#someone teach me how to shade hair

[cedyat]

This happened in the movie, trust me.

[deafening-radio-silence]

"—No but like, why?" "Because you have neuroses, Barnes."

[undermostcorgi]

literally cannot stop thinking about them cannot and will not be normal about blorbo from my own goddamn mind

[httpsserene]

ʜᴛᴛᴘꜱꜱᴇʀᴇɴᴇ'ꜱ ꜰ1 ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴜᴘʟᴏᴀᴅ 1 : ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ / ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ |ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴋɪɴᴋ

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: 18+ only. smut. corruption kink. orgasm delay/denial. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. hair-pulling. possessiveness. slight choking (glimpse and you miss it?). brief reference to previous dub-con (very minuscule, not charles or max). no penetrative sex. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: all mine • brent faiyaz

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: the strength i had to summon to post this is something crazy. it's my first smut fic if you can believe it or not, but the way i feel exposed to the world is wild. i almost forgot to include the actual kink because i got carried away, but it's there i promise you, don't get disappointed too early in! can confirm that while i was writing this i had to take several breaks and stare at the ceiling. the black!reader is vague i think, it's not noticeable until the end, but i had written it with all shades of my poc girlies in mind < 3. n e ways: hope you guys like it!

want to be added to my f1 kinktober taglist? or my general tag list? send me an ask!

huge thanks to my beta readers @lorarri and @sweetpiccolo-blog ! i appreciate y'all so much :)

cross-posted on my ao3, htpsss

here's the link to the masterlist for my f1 kinktober special, and send me a private message if you would like to be added to the list to become a beta reader in the future!!!

it’s late. you’ve kicked jimmy and sassy out of the bedroom, and locked it shut. you’re standing with your back pressed against the door, staring with unfocused eyes. you moved your stuffed animals inside the closet and had them facing the wall even though you closed the closet door. the window curtains are drawn shut, and the only light in the room is the warmth of one nightstand lamp. one of the plushest towels max owns is spread across the bed. in the center lays a single pillow.

this is the last chance you have to get off before max and charles get home in a few hours. they’ve been gone for a triple-header, and you haven’t been able to orgasm once in the near month they’ve been gone. you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one).

the obvious thing to do would be to talk to your boyfriends, and tell them that you’re ready to start exploring the sexual side of your relationship. you’ve been dating them for two years now, and you’re afraid that they’re getting tired of waiting for you to be comfortable enough to have sex with them. but, you’re also afraid that once they learn how inexperienced you really are—they’ll make fun of you, leave you, and find some other woman who knows how to please them. you know that’s outrageous and never going to happen. they’re the sweetest boys you’ve ever dated (way better than that one dude you dated who tried to get you wasted enough to persuade you into having sex with him), and they’ve been very respectful concerning your boundaries. always pulling away when they feel themselves getting hard, and constantly reminding you to tell them to stop if you feel uncomfortable and that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that they’re willing to wait as long as you need, and will continue loving you regardless even if you decide to never have sex with them. so—of course you know that they won’t be assholes about your innocence—it’s just your own self-esteem, insecurity, and overthinking that prevents you from saying you’re ready.

you make a deal with yourself. if you can’t manage to get off grinding against your pillow one last time, you’ll force yourself to sit down with your boyfriends, stare them in the eyes and state that your ready to have sex. who are you kidding—you’re going to get off right now one way or another even if it kills you, because you definitely will wither away and die if you have to have that conversation with your boyfriends.

you walk over to the bed, heart beginning to race as you start playing one of those curated “songs i’d like to be railed to” playlists, before throwing your phone somewhere up the bed. you move to straddle the pillow, and begin to calm your heartbeat. you take a few deep breaths and let your mind wander. the first thought that comes to your head is the goodbye kiss you got from your boyfriends before they left. 

they had gotten all their luggage together and were pulling on their shoes at the entryway. charles was pouting at you, wide green eyes and all, “you are sure that you don’t want to come with us? for at least one of the races? we’ll be gone for almost a—“ 

“yes, cha. i’m sure,” you cut him off with a firm nod, “lemme give you a kiss before you leave, okay?”

charles frowned at max who laughed—like he wasn’t the one begging you to come with them last night before you all went to bed. with a little upset ‘hmph’ charles leaned down and kissed you softly. you had pulled away, only trying to give him a peck, and charles grunted disapprovingly. one of his veiny hands rose and gripped at your waist over your t-shirt, strongly pulling you forward, causing you to tumble into his chest. “oh, i am going to need more than that, mon ange,” charles smirked down at you, “i am leaving for so long, and that’s the goodbye kiss you’re leaving me with? no, i do not think so.” 

you glanced away from him, cheeks beginning to become warm as you make to hide your face is his broad chest. charles tutted at you, tightening his grip on your waist, and his other hand gently pushed your head up to look at him, “c’mere and give me a real kiss, pretty girl.”

you made a suppressed little squeal in the back of your throat, a noise max and charles became very familiar with, often present when they start teasing you. you surprisingly leaned up and initiated the kiss, causing charles to let out a shocked gasp into your mouth. his hand on your waist moved lower, falling to the small of your back and pushed your body completely against his. his other hand caressed your jaw, soothing you enough to allow him to control the kiss, as he flicked his tongue at the seam of your lips. you shakily sighed, allowing him entrance and the kiss deepened, a pleased humming noise in the back of your throat escaping.

you impatiently shift side to side on top of the pillow, not yet allowing yourself to get any friction. sliding both of your hands underneath your sweater—well, max’s sweater, and you start playing with your chest. flicking gently at your nipples, just the way you like. 

you could feel charles chuckle into the kiss, but you dismiss it, and keep kissing at him eagerly. however, you failed to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at max. cockily making eye-contact with him, before he let his eyes flutter shut and devoted his attention to you.

max stared on, his mouth slightly open as he watched his two loves give him a show for free. charles’ hand slipped lower, gliding over your ass, across your criminally well-fitted jeans, and found its home on the back of your thigh. max is well acquainted with how skilled charles’ mouth is, so he knows he must have done something spectacular to cause a choked-off moan to escape you, your hand raised to grab at charles’ polo in a fist, wrinkling the pressed shirt. max huffed, deciding to no longer spectate, and took the few steps to reach you across the foyer.

you let out a shocked gasp, eyes fluttering open in surprise at the feeling of your other boyfriend pressed up against your back. you attempt to break the kiss, but charles doesn’t let you. hand slipping from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, tangling in the hairs there and keeping you exactly where he wants. one of max’s hands came to rest at your hip, while the other rested on your navel. your eyes fell shut again in pleasure at how charles gently nipped at your bottom lip, and max’s presence is pushed to the back of your mind.

you didn’t register max’s hand disappearing from your abdomen, but suddenly, the air was cut with a pained moan from charles and his lips were ripped away from yours.

your eyes flew open, and max’s hand was buried in charles’ hair, tugging his head backward and maneuvering it into what must be an almost uncomfortable angle, but with how pleased charles looked—you wanted to feel it too. his eyes rolled backwards, before he pressed them shut and re-opened them to reveal dilated pupils and half-lidded lashes; panting hard, lips covered with your shared spit, and a fucked-out look in his eyes.

you struggle to pull off your sleeping shorts, eventually managing to tug them off to reveal your white cotton panties. your hand leaves your breast to touch at your heat, and you’re shocked at how wet you’ve gotten already. you use that same hand to adjust your pillow, before you let your hips fall all the way and make contact with the pillow. you sigh in relief.

now, max is the one to laugh with his hand firmly keeping charles in place. “oh, you know better than to tease me charlie…” he started, and you barely heard him. fixated on the way charles’ tongue frequently slips out to lick at his lips, but you could hear the smirk max was wearing. 

“and you’re also not the only one leaving our sweet girl for a month. you should be nice and let me have a taste too, hm? isn’t that right, schatje?” he directs at charles. max’s other hand made its way up your abdomen, copping a feel at your chest, before it rested across your throat. he wasn’t squeezing at all, but the weight of his hand, how it spans across your neck, and how you can feel the strength lying underneath his skin, caused you to lose your breath. he guided your head back and dropped his to get his own goodbye kiss.

the kiss felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but realistically it had to be less than a minute of max forcing charles to watch how he ravaged your mouth, before charles started whining loudly. max patted your neck gingerly before pulling away and laughing at charles’ teary eyes. your legs were trembling and you were pretty sure if max wasn’t behind you, you would’ve fallen long ago. in one smooth motion, his hand fell to the monegasque’s throat from his hair and pulled him closer, completely sandwiching you between them, as their lips met in a wild kiss. 

your hips start to rock against the pillow, keeping it slow in the beginning, learning your lesson about friction burn the last time you got too erratic with your moves too quickly.

charles—completely desperate—whined deep in his throat and max kept pulling consistently depraved moans and grunts out of your boyfriend. max’s other hand moved off of your hip to smack at charles’, a nonverbal command for him to calm down and let max take care of him. you felt charles practically vibrating against you in need, but he slowly started to calm; his posture slackening and lips slowing, allowing the dutch full control. 

the two of them were completely ignoring you. caught in their own world, putting all of their energy into their kisses, and in turn gave you a front row seat to something you're never going to forget about. you felt so small in between the two of them, like the only thing that kept you from floating away is the fact that you were stuck in between their bodies.

eventually, max released his grip on charles and separated from the kiss, giving charles air to breathe. the blonde stepped backwards away from your body, and you stumbled embarrassingly. max’s hands went up to hover around your waist (suddenly so shy to touch you) to make sure you actually didn't fall. charles shook his head, physically trying to clear the haze in his mind before he stumbled away from you as well, pressing his back against the wall. 

his chest was heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed a pretty red color, while his hands went to tug at his uncomfortably tight pants, failing to adjust himself to make his erection less obvious. he suddenly turns shy as well—it probably doesn’t help that max was laughing at how easy he is to turn on—, and charles tries to try and tug his shirt down to cover up his problem as best as he can. 

your hips start to pick up in speed, movements more sure and less shaky. the friction between the cotton pillowcase and panties is multiplied on your cunt, and when you rock down deep enough, the catch of the panties on your clit is nearly immobilizing. 

thinking about the moment before your boys left leads you into fantasizing about their dynamic, and how they are in the bedroom. that morning alone proved who was actually in charge; charles will tease and take whatever he can, as long as max allows him to. you can recall many instances of max guiding a well-fucked charles out of the bedroom and depositing him on your lap, before he went on to clean up and run the monegasque a bath. 

the multiple post-sex facetimes you’ve gotten from the two when they’re across the world always starts with max softly speaking, “i’ve worn him out pretty good, but he refuses to fall asleep unless he gets to call you.” and the phone is passed to charles, who’s voice and lips are ruined to hell and you have to decipher what he’s attempting to say.

you’re starting to acclimate to the current tempo, so you pick it up another notch. you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed for support as you focus on doing deeper and slower grinds against the pillow, allowing your clit to get constant attention.

you find comfort in the fact that charles allows max to take him to such a vulnerable state, and sometimes—you even find yourself getting jealous. you started joining them to see their aftercare for yourself, and found out that you're aching to be taken apart and put back together like max and charles do to each other. 

the sound of max’s constant praises of charles being “so good for him,” and charles’s constant stream of “thank you, thank you, maxy” has you losing all train of thought.

you abandon the slow-and-steady technique, you’ve tried it several times this month and it’s failed to get you to come. you bite your lip, letting out a frustrated groan. your hips slow, and you grab the front of the pillow with one hand and pull it upwards, hoping that a tighter space allows better friction. you start moving quicker, doing smaller more shallow motions and it’s tons better. you can’t stop thinking that it would be even better to ride charles’ face. 

even though your eyelids are scrunched shut, the thousands of tiktok edits you’ve seen of your boyfriends post-race; balaclava lines, sweaty, messy hair, and all—are playing behind them. you moan out desperately, toes curling in your socks. you hear the phantom noises of monegasque moans along with the imagined whispers of dutch-accented praises. 

the knot in your navel tightens, your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. this is it, the feeling that’s escaped you for a month, it’s returning, you can finally come. 

you start to rut against the pillow, uncaring of how your wetness has seeped into the pillow cover and sticks against your thighs—if anything, it’s just another pleasant sensation. unfiltered squeals and gasps start slipping out, you’re too blissed out to regulate your volume at this point.

but then, a minute passes and you still haven’t fallen over the precipice. it’s right there; you can see it, you can even hear it, but you can’t fucking feel it. 

your moans of pleasure turn into cries of frustration. your legs start to quiver with exhaustion, and the orgasm you almost had fades. tears spill from your eyes, as you frantically rut against the soaked pillow, not caring about rhythm or technique anymore. and your chance is gone, your sobs echoing around the room at another failed attempt.

you climb off the pillow and fall on your side, crying into the towel trying to muffle your anguished noises. you have the fleeting thought to think that you're overreacting, but fuck that. you’ve literally been unwillingly denying yourself for a month.

after you’ve cried yourself out, you get up and start to clean up the mess you made. when you lean down to pick up the shorts you flung across the room, you hear jimmy and sassy start yowling outside of the room. and faintly, you hear the front door open.

fuck.

a giggle slips out of charles as the cries of the cats are heard outside of the apartment door. max shoots a glare at charles for laughing at his children, before he loses the fight and a smile slips out in response to the monegasque’s. finally managing to slip the key into the lock, max speaks, “we’re supposed to surprise her by being early, cha—maybe we should’ve let the cat’s know when we called earlier today?” they step through the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind them so the cats won’t run out. charles makes a questioning hum as they both start slipping out their jackets, “they are cats, mon minou. i do not think they care about anything other than when you come back to feed them.”

max side eyes him heavily as he squats down to untie his sneakers, and looks around slightly confused, “i think we are missing a greeting from one more kitten, wouldn't you say, charles?” the man in question nods in agreement, while finally petting jimmy and sassy to calm them down a little bit. whenever the two of them return home, you usually race to the door along with the cats. you give them warm hugs and sweet kisses, help them take their jackets off, and let them know if you cooked a meal for them, or prepared a bath. 

but tonight, they don’t hear the sound of your footsteps coming towards them. it’s rare for them not to be greeted at the door, most of the time you beat them to unlocking it, with the alarm system the cats provide. 

charles questions, “maybe she fell asleep? we did not tell her that we moved our flight earlier. and we did tell her to go to bed because we would be arriving late.”

max snorts disbelievingly, “when has she ever gone to bed when we’ve told her to,” he starts, “she’s probably just in the bathroom or something.”

the two spend a few minutes paying some attention to the cats, before they begin to get suspicious at the fact that you still haven’t come to welcome them back. they straighten up and start heading towards the bedroom. 

max pushes the door open, and everything looks normal except for the fact that you’re nowhere to be seen. the bed is put together, one nightstand lamp is on, and the bathroom is empty. max and charles stare at each other with matching baffled expressions, before you clear your throat in the doorway.

max jumps, “shit!” and charles flinches, “oh, what the fuck!”

your giggles reverberate through the air, and the two men can only laugh along with you. “oh? so you find scaring us funny, schat?” max teases gently. you pad over to him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a tight hug, nodding softly into his neck as you breathe him in. charles huffs after he’s deemed that you spent too much time loving on max before he pulls you into his own grasp, one arm braced tightly around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head resting in his chest. “she’s absolutely frightening, max, can’t you tell?” he teases back, defending you jokingly. 

max hums, “definitely. where were you hiding, baby?”

you freeze for second as you pull away from charles’ grasp, before stuttering your way through an explanation, “u-uh oh, i was-um, i was just in the laundry room! i was just putting a few things i had accidentally spilled uh- spilled juice on-yes juice of course, in the uh-washing machine, yes,” you nod firmly, to fully convince them.

the monegasques raises an eyebrow at you and dragged out an, “…….okay, i guess?” max follows up with a sarcastic, “yeah….we definitely believe you!”

you narrow your eyes at him, “are you calling me a liar, max? because, why would i lie about—“

charles cuts you off, turning your head back towards him as he squints at your face. he runs his thumb underneath one of your eyes, and speaks softly, “were you crying, mon ange? your eyes are red and swollen.”

you shake your head rapidly to attempt to dismiss his worry but it’s already too late. max practically teleports to your side and scans your face and with a gasp he reveals, “yes, you did cry. i can still see the tears stained on your cheeks.”

you shift uncomfortably, “yes, okay! i did cry! but it was nothing serious,” you pause and mumble the last part of your sentence, “i was just overreacting anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

max smacks his teeth at you disapprovingly, “hey, don’t be mean to yourself, schatje. anything that causes you to cry does matter. tell us, and we can try and make it better for you.” the two boys wear you down with earnest eyes; the monegasque brushes his lips against your hand comfortingly and the dutchman tucks your hair behind your ears soothingly. they wait patiently and don’t attempt to push you any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them; they won’t let this go until you explicitly ask them two. and suddenly, your resistance falls and words start rushing out of your mouth.

“im so tired, okay? i’ve been trying for ages, ages, and i can’t get there! everytime i try, i-i-it’s like i’m right there–right there! and then it never comes! it’s torture. the harder i try to reach for it, the more it slips away, and then it doesn’t even feel good anymore! i thought this was supposed to feel good–and now what’s the point?! i don’t even wanna try again if i’m just going to be–”

“woah, woah, woah.” max cuts you off, “what are we talking about exactly, schatje? have you not been getting enough sleep or something? because we can try and–" you interrupt, “NO! i haven’t came in a MONTH! are you even listening to me?!”

charles chokes on his own breath and max damn near faints. most importantly, they’re shaken at your bluntness around the topic; every time they try to ask if you’ve been finding…relief–for lack of a better word, you tend to snap shut if they use any ‘explicit’ words with you– you tell them not to worry about it. so, to hear you say it plainly reveals how much distress this has been causing you. secondly, the thought that you’ve been desperately trying to get off for a month on your own, is a paralyzing thought. they nearly convinced themselves that you had no idea about anything sexual due to your refusal to answer any of their questions—which there would be nothing wrong with, they’d be happy to teach you how to please them and them alone. it’s a seductive thought, the fact that you’re untouched, that no man has had the opportunity to taint you and ruin your perspective on how you should receive and give pleasure. they’ve been praying for the day you’d be ready to let them teach you how to be good for them. maybe that makes them monsters, for taking advantage of your naivety and innocence, and molding you into their perfect girl, but they stopped feeling guilty for desiring this long ago. 

you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating, to not cum,” you gasp softly, “especially when you’ve been edging yourself accidentally for so long, hm?”

a questioning sound slips from your lips, “hm? what’s edging? i just haven’t,” your voice drops to a whisper, “cum.” max thinks that he’s seriously fucked-up in the head, because he watches how you bury your face into charles’s chest after your whispered word, refusing to make eye contact with them out of embarrassment; and relishes at the fact that you absolutely have no idea about what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself. he’s going to enjoy ruining teaching you everything he knows.

“edging is repeated instances of sexual stimulation and stopping before your orgasm. it’s called that because you are kept ‘on the edge.’ you can do it to yourself or with others,” max states in an unfazed manner. he sees you start to relax, knowing that you find comfort in his matter-of-fact tone. 

a pout lowers your lips, “who would enjoy that? it feels terrible.”

max breaks out in a grin, slipping an arm around charles and squeezing at his tapered waist, “you know somebody who enjoys it very much, liefje,” charles blushes at the sudden call out, and watches the way your eyes widen in shock. max continues, “anyways, you may find that you enjoy it when it’s done properly—with people who are experienced enough to make sure you’re feeling good and keep you feeling good… and show you how to have a proper orgasm, hm?” max segways into the important topic, not allowing you to deflect any longer.

charles stops your attempt at hiding in his broad shoulder this time around, and firmly holds your face to keep you facing max. the dutch give charles a nod of appreciation and watches how he shifts on his feet at the acknowledgement; he might have to take care of him after he’s done with you, too. max allows your eyes to avoid meeting his, letting them roam his face as you battle your own insecurity.

“liefje,” max deepens his tone, knowing how you melt at any pitch similar to his morning voice, “there is no need to be embarrassed about your virginity and innocence. you had your boundaries set, and never bent or broke them to make someone happy at the cost of your comfort. no matter how much pressure someone applied to you, you refused to let them have you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be in because you felt unsure or plainly uncomfortable with them. that is something you should take pride in and no one should make a joke out of your virginity for that instance. tonight, you can still make that decision if you are not completely sure on allowing charles and i the privilege of teaching you how to feel satisfied. we will continue to wait for you; you have the power here, not charles or i. do what is best for you at this moment, and if that changes, tell us so, and we will continue or stop at your will.”

the room is silent as the three of you digest max’s spiel. charles and max seem to be completely nonchalant about the matter, but they are trying to hide how anxious they are about your possible refusal, for your sake. of course they are hoping that you’ll accept their helping hands, or lips, or tongues, or coc—but, that’s not their main intention tonight. the goal is for them to start building a deeper level of understanding and trust with you, to where you allow yourself to be in your most vulnerable state with them. and that will take time; they’re not expecting you to completely reveal your innermost workings to them instantaneously. however, they most definitely want to show you how good they can make you feel and how good you can make them feel. and once you internalize that, then they can start working on showing you the wonders of sex—or plainly put, they can start tainting you.

you nod. charles eyes brighten and his cheeks dimple with the appearance of a wild smile. he leans in to kiss you in thanks, but max halts him with one finger to the forehead and a quick ‘aht aht,’ “that won’t do, liefje, i need verbal confirmation—words, please.”

“y-you can…you can help s-show and teach me how to…how to feel good. i am ready to have…,” your voice thins out, and suddenly you shake your head, eyes meeting max’s straight on in an unusual act of confidence, clearing your throat, “i am ready for us to have—i’m ready for you to fuck me.”

max wasn’t exactly ready for that wording and faltered, a little shook. charles on the other hand has to struggle to refrain from laughter. at the mixed reaction, your bravado slips away, and you add, “please?” charles loses the laugh automatically; your timid but desperate widened brown doe eyes stare up at the two of them, flickering between them anxiously, plump lips parted with your tongue flicking out—he has a few ideas of something he can offer to keep that mouth of yours busy.

max rumbles in satisfaction, “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it pretty girl? we’ll work on that confidence of yours for sure—but, i have a few rules for you first before we get started. charles, why don’t you tell our girl the first two?”

“number one, always answer our questions with words; if you don’t, we’ll stop and wait for you to respond. two, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell us, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and make it better for you or stop completely if necessary,” charles answers assuredly.

you nod, and max raises an eyebrow at you, “i mean, yes!”

max praises you, “you’re already doing so good for us,” he watches your breath catch at the sentence and figures he may have another praise kink on his hands, “you wanna be a good girl and tell me what you were really doing before we came home?” your cheeks burn and your previous embarrassment returns full force, but you fight through it, not wanting to break the rules right off the bat.

“well, you remember how i said my usual method wasn’t working anymore? i wasn’t lying about that. i only g-get off when you guys leave, andidoitbygrindingonapillow—and i have to put down a towel before becauseimakeamess. so! i really was doing laundry, i just didn’t spill juice on it…i kinda, spilled on it.”

charles’ hands fall away from you in shock, and max really doesn’t know if he can handle another revelation like this from you without actually passing out. you continue to over-explain, “and i i-i didn’t even get to, y’ know (oh my god, she soaked the pillow without even cumming, max!), and i got that wet anyway…and i can’t really control it, but if you guys don’t like it i can try and—“

“NO!” “PLEASE DON’T!”

you flinch away, and they apologize heavily for their overreaction.

“please, don’t, mon ange. i can tell you that max and i aren’t ever going to hate what’s between your legs, or what comes from there,” charles suggests with a smirk, before his face shifts to a more blank state “wait. did…did you have a chance to change?” you hum a little “mm-mm” glancing down at yourself still clad in max’s sweater and cotton panties, “uhm. no, i was a little more concerned with cleaning up the bed before you guys saw it so—sorry, i’m not a little more presentable—“

“are you wearing the same panties, mon ange?”

you freeze, brain lagging at what the monegasque had noticed. “mhm, yeah,” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of the sweater self-soothingly.

“can i,” charles takes a deep breath, “can i touch you, mon coeur?”

you squeak, “yes please, charlie.”

max watches as charles places his massive hand on one of your thighs, spanning the front with no struggle, and gently caresses his hand up, slowly making his way up your thigh. charles taps two fingers gently against you, and you spread your legs a smidge wider, and the sound of your thighs peeling off one another from the stickiness you leaked, reverberates around the room. max can’t help but let a moan slip out. charles slides his hand in between your legs, both of your own hands fisting at the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt, and you gasp at the lightest touch of charles pointer and middle finger against your soaked panties. max sees charles pupils blow wide and mouth drop open in awe—and he can’t wait anymore.

max presses his front to your back, sandwiching you in between them once again, and impatiently asks, “schatje, can i?” you let out a breathy ‘yeah,’ and max doesn’t hesitate to bully his hand in between your legs as well. he cops a more generous feel of your cunt, and groans at the state of ruin your panties are in.

“liefje,” max starts, “walk with me to the bed, please.” max pulls away, and unfastens one of your hands from the sweater to guide you. you turn around stumbling through your first few steps—charles sets you upright more prepared for your legs becoming jello than you are, and helps you over to the bed, one hand firmly set on the small of your back. max sits on the edge of the bed, man spreading comfortably, and watches how your eyes automatically fall to stare at his thighs with a smirk. he glances at charles behind you, who mouths ‘can’t blame her’ with a smirk of his own. the dutch pats his lap, “c’mere and give me a kiss, pretty girl.”

you rush to sit in his lap, slowing at the last minute, not wanting to sit your full weight on him. he huffs, and grabs at your hips situating you firmly on his lap, before leaning in and kissing you stupid. your gasp of shock transforms into a hum of pleasure, letting max have complete control of the kiss. his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head and moves you exactly where he wants, sucking on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue against yours. max kisses like he’s going to run out of time, he ravishes you completely. you squirm against him, pulling away to pant against his cheek needing air. max chuckles, and you only get to whine at his teasing for half a second before charles, who’s now sitting next to max, pulls you into another kiss. charles, on the other hand, kisses like he has all the time in the world, he draws it out. he keeps the kisses slow and closed in the beginning, pausing to pull away and thumb at your lips, relishing at how they’ve already swelled from max’s abuse, the surrounding skin already beginning to turn raw and sensitive from their friction of their facial hair. he continues kissing you, all tongue and sloppy not caring about about the way your hands come up to grasp at his chest in desperation, before switching to absolutely bruise your lips by nipping and tugging at them. 

your hips jump forward against max’s, and he can’t stop the groan that tumbles out. you jolt away from charles’ assault and stare at max with an embarrassed expression, “s-sorry—“ max narrows his eyes and dismisses your apology, “don’t apologize for that. you feel good, you’re allowed to show that unless i tell you differently.” 

“yes, max,” you answer, even though he didn’t ask a question.

“oh, you’re such a good girl for us, liefje,” he tests. and his instincts didn’t fail him. your hips twitch against his again, and a near inaudible moan slips from your lips.

he turns towards charles, “yeah, that works doesn’t it, cha?” charles nods, eyes still stuck on your lips. max smirks at charles being completely entranced, before turning back to you and clocks the glaze beginning to form over your eyes, “alright now, liefje, i need you to pay attention to me really quickly, hm?”

you hum, bobbing your head a few times, before you manage to get out a “yes, max.”

he holds your head steady with his thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin, “i’m not going anywhere, baby, take your time and focus.” it only takes you half a minute to truly focus in after your heart stops racing to give him another verbal confirmation before he continues. “tonight, neither one of us is going to make love to you—“ your shoulders drop and a frown is quick to spread across your mouth. you really only prepared for the situation that you’d tell them you were ready, and then you’d get railed into next sunday. you start to panic; maybe you came off too depraved, and he’s letting you down slowly—

“hey, hey, hey. no overthinking yet, let him finish, mon ange,” charles calls out to you worriedly, he’s experienced the same thought process you're going through before and would rather try and prevent the self-doubt from overtaking you.

max pets at your waist over the sweater and continues, “not tonight. we’ve just gotten off a flight, and had three back to back races. it’s late, and i’m sure all three of us are tired. we should initiate something like that with a clearer mind,” you feel a little selfish now, his points very valid, “but, i still want to give you an orgasm, okay? sure, you may not be able to get off by grinding on a pillow anymore. you’ve probably just acclimated to it and need to give it a break. so, to compromise: you’ll get off by riding my thigh.”

charles and max wait for your reaction. your frown lightens into a pout, but you’re disappointment doesn’t completely fade away. “how is that any different from riding the pillow? it’s the same thing.” charles laughs shakily, “oh, mon ange. you have no idea. listen to max and give it a try before you take it off the table completely.”

you shrug, and agree, “fine. how do i….uh how do i do the thigh riding, i guess?”

charles turns to look at max, wordlessly asking for permission, and max grants it with a wave of his hand. charles scoots up closer, and shifts your straddle from max’s whole lap to his right thigh. as soon as your pantie-covered cunt firmly presses on the muscle of max’s jean-clad thigh, a soft ‘oh’ croaks out of you. max flexes and relaxes his thigh once and your hips jump up and away from him. max and charles glance at each other; you’re ridiculously sensitive, they’ll have to see if that’s your natural state or if it’s just the result of your prolonged edging and the fact that you were grinding against a pillow not too long ago. charles squeezes your hips, bringing your attention to him, “i’m going to start guiding you now, you ready, mon coeur?”

“mmm, yeah—that felt really good, i want more,” you speak timidly.

“good,” charles states, and then he pulls your hips forward dragging you against max’s thigh, and a flash of heat zings up your spine. you moan, a small, breathy exhale, and charles keeps it slow at first, not pushing you down to roughly or making the motions too quick—he wants you to learn to love the friction again. barely a minute passes before your hips start fighting charles’ guided rhythm, and a frustrated groan slips out of you, not able to fight your boyfriends grip. max clocks back in from where he was watching the pleasure start to flicker on your face and asks, “what are you supposed to do, baby?”

“more-ah, please, charlie,” you moan shakily. charles smirks, “look at you, still using your manners like a good girl—“ a louder moan echoes, “okay, okay, mon coeur. i’ll get you there, i’ll get you to cum like you need, okay? i’ll make you forget all about your manners too, hmm?”

you stopped listening to anything after charles reassured you that he’s going to get you to cum, you believe him. he adjusts his grip on your hips and starts incrementally increasing the pace and pressure for you. your moans start to become more frequent, and increasing in pitch rapidly, the drivers can tell you’re hurtling towards your long-awaited orgasm, sooner than they thought. charles slowly releases his grip on your waist letting your hips take over once he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it. you throw your head back in pleasure, your hips have a steady grind and…and you’re feeling good. a suprised laugh slips out of your lips at that and shifts into a sharp moan when max starts flexing his thigh rhythmically giving you a little more texture to work with. max lets his heavy hands fill in for where charles’ and presses you down into deeper slower strokes. 

you cry out, it’s a little too much for you, but it feels so good, that you bear with it, they know what’s best for you, anyways. max grins down at you smugly, and you start to tear up a little; he can still feel your hips twitching away from the pressure sometimes. not wanting to push you too far with that motion alone, he lightens up on the pressure but starts bouncing his thigh. the shriek you release surprises all three of you, but you don’t run from it, if anything you lean into it more. one of your hands fists into charles’ shirt for support, and the other falls to max’s, tugging it off your left hip so you can hold it tight. max’s grin softens into a small smile and he kisses your joined hands, and charles leans into press kisses on your neck, praise slipping out of their lips freely.

“doing so good for us, pretty girl.”

“yeah, baby, that’s it. take what you need.”

“don’t be shy, let those sweet moans out for us.”

“just like that, oh! look at that, you’ve leaked all over his thigh,” charles points out. max looks down and registers that his pant leg is sticking down to his thigh and the denim has darkened with the amount of wetness. “oh, yeah. look at that, baby,” max pats on the side of your face, and you can’t even recall when you screwed your eyes shut, but you look down, and a mortified squeal leaves you. not much longer and you’ll have drowned his thigh. the dutchman sucks his teeth at you, “don’t be embarrassed, liefje. i can’t wait until i can taste it straight from the source,” he moves his other hand underneath the sweatshirt, and slips two fingers between your inner thigh while gathering your wetness. he sucks on one finger moaning explicitly at your taste, before offering both fingers to charles to clean off. the monegasque flicks his tongue out teasingly tasting them first, before he makes a quick motion of sucking them in and fully running his tongue in every crevice to get every last drop of your taste. 

you moans start to become pitchy little ah-ah-ah’s, and you frantically start rabbiting your hips. you’re so close. max squeezes you hand, and starts up the praise again.

“i wasn’t joking, schatje. when i finally get my mouth on your pretty little cunt, you won’t be able to pull me off of you until i force at least three orgasms out of you.”

charles pulls off of max’s fingers and adds, “i need to give her three or four from my mouth too. i don’t think she’ll be able to handle that many.”

“yes, she can. she’s such a good girl for us, she’d let us keep going until we tell her when she’s done.”

“mmm, yeah—she’s right there, look at that cute little face she’s making.”

“her pretty little o-mouth, we should fill that up for her too.”

“thinkin i’ll fill that sweet little cunt of hers first with my dick—“

what escapes your mouth is definitely a scream, and max can’t bring himself to muffle it even though it’s the middle of the night. he pays a hefty sum of money for this penthouse, they can deal with hearing how charles and him make you scream with pleasure. your orgasm completely whites-out all of your senses; ears ringing, eyes rolled back, skin feeling raw and thighs shaking. max and charles work your hips back and forth a few more times, helping you with the aftershocks until you squirm out of their hands. you fall forward into max’s chest, body trembling, and tears streaming down your face.

max cradles you close and scratches at your head, calling your name a few times to get a gauge of how out of it you are. with no verbal response, he sends charles to get water and a towel to clean you up. max softly murmurs praises at you constantly, and charles joins in with the affirmations when he returns. the both clean you up when you’re still floating; they put you in an oversized tee, not bothering with undergarments, wiping all wetness and cream away from between your legs trying to avoid looking at your cunt directly, they even manage to get your bonnet on for you, and even have time to change the duvet before you start becoming aware again.

you turn and automatically move to snuggle into the crook of max’s neck, but he gently presses a straw to your mouth so you can hydrate after the amount of fluids you seem to have lost. your eyes open, and you croak out a disapproving hum at not being able to go to sleep, and max shakes his head at you, “drink, schat. non-negotiable, pretty girl.” after slowly draining ¾ of the bottle, you pull away and with a shattered voice, start mumbling, “thank you, thank you, thank you—“

and charles leans over to cut you off with a soft press of lips, “no, thank you for letting us give you that, mon coeur.” you hum, whispering out, “i love you, charlie. i love you, maxy.” 

they both respond with resounding ‘i-love-you’s back, and start soft conversation just checking up on you before they let you fall asleep. 

“i’ve never felt this good before from an orgasm,” you start, “i wanna—i wanna keep being good for you guys. i wanna learn how to feel good like this again, and i want you both to show me how because i trust you. please?”. charles and max both murmur affirmatives to you, and you continue speaking softly, “you guys can take showers now, i’ll probably be asleep before you come back.” after making sure you’re truly comfortable, max and charles head to the en-suite to take the world’s speediest shower so they can cuddle up with you sooner. 

shutting the door, max and charles stare at each other in completely silence. charles starts, “are we sure that we’re the ones corrupting her and she’s not corrupting us? because, i’ve almost came in my pants three times tonight.”

max stares at charles with unseeing eyes, “i will never forgot the way she soaked my fucking leg, charles…i’m pretty sure i did come in my pants.”

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© httpsserene 2023

[notherpuppet]

I know they’re probably not going to go into this (which i understand, there’s only so much time in an episode and they’re telling a different story) but I think about Al’s background a LOT. Get ready if ur in the mood for a read.

To be a mixed Black person in America is a…bizarre experience. You come to realize that due to the coincidence of your genetic makeup, white folks may divulge information that they keep so closely guarded from the ears of “more obvious-looking” black folks. Im gonna bring it back to Alastor, but lemme give some personal context. I’m mixed with Filipino, so I’m pretty obviously not white, yet my ambiguous ethnic makeup in a predominantly white suburbia seemed to make white peers and people feel much more at ease in relaying their criticisms or prejudices of black people to me. I would hear someone feel comfy enough to spew vitriolic racist shit with me, then toe the line like a circus acrobat when around someone a few shades darker in skin tone and a few coils curlier in hair texture. It was constantly infuriating and holding my tongue was a practice to both investigate someone’s true nature and preserve my own safety. I did abandon that method of navigating life in America, and experienced the switch-up white folks made when I started ‘broadcasting’ my blackness. (E.G. beyonce pre vs. post Lemonade). The criticisms and prejudice confessions just came less often, til I saw them being caged up completely after white peers experienced backlash from me. After they realized “OH this bitch is a n*****!?”

Now this is from someone who is brown, but i also wanna talk about my white-passing cousin with a similar racial makeup as Al, who is from the south and oh BOY. (Let’s call him J for this post’s purposes). J’s navigation though simple daily life is such a constant contradictory experience, of which he is still working through in therapy. I think of one moment when he was manager at retail gig and his boss told him that whenever a Black customer enters, it’s policy to give them “exceptionally attentive customer service”. Essentially, “follow that n***** around”. This is just one modern incident of when J would hear the quiet part out loud, despite his Blackness, because his appearance was white enough to make white folks drop their guard. Eventually, my cousin and I took to the same direction where we used our advantage of disarming white folks against them when the time came. We would keep note and record of racism and unlock a sort of “this you?” when the opportunity to expose that person’s true nature came. It’s pretty vengeful thinking ngl, but it is really REALLY hard to resist exposing an asshole rather than attempting to teach an asshole to change their ways. Especially given that such an attempt is an ARDUOUS uphill battle. The experience of KNOWING the truth about what someone thinks of your people, and being opened to opportunities and information that you would not have access to if the chance of your genetics was only slightly different is bIZARRE, horrific, and fuel for constant inner turmoil. (It sucks y’all)

Now back to Alastor; to have been a mixed person in the Deep South in 1930s America—it’s not too difficult for me to imagine how traumatic and convoluted that experience must have been. Especially when legally and socially, things were so much more Black and White. And when you’re on the line in between that, when society does not prepare a place for your existence, it can be SO isolating. You may consider the absurdity of such an arbitrary method of determining class, status, and/or caste much earlier in life than peers, which only further isolates you. You hold a resentment of society now that you know exactly how the other side is operating to ensure your oppression.

And then I think of Al’s weird ass moral code. How he arrived in Hell and (according to Mimzy) began killing overlords with reckless abandon. This is someone who likely had to develop the cunning to navigate 1930s Deep South America as a mixed, murdering, psychopath without getting caught by authorities who are already gunning for you. And now he is in Hell where the rules of society have gone up in smoke and he can fully embrace his rage, resentment, and vengeance. A desire to burn down the powerful people of the world can be accommodated and ANY previous inhibitions can finally be released. The morality of rising above someone by cutting them down (instead of developing emotional/spiritual healing) has become the easier and satisfying option. Finally the opportunity to show the power-secure villains of the world how easily you can tear them down when nothing is holding you back any longer.

TLDR; The trauma of racism in America is pretty sufficient cannon fodder for a severe psychotic break, the development of socially debilitating behaviors and isolation, and a quest for profound vengeance. So maybe that can explain some of the enigma that is Alastor.

And this is just ONE facet of Al. I didn’t even get to bring up the isolation that comes with being an aroace nonbeliever in the 1930s Deep South. Like FUCK. I’m a mixed, aroace nonbeliever from a modern day conservative town and yall….what a weird experience for sure lol but anyway lemme get back to my life. Whole point of this was—-WHAT AN INTERESTING FUCKEN CHARACTER TO THINK ABOUT

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.

[bokettochild]

Just saw the update!

So, first thoughts!

Gremlin Legend and Sky is something I am LIVING for. Sky's little look of approval as he stands between Wars and Legend after that little move is sending me!

(Wild is not impressed)

I also really love that JoJo played with Warriors' cape/scarf being capable of doing that, which is a major risk btw, but I love that we see it's potential now!

Like, Legend's timing is perfect (and I love that this confirms the Legend v. Wars dynamic we all love) especially considering Hyrule was literally talking about the same thing and you'd THINK Captain-War-Hero over here would be more cautious because of it (although the fact this implies Legend doesn't trigger Warriors danger sense is GREAT for the fluff fic writers like me!)

Time and Wars looking like disappointed parents though is brilliant

(Warriors with messy hair is so funny to me, help)

The continued portrayal of Time being too harsh with the boys, all tense after what happened to Twilight, that's great. i'm glad the consequences of past events are following them, it really makes this all feel linear!

I also am ALL HERE for the boys finding their differences! Warriors and Wild both admitting to being new to dungeon crawling and the monsters involved is a great thing we've all been playing with in fics, but making it cannon feels like validation :)

Also, Warriors being defensive of that, and maybe a bit prickly about their judgement, I think it shows a lot of him. he's got his pride,a although he's learned to tame it. He's feeling a bit miffed to realize how different he is, but doesn't want them seeing him as lesser as well (although they never would). I can also hear him using a clipped military sort of tone when speaking here. It's just the way his words are selected and strung together that makes it seem he's being very to the point, direct, and cold in his tone, which really sells the whole difference between a soldier and the "average nobody" that the rest of them were (ironic, since he's trying to act like the difference isn't a big deal but only further accentuates it this way).

Twilight being pleased that Epona is fine and just enjoying a meal made me grin so big though. He's all worried for his girl but she is, quite literally, happy as a horse over there LOL

Also, this bit:

recognition for Sky's right-handedness, my beloved! (JoJo is giving us all the easter eggs!)

The fact that the passage is too small to let them all fight though is a brilliant way of preventing some of our heavy hitters and more skilled heroes from being able to do anything though!

I like how that gives us the chance to see Time one-shot the foe and also gives him the impression that the rest are maybe not skilled enough to do this alone. WE all know they are, but they're a handicap to each other right now, and it's only further cementing in his mind that they're not ready for all this, which will make his overbearing speech and the judgement he casts on them in combat all the more an issue.

I mean, we all know the hero's shade was like that, but JoJo has shown Time acting this way from the start

(Deep Shadows P.2)

(Likelike)

So I guess we're in for more of that now, and most likely someone (probably Legend, as it's usually him, or Wind, who is very aware of judgement from teh rest) is definitely going to have to call him on it soon, maybe in the dungeon. Will that lead to some bonding with Time where he has to admit he cares and worries about them as though they're his own? I hope so!

Anyways, all this to say, we really are seeing how much they struggle to work together, so hopefully this dungoen will teach them all how to do that better, as Time mentioned earlier

(Dawn p.8)

Now, to finish it off!I would like to thank JoJo for giving us so many beautiful shots of Twi this time around. I'll admit it now, he's pretty darn fine <3

That said, I'm loving the Legend content too! i hope we get to see some more starring moments from him going forwards, what with him being the dungeon veteran and all! It's great seeing his childish/playful side these last few updates, but I'm really craving some veteran Legend right now >:)

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

Sea Sickness

Sea Sickness

Luke Hughes x fem!reader (established relationship, but still new)

Idea: Reader gets nauseous from being on the boat at the Hughes’s Lake House and snuggles up to Luke.

Requested: Nope. 

Author’s Note:  I know I’m bouncing around who I’m writing for, but I’m on a NHL spree right now. I also get nauseated if I'm on a boat or in the ocean for too long. Fun Fact: I wrote the beginning part of this on a note card while working by myself in the OR today. We had a really long case where I just had to check up on people during the middle of it (hence why I wrote this on a card because I don’t like going on my phone when I’m in the OR. It's unprofessional). I don’t know any of these people personally. The closest I’ve gotten to the team (that wasn’t just playing in the band at the games or when they were walking past us down the 2023 red carpet in tampa) was a tuba was talking to some of them in his plane row on the ride back from that trip (he ended up being the tuba you see in the senior picture from 2024) and one of the coaches had to share our bus on the way back from the 2023 frozen four game with his wife and two young daughters (I kept trying to get the younger one to smile at me unsuccessfully).  Someone from my hotel room also shared the elevator ride up with the entire Fantilli family the night they lost that game in 2023 (I think Adam also won the Hobey Baker award that same night). I’ve also been playing my lego lord of the rings game. Anyway, enjoy this little blurb.

Tagging some of my favorite Hughes/NHL writers, love y’all.

@wineauntie @thedevilrisen @winterbarnesblog @sc0tters 

I forgot to mention that this is kinda based on the cute stuff @bedsyandco writes

I'm now sad when I'm uploading this because a friend from college drumline has an incurable brain cancer. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers (he's only 19 or 20).

Requests are still open.  Feedback is always appreciated.  Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new. If you want to only be tagged when I upload something for a certain character or shows, let me know as well.  

Warning: None, just general fluff. Feeling sick on a boat. 

Word Count: 488

Being on a boat wasn’t your most favorite thing in the world, mainly because the last time you were on a boat, it got stuck in the middle of the laek and had to be towed back to shore (true story), but when your boyfriend Luke invited you to spend the weekend at the lakehouse with ihs brothers and friends, you weren't going to say no. The weekend had been filled with lots of eating, playing outside, and the boys being competitive at every game they pick up (even the old board game you brought to teach them how to play).  Just trying to keep up with them all was exhausting, so that’s how you ended up on the back of the boat enjoying the warm air instead of diving into the water again.  The boys had been going back and forth between wakeboarding and chatting on the boat deck. With them supplying the lake with plenty of waves, the constand up and down was starting to make your stomach sick.  You scooched over and made yourself comfortable laying your head on Luke’s shoulder.  He then opened his arms and wrapped you in his warm embrace so you could crawl on his lap and snuggle closer to his chest. 

“You feeling ok?” 

“Yeah, just want to stop the constant movement.” It was getting to a point were you just wanted to stop the constant movement.  It being really hot out didn’t help either. 

“We’ll head to shore soon. Then we can cool off inside.” 

Being wrapped up in Luke’s embrace with his fingers gently carding through your hair or down your shoulder leaving goosebumps in their wake and shading you with his fit body definitely helped keep your mind off of your stomach and the boat’s ever shifting movements.  Luke wasn’t much of a pda person, but you always encouraged him to show little bits of it at least in front of his family or close friends.  

Little did you know, that’s exactly who was eyeing the interaction.  Jack, Quinn, Trevor, Cole, and Dylan all had stopped what they were talking about in favor of watching the interaction between you two.  Eventhough they were not all related, they felt like proud older brothers seeing Luke be so considerate and affectionate in front of them.  Of couse they’re all going to tease him relentlessly later about this, but they were gentlemen in regards to respecting the timing and the moment.

“Just lay down and close your eyes. We’ll be on shore soon.”  You snuggled deeper into Luke’s neck keeping your eyes closed and focused on his soft skin, his natural scent, and the way his warm body curled around yours. He even tugged on your legs to pull you fully into his lap as his large frame wrapped around your body fully encasing you in his warmth and comfort. 

Nothing better than enjoying the summer with those you love.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

-

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run. 

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

-

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you. 

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst. 

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

-

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

-

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth: 

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?" 

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven. 

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks. 

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music. 

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart. 

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

-

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

-

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

-

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

-

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

[dira333]

If we have each other - Kazekage Family

Summary: Shinki finds a Mother Figure by accident, or how two people falling in love looks like from a 4-year-old's perspective

Shinki and Shikadai are about 4 years old in this...

Words: 4k

Shinki didn’t mean to get lost. Father will be upset.

All the trees look the same now, and he knows it’s because he’s panicking, but that realization doesn’t help ease his nerves. His breathing is coming faster now, iron sand swirling around him.

There’s movement in the bushes. He holds his breath, hoping, wishing for someone to come and find him.

But it’s a deer, looking at him with dumb empty eyes before returning to where it came from.

Shinki sits on the damp ground, fighting the tears that threaten to spill.

He practiced hard to get his kekkai genkai under control, to make his father proud. And now he’s ruining their celebration, his first visit to Konohagakure to meet extended family, by getting lost in the woods. 

To his left, he can hear movement. He doesn’t look up this time, expecting the deer to be back again.

When instead a voice speaks up, his iron sand reacts without his incentive, shooting forward.

He turns just in time to see a woman deflect the hit, jumping out of reach. The sand drops, returning to him as he stands, scared and relieved at the same time.

“Who are you?” Shinki asks, voice shaking lightly even though he makes sure to carry a threatening tone.

“You’re Shinki, right?” You ask, eyes surprisingly warm for someone who just got attacked. “I’m Shikamaru’s cousin, Shikadai might have told you about me.”

Shinki thinks back to their conversations. His cousin isn’t that talkative. Shikadai mostly prefers to nap. 

But you look like Shikamaru, he thinks, the resemblance calming him down. You’re family too.

“Are you- are they looking for me?”

“Probably,” you tell him with a smile, “I was out collecting antlers when Mosabi came to get me. That’s the deer that spotted you. You wanna get back to the house?”

“Yes, please.” He carefully dusts his clothes off before looking at you for further clues. To his surprise your hand is outstretched.

“Wanna take my hand? It’s okay if not.”

“No,” he grabs it, relishing in the contact. He’s never too sure when he’s allowed to touch others and the iron sand makes it impossible for others to touch him without his explicit permission. Perhaps that’s why Father isn’t as touchy-feely as his uncle is with Shikadai. 

Your hand is warm around his and you don’t seem afraid of him at all. Do you not know his powers? How dangerous he is?

“So you’re visiting from Suna, right?” You ask just as he readies himself to address the topic. “What’s it like? I’ve never been there.”

“It’s a desert village.”

“I know,” you smile warmly. “But what’s it like? What do you like about it?”

“Like… about it?” 

You point above you. “Konoha has a lot of forests. That’s my favorite part of the village, going to a place where you can’t see the sky anymore, where everything above and around you is all the shades of green you could possibly imagine. I have a lot of plants at home too.”

“Father does as well,” Shinki exclaims, the words spilling from his mouth without his intention. “He collects Cacti and he even gets them to bloom.”

“He does?” You ask, showing interest. It’s the first time someone’s asked him about Cacti in a while and though he tries to respect others for not caring enough about them, he can’t help but judge them a little. Cacti are great. And Father, able to get them to bloom, is even greater.

“Yes! Cacti are very delicate plants, you know, and they only bloom in perfect conditions. Every species has different wants and needs, so you have to know them well.”

“And your father does so?”

“Yes!” Shinki nods eagerly, “Father is very knowledgeable. He is teaching me as well and I’m a good student.”

“I believe you are,” you smile, moving as if to brush through his hair. The iron sand immediately rises to stop you and you freeze, hand in the air.

“I’m sorry,” Shinki apologizes immediately, “It’s my Kekkai Genkai, I don’t mean to attack you-”

“It’s fine,” your smile doesn’t falter. “I should remember to ask before I move to touch. It’s only polite after all. May I mess up your hair?”

“I suppose,” Shinki offers, not sure what the purpose of this kind of touch is. 

But then you do it, and he can feel it. He shivers, warmth spreading through his cheeks.

“Can you do it again?” He asks before he realizes that the words slipped out. But you don’t look taken aback by his request, instead ruffling his hair softly for a while until you tuck a strand of it behind his ear, the gesture warm in a way he hasn’t experienced before. It feels like getting a bath or getting tucked into bed, like Uncle Kankuro making his favorite soup for dinner and pretending he likes it as well.

“Let’s get you home, huh?” You say, sounding just like Father when he takes him to bed.

“Can we visit your aunt?” Shinki asks the next time he’s in Konoha. 

Shikadai blinks at him in confusion. “I don’t have an aunt.”

“Your father’s cousin,” Shinki explains and Shikadai blinks again.

“Sure, I guess. I’ll ask.”

“Ah,” Uncle Shikamaru makes a face. It looks like he’s about to yawn, but then he doesn’t. “She’s at work boys, I’m sorry.”

“Where does she work?” Shinki hadn’t gotten another chance to talk to you the last time he’d been here, but he remembers the warmth of your touch and the way you kept smiling at him.

“At the hospital. She’s a poison specialist and cultivates herbs and medicinal plants for them.”

“Oh,” Shinki considers it for a second. “Can we visit her when she’s back from work?”

“I’ll ask her to come around but don’t be disappointed if she doesn’t show up, okay? Her work hours are pretty long.”

Shinki’s familiar with not being disappointed. He thinks he’ll manage.

The day drags on after that. He manages to convince Shikadai to train with him for a while until he gets too tired. Father comes in around Lunch time to sit and eat with him, before disappearing to another meeting with Uncle Shikamaru, leaving Aunt Temari to look after them. He likes Aunt Temari. She never hesitates to give him something to work with, teaching him stuff Father might think him too young to learn.

“Aunty,” he asks, as Shikadai naps yet again and he’s working on his latest embroidery project, “what do you like about Suna?”

She laughs softly. “Where’s that question coming from?”

“I’m not sure, but-”

“Don’t worry,” she picks up Shikadai’s head and drops him in her lap, carding her hand through his hair in a gentle manner that makes his own scalp tingle, longing for the sensation. “I’ll tell you. But it’s a long list.”

Shinki looks up at that.

“There’s the sunset. The sunsets are not the same here. How the night sky is so clear at night, barely any clouds to cover the stars. How you can breathe freely because no trees are blocking your sight. Do you want me to go on?”

He considers it for a second.

“I really like how warm it is,” he answers a question he’d been asked months ago and not by Temari. “as if the sun’s settling in your bones.”

Temari smiles. “You got that right. What else?”

You show up right after Dinner, exhaustion pulling at your body. He can see it in the way you walk, slow steps, back a little hunched.

But you smile at his sight and your smile is just as warm as it was the last time he saw you.

“Hey there,” you wave at him, “how was your day?”

There are a lot of things he wants to tell you. From the question he still needs to answer to the questions he has for you - not to mention the present he’d been working on for weeks at home - but now everyone’s eyes are on him and he can hear his panic in the rustling of his iron sand moving around him.

“I am fine, thank you,” Shinki says stiffly, wishing for himself to be different. Father’s hand rests warmly on his shoulder, no doubt to calm him down. In the time it takes him to gather himself you’ve exchanged pleasantries with the other adults. Father has his arms crossed now, cheeks a little reddish. Did you say something that made him upset, Shinki wonders, looking from the Kazekage and back to you. But no one else seems upset, there’s even a grin playing around Uncle Kankuro’s lips.

“I forgot,” you say, sending him a look and a poorly veiled wink, “I have a present for Shinki at my place. Do you wanna came with me and get it?”

“Can I?” He asks immediately, thinking of the time he’ll get alone with you, able to say some things without being the center of attention. If he plays his cards right he can give you your present too, without anyone watching.

Father hesitates for a second, exchanging looks with Temari before nodding.

“It’s alright. But I want him back here in an hour, is that okay?”

“More than okay. We’re just going to get a plant or too, nothing too serious,” you promise before turning to him. “Do you need to get your bag first?”

You take his hand on the way over, soft warmth in the cool night, listening as he tells you all about Suna, all the things he likes and learned to notice.

“When you walk through some streets,” Shinki recalls fondly, “the sky disappears too. Everything around you is different shades of brown and red and yellow, depending on the minerals used. It’s like in the woods.”

“That sounds mesmerizing,” you point out, a faraway sound to your voice, “I’d love to see that someday.”

Desire tugs on his heart. He could show you around. He could have you and Father and Suna at the same time.

“You could come-” He starts, cutting off for a second. “Visit me, you know?”

Your eyes flicker over and you smile. “I could, couldn’t I? Maybe I will one day when my work allows.”

He squeezes your hand on accident, thinking about that. You squeeze his hand back.

“I made this for you,” he exclaims in the safety of your apartment, after he’s done three trips looking at every single plant there is. There are so many, despite the small space, making it feel more like being in the woods than indoors.

It is a tapestry, barely big enough to cover both your hands. He’s spent weeks agonizing on what to put on it until he decided on something you’d already talked about.

The bloom of Father’s Cacti had been plentiful that month, each blossom a different, vibrant color. 

Now he’s carefully watching your face, not wanting to miss any hints. Do you like it? 

“Oh Shinki,” you breathe out, “it’s marvelous.”

His face blooms with heat.

“Can I hug you?” You ask and he nods, lump in his throat. You pull him in, warm and safe and oh so different from all the other people who have hugged him before - not that there are many. 

Father is tall and strong, and touching him often means touching another layer of protective sand. He’s careful in his approach, giving, but never taking. He smells like Cacti and the dessert and his hair always tickles Shinki’s neck when they hug.

Uncle Kankuro and Aunt Temari hug him quickly if they hug him at all. More often than not they move as if to mess up his hair before deciding against it, offering him their hands to a high five instead. They’re not the cuddliest people, he thinks, and that’s okay.

But hugging you feels like sinking, like being drawn in, like giving and taking. You’re warm and soft, yet sturdy enough to keep him upright, swallowing him whole yet leaving him be. Shinki doesn’t want to let go. 

“You know,” you tell him on the way back, his arms heavy with the two plants he got to pick out, “if you want, we can write to each other. Shikadai mentioned that you wrote him too.”

“Yes, I do,” Shinki nods, “Shikadai knows a lot of words. I like writing him.”

“You know, most children your age don’t know yet how to write,” you muse. “How do you feel about that?”

The question comes out of left field. How does he feel about it?

“What are they doing instead?” He asks, wondering. Are they napping with their parents, like Shikadai? Do they get to play with their friends, like he’s allowed to do when he’s visiting Konoha?

“I’m not sure,” he answers eventually.

“That’s okay. You might figure it out later.”

“How do you feel about it?” He asks, looking up at you. A shadow travels over your face.

“I am very proud to know such an intelligent child,” you tell him, lips pulling into a smile. “And polite, too.”

His lips pull up as well, unable not to smile back at you.

“Are you going to work the whole week?” Shinki asks, shifting the pots in his arms. He’d wanted to carry them himself, but he’s now regretting it. If you’d taken one, he could have held your hand on the way back too.

“Sadly, I do.” Your smile turns into a frown. “I’d love to spend some more time with you. But if it’s not too late for you, I can show up after work, like I did today. If you want, you can show me how you made this embroidery and I’ll teach you how to take care of your new plants.”

“I’d love that,” he admits.

You stay true to your promise, showing up each evening after work.

At first, the grown-ups seem a little confused by your presence, though Shinki wastes no time dragging you into the room he’s sharing with Father and Uncle Kankuro.

“I prepared everything for today’s lesson,” he explains, showing you the fabric, needles, and the different colored strings. “Today I’m teaching you about the different stitches.”

“Do you want something to eat?” Uncle Shikamaru asks from the doorway. “When did you get Dinner?”

“Oh, I’m not that hungry,” you wave him off, smiling when Shikadai settles in your lap without question, eyes closing instantly.

Shinki’s a little peeved that his cousin’s taking up the space in your lap. If he’d be more forward or if his Kekkai Genkai would allow it, he could- but then again…

“How does that look?” You ask, turning your project for him to see. “Is it good, Shinki-Sensei?”

He blushes at the formal title.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he insists, though it feels good. 

“Shinki,” his Father’s now standing in the doorway, dressed in his proper Kazekage uniform, the hat in his hands. “I’m leaving for tonight. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,” he gets up and walks over, torn between wanting to properly say goodbye to father and wanting to cherish every minute he gets with you.

Father gently pats his shoulder. “I see, you have company. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.”

And there it is again, a quick exchange of words between you and Father that ends with a hue of redness tinting his Father’s cheeks. And your face has changed too, your smile different now. 

“Do you like Father?” He asks as soon as the front door has closed behind him. He knows not to ask questions like that with other people listening in.

Your shoulders pull up to your ears.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you smile when you talk to him.”

“He’s hard not to like, don’t you think?” You ask and Shinki doesn’t know how to answer that, so he falls silent instead.

Shinki likes getting letters, but he likes getting letters from you best.

You usually start answering his questions before you ask him your own, always following up on the important stuff. How he’s settling in, how his experience is with training, how the Cacti are growing… And then, on a separate page, you add information about yet another plant, poisonous or not, that he can add to his collection. He likes your drawings of the plants, the detail you put into making sure that the petals have the correct color so that he can safely identify them in the future.

Sometimes you write Father letters too, though those have no added drawings and he usually reads them in private. They’re not that interesting, Shinki, thinks because you mostly just talk about your day-to-day.

They’re planning their next trip to Konoha when the letter arrives, from Shikamaru this time.

It arrives out of the ordinary, on an otherwise normal Tuesday, and the way Father’s brows furrow has even Uncle Kankuro stop what he’s doing.

“What’s wrong,” Uncle Kankuro asks.

Father says your name and Shinki turns, a weird feeling in his stomach.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Apparently, she’s fallen ill. A surgery was necessary, but her recovery is thwarted by the amount of work that needs to be done. Shikamaru asks if we could take her in for a few weeks, keep her from her work so that she can fully recuperate.”

“Can we, Father?” Shinki asks, mind racing. He’s going to be able to show you Suna, isn’t he?

Father exchanges a look with Uncle Kankuro, who grins and folds his hands behind his head.

“Don’t look at me, Gaara. You’re the one who can’t keep his eyes of her when she’s around.”

Shinki furrows his brows. “Do you suspect her to spy on us, Father?”

“What?” Father turns. “No, nothing like that, Shinki. I-”

“Your Dad likes her,” Uncle Kankuro grins. “Probably as much as you like her, Shinki.”

“So she can come?”

Father sighs. “She can come. But-” He raises his hand. “Don’t overwhelm her. I know you want to show her everything, but first we have to make sure she’s resting.”

Your skin is paler than he remembers, the white of your eyes a sickly yellow. You walk a little hunched and your bags are being carried by another Konoha-Shinobi. Shinki remembers him, the telltale green of his uniform, the thick eyebrows and the bright smile.

“Friend Gaara!” He launches into an excited tale, but Shinki steps to the side, a little unsure on how he’s supposed to be greeting you.

“Can I get a hug?” You ask, sinking to your knees. He nods, dropping himself into your arms. 

You might look a little different, a little worse for wear, but you still feel the same, warm and safe.

“Are you excited to show me Suna?” You whisper into his ear. “I bet Gaara told you that I’m supposed to rest first, right?”

“He did. But you really don’t look good.”

You laugh softly, flinching at the same time. “I’m going to be as good as new in a few days, don’t worry.”

Back at the Kazekage residence Shinki shows you your room.

“You should lie down,” he insists, pulling back the blanket. “My room is right next door if you need anything.”

“Do you wanna lie down with me?” You ask, flinching again as you stretch out on the mattress.”

“Am I allowed to?” He asks, the words slipping out before he can think twice about them.

You blink slowly. “I’m allowing it,” you tell him softly. “But only do it if you’re comfortable with it. You can try and if you don’t like it, I won’t be hurt if you want to leave again. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

Curious, he slips out of his sandals and under the thin blanket. Your body is warm and it feels like a hug, but different.

“Where did they do surgery?” He asks, turning onto his side a little.

Your eyes are closed but you raise an arm and point at the side of your stomach.

“Here. You want to see the scar?”

“Can I?” 

Instead of answering you pull up your shirt, revealing puckered skin that’s an angry red and hot to the touch.

“I think it’s inflamed,” he points out, a little worried now. 

“That’s probably right. I’m going to rest a bit now and by nightfall, it’s going to be better, I’m sure. I’ve just been on my feet for too long.”

“Okay,” Shinki turns onto his back again, looking up at the ceiling. “Can I stay with you until then?”

“Sure.”

Shinki’s supposed to be in bed, he knows. 

But you’re just a room away and he can’t sleep, skin itching.

So he slips out of bed and out the door, unheard, unseen.

Though, you’re not alone.

He can hear soft voices through the door, both of them familiar.

Father is with you.

For a moment he thinks about stepping through. Sure, Father sent him to bed, but he’s just saying “Good Night” one more time. 

That is, until he hears his name.

“Do you want me to talk to Shinki?” You ask and Shinki freezes, doorknob in his hand.

Talk to him? About what?

“I think that’s my job, is it not?”

“Perhaps, but I can tell you’re having problems with it.”

“I’m not sure if he understands.”

“He’s smart. He will understand.”

Understand what? Shinki shivers, the coldness of the stones around him seeping into his bones.

“Gaara,” you say now, your voice now different from before. It reminds him… it reminds him of Uncle Shikamaru when he calls out to Aunt Temari, that smile on his face that Uncle Kankuro calls lovesick. “Rest. We’ll talk about it in the morning. You’re thinking too much.”

“No one told me that starting a family would be this difficult.”

“It’s not. You’re just making it difficult,” you laugh softly. There’s the whisper of linen. Did Father just slip into bed with you?

Slowly, carefully, Shinki unwraps his hand from the doorknob and takes a step back.

He’s not sure what he just witnessed, just that it’s something of importance.

Father eyes him over the breakfast table.

“You did not sleep much last night,” he concludes. “Do you want to stay home and rest? Keep our guest company?”

“Father,” Shinki swallows around the lump in his throat. If he wants to ask, he needs to ask now, before the rest of the house wakes up. “Did you spend the night… with her?”

Bright red bleeds into Father’s pale cheeks. His eyes widen.

“How-” He takes a deep breath. “You know?”

“I wanted to say Good Night one more time,” Shinki confesses, staring down at the table. “And I overheard.”

“I suppose,” Father sighs softly, “I suppose this is as good time as any. We were talking… We’re considering… What do you think about having a mother?”

-x-

“Mother,” Shinki calls out to you, “Hurry.”

“I’m here, I’m here,” you laugh, catching up to him. “Incoming,” you warn him just seconds before your hand messes up his hair. “It’s just Shikadai.”

“Yes, but he’s been training,” Shinki insists. “And I want to know who of us has gotten better.”

“Ah,” you smile. “I’m sure you’re going to do great. I’m proud of your growth.”

Shinki grumbles something, turning away when you move to mess up his hair even more.

“Stop,” he insists. “I’m not a little child anymore.”

“No, you’re not.” You smile, squinting at the Horizon where the Thunder Train is starting to appear. “But you’re always going to be my favorite son.”

“I’m your only child,” Shinki reminds you, nose curled. He likes being called your favorite, even though he opposes it every time.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you whistle an innocent tune. “That might change, you know?”

Shinki freezes. “Are you saying-”

“No,” you smile, shaking your head. “And if I were, I wouldn’t tell you like that. But what are your thoughts about it? Would you mind?”

He considers it, watching the Thunder Train approaching.

His hand finds yours, squeezing it. You squeeze back, no words needed.

“No,” he announces eventually, just as the Train halts in front of them. “I wouldn’t mind.”

part 2

[daddyslilchickenfingers2]

Slutmas Day 4

Teach me (Chris)

Request: y'all are play never have I ever and madi asks "never have I ever given a blow job" and y/n like I have never and Chris is like "I mean you can practice on me" half jokingly but then y/n later confronts him about it @ermdontmindthisaccount

Warnings: reciprocated oral, learning how to give a bj, spitting, use of ma/mama, praise and degradation, slight angst, no actual sex, (mentions of Nick getting fucked as they play Never Have I Ever)

“I mean, you can always practice your blowjob skills on me”

Y/n’s pov

I was over at the triplet’s house with Madi for our Saturday night sleepover when Nick decided we should play ‘Dirty Never Have I Ever’ for fun. We obviously all agreed, deciding to sit at the kitchen table, Chris decided to be a smart ass by starting off with a question he knew would have Nick put his finger down. “Never have I ever been fucked in the ass” he loudly laughed, earning a punch from Nick, both him and Madi putting a finger down. “Never have I ever had a wet dream about someone in this room” Matt giggled, putting his finger down along with Chris and I.

“CONCERNING BEHAVIOR!” Nick yelled in disgust, it was now Madi’s turn “Never have I ever given a blowjob” she giggled as her and Nick put their fingers down. “Bitch you’ve never sucked dick before!?” Nick asked in disbelief but before I could answer, Matt added another question. “Are you a virgin? No offense if you are, just asking” he put his hands up in defense, causing me to laugh. “I’m most definitely not a virgin, I’ve just never liked a guy enough to give him a blowjob” I laughed.

Again, Chris being Chris, decided to make an outta pocket joke, “I mean you can always practice your blowjob skills on me” he said before obnoxiously laughing at everyone’s faces. This caused my face to heat up and made my mind go crazy. “Don’t say shit like that you perv” Madi told him in a serious tone. We continued playing until Nick had to put all 10 of his fingers down, that kid is a fucking freaky freak. Once we finished with the game we decided to watch a few movies until everyone started going their separate ways to bed.

Madi and Nick had gone off to his room, leaving me to decide between Matt and Chris for whose room I wanted to sleep in. “Who are you gonna snuggle with tonight Y/n/n” Chris joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I’m not in the mood to cuddle tonight and I want to go straight to bed. So if you wanna sleep in my room you can but it’s gonna be boring” Matt said tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Chris’ room it is then” I said before giving Matt a hug and a kiss on the cheek “Goodnight Bernard” I sang as Matt gave me an unamused look before heading into his room.

Me and Chris headed down to his room to get changed and brush our teeth, I still couldn’t get what he said earlier out of my head. “I mean you can always practice your blowjob skills on me” not only did that sentence oddly turn me on, it also made me question whether he was actually joking or not. As I was combing my hair, I stood in front of Chris who was sitting on the edge of his bed on his phone. “Can I help you ma’am?” he grinned, quirking his eyebrow at me with a little giggle.

“Actually, yes, I have a question only you can answer. Why’d you say that when we were playing Never Have I Ever?” I questioned, setting my brush down on his desk. Chris looked a little confused, “Say what?” “Uh y-you know, when you said i could practice my blowjob skills on you” I said with a deep blush across my face. He too had a lighter shade of pink paint his cheeks, “I don’t know… I thought it was funny” he tried to shrug it off like nothing. I gave him a disappointed look before sitting next to him on the bed, “Oh… okay then” I replied, causing his eyebrows to furrow together.

“Nevermind” I added on, looking down at my fingers, picking at the skin around my nails. “Huh? Come on, you know I hate when you shutdown like this” Chris said slightly annoyed, “Sorry, I was just gonna asks if you were being serious and could, I don’t know, maybe teach me how to give head?” I blushed heavily, looking back down after seeing his wide eyed expression. “What!? You want me to teach you how to suck someone off!? That’s more of a Nick question than a me question” Chris asked confused and slightly offended.

I quietly said “That’s not what I meant, but- nevermind. It was a stupid idea anyway, I-I’ll just go sleep in Matt’s room. I’m sorry” I told him, upset with myself. I let out a deep sigh, pushing my hair out of my face so I could leave his room before the tears welled up in my eyes could start falling. Chris grabbed my wrist to keep me from walking to the door “Did I do something wrong? Woah, woah, woah, wait! Are you about to cry?” he asked, now extreme concerned with my behavior.

“It’s nothing, just let me go dude” I struggled to get out of his grip, “Y/n, just fucking tell me what you meant!” he angrily stated, gripping onto both of my wrists now. “I was asking if you could teach me by letting me suck your dick! Is that better asshole!?” I raised my voice at him, my anxiety getting the better of me. I felt like a complete idiot, I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut and I should’ve known he was just joking. Chris started blushing, moving his hands from around my wrists so he could properly hold my hands.

“Oh well… uh- I um was being serious when I said you could practice on me, I just didn’t think you’d actually want to. You know because you said you’ve never liked a guy enough to give him head so, I don’t know. I just assumed you were trying to be annoying like I was, I’m really sorry Y/n/n.” Chris said sincerely. “It’s okay” I sighed back as he let my hands go so I could sit on the bed next to him. “If you really want me to teach you, I will but I can’t just get hard like that” he said with reddened cheeks.

“Plus I’d like feel bad if I cum and you don’t, you know what I mean? Females should always cum first, in my opinion. At least that’s what I do, not that I’ve had sex with a lot of women or anything, my body count is literally three. I always have done a lot of foreplay too though so I could teach you, you’d just have to get me hard first and let me make you cum. Unless you don-“ Chris nervously rambles. “Chris, you’re rambling” I giggled, “Just shut the hell up and kiss me already!” I playfully shoved him.

“Oh trust me, I’m gonna do way more than just kiss you” Chris smirked, moving to sit up against his headboard, “Take your shorts off and come ‘ere. Want you on my lap, mama” he said lowly. I did as he said be slowly got onto his lap, “Hi” I giggled nervously causing Chris to chuckle. “Hi pretty girl” he replied back, pushing some hair behind my ear before resting his hand on my cheek, “If you wanna stop at any point, just let me know and I’ll stop. No questions asked, okay?” he said sincerely.

I nodded before l grabbed his jaw and smashed our lips together, catching him by surprise. Chris’ tongue immediately swiped across my bottom lip and I quickly gave him access, both our tongues fighting for dominance. His hands went from gripping my waist, down to my ass to help me start grinding on him. I started to move a little bit faster which caused Chris to slap my ass, resulting in me pulling away from the kiss to let out a whimpery moan.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Chris said as his cheeks flushed, “It’s okay, I like it rough” I teased. This made Chris’ eyes go dark as he got fully hard beneath me, “What a freak” he mumbled as his hand came up to choke me and bring me down for another kiss. During this kiss, Chris flipped us over so he was on top, quickly pulling off his pajamas pants and my shirt, stopping to admire my body for a minute.

“Goddamn, you’re sexy baby” Chris groaned and he started kissing up and down my neck before making his way to my breasts. He took my right nipple into his mouth while toying with the left before switching and leaving a few hickies on them. Continuing his kisses downwards, he finally reached my panties, placing a soft kiss against my covered clit. “Mhm Chris… no teasing” I whined, “Sorry, sorry. Can I take these off?” he chuckled while toying with my panties.

“Please, I just need your mouth and fingers already!” I whined again, causing a shiver to go down Chris’ spine as he removed my panties. Chris was almost drooling at the sight, vulgarly spitting onto my pussy before slapping it, resulting in a loud moan for me. “Knew you’d like that you little slut” he growled before diving straight in to eating me out, immediately fucking his tongue into me while his fingers toyed with my clit.

I looked down to find Chris already staring back up at me, his icy blue eyes now clouded with lust. When he switched his fingers and mouth, my hands flew to his hair and gave it a hard tug, causing Chris to groan against me. “Chris please more…” I whined, resulting in him adding another finger, stretching me out some more. He looked up at me completely pussy drunk, I never knew he liked giving head so much but I’m not complaining.

“Fuck baby, s-so good!” I whimpered causing Chris to pull his face away for a second. He once again, vulgarly spit onto my pussy, “Can’t get enough of the way you taste ma! Need you to cum in my fucking mouth” he grunted before getting back to work. Chris added a fourth finger, stretching me out so nicely as he sucked on my clit while flicking it with his tongue.

“Oh shit baby fuck I’m gonna cum!” I cried out as I pulled his hair harder and started grinding on his face. Chris let out a few groans which sent vibrations through my core, causing me to cum all over his face and fingers. He pulled his fingers out of me and stuck them into his mouth to suck off my juices before catching his breath. “You look so hot right now Chris, can’t wait to learn how to suck you off” I innocently smiled.

“Yeah, you excited? I’m gonna be nice and I won’t make you get on your knees, we can do while laying down, I think that’ll be easier for you” Chris smiled back at me. “What do I do? How do I start?” I questioned while taking his boxers off, gasping at his size. “Here give me your hand…” he wrapped my hand around the base of his cock “…there you go. Now I need you to spit on the tip for me, yeah just like that” he instructed me once again.

“Now you’re going to spread it down my cock, the you’re gonna want to start by teasing the tip with your m-mouth” I kind of knew what to do because of porn so I just went straight into it, hoping I was doing it right. I wrapped my lips around the tip, lightly sucking and flicking my tongue across his slit before slowly inching more of his length into my mouth. “Holy- goddamn you’re good at this already!” Chris groaned out, already feeling the pleasure and loving the sight on me.

I pulled away for just a second to ask a question but continued pumping my hand, “Do I um start to deepthroat you now?” I asked. He let out a whiny broken moan, “If you want to y-you can, I just don’t wa-want you to fo-force yourself to do it” he said it so sincerely too. I decided to try anyways and surprisingly I was able to take all of it at once without gagging. “Good girl, just like that, oh fuck mamas” he moaned while guiding my head up and down on his cock.

“Can I- shit! Can I cum in your mouth? I’m so close please ma” he asked, I replied with a moan while looking into his eyes. I full deepthroated him as he came down my throat casing me to moan again. I sucked out every last drop until you pulled me off of him with a pop. “Mhm, you taste so good. Did I do it right?” I smirked already knowing the answer. “Jesus fuck ma, you did so good, I can’t believe that was your first time giving head. C’mer I’m fucking spent and wanna cuddle now” he panted out.

“Who knew you were such a big simp after cumming” I teased. “Shut up and give me your attention!” Chris whined, making me laugh before crawling next to him to cuddle as we both were extremely tired. “Goodnight loser, I’m going to sleep now” I giggled as I kissed his cheek, “Goodnight kid” he smiled back as he held me closed and placed a kiss on my forehead before we drifted off to sleep.

Tag List: @angelic-sturniolos111 @biimpanicking @chrisenthusiast @christinarowie332 @dev-speaks @ermdontmindthisaccount @flowerxbunnie @fionaheartswomen @kvtie444 @lustfulslxt @mangosrar @mangoposts @recklesssturniolo @strniohoeee @sturnphilia @solarsturniolo @soursturniolo

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©️ Daddyslilchickenfingers2

Do not steal my work

[demonsword586]

Gehenna pp headcanons! (Just nobles)

(A little warning. This gets explicit. I was trying to make it goofy but I think I might have gone a bit....off. Still I hope you enjoy it. Mind you,I never saw a pp before,only an imaginary one of my friend and they still didn't let me poke it.)

Sitri

- Okay let's start off with the size...just from what I seen of him,I think he's on the bigger side. Definetlly bigger than Satan and his king is still pissed about that from time to time.

- 20-21 cm I think

-Now he is a gentleman. He was raised in hell called Hades. Which means he was probably taught of proper higene. In other words,this man's lower region is as smooth as a baby.

-Smells like tea. He drank so much tea,his piss now smells good and his cum tastes like black tea.

-Now for the shape and color. I think his tip is on a brighter side of pink. It's suprisingly slim and elegant compared to someone like Satan who's penis looks like a meat claymore.

-Anyway good penis on a good man. Refreshing as well if you need a man with flavoured cum.

Zagan

- Hmm....Now for Zagan,I think he's a grower.

-His bulge is pretty small but if we think on how much he exercises,there's no way he isn't training his penis as well.

-Okay hear me out. He has a little workout routine for his pp. He flexes up his muscles and makes it go up and down,probably does a helicopter to warm it up.

-And it actually works! His pp has grown in lenght and girth from his training and now he can make it hard on command.

-He does smell a bit funny though. He works out and while yes,you can hide the scent of sweat on most of your body,this is one part where he can'r mask the scent because it is simply too strong.

-My point? His pp smells...of manliness!

-He tries to take care of his pubes but would prefer to keep a small white bush above the shaft. You can't get him to shave it off tho. The bush stays.

-Also I think most of his cock is the color of his skin except his tip which is just one shade lighter.

-His seed tastes like protein tho.

Paimon

- Tucks it. I can't explain why but he tucks it. This bulge? Those are his balls.

-The actual size of it is around 13 cm. A little small for a devil but still packs a punch.

-He wears very cute underwear. He knows no one will see it but it just feels nice to know he has something cute on. Wears comfier undies when he's home and done for the day.

-Likes to put glitter on it. He just thought it would be a funny little thing if he putted some of that super fine and sticky glitter on the shaft....and now he puts on a little fasion show for the other nobles every once in awhile.

-It's actually good tho. He uses those little brushes and stencils. He once even did it for Leraye who then ran around pantless to show everyone how talented Paimon is at dick decoration.

-Sometimes when he thinks he doesn't smell good,he might put some parfume on it. Don't be suprised when his pp smells like flowers or vanilla.

-Very well groomed. No hair on the balls or around the penis. The only thing that he does have...is a little heart shaped bush slightly above his pp.

-The penis itself is on a little more girthy side and when hard it leans slightly to the right. Pretty pale with a pale pink tip.

Leraye

- flat

- Anyway Leraye I think is also a grower. It may not look impressive flaccid wirh only 12 cm but when it gets HARD..oh boy. It goes from a puppy to a wolf. This thing is easily 21 cm once you wake it up.

- The shape is on a leaner side. Being slender but also long. He does hower go thicker around the base. But only at the base,like a slight knot.

- He once walked in on Zagan when he was warming up his pp with the helicopter move and then very euthusiasticlly asked Zagan to teach him.

-Next time you two were about to have a passionate night he wanted to show you a trick. Wipes it out and then swings his pp around like a disco ball while saying 'Look what I can do!😃' It ended up being a little joke between the two of you.

-Suprisingly doesn't have a headless teddy anywhere near his cock. If you ask him,maybe just our of curiousity,why he doesn't have a teddy there like on his horn he will look at you with dread. That would be just rude of him to dirty the dead body of a plushie by impaling it on his pp. He can't bring himself to go as low as Glasyal.

- He does have a bit of pubic hair. A small, dishaved,blond bush . Very pretty and suits him. Please let him keep it.

-His cock is as milky as him. A very pretty color with a flush tip.

Belial

- Normal. Questionably normal lenght. It's not too big and not too small. Just...normal. maybe falls a cm or two from perfect.

-It's also on a little skinnier side. Nice and thin.

-Still size isn't everything. It's important how he uses it....and unfortunatelly for you,he's good!

-He manages to fill in for the lack of impressivness with his experience.

-He is quite strong so with him you're able to try some more adventurous positions like the bicycle or the ballet dancer.

-Gets easily moist. His precum is very watery so his tip looks like it's always glistening.

-Very well groomed. Almost no hair down there except for a thin strip. Also the carpet maches the drapes,his pubes have red ends.

- He also has 2 frenum piercings. Astaroth recommended him to get them,saying " You will corrupt many mortals with these. "

-The dick itself is pretty pale with a darker shade of pink at the tip.

Astaroth

- OH HOLY MARY

- *cough* Sorry *cough* thighs...

-Anyway! Let's go from the size down....BIG. The snake on his bory isn't the only snake he has.

- 26 cm

- You know how snakes hide their pps in what looks like a slit? Yea Astaroth can do that.

-Normally he keeps it inside of himself,but when he gets shy or horny,it pops out and his pants suddenly look a little heavier. There was a time when Sitri didn't know about his anathomy and just saw him suddenly get a bulge. He asked him if he just shat himself.

- Once out and hard,his cock naturally curves upwards. It's just slightly thicker than a normal one but with how long it is,that may be for the best.

- He has a dydoe piercing on the head of it. He considered going for more but decided not to after how intense it felt. He does always wonder how it would feel like if his piercings got stuck inside of you. How romantic~ Two lovers tied together as one for eternity~ (Thankfully it never happens. He is nice enough to take them off if you don't like the feel of them)

- He likes to keep himself well groomed. I mean very well groomed. He waxes off everything and then puts extra virgin olive oil on top. He also puts some on his shaft from time to time to make it a bit more smooth and squishy.

[plutonianeris]

pick a pile: how does this new love feel like a fairytale? ⛓️💗

this is a general reading so take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Interpret & choose based on your inner guidance and gut feeling. messages can be either from you, them or both🍒

𓆩♱𓆪Pile one

right off the bat this is someone whose been eyeing you for a while. they could be the type that stare in awe at the pictures you post on social media “so pretty” or when they met you that have that immediate attraction.. “who is that?” lol them asking their friends when you walk in. this honestly feels like a fairytale because theyve been wanting you for a while but theyve been super patient i heard “no hard feelings” theyre actually so sweet (im getting water sign suns: cancer, pisces, scorpio energy oop 🙈).

like they have no problem admiring you from afar at alllll. they are mesmerized by you. and honestly they could have been a little toxic before meeting you (not abusive, but someone unable to share their emotions in a healthy way). it seems like they dont want u to see them in the shades and shadows of their trauma, wounds, healing. for them you are the light at the end of that tunnel. i heard “my day was pretty shitty until you showed up” they are willing to work hard for you. they are also very attractive & in an unconventional way (unique hair, being really tall, tattoos, something like that makes them stand out especially in their friend group).

💌letter from their pov;

I know you dont need me. you dont really look like the type to depend on anyone. I can see it in the way you eye people, especially men, with suspicion. you question my motives and thats fair. when youre that beautiful and charming, theres bound to be people that just want to use you. that are dying to be in you energy just to get the chance to say they were in your presence. i dont wanna be like that. i dont wanna be another read message in your phone. i dont wanna be another face that disappears in the crowd for you. and i know you feel that way too. that the worst thing for you isnt to be talked about. its to be ignored. its to be underestimated. trust me when i say since the moment i laid eyes on you, i never once doubted you. i know you are capable of bringing men to their knees with your eyes. i know that your laugh makes my pulse speed up. i know that you make me feel special. and sometimes i get jealous, wondering if you make other people feel that way too. I want to give you the whole world if you just let me.

𓆩♱𓆪Pile two

this new love feels like a fairytale because this happened in the moment when you’re least expecting it and also after you’re recovering from something. Whether it be a relationship break up with a partner or you just changing things in your life, like moving to a different neighborhood or no longer believing in certain things that were very important in your belief systems in the past. this is like a prince or princess, waiting to rescue you. At first, though it seems like you’re suspicious of this energy. You could find that they are way too good with their words. “too good to be true” “I bet you say that to all the girls/guys” energy. but honestly, it seems like you’re the only one that can keep up with them. You don’t give into them like other people do, and they constantly want to impress you by telling you random facts or teaching you about some thing they learned abroad or when traveling.

I am getting a sense that they are very flirty, but with other people it never goes past that it’s just something they do in the moment or theyre just really playful. But even as they’re talking to someone else, their eyes can’t seem to leave you even if you’re across the room. You like your routine and consistency so changing things about your own life is hard, much less accepting other people in. So when they flirt with you, you might not immediately flirt back. you might roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile when they turn away. you could be someone with earth placements, especially capricorn or virgo. They give off a lot of mischievous energy. This other person could have a gemini placement, third house placements or ninth house placements (if ur into astro).

💌letter from their pov;

Relationships have never really been a priority for me. I mean, cmon I'm young. Isn't it the whole point to experience as much as I can? I know other people have things to say about me.. maybe I lead some people on. Maybe sometimes you feel that way too. But I promise it's not really like that. Well, with you, it isn't. I'm just inexperienced. And I guess that doesn't really stop me from flirting so much and being so cocky…But the truth is I crave your attention badly. You look like you really know what you want in life. And for me, that's all I ever wanted. Because when you know what you want, you get it. and thats when you really start living. After that, even our mistakes are our own and beautiful and intimate in their own way. I see the weariness in your eyes when you look at me. I know you're wondering if I am even worth your time. I promise I am. I promise I can be. And if I'm not, then you can just never speak to me right then and there, I swear. But I know there's more than weariness in your gaze as well. I know you are just as curious about me as I am about you.

𓆩♱𓆪Pile three

This love feels like a dark romance. This pile is not as lighthearted as the previous two at all. It feels like a fairytale in that "magical" sense though because it will feel like love at first sight. You both will feel immediately physically attracted to the other but what makes it even more intense is that at first no one seems to be able to make the first move. It might seem too good to be true to the point where you don't even wanna disturb the "illusion." You dont wanna burst the bubble. Also, the magnetic attraction you feel/ that slow burn makes it even more desirable for both of you. In synastry, you both might have a lot of conjunctions (especially with pluto, moon, and mars). I also pulled north node synastry as well (and this synastry makes it feel like you're meant to be aka its destiny. but its also uncomfortable). "I have never felt like this before" energy.

Honestly, I see this pile as being able to go both ways and it can easily make you feel heartbroken. You might have venus-pluto placements yourself or 8th house placements or they do. When you are together though, you both hate when other people interrupt. You love your alone time. It feels really good. This pile is all about intense eye contact, glancing down at each others lips, meeting in secret, getting jealous when other people try to talk to the other, hands brushing as you walk but never fully touching. But then devouring each other when alone (if you both end up trusting each other when to get there because, again, one of you or both are hesitating). If you open your heart and learn to trust and communicate in a healthy manner, it could be a life changing connection.

💌letter from their pov;

It feels wrong to fantasize about you the way I do. But I can't really help it. I think about the way your back would feel arched under my palm. your lips on mine, tongues meeting, teeth clashing. I look at your hands and imagine them gripping the sheets at the same time I grip your thighs. It feels wrong that these are things that have crossed my mind since I first met you. sometimes I try to lie to myself. Tell myself that maybe im not really that into you. but its such bullshit. even then, theres the what if. what if. what if. it looks like every odds are against us. we are complete opposites. it might never work. but im willing to take that risk. im willing to bet on us. even if it falls apart. but judging from the way you freeze up when we make eye contact I know its far beyond that. I know you felt it too. the day we met, how you paused. i know that we would love hard. and fall harder. and if it doesnt work out, it would be devastating. and yet, i would still decide to do it all over again. and you would too. life is too short. I dont want us to be a what-if.

[deanscherrypie420]

🄱🄴🄰🄲🄷 🄳🄰🅈

A/N: It's summer! I figured I should write some summer fics <3 I hope you enjoy! Let me know if there are any errors <3333

Characters: The BAU team, Reader Y/N

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Warnings: just alll fluff, minor alcohol reference, FLUFF!!!

Summary: After a rough case, everyone decides to unwind with a nice slumber party - as Garcia would say - at the beach.

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Y/N loaded into JJ's car with Emily and Penelope, stuffing their bags into the trunk before her and Emily slid into the back seat, Penelope taking the passenger.

Jennifer was talking about her relationship with Will, and how generous he is for agreeing to stay home with Henry. "Well, hold up. Now that we're on the topic, have you and Reid made a move yet?" Emily questioned Y/N, earning an excited Oh yeah from Garcia.

"Seriously? Me and him aren't even together-" She tried, but the ball of energy in front of her wasn't having it. "That is the point! Oh. My. Goodness! Today, at the beach, you, you and him!" Penelope explained, flailing her hands around in excitement.

"Yeah, I mean you're gonna be lookin' all hot in your bikini. Might as well make a move." Emily added, making Y/N roll her eyes. "Guys, cut it out." She deadpanned, an annoyed edge in her voice.

"What's up? I thought you two liked each other?" JJ prodded. Y/N groaned and her shoulders slumped. "I'm not the prettiest girl in the world. I doubt seeing me in a bathing suit is gonna change his mind on that."

All three of the girls next to her gasped, a bit dramatized, and turned to face her. Jennifer looked at her through the mirror and gave her a 'Bitch please' look. "What? I'm just being realistic!" She tried to defend herself.

"You're being pessimistic!" Penelope argued, Emily nodding along with her words. JJ pulled the car over at the edge of a hill. Penelope raised a brow and stared her down, "The beach is down there? Are you serious? What part of no exercise do you not understand!"

The girls laughed and collected their stuff from the trunk. They were wearing their swim-suits underneath their t-shirts, not bothered to put pants over.

Y/N walked to the beach, stepping carefully around rocks as she made her way down the hill. She hopped down once she made it to the sand, then used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

Hotch and Jack were in the water, playing what seemed to be tag. Rossi was drinking wine underneath the fortress of shade they made, laying back in a comfortable chair.

Derek ran over to them, a huge grin on his face. "Hey ladies! Where the bikinis at?" He helped Penelope down and pulled her into a hug, then looking back to the rest of them.

"You're such a tease." Emily joked, following Y/N to the canopies. Y/N set her stuff down on her new-claimed chair and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Spencer ran up to Morgan and Garcia, rushing to explain the cool rock he found. "It's sea glass! Look," He lifted the pink crystal up to show Garcia. "It's a natural piece of rock, and it gets it's glass like look from, from, uh-"

He started stammering when he noticed Y/N slip her t-shirt over her head, leaving her in a small, black bikini. He tried to continue speaking, he really did, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

She was marvelous, curves and all. Morgan noticed and nudged his shoulder. "Ooh, someone has a crush." He teased and Spencer quickly turned his focus away from her. "I do not. Anyway-"

He continued to teach them about the importance and history of sea glass for a good fifteen minutes, Derek yawning comically every few minutes.

Y/N ran up behind them and jumped on Reid's back, hugging his torso tight. "Spence! Come on, let's go swim!" She insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from his conversation.

Penelope gave Reid a thumbs up and then went with Derek to set her stuff down. Spencer followed her to the water, trying not to look below her waist. Jack ran up to her and they could see JJ scolding Hotch.

"You should've told me you were bringing Jack! I would've brought Henry!" She explained to him and he nodded putting his hands up in defense.

"Y/N! Can you swim with me!" Jack asked, and she crouched down, brushing her ass against Spencer's crotch without realizing. He stepped back, swallowing hard.

"I'm not the best swimmer, so maybe we should bring Spence with us?" She offered, and Jack nodded, taking her hand and dragging her deeper into the water.

Spencer turned and saw Morgan running after her, Jack's giggling growing. "What are you lau-" She started, but Derek lifted her up and ran her further out, throwing her far out into the sea.

She was screaming and cursing, laughter bellowing from everyone. Y/N was shivering as she ran out of the water, grappling onto Morgan and pushing him down.

Spencer was laughing hard, trying to cover his mouth with his hand to conceal his amusement. She glanced at him, a wicked grin tugging up the corners of her mouth.

She charged after the man, jumping on him like she had earlier. He caught her effortlessly and spun her around, dizzying her no doubt. JJ took out her phone and started recording, and David refilled his bottle of wine. "Young love." He said in a sing-song voice.

"Okay! Okay! Put me down!" Y/N begged relentlessly, kicking her legs and squealing. Spencer didn't want to, he liked being this close with you, but he gave into her requests and tossed her back into the water.

She shrieked and crawled out of the water as quick as possible, wiping sand off of her knees. Spencer studied her, his cheeks warming as he traced her body with his eyes.

"Hey, Lover-Boy! Get over here, we got sandwiches!" Derek called out to them. He looked down at her, a playful grin growing on his lips. They'd known each other for forever, accumulating a secret language over the years.

Race you? He asked with his eyes, and she bit her lip in agreement, her eyes twinkling. They started running, and he easily took the lead. Suddenly, she gasped and grabbed her knee, a low groan escaping her throat.

He turned and rushed over to her, crouching by her side. "Hey, what happened? Are you okay?" He asked and she shook her head. "I think I pulled a muscle." She explained and he frowned. "Let me take a look at it,"

When his hand met her calf, she grabbed it and pushed him face-first into the sand. "You can't beat me, Spencey!" She taunted as she ran towards the canopies, leaving him in the wind.

He stood up and jogged over as well, catching the sandwich Emily tossed at him. "That wasn't fair! You cheated." He bargained, and Hotch shook his head, Jack mirroring his actions. "That seemed pretty fair."

Y/N just giggled, reaching into the cooler for her drink. She preferred Truly drinks over beer or wine, the fruity taste more enjoyable in her opinion. She moved things around in an attempt to find them, but had no luck.

"Seriously? Did we forget my shit?" She all but whined. The sun was gonna start setting within a few hours and she wanted to end the night with a buzz.

Penelope looked over her shoulder, helping her search the ice-chest. "No, no, no. I swear I packed them!" She said as she aimlessly looked around.

"You can share my wine, and that's a limited time offer." Rossi proposed, fake cheering his glass in the air. She just shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she tapped her hip.

"Oh! In the pink ice-chest! I left it in the trunk, I'm sorry!" JJ cleared the air, shoving her phone into her top - a make-shift pocket. "I can go with you to get it if you want?"

"I'll go with her." Spencer offered, nearly cutting JJ off. "Oh, yes, yeah. You two go ahead." She said as she waved them over to the hill trail.

Y/N made small talk as they walked up to the car. She was walking in front of him and he found it quite tantalizing, having to divert his eyes somewhere else every few seconds.

When they reached the car, she popped the trunk and Spencer raised it. She unlatched the cooler and hooted in triumph. "Yes! God, I can't live without these." She cracked open a can and took a swig, lifting it up and offering it to Reid.

"You know I don't drink, Y/N." He explained and she rolled her eyes. "Right, right. Can't believe I forgot." She said sarcastically, setting the drink down onto the trunk bed. "Also, you're carrying that. You're the strong one here."

Spencer scoffed and shook his head, finding her childish behavior amusing. Something else was on his mind though, something he wanted to do while she was still sober.

"Hey, Y/N?" He stepped closer, nearly trapping her by the car. "Yes?" She felt her heart flutter, the close proximity letting butterflies loose in her stomach.

Before she knew it, he had kissed her. It was soft and slow, his plush lips moving gently against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, more passion seeping in.

He pulled away, a boyish smile playing on his lips. "I've wanted to do that for awhile. I really like you, Y/N." He told her and she knew her cheeks warmed.

"I really like you, too." She said before kissing him again. He smiled into the kiss and then scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder. He grabbed the cooler and her drink in the other hand, beginning to walk back down the path.

"Put me down, Spence!" She squealed and giggled, his laughter only making hers grow. "This is what you get for throwing me in the sand!" He chuckled, bouncing her up his shoulder more for a better grasp. She yelped and then broke into loud fits of laughter along with him.

The group watched them as they came back down, shit-eating grins on all of their faces. "Finally," Aaron said. Morgan turned around and pointed at him, "I knew they had a thing for each other!" He exclaimed and the group broke out into their own laughter.

"We all did!"

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A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed! This was super fun to write! Leave requests if you have any <3 Follow, like and comment <33

[justcallmesakira]

The reader looking so pretty at an event in the agency, co worker dazai can't help but stare at her :> make sum scenario :>

"I SEE YOUR PRETTY EYES AT MINE, MISTER~"

Sypnosis: Dazai just cant keep his eyes to himself when a colleuge of his is looking so darn pretty!

Dazai x fem! reader

Genre: suggestive, romance

Warnings: reader is sort of cheeky, suggestive as hell, implied alcoholism, author gave the reader on what attire shes wearing.

A/N FINALLY A REQUEST AFTER SO FUCKIN LONG

The agency had decided to hold another party in celebration of a huge deal which would help the agency .

And of course you were invited, almost everyone was. You decided to look extra pretty today because why not, not because of others but for yourself.

You had picked out a extravagant ebony coated frock which covered all the way up to your legs and ended with glistening white layers of laces.

The party was at 8 o clock, you had time plus what would you do getting there so early?

Gently tapping on the tubes of lipsticks you picked out a vermillion shade and smoothly applied the waxy substance on your lips. The colour suited the rose tied around your neck really well.

Finally adding some final touches you rushed out the door and walked along to the agency.

There were colourful lights and food everywhere, Atsushi teaching Kyouka how to make decorations, doctor Yosano taking a bit too much of wine, ranpo staring at powdered donuts... To think of it you remember him taking 5 of them sneakily one night and you wonder why hes so obsessed with them.

But one thing you could notice was a certain someones eyes on you... Dazai.

You walked up to atsushi and kyouka, talking to them and teaching them some tips and tricks to fit in with the agency.

You could feel at all times though, a certain pair of eyes glancing at you from time to time from the corner of the room.

"Excuse me, i will just fix my hair and come back" you politely end the conversation before walking towards the door and going outside.

Despite your heels clacking against the floor, you could feel another set of shoes following them.

"Dazai-san, may i know why i feel your eyes on my at all times?" you ask putting a perfect spot from the distance between your figure and the mans figure.

He chuckled.

"Bella, i must say your quite the smart one arent ya'?" osamu replies back with much cheekiness in his tone as yiu turned to him, he had a black tuxedo, a polished and refined one, it hugged his body quite tightly too.

You just sighed at his remark, he was a ladies man you knew but you have never seen the glint and love in his eyes on a girl ever before, it amde your stomach turn slightly in a good way, of course.

His teasing grin drops and turns into a more soothing smile as he walks over to you which makes you back towards the wall unsure whether to trsut him or not.

He lowers his head a bit to reach your face taking in all of it's features.

"Are you trying to woo me, dazai-san? It seems like it"

"Haaah, maybe. The thing is bella you just look so.." you expect him to give you some compliment like every boy does when they see a girl sitting pretty and all but instead he gently took a strand of your hair, took it to his lips and uttered every single quality and flaw about you, it was as if hes born to have a poets tongue with you being the muse.

"I just want to admire you all day, my darling. Its not lust nor a small crush, it isnt even close to love but something beyond the world and beyond the universe to attend to, i dont know i could drown in your eyes right now but i would prefer staring at them for an eternity as if its a gorgeous piece of art hung on a museum"

he said softly, oh god did this man made your heart drop down your stomach and melt into your intestines.

With each word he spoke through his charming voice, you could feel his breathe and hands going closer towards your sweating body and at last, he asked for your permission to which you only looked at him with a slight embroidery of embarrassment on your cheeks.

Dazai tenderly kissed your forehead but though it lasted short you wondered whether he tried to go for your lips instead because of the shift in his body.

"Oi, dazai and [Name] if your done with your cheesy af encounter than come back to the party! Presidents calling you two!"

Atlast after moments of intimate interaction which wasnt even intimate because of the silent yearn for something neither the two of you could preach. Both of you decided to go back to the party.

Later in the relationship you realised that your first kiss with this loverman was not the type of kiss those possessive men would do which would take your breathe away but more of a desperate one as if to reach out for something which one already got.

In the end nor dazai or you could just confess normally without making each other look like two pieces of magnificent artwork looking at each other.

A/N: i hate this more than dazai hates him self :(((((((( btw reader is wearing this dress

Divider crds! : @cafekitsune

Tags! : @inojuuy @silverbladexyz @atlasnessie @tsuunara @elizais @saelique @chuuyasboner @atzuhi @riiwrites @ruanais @biscuits-spooky-corner @rusmii

[nyxwanderland]

♡ those eyes

pairing → gojo satoru x reader genre → fluff warnings → none word count → 1429

satoru always looked at someone with so much love in his eyes that everyone in the room would know where he was giving all of his attention—a person so important that he would pause whatever he'd be doing and just stare at them. 

it was as if time stood still whenever satoru laid his eyes on this special someone. his gaze was filled with an indescribable tenderness, leaving no doubt about the depth of his affection.

and that person was you.

sure, it annoyed the hell out of nanami, shoko and his students, but he would never stop gazing at the way you work, the way you teach the students with enthusiasm, the way you devour your lunch after a tiring training session—just anything you do left him staring at you in awe. 

everyone present knew how lovestruck he was, except for you.

you simply never thought of the possibility that he could have feelings for you, never realizing the way his eyes lit up whenever you entered the room or how he would always find an excuse to be near you. 

you were too oblivious to notice the way his gaze lingered on you or the way his voice would soften whenever he spoke to you, despite being one of his closest friends since high school. you always assumed that his actions were simply friendly gestures, never suspecting that his affection ran deeper than that. however, you did wonder whether those moments were something more about his constant presence in your life.

his heart yearned for a chance to express his love and admiration for you, but fear held him back from confessing his true feelings. 

satoru was simply afraid of taking the risk and potentially jeopardizing your friendship. the fear of losing you as a friend outweighed any potential romantic outcome, so he chose to bury his own feelings deep within, hoping they would eventually fade away. 

unfortunately for him, they never did.

"y/n, are you done yet~?" he whined as he poked his head into the classroom, watching you teach the first-years. 

you sighed in frustration and turned to face satoru with a frown. "how many times do i have to tell you to never interrupt my class?," you replied. "i'm almost done, so wait for me."

"you have all the time to spend with y/n-sensei after class," nobara said, smirking at the white-haired male. " you don't have to worry about us stealing her from you."

"oi!" satoru cried out, flustered at her comment. he was glad that he had his blindfold on, or you would have witnessed his reddened ears. he turned to you. "i'll be waiting, 'kay?"

you nodded, smiling as your heart skipped a beat out of the blue. he may be insufferable at times, but there was always a part of you that couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

☆

you and satoru sat in a park under a tree , enjoying the shade and the gentle breeze. you bought some food on the way before arriving there. this was a normal routine for the two of you—a simple yet comforting way to spend time together. it was times like this when he would remove his blindfold and become relaxed. he always felt at ease with you around.

"how was your day?" you asked. it was a habit of yours to check in with satoru at the end of every day, ever since the fateful day happened when one of your best friends left.

"mm, it was alright," he replied with his mouth stuffed with a chocolate chip muffin. swallowing his food, he continued while trailing off in the end, "you were too busy today, so i... missed you." 

ignoring the blush that crept on your cheeks, you nonchalantly said as you reached for a napkin in your pocket, "is that so?"

as you spoke, you leaned towards him to wipe off the crumbs that stuck to his cheek, gradually making your way towards the corner of his lips—a gesture that you didn't realize you were doing. satoru didn't mind, of course; he was too distracted by the sudden close proximity between you and him, and your lips—

"i guess i didn't realize how much i missed you too," you admitted softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. your eyes were still glued to his face.

once again, his already endearing gaze softened even more. he reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending shivers down your spine. 

you finally locked your eyes with his gorgeous blue ones. it wasn't the first time you realized it, but the way he looked at you made your heart beat erratically. it made you feel nervous and excited all at once. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way about you, if he could hear the rapid thumping of your heart. the intensity of his gaze made it hard to breathe, but you couldn't tear your eyes away, wanting to savor every moment of this connection between you. 

unable to maintain eye contact any longer, you looked away as heat rushed to your cheeks, betraying the effect he had on you. "why do you look at me with those eyes...?" 

you finally said it. the question you were dying to ask. 

satoru knew exactly what you were talking about, yet he said, "what eyes?"

you looked at him again, only to see him staring at you so gently as if you'd break apart if he hardened his gaze just a bit. you cleared your throat. "those eyes. like, right now."

"i look at you like this all the time," he said as casually as he could although his mind was going crazy. it was as if he was trying to protect himself from getting too close, yet his eyes betrayed his true emotions. "the same goes for everybody."

"no, it's different. it feels like you're looking at me as if..."

you stopped. you didn't want to say something that could lead to a worst-case scenario. but satoru prepared himself to say the next words.

"...as if i'm in love with you?"

your eyes widened. you wanted to speak, but your mind was indulged in screaming that all you could say, "huh?" 

he hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. he took a deep breath before finally admitting, "yes, as if I'm in love with you." 

it was a moment you had both secretly hoped for, but now that it was out in the open, the weight of those words hung in the air between you. 

"i-it's fine if you don't feel the same way—"

his sentence was cut short as you held his face and brought him close to connect his lips with yours. in that instant, all doubts and uncertainties melted away. the kiss spoke volumes, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never fully capture. it was a silent affirmation of the love that had been silently growing between you both. 

you parted away first, worried that he had malfunctioned. you were right.

satoru's face was frozen in shock and as red as a cherry, his eyes wide and unblinking. it took a moment for him to regain his composure, but when he did, a radiant smile spread across his face. it was clear that the kiss had exceeded his wildest expectations.

"so..." he mumbled while twiddling his thumbs and shifting his gaze away from you. he couldn't help but feel nervous with the way you looked at him with those eyes. i guess this is how she felt. 

it was amusing to see him so embarrassed and at a loss for words. you couldn't help but chuckle, finding his shyness endearing. "...does that mean you like me back?"

you laughed, and your voice and smile radiate warmth. "you’re still asking if i feel the same? what do you think that kiss meant?"

satoru's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and he finally mustered the courage to respond, "i just wanted to be sure. i've never felt this way before." 

you held his hand and placed it on your cheek, yours on top. "and also, i don't just like you. i'm in love with you, satoru." satoru's eyes widened in surprise, his heart pounding in his chest. he had hoped for this moment, but hearing those words from you made it feel surreal. a wave of happiness washed over him as he encircled his arms around you and whispered,

"I love you too, more than words can express." 

☆

my coping mechanism hehe