or the steady movement of your finger. You feel your hips stuttering slightly, your thighs twitching with every push against that agitated bundle of nerves.

“Oh yes...” you moan softly and lean your head back, chewing on your lips as you work your finger against yourself. You feel a familiar tension, yet somehow it feels different, more intense, and you move harder and faster against that nub. As your body starts shaking badly, almost spasming, you feel his hand pressing on your thigh as if to calm you, or hold you in place, and in your desire to finally finish this you grab it with your free hand and close your fingers around his.

He holds onto your hand tightly and even scoots closer to you, lifting and parting your legs slightly as he does so, and then wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Almost there, love,” he whispers and you whimper under the sound of his voice, your eyes squeezed shut as you lean against him, furiously rubbing yourself. “You're doing so well,” he adds and his praise is what pushes you right over the edge.

You buck your hips and cling to his hand as you feel the coil that had been sitting in your stomach for so long, unattended and so tightly twisted it was almost painful, suddenly explode into a blindingly bright light. You gasp and cry out, your legs twitching as your toes curl up and you feel the blood rushing through your head while you hold your breath under the unknown feeling of your release.

As you slowly come down from your high, your fingers shaking against your heated skin, you feel him stroking your arm and squeezing your hand. “Well done,” he whispers and you feel his lips brushing against your hair. You are breathing heavily and when you open your eyes, you see him smiling at you. Your cheeks are flushed, your lips parted and trembling. You feel as if you've just run up several staircases.

“Was that your first orgasm?” he then asks and you just look at him, taking in his face, until the cold reality of the situation comes back to you. Blinking slowly, you squirm against him, but he holds you tightly, not letting you go.

“I... I shouldn't have --” you mutter under your breath, quickly looking away again, biting your lip.

“Oh you definitely should have, that was long overdue apparently,” he says quietly, shifting beneath you until he pulls you right onto his lap. You lean your shoulder against his chest and slowly look at him, fighting the embarrassment. “Don't be ashamed,” he whispers as he tilts his head, his dark eyes on you. “That was beautiful to witness.”

His words do the exact opposite of what he has intended, they don't reassure you, they make it worse. You look away with a hoarse groan, chewing nervously on your lips as you clamp your hands to your core and clench your thighs around them, too shaken still to think about just covering yourself with your skirt.

“Do you feel a little better at least?”

“A little,” you confess quietly.

“I'm sure there's more where that came from,” he then whispers, his lips right against your ear and you flinch and turn your head towards him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” you ask innocently, truly innocently because you just don't know any better.

He smirks at you. “You know, love, unlike men, who need a little time to gather themselves, women are capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in quick succession,” he explains almost matter-of-factly and you listen with blushed cheeks but growing interest. “Do you want to test that theory?”

You stare at him and lick your lips, still feeling the distant shudders of your last release, but you know he's right. You've been tense for so long, never able to let it all out, so why stop now? The harm is already done, you tell yourself and try not to think of the details of experiencing this whole thing with another boy while your boyfriend is probably fast asleep and happy about what you'd done earlier.

“Yes,” you tell Sebastian quietly and watch him smile wider at you. Without any warning, he then grabs your shoulders and turns you around until your back is pressed against his chest and you sit with your legs wide open astride on his lap, facing the vast space of the Undercroft.

“You can put your feet on the couch if you want, but keep those legs open, okay?” he whispers, his breath hitting your ear as he leans his head around slightly. You shift on top of him and gasp softly when he snakes his arms under yours and around your torso, grabbing the fabric of your skirt to ball it up more and push it out of the way.

“I can... take it off...” you mumble under your breath.

“If you want to,” he says and lets go of it.

You stand up then and suddenly feel your legs shaking beneath you. He quickly grabs your waist to support you and you inhale deeply to gather yourself. With shaking fingers you unclasp your skirt and push it off your hips until it drops to your feet. Stepping out of it, you then settle back on his lap and put your feet up like he told you to. You can feel the soft fabric of his trousers and slightly more as you shift your rear against him to find a comfortable position.

His hands now roam freely all the way to your legs, his thumbs teasing at your inner thighs. “I can assume you've never had a finger inside you?” he whispers against you and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Isn't it enough to have a --” Weirdly enough you can't say it, can't name it. You feel your cheeks blush even more.

“The word is cock, darling,” he tells you in that sultry voice that masks the vulgarity of his words so well. “Or dick or whatever you want to call it,” he adds with a chuckle. “Don't be afraid to name it. It won't bite. It's there for your pleasure, you know?” You squirm and make a low noise of embarrassment. He only chuckles again. “And you know, no, it's not enough to have a cock in your pussy. It is certainly the main goal, but there are so many other things you can use to pleasure yourself. Like your fingers,” he concludes and you feel your ears burning when you listen to him. He talks about these things so easily, it's almost impressive if it wouldn't be so lewd.

As you still chew on his words, he suddenly grabs your hand and guides it between your legs, his fingers on yours as he presses them against your folds that feel warm and wet under your touch. You inhale sharply and bite your lip. Feeling him rest his chin on your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against yours, you look down and watch him move your hand up and down your mound, teasing at your clit, pressing into your slit until you feel your fingertip pushing against your entrance.

“Give it a try,” he tells you quietly and just the sound of his voice makes you close your eyes and take a deep breath, before you tease your fingertip into your hole.

It feels so tight and you suddenly know why it hurts every time your overeager boyfriend presses his thing (still can't even think about it) into you without warning or preparation. You feel Sebastian moving his fingers back to close around your wrist as he guides your hand further, pushing your finger deeper. You shudder at the sensation.

“How does it feel?” he asks and you feel the vibrations of his voice more than you hear his words.

“Weird,” you reply quietly as your finger scrapes over your soft wet flesh. “So... squishy...”

He chuckles. “That makes it so desirable, love,” he whispers and you feel him turn his head and brush his lips against your jaw. “It can be soft and welcoming, but then it can clench and tighten and really squeeze...” He inhales deeply, almost longingly, when all you can do is focus on his voice and the sensation that causes inside you.

And you knew then that it wasn't your finger inside you that made your stomach tense, it was the timbre of his voice, those low vibrations, the way he pronounced certain words, those low and high notes of his speech, and that combined with his lewd words was just irresistible to you. A soft moan escapes you as you shift slightly against him, pressing your back into his chest.

“Keep talking,” you whisper as you move your finger a little faster against your flesh. “Please...”

He seems to pause at your request, then you feel a warm exhale against your cheek as he breathes a throaty laugh. “You like my voice, huh?” he concludes and all you can do is nod. “That's new. Have you always --” He pauses again. “Are you honestly jerking off to my voice right now?” he asks and you blush and bite your lip, but you don't stop moving your finger against yourself.

He laughs softly and tightens his grip on your wrist as he helps you with that motion. “Try adding another finger,” he tells you, his lips brushing against your ear and you shiver deeply. You comply and slip your index finger in with your middle finger, slightly stretching your entrance as you do so. Another moan escapes you. “Push as deep as you can,” he continues in a low whisper that resonates through your entire body. You do what he says and you don't even flinch at the wet squelching sound you create with your movements. “In and out, that's right,” he comments on what you're doing. “Go a little faster, really move those digits. The more friction the better, love.”

You feel your heart pounding inside your chest as you work your hand against your folds, your fingers slipping in and out fast and hard and you can feel your walls clenching around them, certainly reacting to your touch. Your breaths become shallow and you feel your wrist hurting from him holding it and you moving your hand so much, but you keep going.

“Now put your thumb on your clit,” he whispers, seemingly watching you follow his every word. “Pump those fingers and press against your clit and I bet it'll feel even better...” And it does and you almost flinch off his lap if he wouldn't hold you as you feel your thighs twitching when you start rubbing the sensitive nub with every rapid pump motion of your fingers.

You lean your head back against him, breathing louder and harder, your whole body shuddering under the sensation. “You're so good at this,” he tells you and you feel even better. “And I wonder why you never did this before, you're a natural.”

“You... you're... helping...” you whimper breathlessly. You hear him chuckle and then his lips press against your ear.

“Am I?” he whispers with his voice so deep and low that you can only moan more. “And I could tell you anything? And you would still find it... sexy? Hmm,” he hums and you almost lose it right there and then. “Hmm, okay, so, did you know --”

But you never heard whatever he wanted to tell you as your entire body shuddered all over again. You arch your back against him as you buck your hips off his lap and really push your feet into the cushions of the couch when you feel that awful knot tensing up painfully once more before it breaks free with such a force that you let out a cry of pleasure that echoes loudly through the Undercroft. While your hips stutter, you feel something warm and wet coating your hand as you finally still your movements and even press your thighs together before you curl up on his lap, shaking uncontrollably under your release.

He holds you in his arms as you shake and whimper, gently cooing in your ear, and you feel completely spent and very, very happy as you lean against him, smiling tiredly as your eyelids flutter open.

“That was powerful...” he whispers as he meets your eyes with a smirk. “Well done. You even squirted, I'm impressed,” he tells you and you frown at his words, before you loosen your legs and open them once more, only to see a large wet stain on his green trousers.

Despite the sensation still rushing through your body, you basically jump off his lap and hide your face in nothing but pure humiliation as you stand awkwardly in front of the couch, your release still dripping down your legs as you shift on them shakily. “No! Oh no, I'm... I'm so sorry... I didn't --”

He is with you immediately, pulling you into a tight hug and holding you against him. “Shh, it's alright! Don't worry about it! It's completely natural,” he whispers, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “And I can clean that up, no problem. Don't be ashamed! Be proud!”

You issue a strangled noise and bury your burning face in his shirt, your hands clawing at the back of it. It takes you a moment to recover and you feel even sillier over how you've reacted to your mess. “Sorry,” you mumble once more and he shushes you once more.

He even grabs your shoulders and leans you back, looking at you with a serious expression that stuns you for a moment. “Don't apologize,” he whispers and tilts his head. “I wanted you to feel good about yourself, and didn't you feel good just now?”

You swallow and nod almost a little timidly, chewing on your lip.

Sebastian smiles at you. “Then focus on that,” he says and you feel his hands moving down your arms until they hold your waist and pull you closer to him. “And I'm sure you want to feel good again, don't you?”

You take a shuddering breath, unsure if you do. But then he leads you back to the couch, sits down and pulls you onto his soiled lap. You shift a little uncomfortably as he pulls his arms around you and presses your shoulder into his chest. You look at him a little conflicted.

“Hey, cheer up!” he says with a smirk and kisses the top of your head. “And tell me... what do you think about toys?” You frown when he goes back to the topic right away as if nothing has happened. He mistakes your facial expression for confusion and adds: “You know, those phallic things that imitate the real deal? Or other toys you can stuff your pussy with?”

His lewd words make you shiver in slight discomfort and yet they also cause the heat to pool back between your legs immediately. “Haven't thought about those before,” you reply shyly, even though you hold his dark gaze.

“Want to test them out?”

“Do you have stuff like that?” you ask in earnest and surprise, before he chuckles and makes you frown again.

“I'm a wizard, love, I can conjure you anything you desire,” he says with a wink and you blush deeply.

“Perhaps... another time,” you reply eventually. “I... I think I'm good for tonight.”

He watches you closely. “Are you sure? Are you completely frustration-free?”

You consider his question, your eyes wandering over his freckled face. While he waits for your answer, you go back in time and think about your friendship with him. This was still a friendship, right? You have shared so many things, the good and the bad, the worst even, and you were always there for each other. But you have never been this intimate. You've hugged and he's kissed your head a couple of times, tonight included, and he didn't shy away from holding your hand or touching you (appropriately), but you never did the things lovers would do.

And somehow you still didn't consider what has happened tonight to be something like that. He had just helped you, assisted you in relieving the tension that's been troubling you for so long. He's never touched you (inappropriately) himself and you know he wouldn't do that without your permission. And even if the thought of pleasuring yourself right in front of him was still a little daunting to you, you haven't felt too awkward about it because he has made you feel so at ease.

Sitting comfortably on his lap, leaning against his chest, looking into his dark eyes, you suddenly wonder about something else and despite not really wanting to go down that road right now, you just can't shake the thought. So you voice it. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?” he replies, watching you patiently, a gentle smile playing around his lips.

“Why... aren't you my boyfriend?” you ask quietly and for the first time tonight you see him blush. He quickly clears his throat and laughs it off, shaking his head.

“Yes, love, why am I not your boyfriend?” he teases and nudges your shoulder playfully. “Take a guess.”

“Because I chose him or because he was faster in asking me?” you whisper.

You see him clenching his jaw, before he gives you one of his carefree smirks – that you know he uses to hide his deeper thoughts behind. “Both? Honestly, I am happy when you are happy and if you're happy with him --” He pauses then, watching you closely with the smirk slowly fading. “Are you happy with him? If I learned one thing about your beloved boyfriend tonight, it's that he seems to neglect you pretty horribly.”

You inhale sharply. “No, he doesn't! He's really sweet, he just doesn't know any better...” you quickly fall back into defending him.

“And apparently he's unwilling to learn either. Or do you guys just not talk about these things?” he says quietly, his tone a tad too serious for your liking. When you avert your gaze and bite your lip, he exhales loudly. “Of course you don't talk about it! Darling, you have to talk to him if you want to have a better experience! The times are changing, you don't have to take them like they come, you can fight against them, make them better!”

“It's really not that important...” you start quietly, even though you want to agree with him. But some things are always easier said than done.

“Really? It was important enough for you to get so frustrated that you ended up crying in the hallway! I bet he wouldn't like to see you crying either. Talk to him!” he insists, his arms tightening slightly around you. “Or shall I talk to him?”

“No!” you exclaim immediately, staring at him with wide eyes. “Please don't! I --” When you see his smirk, you groan and hit his chest playfully. “Don't even joke about it, okay? He can never find out what... happened here tonight...”

“You know your secrets are safe with me, stop worrying so much!” he says gently and raises a hand to push a strand of your hair out of your forehead. “What we have is special, isn't it? I wouldn't want to jeopardise that.”

“Me neither,” you agree, your eyes boring into his. “Sebastian, I... I want to thank you...” you then start, shifting nervously on his lap.

“No need, love, it's quite alright. I'm always here for you,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“I mean it, let me thank you,” you whisper urgently and he raises an eyebrow.

“What were you thinking of?” he asks then, sounding quite interested in how you want to thank him.

You lick your lips and lean closer until your lips are brushing against his ear for a change. “I...” You blush deeply and inhale sharply, before you lean back and look at him once more. “Listen, don't take this the wrong way. I mean, we've already crossed some lines today, right? So...” Taking another deep breath, you return to whisper into his ear: “I want you to come inside me.”

He grabs your shoulders and stares at you, his lips parted and his eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

You fight the heat overtaking your face and hold your breath when you look at him. “You heard me,” you say and chew on your lips.

“I'm not so sure, to be honest...” he replies quietly, frowning deeply. “Sounded to me as if you --”

“Listen!” You inhale deeply, before you pummel him with your words. “You said it's the best feeling, right? And quite frankly, I want to experience that too for once. So this might also be a selfish request, but also a way of saying thank you for your help tonight...” Staring at him breathlessly, you blink slowly. “What do you say?”

He raises his eyebrows and watches you for a moment, unusually quiet. “Are you sure about this? That would be a major line to cross...” he whispers eventually.

“See it as a service between friends,” you explain with a shy smile.

You see him working his jaw as he looks away slowly, his eyes moving over your exposed legs. His hand moves down to your lower back, teasing under the hem of your shirt, before he lowers it to gently caress the curves of your bare rear. “And we'll still be friends afterwards? Promise?”

You tilt your head. “Of course! Why wouldn't we?”

“What if... that changes things?” he asks quietly, still not looking at you.

“Look at me,” you tell him and reluctantly, he does. “No, really, look at me! I just came all over your blasted trousers! That should have changed things, but it didn't! Not for me. We've been through so much, Sebastian. I think our friendship, or whatever you want to call this, can handle anything!”

He watches you closely, your words slowly bringing the smirk back onto his lips. But you're not done yet.

“And you know? It's only fair that I see you come undone as well, don't you think?” you whisper and smile at him, and despite your confident words and eager attempts to convince him to do that with you, you feel your cheeks burning and your stomach tensing up in anticipation. You might also be dripping onto his trousers some more, but you really don't care any more.

“I suppose,” he replies quietly and you see the tip of his tongue moving over his bottom lip. He smirks wider when he notices where your eyes have wandered. “And you wouldn't consider that cheating? You'd be sleeping with another guy...”

“There will be absolutely no sleeping, okay? Don't you dare fall asleep on me as well! I wouldn't be able to handle it,” you tell him with a hearty laugh.

He chuckles, but you can see a dark shadow crossing his eyes. “No falling asleep, I promise.”

Your eyes move over his face. “You want to do this with me, right? I wouldn't want to... force you or anything.”

His laugh is genuine this time. “You find me a teenage guy who wouldn't want to be forced to have sex!” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, ugh, you know what I mean!” You see him rolling his eyes as he blushes deeply and you chuckle softly while you raise a hand to rub at his red cheek.

“I want you to feel good too,” you whisper.

“I appreciate that,” he replies, before he tilts his head. “You know, we never even properly kissed and now you expect me to put my cock inside your pussy? That's quite the step we'd be making...”

You almost choke on your own spit when you hear his blunt words before you try to laugh off your shock. “Well... we can also do the steps in between, if it makes you feel better...”

“Well, if I have to,” he mocks your tone and smirks at you, while he extends a hand to cup your face, his long fingers moving into your hair as his thumb caresses your cheek. “Do you want me to kiss you?” he then asks quietly, leaning a little closer.

You look at him, inhaling deeply. “Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

For a moment you just look at each other, each of you weighing the consequences of what is about to happen. But all that flies out the window, or at least your head, when he leans in and presses his lips to yours, gently, softly, testing the waters, and when you kiss him back, he tightens the grip on your face and pulls you towards him, his lips closing around yours eagerly.

You've often imagined kissing Sebastian, or at least for a long while, and you've seen him kissing other girls, but feeling his warm mouth on yours now, with his lips moving confidently against your own and his tongue cheekily slipping into your mouth feels like nothing you could have ever imagined. You are so absorbed in the sensation that you barely notice shifting on his lap until you straddle him, your chest pressed to his as you lean against him, your arms wrapped around his neck as you deepen the kiss almost hungrily.

His hands move down to your hips and even further, and when he starts kneading the soft flesh of your rear, you moan softly into his mouth. He leans back then, watching you out of dark eyes, and you draw a much needed breath. “You really want this?” he whispers equally breathless. You nod and already lean in once more, your lips brushing over his, but he leans back again. “You really want --” You see him clenching his jaw. “You really want me to come inside you?” he says barely audible and you smile at his sudden shyness, or whatever you want to call this kind of hesitation you've certainly never seen from him before.

“Yes,” you breathe against him, your hands finding his face as you hold it firmly. “I want it all. I want you!”

His gaze becomes harder for a moment. “What if I want you too?” he then asks darkly.

You tilt your head and frown, licking your swollen lips. “What do you mean? You have me, right here.”

“What if I... wanted more?” His voice is low, but in a way that causes cold shivers instead of pleasant ones to rush down your spine.

“What are you saying?”

He inhales deeply and then shakes his head, giving you one of his smirks. “Never mind. Forget I said anything,” he then brushes it off and leans in once more to kiss you quickly.

Your turn to lean away. “Sebastian...”

He sighs loudly. “Sorry, I shouldn't have --” You see him closing his eyes for a moment and working his jaw. “This is a service between friends. We are friends, nothing more. You have a boyfriend and I'm just here to help you out when he is too incompetent to treat you right!” He exhales then, leaning his head back against the couch, and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I mean... I just...” He issues a groan and stays silent.

You grab his face and look at him. He avoids your gaze. “Do you want me to break up with him?” you then ask as straight forward as possible.

His eyes find yours. “I would never ask that of you,” he tells you and even though he sounds sincere, you know better.

“That's not my question,” you whisper.

“Why do you press this so much? Let's just fuck and get it over with!” he grimaces darkly and sits up straighter again, grabbing your waist. “Or not, if you don't want any more because I ruined the mood or something...”

You sigh and roll your shoulders, your thumbs grazing over his cheeks. “Tell me to break up with him,” you say quietly and watch his eyes go wider.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You don't mean it,” he says quietly, eyeing you closely.

“What if I do? We could do this all the time, without having to hide anything...” you whisper, licking your lips.

“I thought you love him...”

“I love talking to him, spending time with him. The sex, if you want to call it that, was just a... necessity...” you tell him and scoff.

He watches you with dark eyes, his face hard. “What if he doesn't want to talk to you any more... afterwards?”

“His loss,” you say surprisingly indifferently. “I enjoy his presence, but I enjoy yours more,” you tell him with a warm smile.

You see him opening his mouth, ready to say something, make it better or worse, but instead he pushes his lips against yours as he grabs the back of your head and pulls you towards him. You gasp, but quickly lean into the kiss that is much more passionate than before. His words still echo inside your head despite the static trying to push them away and you wonder what if...

He never actually said it, you realize, if he wanted you to break up with your boyfriend, and even though you've seen the signs, you can't be sure. And quite frankly, you are a little apprehensive about making rash decisions while you're still battling your frustrations and basking in the sensations another boy has invoked in you and it wouldn't be fair to -- When you feel Sebastian's tongue pressing against yours demandingly, you focus back on the kiss and for a moment you truly forget about everything.

Your fingers dig into his hair, another thing you've always wanted to do, and you even start grinding your pelvis against him as you kiss him breathlessly. He groans quietly against you, the sound so low and deep it immediately causes a reaction deep within your gut. You grip his hair and wrestle his tongue hungrily, your heart pounding inside your chest. His hands are on your hips, just holding you, but his grip is tight and almost possessive, definitely bruising your skin.

With the last of your willpower (or the urge to breathe) you lean back then and watch him out of half-lidded eyes. “Do you... still want to stick your cock into me?” you ask, blushing from your own whispered words, but also no longer caring about etiquette. He's certainly had a bad influence on you.

Yet he seems just as surprised as you are and issues a short laugh. “Yes,” he eventually says back, breathlessly and with his eyes sparkling mischievously. You smile at him and scoot back on his lap a little as he pushes a hand between your bodies and fumbles with the buttons of his trousers. Watching him eagerly as he finally frees his arousal, you can't help but stare at it for a moment. “You can touch it if you want,” you hear him whisper with a chuckle.

When you look up into his face, you lick your lips and smirk. “I have a better idea,” you whisper back and shift on his lap once more, grabbing his shoulders to pull yourself as close to him as possible before you start moving your pelvis against him, feeling your wet folds sliding over his length as you grind against him slowly.

He immediately gives you the desired reaction and moans deeply, watching you with his eyebrows raised and his lips parted. “Good... idea...” he mutters breathlessly and grabs your waist to assist you in your movements. Together you move in a slow rhythm and you quickly feel your legs shaking and your core burning in pleasure.

Throwing your head back, you gasp and moan softly, before you close your eyes and lean into the sensation. You feel him gripping you tighter, his noises vibrating through you deliciously, before he suddenly grabs the back of your head and pulls your head towards him. Your mouths collide with a smack and after a desperate kiss, he rests his forehead against yours and breathes heavily against your lips. “You wanted me... to come inside you, right?” he whispers deeply.

You open your eyes and look at him, your vision blurry. “Yes...”

“Then please, take me inside already,” he says with a low chuckle. You watch him closely and realize that you are on top and he even confirms your suspicions. “This is your night, love, move at your own pace. Use me as your plaything,” he adds with a smirk.

You lick your lips and try to ignore his word choice for now. Inhaling deeply, you sit back on your knees and look down at his eagerly waiting cock. It's glistening from your slick and those veins bulge quite aesthetically and when you close your hand carefully around his shaft, you give them a light squeeze that causes another moan to fall from his lips.

With another reassuring look into his dark eyes, you lift yourself up and position his precum coated tip against your entrance. Watching you with heavy breaths, he gently massages your waist. Suddenly you feel a little nervous, not about doing it with him or because you think he might not fit, but because you've never been on top, you've never been in charge like this. He seems to sense your worries and reaches one of his hands up and grabs your face, gently caressing your cheek.

“You can do this,” he whispers and it's the sound of his voice that makes you start moving. “Yes, just lower yourself... slowly...” he comments and you bite your lip as you listen to him, your body doing the rest for you. He groans deeply when you feel his tip slipping past your entrance. “You're so tight...” he mutters, inhaling sharply.

You let out a moan and hold onto his shoulders with both hands after you let go of his cock as it slowly disappears inside you. You feel him moving further and further, deeper and deeper, filling you more and more, and the feeling is so new and foreign to you that you feel a deep shudder rushing through your entire body. A little whimper escapes you when you finally bury all of him inside you, and you are both impressed and terrified at the thought.

Breathing heavier, you settle on top of him, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as you try to adjust to his invasion and the sheer length and girth of him. You find him watching you equally breathlessly, his lips trembling slightly and his cheeks redder than you've ever seen them before. You lean in then and try to kiss him, but the motion causes you to move against him and you let out a wince when you feel him pushing so deep he's certainly poking something he probably shouldn't.

He doesn't seem to mind and finishes what you started as he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer, kissing you deeply as you let out another gasp. “Does it hurt?” he whispers into your mouth, but you shake your head.

“No, it's just... so new...” you confess and he grimaces darkly before he kisses you again. “But it feels so good...” you add and kiss the corner of his mouth as he gives you another smirk. “Having you all the way in there...” You inhale deeply and bite your lip. “Feels perfect...”

He moves his fingers into your hair and chuckles. “You just wait till we move together,” he whispers and pulls your mouth closer once more. You kiss him hungrily and wait for him to do what he just said, but he doesn't. When you lean back to look at him, he smiles. “I'm your plaything, use me however you like,” he says again, his voice low and sultry.

You chew on your tingling lips, before you grab his shoulders tighter and start leaning up on your knees, slowly raising your rear, feeling your walls clench around his length as if they don't want to part from it. He leans deeper into the couch and watches you, his hands letting go of you to rest on the back of the lumpy furniture piece. He truly lets you do all the work.

And you give your best as you keep moving up, before you move back down with a smack, coaxing a cry and a gasp out of your own throat and a deep moan out of him when he plunges back into you all the way. “Careful,” you hear him whisper with a smirk. “Ease into it,” he tells you and you nod, repeating the motion but a little more deliberate as you move back down on him.

Slowly you find your rhythm and he even starts assisting you as he puts his hands on your waist after all and guides you up and down. Your breaths are shallow and you feel your legs shaking under the exertion, but you keep going, your eyes on his face the entire time. His gaze is just as dark as yours. “Tell me... how it feels,” you whisper in between issuing moan after moan.

He exhales loudly through his nose as he smiles darkly at you. “Amazing,” he groans quietly. “You're so warm and tight... and how deep you can take me feels incredible...” His voice helps you in moving slightly faster now as you feel your insides tightening around him greedily. “Oh yes, you move those hips, love,” he breathes. “Just like that... you really are a natural...”

You bite your lip and move your hand to grab the back of his neck as you place your other hand on his chest, riding him faster and harder with every rapid heartbeat. The slapping of skin against skin and the squeaking of the old couch echo in your ears and fuel your desire to do anything to get that extra bit of friction, that extra scratch you need so badly as you grind your hips, feeling him stretching your walls and moving against those sweet spots. You moan louder and for once you don't care who can hear you.

All you care about is your pleasure and it feels so good and refreshing to have someone allow you to chase it. Even though he seems to really struggle beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin almost painfully as he grunts and groans while you moan and whimper. “Are... are you... close?” you ask, your voice strained and shaking from your continuous motions as you move your entire body against him.

He lets out a deeper grunt and you see him squeeze his eyes shut. “You... first...” is all he utters. You lean closer then, your arms wrapping around his neck as you press your chest against his. Your lips brush over his as you start moving your rear up and down as fast as you can, really leaning into it, and you hear him groan louder and faster as he too wraps his arms around you and holds you close.

You almost lose it right there and then when he starts pushing his hips upwards against you, mirroring your movements and doubling the sensation. Moaning right into his ear as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, you feel your walls clenching more and more despite the rapid movement of his cock sliding in and out of you as he fucks you open relentlessly. Your whimpers grow louder and you cling onto him as if your life depended on it.

“Please,” you hear him whisper hoarsely. “Come for me...”

You move faster, the heat almost unbearable now, and as you hold onto him and he holds onto you, you feel your muscles contracting, your insides convulsing, that sweet tension building and building, and when it finally burst into an explosion of tiny little lights, you cry out loudly, arching your back and sinking your fingernails into his shirt, gasping for air, before you collapse against him, breathlessly and spent, your limbs twitching and your heart ready to jump out of your chest.

Yet he keeps moving his hips against you even faster, the sound of your bodies connecting an obscenely wet one, the couch creaks beneath you, and his groans become louder and louder, until he shudders against you, his arms tightening around you to the point where you can barely breathe, and when he pushes your body hard onto his lap, burying his entire length as deeply as possible, he grunts and stills his movements, and you feel him twitching inside you, before something warm and wet fills you up as he mindlessly pumps his load into you.

You whimper softly as you lean against him, completely exhausted and yet so satisfied like you have never felt before. For a moment, none of you move, it's only the last tremors of your orgasms causing your limbs to twitch occasionally, before you hear him breathing heavily into your neck as he pushes his lips against your damp skin and kisses it lazily. “You're amazing...” he hums and you shudder deeply at the sound and sensation. “That was... amazing...”

You move your shaking fingers into his hair and gently caress his scalp, your breaths still shallow but not as frantic any more. “You... too...” you whisper quietly. “Thank you...”

He chuckles softly at that, his voice hoarse and strained as he speaks. “No, thank you. It really is the best feeling, you know?” He shifts beneath you and you gasp softly as he pushes his hips upwards once more. “Can you feel it? How warm and cosy it feels?” You nod your head, hoping he'll notice it. “I almost want to stay like that forever,” he continues quietly, his breath ghosting your ear, causing goosebumps to ripple over your heated skin. “You're the perfect fit...”

You breathe against him, fighting the thoughts pushing through your cloudy mind. Before you can help it, you feel a tear dropping from your lashes and a sob falling from your lips.

“Are you alright?” he asks immediately, loosening his grip on your body, but you keep clinging onto him, not wanting to face him right now. “Does it hurt? Shall I pull out?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I'm okay, don't move...” You feel him rubbing your back soothingly, his touch warm and comforting, and yet it causes more tears to roll down your cheeks. “I wish we --”

Suddenly he presses his lips against your ear, his breath hot on your skin and his voice vibrating through your head so intensely, it stops any ongoing thoughts instantly. “Please break up with him,” he whispers.

It's these words and his low voice and the need behind it that makes you lean back eventually. Ignoring the slight jab of pain as you shift on top of him, you look at him and his face is as flushed as yours feels. His eyes are dark, yet pleading, his lips parted and trembling. You reach out a hand to caress his cheek and push a wild strand of his messy hair out of his forehead, before you lean in and gently press your lips to his.

You'd be a fool if you'd ignore his request now. It wasn't just the amazing sex and all those moments before, it was the promise behind his words to treat you like this for as long as you'd let him. And how could you ever say no to those puppy-dog eyes? You chuckle at the thought and lean back, meeting his puzzled gaze. “I will,” you then tell him, as simple as that, and his reaction couldn't warm your heart more.

The smile spreads over his entire face, making those dimples pop and his eyes sparkle, and then he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulls you against him once more and kisses the side of your face with a happy chuckle. You laugh against him, relishing the warmth that courses through your entire body. And you know from that moment forwards that you need him to come inside you every blasted time.

Because it truly is the best feeling.

End notes: Breeding kink activated! He's converted another one!

And speaking of kink: that voice kink, right? Confession time: I cannot stop listening to Sebastian saying "forgotten", the way he pronounces that word is just *chef's kiss* to me! (I have it bookmarked, see link above... And even though it's the scene where he's angry with us, I cannot help but melt away at the sound of it XD)

On another note: With Kinktober over, what are we calling November? Because uh, no, I will not participate in No-Nut-November, excuse me? Our boy can't handle that! So Smutvember? Lovember?

While I wrote this I was imagining who that useless but sweet boyfriend would be - and while I have some ideas, I'd like to hear yours! Who do you think would be a great guy to talk to, but would be utterly useless in bed?

MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER - AO3