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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

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servicpop · 2 months ago

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nude beach adrien ( deliquent oc ) x ftm reader

ⓘ⠀reader has top surgery , use of cunt & pussy , fingering , public ( on beach )

Tans, seashells, crisp soda and icecream, perfect for a hot sunny day.

It was an idea pitched by one of your friends to hold a class beach day, and as the student president, you agreed and began to plan. The message you sent into the class group chat was bombarded with positive replies the moment you mentioned the word 'beach.' It seemed like alot of your classmates either wanted to escape studying or needed a break to cool off.

A familiar icon popped up underneath your message, Adrien's, but he didn't reply so you just guessed he would skip this event out too.

Stuffed in a car with all your friends, you allocated each friend to bring different things like drinks, food, beach balls and towels. You were in charge of packing the beach umbrellas and foldable chairs.

It was about a 3 hour trip to a beach nearby; one that wouldn't be bombarded with little children and an abundance of people.

When you got there with your friends — a little earlier than the set time — you took the initiative to start helping out with things and putting down your chairs and umbrellas. As you're hauling out the items from the trunk, you could faintly hear the raspy sound of someone calling out.

“Adrien, give me a hand here!” Your head instinctively turns to meet eyes with that stupid deliquent who seems to always show up wherever you are.

He was unusually early, perhaps earlier than you.

Adrien shoots you a toothy smirk before turning back to his buddy, helping the guy lift a cooler filled with sodas and probably beer as well. You shrug him off with a small scoff, rolling your eyes before going back to set up your things

You've successfully put up an umbrella and a deck chair away from the water, letting your body relax on the chair.

You weren't even planning on swimming today but you brought a shirt and some swim shorts just in case you wanted to just dip your feet into the icy water and feel the waves crash against your knees.

Staring out to the shore you watch as your friends run into the water, splashing and kicking sand up st eachother. You would join but, swimming wasn't something you particularly liked, especially the feeling of your wet swimsuit sticking to your skin.

“What are you doing all alone, prez?” His voice comes out smooth and almost tantalizing as a hand slides over your shoulder. You flinch harshly, whipping your head around to see Adrien in his full glory, shirt off, slightly damp hair and crystal clear water droplets gliding down the curves of his muscles.

Before you could say anything, Adrien pulls up another chair and slides it right beside you. The wooden bits of the deck chair clink together and he lowers himself on it with a small sigh of relief.

“The boys are playing like gladiators out there, felt like I was gonna die,” He laughs and you see his chest stutter as he does. He lets his head rest on his hand, elbow jutted out as he turns to face you.

“But really, why aren't you swimming? I'd love to see you shirtless and wet.” You roll your eyes and scoff, shaking your head as you stretch out your legs.

“I just don't feel like it,” You hum nonchalantly which earns a breathless laugh from Adrien. He places a hand on your stomach, inching closer to you. His fingers lightly drum on your stomach, earning that slight hollow sound.

He flicks your shirt up and burrows his hand underneath it, making a slow ascend to your chest, tracing over the raised lines underneath it.

“They're healed enough,” he points out, “Just let me see them.”

Your eyes quickly dart around, making sure that no one is watching. The beach stretches out quite far so the majority of the people were situated towards the middle with you and Adrien being in a more empty area.

You don't fight it, you just look away as he pulls up the shirt to your chin. The cool ocean breeze hits your bare chest, pulling out a view shivers from you. Adrien has seen your scars, multiple times but its always a surprise to see how his eyes soften and how he caresses them so delicately.

“Y'know people won't care if you just swim shirtless, you're a dude it doesn't matter,” He's leaning his head over to kiss your scars in which you push his face away. He laughs and moves his hands back down to rest on your lower stomach.

“You should get out of here before anyone sees you talking with me,” You manage to breathe out, moving your hand to his, attempting to pry them off your exposed skin. Being in such an open area with all your classmates undoubtedly gets you anxious, especially considering how long you've kept your relationship with Adrien a secret.

“Why? People can't handle me spending time with my boyfriend?” It just rolls off his tongue the way he claims you're his — even when you're not.

You're about to retaliate, about to shout whatever insult that comes to mind but you feel his hand move down to cup your crotch. Your body jerks at the touch and you shoot him a glare but he returns it with a sly smile.

“You're not my boyfriend,” you manage to force the words out your throat.

“Yeah but can any guy make you feel like this?” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts, pushing pressure onto your cunt. You can't help the curses that flow from your lips and the fact that you're arching your back into his hands.

“They don't know how to treat you right, only I can,” You can hear the jealousy drip off his tone like honey on a stick: thick and sickly sweet.

His fingers are brought back up and now he's pulling at your waistband, dipping his fingers underneath your shorts. His hand just glides over the smooth expanse of your pelvis, dipping down to your sweet, slick sex. Adrien starts by parting your folds with his index and his ring finger, skimming his middle over your fluttering hole.

You're so wet he can hear every movement his finger makes on you.

His thumb finds your clit, pushing the tip of it against that bundle of nerves. He's massaging circles on it, punching out a loud whine from your throat.

“Shit cutie, you're sensitive there?” He laughs, moving his hand lower so he could press his palm against it. Your little mewls and the way you grip onto the side of the chair so tightly makes Adrien want to rip your clothes off and fuck the daylights out of you, but he can't, he'll get caught almost instantly.

His fingers finally meet your hole, pushing in one finger slowly. You gasp, hips rolling up to grind your clit against his palm as he stuffs his finger into you. Adrien laughs again like he's having fun drawing all these reactions out of you.

Your warm, gummy walls hug his finger so snugly he has to slip in another one just to loosen you up a bit. He groans, driving his middle and ring finger into you. Everytime he pulls them back and slams them in your legs tremble and that obscene wet noise rings through his head like the aftermath of a drug.

“You like that prez? Such a good boy f'me aren't you?” Adrien bites his own, chapped lips, repeatedly ramming his fingers into you, watching as you laid your head back and let the moans spill out from your parted lips. The moment he starts curling his fingers up your body tenses and you absent-mindedly grab onto his forearm.

You're seeing stars with the way he's hitting your G-spot every single time he drives his fingers deeper into you.

“Fuck— ah– Adrien,” You cry out, moving your hand down to push down on his, encouraging him to put more pressure on your pussy. He gladly obliges, moving his fingers faster and pushing his palm against your clit with more force than before.

The familiar feeling of a knot wells up in the pit of your stomach and you know you're about to cum.

“C'mon, that's it.” Adrien can tell you're close from the quivering of your knees and the way sweat trickles down your forehead. He kisses the salt away before groaning as he feels his fingers get soaked from your orgasm.

He pumps his fingers slowly, letting you ride out your high before stopping completely.

“Shit, let me eat you out next tim—”

“Stop talking.”

doctors note ; hope i did alright for my first time writing for ftm reader T T

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #oc x male reader #x bottom male reader #mlm nsft #mlm ns/fw #ftm reader #x ftm reader #trans reader #transmasc reader #afab reader

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 1 month ago

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Makeover

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You sat cross-legged on Max's couch, rolling your eyes as he argued over the fit of his latest pair of skinny jeans. The conversation had veered from his undying loyalty to his closet staples to your mounting frustration with his predictable wardrobe.

“Max, I’m serious,” you said, leaning forward and poking his arm for emphasis. “I love you, but if I see those jeans one more time, I’m going to burn them.”

Max’s eyes widened with mock horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “Try me.”

A dramatic sigh escaped him, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’ll do it—but only because it’ll make you happy.”

The next day, you dragged Max into every fashion store Monaco had to offer. The montage that followed was a whirlwind of laughter and exasperation. Max tried on everything from sleek tailored trousers to bomber jackets in bold colors. You snapped pictures as he struck over-the-top model poses, nearly tipping over a rack of shirts in the process. When he emerged from the dressing room in a sharp suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help but stare.

“Well?” he asked, giving a half-smile as he adjusted the collar. The deep blue of the jacket brought out his eyes in a way his Red Bull gear never had.

You grinned. “Perfect. You’re officially a fashion icon now.”

Max rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed a little. “I’m still not giving up my T-shirts,” he warned.

“We’ll see about that,” you teased.

Race day arrived, and the paddock buzzed with anticipation. Max stepped out of the car looking nothing like his usual self. Gone were the skinny jeans and snug team shirts. In their place was a confident figure in perfectly tailored clothing, drawing glances from fans and drivers alike.

“Wow, Verstappen, look at you!” Charles said, clapping him on the back.

“You’re making the rest of us look like slobs,” Lando added with a laugh.

Max smiled politely, but you noticed the way his shoulders tensed, the glint of unease in his eyes. He played along, accepting compliments with a nod and an awkward smile. Something gnawed at you as you watched him move through the crowd with a different air—confident, yes, but not quite... him.

As the day wore on, the realization hit you: this wasn’t your Maxie, the one who rolled out of bed with messy hair and a scowl until his first cup of coffee. The guy standing there was polished, put-together, and fit in seamlessly with the elite crowd, but he was missing something—the spark of authenticity that made him Max.

That evening, you found him sitting on the edge of the track, legs dangling and gaze lost in the distance.

“Hey,” you called softly, sitting beside him.

He glanced at you, the corners of his mouth lifting, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did I do okay today?”

“You were great,” you admitted. “But… I miss your skinny jeans.”

Max let out a chuckle, the sound filling the quiet space. “You?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder. “They’re you. And I miss my Maxie.”

He turned to look at you, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face. “You know, I only wore all this to make you happy.”

Your heart tightened, and you reached up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Max, you should never change who you are for anyone—not even me.”

“Thank God,” he said with a playful sigh of relief. “Because I was already planning on going back to my old clothes tomorrow.”

You laughed, the tension melting away, and before you knew it, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It was soft, familiar, and full of all the things unsaid.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “Guess we’re stuck with the skinny jeans, huh?”

You smiled, eyes shining. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And in that moment, everything felt right again.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen

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creamflix · 2 months ago

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UNSCRIPTED — toji fushiguro x female reader [chapter 3/5]

summary: you’re a faceless author of scandalous smut — great at writing steamy scenes but totally clueless about real-life romance (and with no one to match your freak). enter toji fushiguro, a hot stranger you (accidentally) throw up on during a drunken night out. surprise! he’s also the future voice actor for your smutty novel’s main character. can you survive the awkwardness of your disastrous meet-cute while keeping your identity (and dignity) a secret? welcome to the chaos of your own erotic fantasy romcom!

content warning & tags: (erotic) voice artist! toji, (smut) writer! reader, smutty content!! [in this chapter: oral (f. & m. recieving), whole lot of teasing, dirty talk ohohoho, praise too, very crack/fluffy/soft, first time], sort of workplace romance, secret/anon identity, slight social media au, meet-cute, virgin!reader, single dad dilf! toji, kid! megumi, strangers to lovers (?), she fell first but he fell harder, mentions of other characters (satoru gojo, suguru geto, megumi fushiguro, shoko eiri, brief mentions of ryomen sukuna)

notes: we're on the last couple of chapters aaaa!!!!! this has been such a ball to write, thank you all to everyone who has been patient with me and my work <3 if you're wondering why my ao3 "has more chapters," that's because i split the story's chapters on the basis of setting, if that makes sense? but the content posted here & there stays the same! hope this makes sense, or you can just hop on my ao3 and read it there if you're confused.

read on ao3! ● series masterlist

➤ related au: persephone [business tycoon! sukuna x reader]

you watched suguru disappear through airport security, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

he’ll be okay, right?

you kept telling yourself he would be, that he was suguru, and if anyone could handle this gracefully, it was him. his quiet resolve when accepting the wedding invite was proof enough… but there was still that little worry.

then, of course, there was your own life to consider.

you had a lot on your plate, and maybe that was why you didn’t have as much time to let your mind dwell on suguru’s situation. because just as suguru was closing one chapter, a whole new world of chaos was opening up for you.

the explosion of “mating with the dragon king” on social media had brought nothing short of madness for the team at gojo-sonic. toji’s voice acting was all over the place, going viral within days, with fans clamoring for more and turning audio snippets into memes, thirst tweets, fan edits — the whole nine yards.

toji had gone from your secret boyfriend/situationship/“is this a real thing?” guy to a sought-after voice icon practically overnight.

and that, in turn, meant everyone at gojo-sonic was running overtime. gojo and shoko were handling the bulk of the social media cross-posting, with gojo obsessively upgrading gear and insisting on “maximum quality,” dragging shoko into his whirlwind plans. there were sound tests, new mic placements, adjustments to soundproofing in the studio, and — thanks to a trend gojo had seen online — experiments with “immersive audio.”

then there was the fan engagement: gojo insisted on answering every single question in the comment section, which kept shoko up at night to keep up with the influx. she even started experimenting with a few out-of-the-box ideas herself, like limited-time merch drops (her idea, of course) that ranged from mugs and t-shirts to an official “mating with the dragon king” plush.

but your role was far from a background one.

no, you had a looming deadline for the sequel of “mating with the dragon king” — one that fans were now waiting on with an impatience that bordered on feverish. because once the sequel was out?

toji would inevitably be back in the booth, bringing it to life with that deep, rumbly voice that had captured everyone’s attention.

oh, god, you thought, a sudden wave of panic hitting you. you had imagined the sequel, sure.

but had you imagined it being this big? and this soon?

you could already picture toji smirking as he teased you with lines from the new book. the idea of him bringing your words to life again was thrilling — and terrifying, all at once.

what if i can’t finish it in time? what if it’s not good enough? what if fans hate the new direction?

and still, you had to admit… something about the insanity of it all was exhilarating.

it was one of those late, cozy nights where the three of you — megumi, toji, and you — were all huddled in your apartment, which was sparklingly tidy since toji’s last visit, thank you very much. no empty cans of mountain dew rolling under the table, no fast food bags piling up in the corner. you even caught him glancing around with this pout, practically bemoaning the absence of lingerie on your lampshade.

“dramatic ass,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as he stretched out on the couch, shaking his head as if you’d betrayed him by cleaning up.

“you know, i miss the… ambiance of the place,” toji teased, one eyebrow cocked as he stretched his arms over the back of your couch. “nothing quite says ‘writer’s den’ like takeout and underwear draped everywhere.”

you snorted, turning back to your laptop. “sorry i deprived you of such art. maybe i should throw my socks around the place just for you.”

“wouldn’t be the same,” he sighed, leaning back and watching you type away.

and then — surprisingly — toji started… actually giving you advice. as you typed out the next few scenes of your book, he leaned in, reading over your shoulder with a squint that softened into genuine interest.

“you know,” he started, “if you’re gonna have the dragon king confront the knight here, shouldn’t he be a little more… i dunno, cocky?”

you paused mid-keystroke, surprised.

“cocky? you think he’s not cocky enough?”

“yeah, i mean, he’s the dragon king,” he said with a little shrug. “doesn’t need to hold back. if he’s as powerful as you say, he’d probably be flaunting it more. show the knight he’s completely in control, get into his head a little.”

you considered it, nodding slowly. “huh. i hadn’t thought of that. but that’s actually… kinda perfect.”

he grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “see? this is why you need me around.”

“oh please,” you scoffed. “you think you’re an expert now because you read, like, half a chapter?”

toji chuckled, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “just callin’ it how i see it, sweetheart. think i might know a thing or two about intimidation.”

you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “okay, sure, ‘intimidation expert.’ so… what do you think should happen next?”

“well,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “what if instead of outright threatening the knight, the dragon king pretends to befriend him? y’know, make him lower his guard. he could talk about how ‘understanding’ he is, maybe even share a drink or something, but all while he’s setting up the knight to fail.”

“you’re onto something,” you said, eyebrows raised as you typed up a few notes. “i could use that to build tension between them.”

“exactly. you get it,” toji said, leaning back with a smug smile.

you couldn’t help but laugh a little, shaking your head. “who would’ve thought you would be helping me with plot development?”

“hey, i’m full of surprises,” he winked, giving you a little nudge. “besides, i like helping my girl out.”

your cheeks warmed, but just as you were about to respond, a small voice piped up from behind you.

“why can’t the dragon king be friends with the knight?”

both of you looked up to see megumi standing there, his arms crossed as he squinted at your laptop screen.

“what’s that, kid?” toji asked, leaning over to ruffle megumi’s hair, but the boy dodged it with a huff.

“i think they should be friends,” megumi repeated, tilting his head as he studied your document. “it’d be cooler if they were best friends, even though they’re supposed to be enemies.”

you looked at toji, who blinked, then shrugged as if to say, well, he’s got a point.

“friends, huh?” you mused, considering it. “but they’re, like… sworn enemies, ‘gumi. they’re on different sides.”

“so? friends can be on different sides,” he replied, completely serious. “maybe the dragon king can teach the knight things about dragons and fire, and the knight can show him sword stuff.”

toji chuckled, folding his arms. “sounds like he’s thought this through more than we have.”

you leaned back in your chair, nodding thoughtfully. “you might be onto something, megs. maybe they could start off as enemies, but end up working together at some point.”

megumi’s face lit up, clearly thrilled that you were taking his suggestion seriously.

“yeah! like, maybe the knight is only fighting the dragon king because he doesn’t understand him. and then they talk, and he realizes the dragon king isn’t so bad.”

toji let out a low laugh, raising a brow at you. “well, looks like we have ourselves a new co-writer. you hiring, sweetheart?”

you laughed, ruffling megumi’s hair. “you know what, maybe i am. you wanna help me write this book, megumi?”

megumi grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “yeah! i’ll make them the bestest friends ever.”

toji smirked, pulling megumi onto his lap as he sat back, arms around him. “guess we’ll have to make this a regular thing, then. family book nights, huh?”

your heart melted a little at the sight of them together, and you couldn’t help but smile. “sounds like a plan.”

the word family rang in your ears, echoing over and over, refusing to quiet down.

family book nights.

it sounded so casual, so… certain. as if the three of you already were a family. like the idea of you, toji, and megumi spending evenings together was just normal. something he assumed you’d keep doing.

a gentle warmth crept over you, but it mixed with a twinge of confusion, and maybe a bit of worry, too. megumi clearly saw you as someone close — close enough to leave his prized legos on your shelves alongside your makeup, which you had given a special spot as if they belonged there. and you’d gotten used to him padding around your apartment, lounging on your couch like it was his second home.

but what about you and toji?

what did it mean, the two of you making quiet breakfasts with megumi’s chatter filling the space, or all those little private moments, where he’d pull you close and kiss you in a way that made your heart race? it was something that felt like commitment, like you were both slipping into each other’s lives piece by piece.

yet… you’d never actually talked about it.

about what any of this was, what the kisses or the way he always wanted to be around you really meant.

it wasn’t like you were just casual, either. toji had been there for you through your chaotic schedule, your looming deadlines, even giving surprisingly thoughtful advice on your writing.

and you’d been there for him, too, sharing these quiet, vulnerable moments that went beyond a simple fling. but despite all of that, there’d been no explicit commitment. no labels, no official this is what we are conversation.

and maybe you hadn’t minded, up until now.

but toji’s offhanded mention of “family” — it had shifted something. your heart was suddenly tied up in knots, and you found yourself wondering if you were just reading too much into it, or if maybe, just maybe, he thought of you in the same way you were beginning to think of him.

lost in thought, you barely noticed the soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched him with megumi. your mind buzzed with a hundred questions, each one sparking new uncertainties and hopes.

is this what we are? a family?

is that what he wants, too?

“hey, you okay over there?” toji’s voice broke through, his eyes glinting with amusement as he noticed your far-off expression.

you blinked, snapping out of your thoughts, cheeks warming under his gaze. “yeah, i’m… just thinking.”

“about what?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he gave you that familiar smirk, but there was something softer in his eyes.

you opened your mouth to answer, but found yourself hesitating.

what would he say if you just blurted out everything you were feeling?

if you just asked him what this really was?

instead, you gave him a little shrug. “oh, just… book ideas. plot twists.”

with megumi finally dozing off in the middle of your bed, the soft sound of his steady breathing filling the room, you and toji tiptoed out to the living room.

time to tackle the smut section, you thought, dreading it a little. this part always managed to be equal parts thrilling and exasperating to write. and tonight?

you were completely, hopelessly blocked.

every draft seemed stale, as if you'd used the same recycled phrases one too many times.

toji noticed immediately. he always did.

leaning back on the couch, he smirked as you groaned in frustration at yet another blank page.

“y'know,” he said, voice a little too casual, “if you’re really struggling here, i could offer some… hands-on help.”

you shot him a warning look, rolling your eyes as he just grinned back. “oh, real helpful, mr. cliterature.”

toji snickered, unaffected by the jab to his ego. “i’m just sayin’. i happen to be good at this stuff,” he drawled, stretching his arms out across the back of the couch, looking entirely too smug.

“and i’ve got a lot of ideas. call it… creative inspiration.”

you gave a small laugh, even though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. was he serious?

toji caught the look on your face, his grin turning almost… inviting. “look, maybe it’s not writer’s block you’re dealing with,” he teased, leaning in just a bit closer.

“maybe you’re just… unmotivated.” his voice was low, coaxing, and damn if it didn’t make your heart beat a little faster.

“so… should i help you get in the right headspace?”

for a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he had a point.

the minute toji offered his “help,” he felt a little like a perv. a line had definitely been crossed, but what was he supposed to do? you were asking for inspiration, and he just happened to have a few… ideas of his own.

sure, he knew you were kind of jittery when it came to the physical stuff, but god, if he didn’t want to see you beneath him, to hear you whimper and moan. he was getting ahead of himself, though; this was supposed to be about writing, right?

“you sure you can handle it?” he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he leaned closer, a teasing glint in his eyes.

you shot him a nervous look, your fingers hovering above the keyboard. “well, it’s either this or staring at a blank page forever,” you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

cute, he thought.

“exactly. so let’s start simple.” he leaned in, capturing your neck between his lips, pressing soft kisses that sent a jolt down your spine. this was nice, you thought, trying to focus on the sensation instead of the racing thoughts in your head.

“m-maybe i should… um… write this down?” you managed, hands shaking slightly as you fumbled to adjust the laptop on your knees.

“no need to rush,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. “just feel it.” he nibbled softly at the curve of your neck, and you nearly dropped the laptop.

“toji!” you gasped, trying to keep your composure while your heart raced in your chest. “this is… um, kinda distracting.”

“good. that’s the point,” he replied, his lips continuing their exploration. “i’m just setting the mood, babe. think about how this feels.”

you let out a shaky breath, the heat pooling in your stomach as you tried to jot down your thoughts, but all that came out were half-formed sentences that didn’t make sense.

“this is supposed to be… research!” you squeaked, but the way he was sucking and nibbling at your neck made it hard to think straight.

“isn’t research supposed to be hands-on?” he teased, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with mischief.

this was definitely a line crossed, you realized, but god, did it feel good.

“y-you’re a terrible influence,” you breathed, half-heartedly trying to push him away, but the playful smirk on his face told you he wasn’t going anywhere.

“and you love it,” he shot back, diving back in to plant more kisses along your neck, and all you could do was gasp and try to write through the haze of pleasure.

you were trying desperately to type something coherent, but your fingers were like they had suddenly developed a mind of their own, hitting keys at random and producing a glorious mess of gibberish.

great job, you genius, you thought sarcastically. get all hot and bothered over a few neck kisses — what’s next?

your concentration shattered as you felt toji’s hands slide beneath the hem of your loose shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

oh, lovely. just what you needed.

now, instead of articulating the tension between characters, you were supposed to describe both sensations — his mouth on your neck and his hands groping your tits.

“you’re making this a little hard, you know?” you managed to squeak out, trying to keep your voice steady while your heart raced.

your fingers fumbled over the keyboard, and all you could think was how you were definitely going to get a solid “F” for focus on this assignment.

“oh, really? hard, huh?” toji’s voice was laced with playful arrogance as he continued his exploration, thumbs pressing into your chest, and you could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

so much for being a good influence, you thought dryly, almost wishing for a second that you had stuck to research papers instead.

“look at that, you’re not even writing,” he teased, pressing his palm against your chest, a bold move that made you gasp. “where’s that award-winning author i’ve heard so much about?”

you glared at him, half amused and half exasperated. “she’s currently being distracted in the middle of a very important research session.”

he laughed, the sound rich and infectious. “who needs research when you can have a firsthand experience?”

“this is supposed to be about character development!” you protested weakly, trying to make sense of the disjointed words on your screen. “how am i supposed to write about a dragon king and a princess when you’re busy turning me into a blushing mess?”

“focus on the feelings,” he replied, his hands moving with a confidence that made it hard to concentrate. “feelings are important, right?”

well, you thought, he wasn’t wrong.

your cheeks flushed hotter as he squeezed gently, the sensation conflicting with your need to maintain some semblance of writerly dignity.

“i guess i’m just…trying to find the right words,” you mumbled, practically squirming as he continued to toy with you.

“good luck with that, babe,” he said, an infuriatingly charming grin spreading across his face. “but i can assure you, all that gibberish on the screen isn’t gonna help. sometimes you just need to let go.”

let go? the idea sounded almost freeing, but the practical side of your brain was still wrestling with the fact that you had a deadline looming.

“what if i don’t get my manuscript finished?”

toji leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “then i guess we’ll just have to come up with some creative solutions, won’t we?”

you groaned internally, realizing you were in way over your head, but the way he looked at you made it hard to care about anything else.

“this is not how i envisioned my writing process,” you sighed, but even as you said it, the thrill of his touch made your resolve waver.

what a disaster, you thought, but at the same time, a part of you was absolutely here for it.

the heat radiating from your laptop on your thighs mixed with the warmth pooling in your core made you feel dizzy, and suddenly, the manuscript didn’t seem to matter at all.

screw the deadline, you thought wildly. screw the manuscript.

you needed this hunk of a man right now.

without thinking, you pulled your shirt off, feeling an immediate rush of adrenaline and regret.

oh god, what have you done?

the cool air hit your exposed body, sending chills across your skin, but it was nothing compared to the look on toji’s face. his jaw dropped comically, eyes wide as he took in the sight of you in your bra.

“well, hello there,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent. “are you trying to kill me? because it’s working.”

“i — uh — ” you stumbled over your words, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson.

you are not a main character. why the hell did you just do that? your inner monologue was spiraling, but the heat of the moment overshadowed any logic you might have had.

“what? do you expect me to be cool about this?” he asked, leaning closer, his eyes practically devouring you. “you just stripped in front of me! how am i supposed to react?”

you fumbled to cover yourself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. “i thought… maybe it would help with the writing? you know, get in the mood?” you mumbled, feeling ridiculously silly for saying it out loud.

“get into the mood?” he echoed, half-laughing, half-incredulous. “baby, you just put me in a state of absolute chaos! this isn’t about mood anymore; it’s about survival!”

survival? you thought, but then you caught the glint of mischief in his eyes, and suddenly, the weight of your insecurity felt a bit lighter.

“you could just, um, you know, not look?”

“and miss this view? no chance in hell,” he smirked, leaning back slightly, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “besides, why would i want to miss the chance to admire a beautiful lady?”

your heart raced at the compliment, battling between feeling flattered and mortified. “but you said i write gibberish!” you retorted, the words tumbling out before you could think better of it. “how am i supposed to be taken seriously as a writer when i’m sitting here in my bra?”

“oh, you’re serious, alright,” he said, unabashedly leaning closer again. “and if you keep this up, you’re going to be more than just a writer.” he paused, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “just think of all the inspiration we could gather right here.”

you swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks heat up even more. “toji, you can’t just say things like that!”

“why not?” he challenged, amusement dancing in his eyes. “if you wanted me to shut up, you shouldn’t have given me a show like that.”

you felt your insides fluttering, a strange mix of embarrassment and thrill surging through you.

what was happening?

“i didn’t mean to…” you trailed off, unable to articulate your thoughts, feeling ridiculously caught off guard.

“oh, don’t even play coy with me now,” he teased, his voice dripping with confidence. “besides, the real question is: what do you want?”

your mind raced at the implications, suddenly realizing the gravity of your actions.

what did you want?

you thought you wanted to write, but right now, with him leaning in, the idea of writing seemed worlds away. maybe you wanted this?

the thought was tantalizing and terrifying all at once.

“i —” you began, but your voice faltered as he reached out, brushing a thumb against your bare skin.

“just say it,” he urged softly, his gaze steady and inviting. “what do you really want?”

you took a shaky breath, caught in the moment, knowing you were dangerously close to stepping into a territory you had only ever written about. but you were here, in the flesh, and he was waiting for an answer.

“i want…” you started, feeling both exhilarated and terrified.

the moment you said you wanted him, toji nearly cheered.

it took everything in him not to let out an actual whoop of excitement, but he had to remember the little sleeping figure in your room. megumi was tucked away, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just a few feet away on the sofa.

and here you were, about to lose your v-card to your super hot colleague.

“so, uh, just to be sure,” toji started, trying to play it cool even as his heart raced. “you know we have to keep it down, right? can’t wake the kid.”

you nodded, biting your lip as you looked up at him, and damn, you looked so cute it nearly drove him wild. how could you be so oblivious to how breathtaking you were?

“right, good,” he said, clearing his throat, his brain whirling with the implications. “and just so we’re clear — this is what you want?” he leaned in closer, the air between you thick with anticipation.

“yes, i want this,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. god, you were so cute.

“okay, okay, but…” he paused, feeling the weight of the moment. “i need a pinky promise.” he held out his pinky, the humor of the situation almost making him chuckle.

his massive frame was caging you against the sofa, and yet, here he was, asking for a pinky promise.

“are you serious?” you laughed, a mixture of disbelief and amusement lighting up your face.

“hey, it’s important! this is a big deal, alright?” he insisted, trying to keep a straight face. “pinky promise me you want this. like, for real.”

you reached out, your smaller hand wrapping around his pinky, and he felt an undeniable rush at the gesture.

“pinky promise,” you said with a grin, your confidence shining through.

“alright, then. let’s get to it,” he replied, his voice low and steady, even though he felt like he was about to explode.

he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, teasing kiss, savoring the taste of you. he could feel the tension in your body, the way you melted against him, and it only fueled the fire in his belly.

“just remember,” he murmured against your lips, “we’ve gotta keep it quiet.”

“right, quiet,” you whispered, your breath hitching as he trailed kisses down your neck.

he couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling the thrill of the moment.

“you know, this is definitely not how i pictured your writing sessions going,” he teased, pulling back to look at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“yeah? how did you picture them?” you shot back, a playful glint in your eye.

“i don’t know,” he said, smirking, “maybe less —” he gestured to your exposed torso, “ —and more brainstorming about literature.”

“this is literature!” you protested, your cheeks flushed with heat.

“sure, sure,” he laughed, leaning in again, capturing your lips once more. “but it’s not just about writing. it’s about the experience.”

your breath hitched again, and he felt your body responding to him, the way you leaned into him, craving more.

“so, you’re saying i should take notes while you —”

“now you’re getting it,” he interrupted with a chuckle, pressing another kiss to your lips before continuing down your neck, relishing the way you squirmed beneath him.

“this is so distracting,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to keep your focus.

“distracting?” he echoed, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “that’s the idea. if you’re gonna write about it, you might as well get some real-life experience, right?”

“right, but — oh!” you gasped as he nibbled at your skin, sending sparks shooting through you.

“just relax,” he whispered, his voice low and sultry. “i’ll take care of you.”

this was going to be one hell of a writing session.

you were trying your absolute best to keep track, really, you were.

you had a job to do — a manuscript deadline that was breathing down your neck, and this was… well, technically research, right?

but as toji’s mouth pressed hot and needy kisses along your shoulder, then to your collarbone, the exact order was getting fuzzy.

was it the nip to your bra-covered chest first and then that delicious pressure against your pulse point, or the other way around?

honestly, at this point, even your notes looked like gibberish.

“mm, you’re really focused, huh?” toji’s voice was smug, with a lazy grin that could probably melt glaciers. he glanced down at your not-so-steady hand trying to type one-handed on the laptop next to you and chuckled. “this part of the book that important?”

you swallowed, nodding as you scrambled to refocus, even if every nerve in your body was firing off for entirely non-work-related reasons.

“y-yeah. research. gotta… capture the sensations. the character dynamics.”

but god, your voice wavered, betraying exactly how not on top of things you were.

“uh-huh,” he said, raising a brow as he leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with that wicked look. “and do these characters also get this close?” his hips pressed insistently against you, the not-so-subtle hardon pressing against you making it extremely difficult to focus on anything but him.

“it’s… it’s a… a very passionate story,” you managed, trying to keep up some semblance of professionalism, but the words came out more like a breathy whimper. you could practically feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed along your jaw, his hands wandering in ways that made coherent thought feel like a long-lost friend.

“just remember, babe,” he murmured, low and teasing as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, “you’re the one who asked for hands-on help. gotta commit to the scene, right?”

you bit your lip, focusing — or at least trying to. “yeah, i just… need to remember every step for… for later.”

as if you could even think straight with him leaving trails of kisses down your neck, his rough fingers skimming over the bare skin of your waist.

“oh, every step, huh?” toji’s mouth moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses over the fabric of your bra. “you’re gonna write about how the dragon king’s all riled up too?” he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“because ’m guessin’ he’d be… pretty hard to ignore, wouldn’t you say?”

you swallowed, cheeks flushing hot as your eyes flicked down to where his hardon pressed against you, demanding attention.

“y-yeah,” you managed, cheeks burning. “can’t ignore him at all.”

he chuckled, low and sultry. “that’s my girl.” one of his hands reached up, teasing along your sides, slowly moving up until it found its way to your bra strap.

“you, uh, want help describing this part too?” his tone was innocent, but the glint in his eyes was anything but.

“toji,” you squeaked, shooting him a glare despite the warmth pooling in your core, the heat from his body practically radiating into you. “i don’t think the dragon king was this forward in chapter fourteen —”

“oh, he’s forward in this chapter,” toji murmured, his lips quirking up as he let his fingers trail along the edge of your bra strap. “trust me. he’s been waiting.”

“right,” you said, your voice embarrassingly shaky as his lips found their way back to your neck, a little nip to your skin that had you gripping the sofa beneath you.

“he’s… he’s definitely waiting…” your voice trailed off as the pressure of his mouth sent a spark straight through you. you could practically hear your own characters’ voices narrating it in your head—

damn it, you were turning into your own leading lady.

“you know,” you muttered, desperately trying to find some control here, “this is technically a writing session. so maybe you should… y’know, help me keep notes on this?”

toji grinned, fingers skimming down your waist. “oh, i’m helping, alright.” his thumb brushed over the skin of your hip, pulling you just a bit closer. “but if you need the full experience babe, you gotta put that laptop down.”

“the full experience?” you repeated, breath catching as his mouth found your collarbone again, your hands tingling as you felt every inch of his warm, solid weight pressing you into the couch.

“you know i’m not a —”

“a main character girl?” he interrupted, his voice dripping with playful mockery. “yeah, right.”

his gaze softened, though, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “trust me, sweetheart. you’ve got that in you. just… let yourself have it.”

the laptop was abandoned — gently tossed to the coffee table, where it settled with a thud you barely registered. all you could focus on was the feeling of his rough hands tracing your shoulders as he finally slipped the clasp of your bra free. you could practically hear him exhale, a low, reverent sound that was part sigh, part growl, as he took in the sight of you, flushed and breathless, beneath him.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze intense, drinking in every inch of exposed skin like it was some forbidden treasure. he looked at you like he could hardly believe his luck, and for a moment, you swore you saw his focus waver.

it was… endearing, actually, how his usually cocky confidence stumbled when faced with you, bare and vulnerable and trusting.

“toji,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath, as his hands skimmed down your sides, drawing goosebumps in their wake. he chuckled, a warm, raspy sound, but you could tell he was just as rattled as you.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?” he muttered, pressing his forehead against yours for a beat. “and here i thought i was supposed to be the big, bad dragon king.”

you snorted, half-dazed, your hands moving to grip his shoulders instinctively. “well, this isn’t very dragon king behavior, is it?”

“oh, trust me, babe,” he growled, fingers trailing lower, making you shiver under his touch. “’m just… gettin’ warmed up.”

then his mouth was on you, lips closing over your nipple, and you had to actively bite down on your lip to muffle the high-pitched squeak that escaped your throat.

you’d been prepared for his hands, the calloused fingertips brushing over you, but his mouth — hot, teasing, so much more than you’d expected — was a whole new battlefield.

“t-toji!” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as his tongue flicked over your nipple, sending a spark of pleasure through your entire body. he chuckled, a low rumble, mouth curving in a smirk against your skin.

“now, now, you were supposed to be quiet,” he whispered, voice laced with that familiar teasing edge. “megumi’s right down the hall, remember?”

you glared at him, though it was probably more of a pitiful attempt given how out of breath you were.

“you — god, you’re the one making all the noise…,” you muttered, squirming as he only doubled down, his mouth leaving trails of heat across your chest, lingering in a way that made you feel absolutely undone.

he paused, lifting his head just enough to grin down at you, his eyes gleaming. “oh, you’re blaming me, huh?” he teased, raising a brow. “thought you wanted my… hands-on help.”

“yeah, but…” you trailed off, cheeks burning, as his mouth moved lower again, tracing around your tit again.

“not like this,” you whispered, and it came out more as a whimper than you’d intended.

“oh, trust me, it’s exactly like this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. his hands came up to hold you steady as his lips found their way back to your tit, tongue flicking over your nipple just enough to draw out another, higher-pitched squeal.

you could barely focus, let alone remember how to breathe, as he skillfully coaxed more sounds out of you, like some damn orchestra conductor who knew every one of your weaknesses.

“okay, that’s… not fair,” you choked out, fighting the urge to arch into him. “i thought i was supposed to be taking notes.”

“oh, you’re taking notes, alright,” he chuckled, pressing a final, teasing kiss to your chest. “bet this’ll make one hell of a chapter, don’t cha think?”

you froze for a second, realizing that while here you were, topless and feeling vulnerable under his heated gaze, he was still fully clothed.

well, almost.

toji was lounging in just his gray sweats and that black compression tee stretched over his ridiculously broad shoulders, hugging every line of muscle like a second skin. and you, like a fool, were only just now noticing how unfair this was.

"wait a second," you muttered, hands coming to rest on his chest, feeling the firm warmth of him through the fabric. "why am i the only one halfway undressed? where’s the equality here?"

toji’s lips quirked in that half-smirk of his, eyes glinting with amusement as he tilted his head.

“oh? so that’s how it is, huh?” he teased, his hands tracing light circles along your waist, his voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard. “you just wanna see the goods?”

"maybe," you mumbled, a little breathless despite yourself. your fingers slipped down to the hem of his shirt, tugging just enough to let him know you weren’t kidding.

“well, since you’re asking so nicely…” he leaned back and, in one fluid motion, pulled the compression tee over his head and tossed it somewhere behind him.

and wow.

your jaw might have actually dropped.

your eyes traced the defined lines of his torso, all hard muscle and taut skin, shadows dipping into those sharp v-lines that disappeared into his waistband. each detail seemed sculpted to perfection, his pecs broad and firm, abs visibly tense, and his shoulders…

good lord.

toji fushiguro looked like he was carved straight out of a fantasy.

you swallowed, heat pooling in your stomach, very aware of the way his gaze was fixed on you, almost predatory.

“so? what’s the verdict?” he asked, voice cocky but still a little rough as he watched your reaction with clear satisfaction. he shifted, arms tensing a bit like he was showing off — not that he really needed to, honestly.

you tried to play it cool, but your voice came out breathy, betraying you. “well, uh… equality’s restored,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

he chuckled, leaning back in closer, and his breath was warm on your neck as he murmured,

“oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to hold back on my account.” his lips brushed the shell of your ear, teasing. “go on, touch all you want.”

you swallowed, hands trailing over his chest, tracing each ridge and groove of his muscles with your fingertips. every time your fingers brushed over him, he’d inhale a bit deeper, his muscles flexing in response.

"didn’t know you were hiding this under all those sweaters and hoodies,” you murmured, lips twitching into a grin as you kept tracing along his torso.

“mm, well, if i’d known it’d get me this kind of attention…” he grinned, hands tightening on your waist as his voice dropped to a rumble. "maybe i’d have stripped down sooner."

you rolled your eyes, still taking him in. “you’re insufferable, you know that?”

“and yet, here you are, practically drooling over me,” he shot back, his grin widening.

“you wish,” you retorted, but it was weak, considering your hands were still exploring every inch of his chest like it was your personal map.

“oh, i know,” he said, and before you could sass him back, he dipped his head to press a trail of hot, slow kisses along your collarbone, his voice dropping even lower as he murmured, “now, where were we?”

the air felt thick, heavy with every shared breath, each soft whimper from you met with toji's low, gravelly groans that reverberated through his chest and straight into you. there was nothing between you now — just skin on skin, the heat from his body practically searing into yours. his hands were gripping your waist, pulling you closer, almost as if he couldn’t stand even a millimeter of distance between you.

you both let out a sharp exhale at the same time when that familiar, aching throb in your core made itself very known. you could barely focus, hips shifting slightly, seeking… more.

and then you felt it — a certain twitch against your thigh that made your cheeks flare up instantly.

“shit,” toji mumbled, pausing just for a second to meet your gaze. his pupils were blown, gaze dark, and yet he somehow looked almost surprised himself. “you feel that, huh?” his voice was rough, low, like he was barely holding himself together.

you could only nod, biting your lip, feeling that throb intensify in response.

you wanted to say something clever, something to keep the mood light, but all that escaped you was a quiet, desperate “yeah…"

he chuckled breathlessly, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “look at you,” he murmured, one hand trailing down to squeeze your hip, his thumb tracing small circles just to keep you even more on edge.

“you sure you’re ready for this?”

“toji…” you practically whimpered, squirming in his grip, his voice sending another jolt straight down to where you ached. “you’re the one who offered, remember?”

“mm,” he hummed, his voice going even lower, the words barely a murmur as his hand trailed up your thigh. “i did. and trust me… i’m gonna make damn sure you don’t regret it.”

the throb in your core turned into a full, needy ache, and from the way he was looking at you, it was clear he was just as affected, every breath deep and slow like he was savoring this moment.

it took every ounce of self-control not to just… well, throw yourself at him, but he was giving you that little smirk that said he was definitely going to take his sweet time with this.

oh god.

you didn’t even get a chance to formulate a comeback before he had your pants halfway down, those dark eyes glinting with way too much satisfaction at your wide-eyed, barely-composed look.

this man was on a mission, and your brain was rapidly short-circuiting.

“matching set, huh?” he mused, a smug grin spreading across his face as he glanced from your discarded bra back to the lacy underwear you were currently trying to keep from absolutely melting in. “dare i say you were planning this, sweetheart?”

oh, you wanted to snap back. something witty, maybe a sarcastic quip — but his hands settled at the curve of your hips, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to send a shiver up your spine, and it’s like every coherent thought just fizzled out right there.

"don't push your luck, fushiguro," you managed, voice barely a whisper, trying your best to sound confident.

"oh, i'm not pushing anything...yet." he smirked, leaning in close enough that his breath fanned over your exposed skin, and oh god, was he eyeing your underwear like he was already halfway through devouring you with just his gaze?

as if it couldn’t get worse — or better — he hooked a finger around the waistband, tugging just slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“tell me when to stop,” he murmured, teasing, waiting for a sign, a word — anything.

you gulped, feeling the air go heavy, and the words came out before you could even stop yourself. “don’t stop.”

toji could swear he heard a damn orchestra kicking off in his head the second he finally got you out of those damn panties, his eyes fixed on the sight of you bared beneath him.

honestly, he felt a little dizzy — a grown man, practically undone by this — and he was not about to mess it up. yeah, he was ready to dive in.

but god forbid he skip over anything as important as making absolutely sure you were okay with it.

his breath came out uneven as he leaned closer, warmth fanning over your core. "you... you're sure about this, right?" he asked, voice barely more than a whisper, his thumb grazing your inner thigh as his other hand tightened its hold. "you can stop me anytime, really. swear on our little pinky promise." he gave a small, reassuring squeeze, but you could hear the faintest tremor in his words.

“toji,” you murmured, breath coming out in frustrated little puffs, but he just kept talking, checking and re-checking because he wasn’t about to mess this up.

"just gotta be absolutely sure, sweetheart," he said, now with a crooked smile, eyes twinkling like this was both the most serious and hilarious thing he’d ever done. "if this is too much, just tell me." he pressed a gentle kiss to your thigh, half-expecting you to push him away or maybe even change your mind.

instead, he felt your hand on the back of his head, fingers gripping tight and — oh.

well, that was his answer then, wasn’t it?

“just — stop talking,” you mumbled, shoving him down in a way that left no room for ambiguity, and he couldn’t help the groan that escaped as he finally made contact with your cunt.

that was all he needed.

any restraint he’d been clinging to snapped, and he closed his mouth — well, not literally — because he was about to put it to much better use.

the minute toji’s mouth latched onto you, your brain might as well have been yanked out and replaced with static.

this was nothing like what you’d written — no, this was raw, needy, almost overwhelming.

in your books, eating out had been... gentler? polished, even, with words like “savor” and “caress.” things like “he licked her like she was the sweetest dessert,” and even “he lapped at her like she was honey.”

but this?

this was... messy. desperate.

each flick of his tongue sent jolts through you that words could never do justice to. “velvet-soft licks” and “feather-light touches” — pfft, no, you were beginning to realize how off the mark you'd been. where was the “velvet softness” in the rough warmth of his tongue, the almost urgent pressure he was putting on you?

you could practically see your own overly-romanticized lines flashing in your head as if taunting you: “gentle ministrations left her a quivering mess.”

yeah, you were quivering all right, but the way he worked his mouth was anything but gentle. in fact, the “gentle assault,” as people liked to call it, felt like he was trying to unravel every last nerve. every hum he let out against you sent another wave of heat straight to your core, and every swipe of his tongue was this maddening blend of rhythm and chaos, hitting spots that made you gasp and clutch at his hair with abandon.

“you really wrote all that poetic stuff?” he mumbled between licks, barely lifting his mouth from you, smirking against your skin like he knew exactly how thrown you were. “guess you’re gonna have to rewrite it all, huh?”

you wanted to retort, but words were beyond you.

instead, a strangled, nonsensical sound escaped, and he chuckled, letting his mouth return with more insistence, even nipping lightly just to see you jolt.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. ’m just givin’ you some material to work with,” he whispered, eyes flashing up to meet yours, clearly relishing in how absolutely wrecked you were under him.

not even a couple minutes in, and already, you were close to cumming — so close that all your earlier attempts at keeping it together turned into outright babbling.

“oh — god, toji, that — right there, don’t you — ah!” you whimpered, cutting yourself off with a sharp inhale as his tongue found that one spot that made your thighs start trembling around his head. “don’t... oh my god... don’t stop — please don’t —!”

your fingers clawed into his hair, trying to keep him right there, as if he even needed a reminder. and if your writhing and half-coherent pleas weren’t enough encouragement, toji could feel the telltale quivering of your legs, see the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

yeah, you were gonna cum, and he knew it.

“that good, huh?” he muttered against your folds, the vibration making you moan even louder. “wanna tell me what you’re feelin’ right now so you can remember it for that research of yours?”

“t-toji, please — just —” you stammered, your brain too fried to give him anything but desperate babbles. “need you to... oh — just keep going, don’t — don’t talk, just...”

he chuckled against you, but his mouth never slowed. in fact, he redoubled his efforts, tongue pressing firmer, alternating between those long, slow drags and quicker, flicking strokes, every one sending electric shocks through your body that you could barely process. all you could do was clutch at his hair, unable to find the words to tell him how close you were.

he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every second of this, watching you like this, your usual sharp wit and composure reduced to nonsensical pleas and gasps, and all because of him.

“come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, slipping his hands under your thighs to hold you steady, his fingers digging in just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted. “you’re so close, can feel it. don’t hold back — show me how good it feels.”

and that was all it took.

your body seized up, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the tension finally snapped, sending a wave of pleasure that left you reeling. you barely registered your own voice, the words spilling out somewhere between a plea and a demand.

it took a solid sixty seconds for reality to come crashing down on you — that the whole time, you’d been squealing like a lamb to the slaughter, blissfully unaware of the fact that megumi was literally sleeping in the next room over, across the hallway.

god, you wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. you’d just hit new decibel records, loud enough that anyone within a two-room radius would be alerted to the whole scene unfolding out here.

you covered your face, cheeks blazing as post-nut clarity came barreling in like an uninvited guest at a party.

the first realization: holy hell, you’d just had an orgasm coaxed out of you by another person.

and not just any person — nope, the man looking at you with that trademark smug look, his brow cocked as he tried to keep from laughing.

“what?” he asked, his tone as infuriatingly self-satisfied as ever, his lips glistening with the very evidence of your... uh, situation. “you look like you’re about to combust or somethin’.”

"no! i just... can’t believe... that really happened,” you stammered, swallowing the absurdity of it all, hardly able to meet his eyes.

“and with you, of all people.”

“oh, yeah? who were you thinkin’ about when you were writing that smut of yours?” he grinned, lounging back, way too pleased with himself.

you swatted his arm, finally managing a scowl. “oh, shut up! this wasn’t — i wasn’t — this was supposed to be a research exercise.”

“well, you did get a little, uh, hands-on learning,” he teased, eyes twinkling, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“toji! i was practically screaming,” you hissed, scrambling to pull a pillow over yourself, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “megumi’s in the next room! do you know what i’ll do if he heard that?”

he just chuckled, completely unfazed. “oh, he sleeps like a rock. trust me. he’s not gonna hear any of this. but if you’re worried about it, guess we’ll just have to work on our volume control next time, huh?”

next time?

you almost spluttered at the very idea, but there was something addictive in the way he said it, like this whole scenario was already just the beginning of some ongoing arrangement.

and you?

well, after that, the idea of another round didn’t sound half bad — embarrassment and all.

“oh, don’t act like you’re not into the idea,” he teased, catching that glimmer of interest despite your efforts to seem outraged.

you sat there, a confusing blend of irritation and... something else, as you noticed toji’s situation.

his hard-on was still very much an issue, evident in the way his sweatpants strained against him. at first, he tried to play it off, waving his hand like it was no big deal. “eh, don’t worry about it,” he muttered, attempting nonchalance despite the clear discomfort in his voice.

but that just felt like a challenge.

“oh, so you’re just gonna sit there like that?” you asked, a mischievous smirk curling at your lips.

toji cocked a brow, clearly sensing where this was going. “what are you gettin’ at?”

you scooted closer, feeling a surge of confidence at the sight of his expression changing, almost as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

"well, since you put so much effort in, maybe i should... return the favor?” you murmured, your fingers slipping down to graze the waistband of his pants.

the second those words left your mouth, toji practically choked, his composure unraveling just enough for you to catch a flicker of nervous excitement.

“careful what you’re gettin’ yourself into,” he rasped, voice thick, though you could see the flicker of a smirk.

but when you tugged his pants down, just enough to free him, that cockiness took a swift exit.

“you’re serious, aren’t you?” he breathed, his usual bravado slipping as you took him in hand.

“oh, don’t act like you’re not excited,” you teased, shooting him a wink as you started slow, savoring the way his head fell back, a low groan escaping his lips.

by the time you took him fully, sliding your mouth down and earning a strangled, “shit — fuck, careful, sweetheart,” you knew you were onto something.

his fingers found your hair, gripping lightly, though you could tell he was barely holding on, his muscles tense, jaw clenched.

“if you keep goin’ like that, i swear... i won’t last,” he ground out, practically panting. but that only spurred you on, determined to make him unravel completely.

and toji? with the way his hips bucked, his hand clenching and unclenching, he was clearly in blissful agony, barely holding back.

it was almost surreal, really — the flashes of every single “m oral” scene you’d ever meticulously crafted in your stories were running through your head. it was like you’d written these moments for a thousand characters and now, finally, you were experiencing one yourself.

only… no scene you’d ever written could’ve fully prepared you for this.

the way your mouth stretched around him, the warm weight of him against your tongue, the salty taste mixing with the faint scent of him — it all just felt so real.

and “death by dick?”

well, you’d imagined it a hundred times in jest, but with toji... you couldn’t think of a better way to go.

him, on the other hand, looked completely floored, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you, mouth parted in disbelief.

“this… your first time doing this?” he asked, almost incredulously, voice hoarse and breathless, like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact.

his question earned a sly, humored look from you, but you didn’t stop, dragging your tongue along his length in a way that made his grip tighten in your hair. “shit, babe, you… you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, though there was a distinct pride laced in his tone — like the idea of being your first made him want to last as long as he could and cum in a few minutes all at once.

“you’re too damn good at this,” he rasped, brows furrowing in concentration as he struggled to hold back, the feeling of your soft lips and the light suction nearly enough to make him lose it right then and there.

toji was doing his best to keep a gentle rhythm, letting you adjust, guiding you slowly — because damn did he want you to be comfortable.

but the closer he got to cumming, the harder it was to hold back, and before he knew it, all kinds of filthy words were slipping out of his mouth.

“you’re really using your colleague for this, huh?” he rasped out between heavy breaths, his voice low and rough. “actin’ like you’re all sweet ‘n innocent, but here you are, puttin’ that pretty mouth to good use…” his fingers tightened in your hair, every word spilling out dirtier than the last as he fought to stay coherent. “couldn’t wait to see what it’d feel like, huh? what i’d feel like?”

you could only hum in response, both stunned and electrified at how he spoke to you, a thrill shooting through you with every low, teasing word. he alternated from murmured praise, telling you how good you were, how perfect your mouth felt, to more degrading words that made your cheeks heat up, his voice dripping with that gruff, amused edge.

“never thought my sweet author would be down on her knees, looking so — ah, shit — filthy.” his grip on your hair grew firmer, his breaths coming out quicker, as if he was barely holding himself together. “look at you… chokin’ on me, takin’ it like a good girl…”

and just as he’s about to cum, his body moved on instinct. his hand tightened in your hair, and he pulled you down until your nose brushed against his stomach, feeling him pulse against your tongue. you choked a little, the sensation overwhelming, and with a shuddering groan, he finally came, riding out his release.

the second he did, though, his eyes went wide.

“oh, shit, shit — baby, you okay?” he was practically tripping over his words as he pulled back slightly, his hands cupping your face with an almost frantic gentleness.

“i didn’t mean to — god, i… i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to…you alright?”

as you tugged your shirt back on, toji slumped back into the sofa beside you, throwing a very dramatic sigh your way.

“really? you’re putting the shirt back on already?” he scoffed, throwing his head back, one hand over his heart like he’d just been personally betrayed.

“oh, please,” you rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh. “i think you got a pretty good view already, mister dragon king.”

he snorted at the nickname. “still, it’s a shame. i was just getting used to you, y’know, without it.” he gave you a playful grin, eyes wandering a little too purposefully down your now-covered torso. “it’s practically disrespectful to put it back on after that.”

“disrespectful?” you shot him a look, pretending to be scandalized. “says the man who had the nerve to yank my pants off like I wouldn’t notice.”

“hey,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in mock innocence, “in my defense, you looked way too good with them off.” he shrugged casually, though the gleam in his eyes said otherwise. “besides, you didn’t seem to mind.”

“maybe,” you admitted, leaning back against the sofa with a little smile. you felt his arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you just a bit closer until you could feel the warmth of his bare chest against your side. “still... not sure i’ll ever live down what just happened.”

“which part?” he raised a brow, looking amused as he tucked you closer to him. “the part where you tried to suffocate me or the part where you shoved my head down?”

you smacked his arm lightly, laughing. “shut up. i didn’t shove you — i just... suggested very strongly.”

he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “yeah, yeah, you ‘suggested.’ guess it’s good i’m into pushy women, huh?”

you both laughed, and as the sound settled, you realized just how right this felt.

there was something strangely comforting about this moment — the two of you, just sitting there, basking in the quiet after all the chaos. you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest, the kind that made you all too aware of how special this moment was.

“hey,” you murmured, glancing up at him, suddenly feeling a little shy. “i’m... glad it was you, for, well, you know... all of this.” you gestured vaguely, but toji’s gaze softened, like he understood exactly what you meant.

“yeah?” he asked, his voice quieter now, thumb brushing a gentle circle on your shoulder. “didn’t think i’d be the one, honestly. but... i’m glad it was me too. you’re kinda... unforgettable, you know that?”

you laughed, cheeks warming. “you sound like one of my romance novels.”

“oh, please.” he gave a little scoff, though the smile tugging at his lips was unmistakable. “if i were a romance novel guy, i’d be way more dramatic than this.” he paused, then threw in a mock-swoony, “oh, my darling! i shall never forget this evening of rapture!”

you burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as he continued, exaggerating his voice and gestures, “the way you, my fair lady, shoved my head to the heavens... or rather, between your —”

“okay, stop,” you wheezed, playfully slapping his arm again. “you’re impossible!”

“impossibly charming,” he corrected with a smug grin.

the laughter settled, and you found yourself just gazing at him for a moment, savoring the warmth and the easy comfort between you. it was a strange feeling — new, yet familiar at the same time. with a sigh, you leaned into his chest, letting your fingers trace little patterns along his arm.

“thanks, toji,” you murmured softly, “for being... you.”

he looked down, his expression softening as he pulled you closer. “hey, anytime.” after a moment, he added in a playful whisper, “and for the record, i’m still protesting the shirt.”

you rolled your eyes, but nestled deeper against him, smiling to yourself.

toji let out a low groan, glancing at the clock. “ugh, we should probably get to bed,” he muttered, reluctantly shifting on the sofa.

“yeah,” you agreed with a little sigh, realizing how late it had gotten. “megumi’s probably sprawled all over, snoring up a storm and drooling on my pillow.”

he chuckled at that, standing up and stretching. “kid’s probably babbling away about frogs or something. you know he was talking about ‘frog powers’ the other night?”

you laughed, following him as he headed toward the bedroom. “he’s got an active imagination. wonder where he gets it from...”

toji gave you a teasing smirk. “oh, yeah? well, you’re the writer in this house.”

you both reached the door, easing it open gently to peek in. sure enough, megumi was lying right in the middle of the bed, completely hogging the space with an arm thrown over your pillow, tiny mouth open, drooling a little as he mumbled something unintelligible.

“my pillow’s gone,” you whispered with a chuckle, shaking your head. “but look at him. i can’t even be mad.”

toji just stared for a moment, the soft rise and fall of his son’s chest filling him with a strange warmth. he was quiet, but there was this look in his eyes — a mixture of tenderness and awe.

he leaned close, murmuring, “every time i see him like this, i can’t believe i got so damn lucky. that i get to be his dad, y’know?”

you reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “you’re a great dad, toji.”

he smiled softly, wrapping his fingers around yours. “thanks,” he said quietly, his gaze still on megumi. after a beat, he added, “c’mon, let’s get in there before he wakes up and realizes he can kick us off the bed.”

you both carefully slipped under the covers, but this time, instead of settling on either side of him like usual, there was a silent understanding — a new, natural shift. you curled up behind megumi, your arm wrapped around his little body, while toji slid in behind you, his arm settling around your waist. he felt you press a soft kiss to megumi’s head, and something about the moment felt... whole. complete.

toji nestled closer, his chest warm against your back, his face buried in your hair as he whispered, “this... yeah, this is pretty perfect.” his hand found yours under the covers, intertwining your fingers together.

you smiled, feeling the warmth of him surround you. “feels... right, doesn’t it?”

“more than right,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “never thought i’d be the guy lying in bed, cuddling up with... with you, and him.” he swallowed, a hint of emotion in his voice. “never thought i’d get this lucky.”

you squeezed his hand, and the silence that followed was soft, peaceful. after a moment, toji’s fingers traced slow circles over your knuckles as he mumbled, “think he’ll mind if we’re both here when he wakes up?”

“probably not. he’s got his favorite people right here,” you whispered back, feeling his thumb brush along your hand. “plus, i don’t think he’d mind waking up to his frog-loving dad next to him.”

toji chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “yeah, frog powers and all. kid’s got taste, huh?”

“must take after his dad,” you teased, grinning.

he snorted. “oh, don’t go putting ideas in his head.” he shifted slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your head. “but hey... thanks. for this. for... y’know, letting me have this.”

you leaned back into his embrace, closing your eyes. “wouldn’t want it any other way, toji.”

and with that, the three of you drifted into a warm, quiet sleep, held together by a bond that felt as strong as anything you’d ever known.

sitting at your laptop, you found yourself typing with a newfound intensity, almost unable to keep up with the words spilling out of your mind and onto the screen.

the romance between the dragon king and the princess — previously a plot device to add some “spice” — now felt infused with something else entirely. something raw, something softer, something more... real.

toji’s touch, his voice, his warmth — all those things lingered in your mind, guiding your fingers as you breathed life into scenes that once felt staged. now, they felt natural, like they were flowing from some deep, hidden well. it was almost laughable how last night’s escapade had changed everything, but you couldn’t deny it. you smirked as you wrote, feeling every word resonate with a clarity that wasn’t there before.

and then, after hours of relentless typing, a quick text to shoko:

you [12:30 pm]: hey, mind taking a look at the new chapter?

within minutes, she was at your place, reading your screen as you paced in the background, trying not to hover.

“alriiight, what do we have here…” shoko began, her eyes scanning the text. she paused. blinked.

then slowly lifted her gaze to you, one eyebrow arched. “you... did write this, right?”

“hey! what’s that supposed to mean?” you huffed, crossing your arms with a smirk. “just... tell me what you think, alright?”

she raised her hands in mock surrender. “alright, alright.” then her eyes dipped back to the screen, and this time she read aloud,

“the dragon king’s fingers traced along the princess’ collarbone, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the weight of his strength. ‘you’re safe with me,’ he whispered, his voice a low murmur against her ear.”

she stopped reading aloud, her eyebrows raised a little higher, and then looked at you.

“...safe with me? wow. last time i checked, this guy was like, ‘get in my lair, princess,’ but now he’s a softie? who is this dragon king, and what did you do to the one who existed, like, two days ago?”

you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the heat creeping up your cheeks. “well, maybe he’s... evolving. finding his softer side, or whatever. i don’t know, shoko, do you like it or not?”

she leaned back, a mischievous smirk spreading across her face. “oh, i like it alright. you’re actually writing a romance. like, a legit one. not just something with ten billion euphemisms for —”

“don’t say it,” you interrupted, laughing and waving her off.

she just laughed. “fine, fine, but seriously, what happened? you’ve always been good, but there’s something... different here. it’s like you’re channeling the romance instead of just writing it.”

you swallowed, feeling that flutter in your chest as you recalled the night before, with toji and the way he made you feel so... cherished. it was so much more than just physical, and it translated into every keystroke.

“maybe i just... i don’t know, felt inspired?” you muttered, giving her a small, sheepish smile.

“inspired, huh?” she grinned knowingly. “well, whoever gave you that inspiration, tell them i say thank you. this stuff? it’s gold.” she leaned forward, her expression softening a bit. “this isn’t just commercial smut anymore. this has heart.”

you felt a sense of pride bloom inside you as she kept reading, the quiet tapping of her finger on the edge of your desk as she occasionally mumbled things like, “oh, that’s good,” and “damn, that’s really good.”

“sooo... what’s your verdict?” you asked when she finally looked up, a grin teasing at her lips.

she closed the laptop with a flourish, fixing you with a smirk. “well, i can’t wait to see where this story goes. you’ve finally gotten to the real heart of it. don’t stop now. oh, and if that dragon king of yours has any friends... i’d like one. just sayin’.”

laughing, you gave her a hug. “alright, alright, if i find one, you’ll be the first to know.”

and as she left, you sat back down at your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys.

inspired? maybe.

but something told you it was more than just that. and as you resumed writing, you knew this was exactly where the story was meant to go.

toji ^.^ [6:26 pm]: hey, you busy? you [6:30 pm]: yeah 😭 but i'm thinking about you both! toji [6:32 pm]: yeah? thinking enough to take a break and maybe come over later? you [6:40 pm]: :((( i REALLYY wanna, but this chapter has me by the throat. gotta finish while the inspiration’s hot. toji [6:40 pm]: yeah, i get it. toji [6:40 pm]: still, kinda wish you could be here… you [6:41 pm]: i know! i’ll make it up to you and megumi, promise. you two are always on my mind 💕 toji [6:41 pm]: alright. don’t work yourself to death, alright? we miss you. you [6:42 pm]: 🥺🥺 hug him for me, yeah? toji [6:42 pm]: always. but holding you to that promise.

it was late, and toji had just finished reading megumi his favorite story, watching him drift off, all tangled in the blankets. toji was barely leaving the room before he heard megumi mumbling sleepily, almost to himself.

"when's she coming back?"

toji felt that pang, the same one he got every time you were too busy to swing by. he tucked the blanket a little tighter around megumi’s small frame, brushing a hand over his hair.

"she’s got a lot of work, bud," he murmured, low enough that megumi might not even hear. "she’ll come soon, i promise."

megumi nodded sleepily, giving a tiny, droopy smile before settling back into the pillow, and toji let out a soft sigh, watching the little guy drift back off.

a few days later, toji was back at gojo-sonic, caught in the back-and-forth about the upcoming project when satoru, who was way too perceptive for his own good, leaned over with that smirk of his.

“soooo, toji, how’s the ‘inspiration’ been treating you?” satoru teased, one eyebrow arched.

“shut it, satoru,” toji muttered, rolling his eyes but not able to hide the hint of a smile.

satoru shrugged, grinning like he’d struck gold. “hey, i get it. long-distance love, practically a tragic romance. she’s probably typing away, ignoring you...”

toji groaned, already regretting sharing any details. but then satoru’s expression softened, just slightly.

“hey, she’ll come back around. give her time. just means she’s actually doing what she loves, right?”

toji nodded, a bit of that weight lifting. he missed you, sure, but there was something about seeing you so passionate about your writing, knowing he’d sparked even a part of it.

and if that meant a few late nights alone, well... it was worth it.

toji dragged himself down the hallway, nearly ready to collapse with each step. the recording had been a nightmare — a mic malfunction right in the middle of his best take, a last-minute script revision that completely changed the character’s tone, and a sound engineer who wouldn’t stop fussing over the tiniest background noises. all he wanted was a strong drink and a bed to crash in.

maybe both, at this rate.

as he turned the key in the door and stepped inside his suite, though, he heard... giggles? his eyes blinked, adjusting to the dim light. in the middle of the room, megumi was squealing, running from none other than you, who were wearing an iron man mask, arms outstretched like you were going to scoop him up at any second. the sight stopped him dead in his tracks, exhaustion washing away in an instant.

of course, he remembered giving you a spare key, but it still surprised him to see you here, like a surprise balm to his long day.

“daddy!” megumi yelled, darting over to him, grabbing onto his leg. “look, it’s iron man!”

toji huffed a laugh, setting his bag down. “yeah? well, iron man better be careful before he gets ambushed.”

you lifted the mask, peering at him with a grin. “hey, dragon king. long day?”

“you have no idea,” he muttered, shaking his head, but he couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto his face.

seeing you here, with megumi so happily engaged in a silly game, felt like walking into a whole new world, one where he could just breathe.

“want me to blast him with my repulsor beams?” you joked, wiggling your fingers in megumi’s direction. the little guy shrieked, pretending to hide behind toji’s leg but clearly loving every second of it.

“better not,” toji chuckled. “he’s got a long night of running around ahead of him, looks like.”

“oh, come on,” you teased, tossing the mask aside and crossing the room to wrap your arms around his waist. “i think the dragon king deserves a break.��

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “yeah, i’d say so. didn’t expect to find you here tonight.”

you smiled, looking up at him. “thought i’d surprise you. guess it worked?”

“yeah,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “worked a little too well. can’t say i’m not happy about it.”

“okay, ew,” megumi said, tugging at toji’s pant leg. “can we go back to iron man now?”

toji laughed, ruffling his hair. “yeah, yeah, don’t get jealous, kiddo. why don’t you show her the move i taught you earlier?”

megumi’s face lit up as he immediately struck a pose, fists clenched, trying to look all tough. “look, iron man! i can fight like daddy!”

“oh, wow!” you gasped, feigning surprise. “i don’t stand a chance, do i?”

“nope!” megumi declared, clearly proud.

toji watched you both with a softness he rarely let show.

somehow, you just fit right in here, with him and megumi, in a way he didn’t think was possible. his life was so often filled with tension and challenges, but seeing you like this, in his space, making megumi laugh like it was the most natural thing in the world... well, it did something to him.

the world outside could keep its troubles. right here, right now, this was all he needed.

“y’know, i was about to make myself a drink,” he said, glancing at you. “but this... this might be better.”

you gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “well, lucky for you, i already poured you one. just sitting there on the counter waiting for you to notice.”

toji raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the drink he’d completely missed. “oh, so you’re full of surprises tonight?”

“just for you,” you murmured.

toji sank onto the sofa, cradling the glass you'd poured for him. as he took a sip, he let out a satisfied hum, leaning back and watching as megumi raced around the room, still brimming with energy. you were crouched down, arms out and dramatically dodging his attacks, fully committing to the role of iron man battling his formidable opponent, the "evil dragon."

toji couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing his son’s face alight with happiness, and decided he’d add a little fuel to this game.

he cleared his throat, straightening up on the couch as if on a stage, and dropped his voice to a low, gravelly tone. "ah, iron man! you’ve come to challenge the mighty dragon!" he boomed, lifting his drink dramatically. "but little do you know... i have an army of minions at my command!"

"oh no!" you gasped, feigning shock, as you glanced at megumi. "the mighty dragon has backup?"

megumi cackled with delight, waving his arms around. "yeah! and i’m the strongest one!”

toji held his hand to his chest, fighting back laughter as he leaned into his role. "you’ll never defeat us, iron man. my son, the evil dragon prince, will make sure of it."

megumi, now fully invested, stomped his foot. "get her, dad!"

"aha, but iron man has a few tricks up her sleeve!" you declared, lunging forward with playful swipes, causing megumi to dart behind the sofa for cover.

toji watched, transfixed, as you and megumi continued the game, your laughter blending together in a way that filled every corner of his suite. his heart swelled as he saw the ease with which you fell into this little world with them.

he wasn’t sure exactly when he’d started to imagine it, but in this moment, the thought fully settled in him: this was what he wanted.

a life where you were more than just a visitor, where you were there every day, filling their home with laughter and warmth, where megumi had a mother he adored just as much as his father.

"don’t think you can escape my wrath that easily, iron man!" he called out, smirking as he put on an exaggerated serious face, holding back a laugh. "this villain is relentless!"

"oh, we’ll see about that!" you shot back, now crawling over to the sofa, reaching for toji’s leg as if to pull him into the fray.

toji raised an eyebrow, pretending to be horrified. "wait, no! not me! i’m just an innocent bystander!"

"yeah, right!" megumi giggled, pushing toji’s knee to “trap” him. "you’re on my team, daddy, you’re evil too!"

"right, right!" toji winked at you, lowering his voice. "well, if i must play the villain… then let it be known that the evil dragon prince and i have one weakness."

megumi’s eyes widened, and he immediately looked to you, curious. "what is it?"

toji glanced at you, a soft smile on his lips. "our only weakness is… iron man’s hug attack."

"ah-ha!" you shouted triumphantly, launching yourself forward and wrapping both of them in a bear hug. megumi squealed in delight as toji laughed, caught up in the warmth of your arms around him. for a moment, the three of you were just tangled up on the couch, the room filled with the sound of giggles and breathless laughter.

as he held you close, toji let himself fully sink into the feeling.

he knew then and there, more clearly than ever, that he wanted this to be his life.

he wanted you as his wife, as megumi’s mom.

he wanted this laughter, this warmth, every single day. his hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent promise he hoped you’d understand.

you looked at him, your gaze softening, a knowing smile on your face. "thanks for the assist, dragon king," you murmured, squeezing his hand back.

"anything for iron man," he replied, his voice low and affectionate. "besides, someone’s gotta keep this dragon prince in line."

megumi pulled back just enough to look up at you both, an innocent grin on his face as he pointed between you. "you two should team up more often," he declared, clearly oblivious to the deeper meaning of his words, but making toji’s heart race nonetheless.

toji chuckled, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulder. "you know, kid… i think you’re right."

tag list is open, comment if you'd like to be on it <3 [ @lemonlimecrystal-blog@mypashionisforfashion@crocodilethesir @crunchyholo @cheescakebroom @vitoshi @qyuin @starmapz @kyokoyya @lauuriiiz @ciexuvia @blubearxy @coffee-and-geto @lveegsoi @yuminako @cipher-needs-2-sleep ] produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

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senseichaos · 10 months ago

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I JUST HAD THIS THOUGHT HAD TO WRITE IT

IMAGINE

Priest kink with Alastor.

You'd come back to your hotel room one day, tired from the day with Charlie and wanting nothing more than to be with your darling boyfriend Alastor. The ache in your feet is immeasurable against the flooring as you place your hand against the door knob, wrenching it open to be met with Alastor on the other side.

Though he isn't himself.

He's wearing a Priest outfit. A tight, black shirt that accentuates his broad chest with an iconic white collar. And then a pair of slightly too-tight dress trousers that cling against his hips in the most attractive way. You can't help but let your jaw drop, especially at the way he has his hands clasped together as he stares at you, unspeaking.

But your biggest question is, how the fuck did he know you were into that? You had never told him of this kink, nor had you even given him the slightest hint that you were. How does he do it? You wonder.

Your legs suddenly feel light and airy as you take a step forward, closing the door softly behind you as the air runs slower than molasses. The tension so think not even a knife could manage to cut through its heavy muscle. Taking another step, you place a hand against his chest, feeling the fabric of the shirt beneath your fingers as he stares with such a deep glance. Unreadable with his features.

"Alastor?" You ask, pulling your lip between your teeth.

He chuckles "That's father to you, my child,"

Your knees go weak, legs threatening to give out as goosebumps spread across your skin. Alastor sees this, taking the hand against his chest into his own large hand, dragging the other hand of his up your bare arm with a dark unmoving gaze. You gulp, intimidated and feeling small from it all.

"I read through that Diary of yours, what sins you've committed, my dear.."

Your blood runs cold and your throat clenches. Your diary. There is an entire entry about how hot you found priests, and well... A lot worse stuff, if you're honest. That would explain this, and the sins he speaks of. And even still at his deep voice you feel frightened, especially at the way his claws pinch at your skin.

"I do have to say, I don't know how I kept myself from reading it for so long, but even so I think you have to repent.."

You gulp down thick saliva in your throat, staring at him with large eyes.

"H-how, Father..?"

He chuckles, placing his hand against your cheek as he leans forward. You feel small, helpless. Even in such an intimate grasp you feel like your whole body is turning into mush, even at the slightest pry of his handsome hands.

"Get on your fucking knees,"

You don't think you've ever dropped down to your knees faster, at such a pace you most likely bruised them both. But you don't care. Instead you watch with an unwavering gaze as Alastor unbuckles his belt, lip set between your teeth in arousal. Your core pools with an aroused heat, drenching the thin panties beneath your skirt. You feel like by the end of this there will be a puddle from such arousal.

Alastor grasps the base of his cock, pulling his half-hard length from the confines of his pants, balls and all. You practically drool with desire, saliva gathering in your mouth as you bring your hands up. Though Alastor growls at this, jerking his cock in your face as his dark eyes pour into your own.

"No touching yet, my child. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes father.."

"Good girl, now open for me, hm?"

You tremble, opening your jaw as wide as it can go to welcome his length.

Alastor digs his hand into your hair, tugging you forward until your lips are clasped around his tip. You whine, not expecting this to happen. Especially when he begins sinking his length into your throat.

And then without warning, Alastor shoves almost all of his length into your throat, leaving 2 inches out that he couldn't fit in without you choking. And even then you choke, crying out against his cock as he tugs painfully on your hair, watching tears spring in your eyes.

"Fucking repent. Take the rest of my cock in that filthy throat of yours or I'll make you." Alastor demand, pushing your head down until you have no choice but to let the rest of his cock dive into your throat. You choke, of course, tears falling down your cheeks and dripping against the floor below.

Then Alastor begins fucking that throat of yours, drawling his hips back in hypnotic movements at a harsh rate. Your nose continuously presses against the bed of his pubes, tickling you very slightly every time. You can't see anything, the only thing in view the red haze of pleasure that fills your vision whilst being used like this.

Alastor's tail twitches in pleasure, yet his brows are angry and his smile is condescending and forceful. He enjoys every second of fucking your filthy throat, dead set on making you think about every single thing you wrote in that diary of yours.

He'd revel in the way you cry out, eventually having to take your head off of his cock for a few moments to let you breathe before diving your head back onto it.

"The things you wrote about me in that diary were filthy. Just filthy. I hope you understand this will not be tolerated without consequences, little fawn." Alastor lowly mutters, making his words more powerful with the way he thrusts particularly hard, cock head hitting against the back of your throat.

You moan, sobbing onto his cock as his claws press against your scalp. And yet you don't care. You'd let father Alastor ruin you like this any day. Use your filthy sinful throat. Fuck your tight holes. Make you think about the things you dreamt. He'd make everything come true and yet also reprimand you for wanting them.

"Stupid girl, stupid stupid girl." He tuts, hips quivering as his high begins to take him over.

And before you know it, he's forcing your head onto his cock all the way, emptying his thick warm seed into your throat as if you're just a cum dump for his using.

"Tell father you want him in your dirty pussy now, hm?"

You beg him for it more than you've ever begged before.

#proship #senseichaos #antishippers dni #senseichaosdrabbles #proship fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #priest #priest alastor #priest kink #alastor x reader smut #smut #alastor smut #hh smut #hazbin hotel smut

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes.

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement.

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices.

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles.

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in.

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’.

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #old!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #stranger things #stranger things fan fiction

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joesheistyy · 7 months ago

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sleep shirt

Your most favorite comfort sleep shirt had officially been ruined. This massively large t-shirt got you through many major life events, including college.

The notorious sleep shirt had holes out the wazoo, stains, slack from stretching, and it had served its time.

"Joe, look at my shirt," you whined as you were getting ready for bed one night. Your typical sleep outfit was your underwear and this shirt alone. Joe ate it up too.

"Oh jeez babe, that needs to be trashed," he laughed as he began to brush his teeth.

"This shirt got me through college, I don't think I can ever get rid of it. But there is also no way I can sleep in it anymore," you frowned.

"We'll get you a new one," Joe said.

"But what if I don't want one," you replied and huffed out of the bathroom.

"Trust me y/n, I'll get you a new one," Joe confirmed.

You went to bed that night for the last time in your old comfort shirt. You snuggled up to Joe and he rubbed your back. He knew you had attachment issues with inanimate objects. It's like they have feelings or something.

In the morning, you woke up alone. Joe had an early practice. However, Joe left a note for you on your nightstand.

Y/N,

I promise I will get you a new sleep shirt. I know it won't be the same, but I think we'll both like the one I have in mind.

Love you

You went about your day as normal, curious to see what in the world Joe might pick out. Your sleep shirt was your most iconic and favorite outfit. He knew you were a sucker for any and all comfy clothes.

You had to run a few errands throughout the day which meant you missed Joe when he returned home for lunch. This was the perfect time for Joe to set out your new sleep shirt surprise.

When you returned home, you headed up to the primary suite to put on some comfy clothes. When you opened the door, you saw a new shirt laying out on the bed.

As you approached the shirt, you noticed the big number 9 on the front. The massive orange shirt was one that Joe purchased from the Pro Shop. And of course, it has his name and number on it. Typical Joe, an absolute cute and adorable jokester.

When Joe returned home from the rest of his day, he found you lying on the couch in just the shirt and your underwear. His laugh startled you out of your reading trance.

"I see you like the shirt," Joe laughed. You set your book down to the side and stood up to do a twirl.

"I'm actually obsessed with it," you smiled. Joe walked over to give you a hug. You wrapped yourself around the man who knows you so well.

"Just wait until I get to take it off," Joe joked with a smirk.

Let's just say, it was certainly an eventful night.

-----

omg hi y'all its been so long!!!!! I def came up with this idea cause im wearing a burrow t-shirt to bed tonight lolol

#joe burrow #bengals quarterback #joe sheisty #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow bengals #joey b #cincinnati bengals

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sevenop · 6 months ago

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Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: And The GRAMMY Goes To…

A/N: And even though you may be incredibly comfortable with Billy in every possible way, singing is kind of taboo. You've never sung in Bill's presence due to your shyness, but everything changes when you're so absorbed in the music in your headphones while cleaning that you don't notice her return. And you sing. Singing her songs, dressed head to toe in her stuff. Eilish goes crazy.

You're always looking forward to being alone. No, not that your feelings for Eilish are a theatrical sham, absolutely and categorically not. It's just that singing next to the seven-time winner of the prestigious Grammy Music Awards is pure suicide for your sense of confidence, despite all the mind-blowing love you have for O'Connell herself. "Made worse" by cohabitation, because living with a girl who has great taste in music and who has music playing literally twenty-four by seven in her house is a factor that clearly doesn't make it any easier to hide your little secret. So yes, you do look forward to being alone, even though you feel genuinely sad when Billie isn't around.

Literally a month has passed since the last time, and you're thanking all the gods when Eilish suddenly calls up the label to sort out some sort of issue with the promo that has started. With the recent release of third album, it's almost impossible to hold back the smile at the moment of forgiveness: the excitement is still bubbling in your blood, reinforced by the realization that you can sing your new favorite songs at the top of your lungs without any embarrassment.

"Are you up to something?" - the blue seas opposite look at you with warmth, and the smile on your face is beautiful mirrored on her face. Billie has always been perceptive and empathetic.

"Nothing but cleaning."

"Am I allowed to start being jealous of my dirty clothes yet?" - Eilish quirks an eyebrow upward skeptically, but the smile never leaves her face. - "I've never seen people so excited about cleaning."

A gentle kiss on aquophore-covered lips, a whisper in her ear asking for a quick return and you are beyond suspicion - the obsidian-black Dodge is riding, leaving you alone with your only devoted accomplice in the face of Shark. The phone screen flashes a green Spotify icon almost instantly. Your time has come!

×××

"Come on, boy! Sing along with me!"

And even if you don't hear the dog barking in the noise of the music that beats in ear headphones, him contented muzzle and actively wagging tail are more than eloquent. Having bravely dealt with dirty things, you suddenly found that you temporary have nothing to wear, so you borrowed the first oversize shorts and a colorful T-shirt from Eilish's wardrobe. Next tasks - dusting, loading the first batch of washed clothes into the dryer, and mopping the floors, what are you doing now. The last item on your makeshift list. Euphorically singing the last track, playing the third album for the second time, you release your playlist into free swimming, controlled only by Spotify algorithms. After a couple of trucks, you hear a familiar rhythmic thrill and a languid exhale - "Oxytocin". So good.

Shark hurriedly runs somewhere, but you don't pay it any mind, only intercepting the mop handle like a microphone stand.

×××

"My girl, I'm home!"

It's the only thing Billie says before she stands frozen at the doorway to the living room. Her hand intercepts the car keys she'd been coquettishly twirling on her index finger at the last moment, for the sudden sight before her is far more coquettish and startling. Shark barks happily, running up to her, causing Billie to shush the pet with a hasty shush. Her hands immediately fumble for her cell phone in her shorts pocket - it's a sin not to capture at least a few seconds.

"Cause as long as you're still breathing, don't you even think of leaving," you sing languidly, almost touching the handle of the improvised microphone with your lips.

Billie only swallows, realizing the hot knot between her legs tightening the longer she watches your performance. In her eyes are hungry blue flames, ready to lick you from head to toe. The impulse to strip you of her own clothes, so insanely appropriate for you but interfering with her contemplation now, is interrupted by a clever idea. Her phone dives back into her pocket. A few hurried steps outside of your attention and she's already at the rack of numerous statuettes, a few more and you almost gasp at the last words of the song, seeing the weighty Grammy statue right in front of you, clasped in her hand, followed by the feeling of Eilish pressing against your back. Insanely close. Insanely hot. Your hands grip the phone shakily, poking at 'stop' and the mop promptly sheds to the floor, hitting audibly. You've been caught red-handed.

"I think this is rightfully yours, girl," Billie whispers and grins deftly into your ear, interlocking your fingers on the cold gold of the gramophone.

"Billie, I-"

"Shh, you better tell me how long it's been since I've known about this," her tongue makes a hot stroke on the curl of your ear, biting down gently on the lobe, catching your ragged exhale with pleasure, - "How many concerts have I missed already, Y/n?"

You're at a loss, not knowing what to say. Eilish's hands, tugging at the edges of her own T-shirt, which you're wearing, don't seem to be helping you concentrate. Oh yeah, add to that the fear that you might drop Grammy on the floor right now if she continues.

"I... I can't exactly say, I do this whenever... when you're not around, I'm sorry."

Eilish's hands only lead higher, up to your chest, placing a hickey on your neck with some mysterious throaty purr and licking it off immediately, burning you with her heated breath. You reflexively give her more access.

"Wow, how much did I miss," - the bite on your collarbone, your new quiet moan, - "Can I count on a private concert?".

The three tattooed fairies on her left arm flicker, barely releasing your gaze downward - the knot on her your shorts immediately comes undone, giving her easy access.

"Sing to me, Y/n. Sing all my songs."

And you sing. Only for her. In bedroom, mixed lyrics with moans.

#billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish

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waledxman123 · 8 days ago

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onlydylanobrien · 3 months ago

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Live from New York, It’s Dylan O’Brien!

The 33-year-old plays Dan Aykroyd in Jason Reitman’s Saturday Night, and he’s not sure he hit it out of the park. But he’s okay with that.

DYLAN O’BRIEN HAS led movies that grossed hundreds of millions of dollars at the box office. He’s shared the screen in a thriller with Michael Keaton (2017’s American Assassin), exchanged jokes with Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson (in 2013’s The Internship), been a long-running MTV teen heartthrob (in 92 episodes of Teen Wolf), voiced a Transformer (in 2018’s Bumblebee), and, hell, went toe to toe with Larry David while playing himself on Curb Your Enthusiasm. At 33, he’s accomplished a hell of a lot.

By the time we meet at Men’s Health’s New York City offices to chat on an early September Friday, I’ve already seen a lot of his work. I’ve always liked the way his relaxed demeanor on-screen fits with an undeniable movie-star look—and that holds true in his latest project, Saturday Night (in select theaters now and out nationwide on October 11), in which he stars as comedy legend and original Saturday Night Live cast member Dan Aykroyd; the movie is a depiction of the chaotic 90 minutes before the very first episode of SNL. But I wasn’t sold on his sheer determination—the pure conviction in his character—until I learned that, like myself, he’s a long-suffering fan of the New York Jets.

“I get psyched for the Jets,” he tells me, rocking a full beard, a T-shirt, and a pair of comfortable lacrosse shorts. As he finishes his thought, his eyes light up, but they maintain the slightest sense of eternal frustration behind them. “Even though it’s always like, Jesus Christ.”

Misfortunes of past football seasons aside, O’Brien is as hyped as he’s ever been for the season to come—he’s already done all of his fantasy drafts, though he feels better about some than others—but right now he has one potential problem: He’s going to be in Toronto, for the Toronto International Film Festival, on the night of the Jets season opener. But don’t worry, he’s got it figured out. Saturday Night’s premiere is on Tuesday, and his press schedule on Monday (when the Jets are set to play the San Francisco 49ers) concludes at 5:30 p.m.

“I’m like, I’m going to a pub. I’m getting out of the area, and I’m just going to sit and have some beer and watch the Jets on Monday night all by myself,” he says with a huge smile on his face. “It’s going to be awesome.”

It’s a relatable feeling—for most Jets fans, there’s no happier time than before the season starts, before the annual feelings of dread and doom start to set in. (The Jets would wind up losing to the 49ers, 32-19, in their Week 1 MNF matchup.) But, as Jets fans have learned so well to do over the years, we move on.

O’Brien has a long career behind him, but a long career ahead of him, too. In addition to his upcoming role in Saturday Night (which has earned strong reviews in the early goings), he’s also got the M. Night Shyamalan-produced Caddo Lake premiering on Max this month, and Anniversary, in which he stars alongside Diane Lane and Kyle Chandler, coming at some point in the near future. (It doesn’t currently have a release date.) O’Brien is the kind of actor who elevates the project he’s in, even when the project is already really, really good—but if there’s anything being a Jets fan says about someone, it’s that they know how to adjust, adapt, and bounce back. And in an industry as fickle as show business—which is put on full display in Saturday Night—that’s about as important a quality as any to have in your back pocket.

Ahead of the release of several of the biggest and most exciting projects of his career, O’Brien sat down with Men’s Health to discuss how he keeps himself sane and centered, prepping to play a comedy icon, and some of those casting rumors about him out there on the Internet.

MEN’S HEALTH: What kind of routines do you maintain for your mental and physical health?

DYLAN O’BRIEN: I don’t go to the gym. I’m not a gym guy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t exercise or train or anything. I would say I go in and out of that. I’m usually the type who’s either on a pretty consistent routine and trying to hit it hard and take care of myself for a period of time, and then I’ll let it go for a little bit. Some of that’s influenced by my schedule, too. When you go to work, it’s hard to keep up some kind of regimen. But when I’m home and I’m in between jobs, I’ve become a very domesticated individual. I love grocery shopping and cooking my own meals.

MH: What’s your favorite thing to make?

DOB: If I had to pick one thing, I love, to the soul, making a soup. It’s literally the first thing I’ll do when I go anywhere to settle in. Just a homemade chicken soup, with a chicken carcass, and get creative with the veggies.

MH: Do you have a mental health routine?

DOB: That’s typically what drives the eating and the exercising. I always feel best when I’m in a nice routine and taking care of myself. As I’ve gotten into my 30s, sleep is so important, and periods of laying off alcohol are so important. Just treating your body right and getting rest. I like to do a cold plunge session, and that’s very meditative for me. I’ll follow the simple program of “exhaust the body, relax the mind” when I’m going right.

“I was self-conscious that I DIDN’T LOOK LIKE HIM, that I DIDN’T SOUND LIKE HIM, that I thought people wouldn’t think me—Dan Aykroyd.”

MH: I totally understand the concept of using whatever levels us as therapy. Sometimes after work I just need to put the Yankees on and do absolutely nothing in order to fully detox and feel right.

DOB: That’s my soul. The Mets… obviously, baseball is a nearly every day thing. And even when the Mets are not going well, what’s soothed me since I was closely following them when I was a kid is [broadcasters Gary Cohen, Keith Hernandez, and Ron Darling]. Literally, even just throwing the game on in the background while I’m getting dinner ready and just listening to those guys talk baseball—that settles me to my core. I’m totally with you on that.

MH: Is watching sports your main way of decompressing at the end of a long day?

DOB: If it’s baseball season, yeah, nightly Mets is nice. If I’m working, I’ve been known to be on jobs and randomly be bingeing some reality show while I’m on it. It’s such a decompressor at the end of the day. I love reality TV.

MH: What’s your favorite?

DOB: Of all time?

MH: Yeah.

DOB: Well, it’s between Jersey Shore and Vanderpump Rules as far as the all-timers. I’ve been a longtime OG Vanderpump fan, pre-Scandoval, and I just think that show’s a masterpiece. And Jersey Shore is a masterpiece, too. I did a film, Ponyboi, that’s very Jersey-centric, and so I drilled all of the first four seasons of Jersey Shore. My whole routine for that movie, when I needed to decompress, was just working out and watching reality TV. I lost a lot of weight, too, for that movie, and I was just trying to make my little chicken breast, and eat my salad, and work out, and watch Jersey Shore.

MH: Let’s talk about Saturday Night. How would you describe your version of Dan Aykroyd?

DOB: It might be the thing most open to interpretation I’ve ever done. By that, I mean it really was just leaping out of the nest. I’m playing this real person, but [director Jason Reitman] had no intention of just copying the person coming in. He really wanted everyone to have their own spin on the person, which, if you’re overthinking it, can be tough to do because it can be very easy to do. If you’re like, I’m just going to watch my guy’s interviews and sketches, then you can kind of fall into imitation. As far as I know, I was just doing what I thought he was like. But I don’t fucking know. That instinct was that Jason was always telling me what to run with. He was big on not overpreparing, not overwatching things, and not impersonating. I’m curious to hear people’s take, because I don’t really know. I just went with my gut.

MH: Was there one signature quality of Dan you wanted to capture?

DOB: A very earnest intelligence—he’s so quick, it was exhausting. I would always say how exhausted I was, because I’m playing someone who’s way quicker than I am, and so I’m constantly operating at a speed I can’t operate at, because he’s so sharp and fast and he never fumbles and he never curses. He never bides time. You know what I mean?

MH: Absolutely.

DOB: He’s so precise with his improvisation and his comedic skills. I came away with such a larger appreciation than I even had for his genius. And he was so young—he was a kid. He was 23 on that first season of SNL. I never processed him as being too worried about too much, which was a funny contrasting energy to the very tense atmosphere of the film in the hour and a half before showtime. He’s so loose.

MH: It’s interesting you say that, because it’s something I totally clocked, too—Dan is kind of the calm part of a storm that includes people like Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith) and John Belushi (Matt Wood). How did you maintain that presence as the movie’s level head?

DOB: My way of achieving that, with permission from Jason, was to embrace this quality in myself that I didn’t originally associate to Dan—that I only then did after Jason pointed it out to me—which was to have an aloofness on set. I feel very relaxed in that space. In a way, I wasn’t too worried. But that comes with the caveat that I entered this process thinking I was so wrong for the part.

MH: Why did you think that?

DOB: I don’t know. I was self-conscious that I didn’t look like him, that I didn’t sound like him, that I thought people wouldn’t think me—Dan Aykroyd. And I guess it was an insecurity that I would be skewered for being miscast or something. But even with that insecurity, again, I’m still so happy to be there and, like, whatever, fuck it. I don’t care if that’s the response. I’m boned, but whatever. It’s great to be here and get to do this, and what a blast of a thing to get to be a part of. So, weirdly enough, that type of aloofness amidst other people having to handle some really tense stuff was what Jason was telling me to embrace.

MH: Have you met Dan?

DOB: No. Not yet. I’m supposed to meet him at TIFF. And apparently that will be both of our first times seeing the movie.

MH: That will be great.

DOB: There was a moment early on, when you go into something like this, you’re playing someone, you imagine that they might want to speak to you. They might be hell-bent on speaking to you, they might be crazy about getting their hands in it, or they might be totally hands off. And to hear that he was so not worried about it, if anything, was the first moment I was like, Oh, maybe we’re right. Because I would’ve met with him, too, but I also didn’t need it. I would have if he insisted. I’d be like, Of course—I’ve got to do that. But I vibe with the fact that he was like, no, let the kid go do it. That’s how I feel like I would react.

MH: What’s your favorite movie of his?

DOB: I was a big Blues Brothers kid. I did the Blues Brothers for my talent show in third grade. I was also a big Tommy Boy kid.

MH: I’ve loved a lot of the comedic stuff that you’ve gotten to do, including your Curb Your Enthusiasm guest appearance. What was working with Larry like?

DOB: Oh, it’s just a blast. He’s a Jets fan, too—I remember that was our first conversation we had. It was like I was just talking to a buddy, at [the popular TriBeCa bar] Walker’s, or something about the Jets. I’ve worked with a lot of comedians, and that space can be weird. The energy can be very overstimulating, and those personalities can tend to be really loud and competing. It can be a very odd atmosphere sometimes. Going to work with a guy like that… I was like, Who knows, he could be a fucking total narcissist tycoon, and he wasn’t. He couldn’t have been more generous, couldn’t have been quicker to laugh at someone else and let someone else have the spotlight. I couldn’t think more of the guy. He’s amazing.

MH: It’s been almost a decade since your accident on the Maze Runner set. When you look back at your recovery, how has that experience most impacted your life?

DOB: It was a life-changing incident. I’ve approached everything differently, you could say, particularly with regards to standing my ground on set. It’s very commonplace in the culture for young actors to be controlled, and the way they strive to do that is by always being like, Oh, don’t become difficult. Don’t be a pain in the ass. Or Are you complaining, are you being difficult? Things like that. I learned after the accident to not conflate taking care of yourself and looking after yourself. Don’t let them manipulate you into thinking that is being difficult, because I can look at that day and know I was a 24-year-old kid who was raising concerns about how we were approaching things, and they were not listened to, they were not respected. And then what happened happened. And by all accounts, it was all pretty gotten away with, I would say, as well. It’s taught me that, at the end of the day, in these spaces, you have your own back, and that’s the most you can rely on. I just turned 33. I’ve been doing this for 15 years. I know the person I am, and the character I bring to set, and the way I treat people and the way that I treat a workspace, and I know I’m not difficult. I know I’m not an asshole. I know I was trying to protect myself that day, and so I’ve just never forgotten that. That’s always rung true as being the thing to hold with me.

“It’s taught me that, at the end of the day, in these spaces, you HAVE YOUR OWN BACK, and that’s the MOST YOU CAN RELY ON.”

MH: And this is something that’s always in the back of your mind, just knowing that you’ve had this experience and it’s shaped where you are now.

DOB: It helps me. It’s a shame. It’s a shame that it had to be that for me. To build this armor for myself of just being like, No, man, I’m going to look after myself, I’m going to take care of myself, and there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with asking questions. There’s nothing wrong with bringing ideas, even if we’re talking creatively. It’s our job to bring ideas. There’s nothing wrong with raising concerns. There’s nothing wrong with being like, “I think we could do this better, I think we could do this differently.” You know what I mean? That’s the process. It’s a collaborative process. It’s a creative process, but also you’re dealing with big dangerous shit sometimes, too.

MH: Throughout the years, you’ve been rumored to become the Flash and Spider-Man. Is there any truth to the rumors?

DOB: No, never.

MH: Nothing?

DOB: No, none of it. Yeah.

MH: Is that of interest if an opportunity ever came up? Are you a comic book person?

DOB: I never have been. But I wouldn’t rule out anything. Certainly, it’s not of interest to me as of now. Maybe when I was 20 and they were rebooting Spider-Man—I was excited about that. But I didn’t even get past the casting pre-call or anything. No, none of those rumors have ever been true. I didn’t even know there were rumors. I just thought they were people just putting it out there.

MH: People put a bunch of stuff out there and then places pick it up and then stuff snowballs.

DOB: None of anything I’ve ever read about myself is true. So, if you want to use that template, that’s my experience.

MH: So what is of interest to you? What’s your dream?

DOB: There are obviously filmmakers I’ve loved since I was a kid who I would love to work with. I always want to challenge myself, and I always want to go with my gut and trust when I respond to something, I’m responding to it for a reason. Trust that when I’m scared of something, maybe that’s a good thing I should lean into. Try to find the new filmmakers, and try to champion them, and be a part of the early parts of the careers of our new wave of filmmakers. Try to champion original things as much as I can, too. I feel like that’s obviously trending so much further and further away, and towards extinction, that I just feel like it’s important to lend yourself to those things when you can, as much as you can.

This interview has been edited for content and clarity.

Source: menshealth.com

#dylan o'brien #saturday night press #ponyboi press #curb your enthusiasm press

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