#the sheer raw talent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doumadono · 2 months ago

Text

AMORIA - act I

Warnings: finger fucking, humiliation, spanking, threesome, double pu**y penetration, oral (m & f receiving), squirting, asphyxiation, Dabi being Dabi, creampie, unprotected s*x, Shiggy is the boss, spit is everywhere, so is cum, more than 13k words (8k words for smut itself - you've been warned!), alcohol usage, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fem!reader

Synopsis: after a breakup, you found yourself at a club infamous for being frequented by villains, desperate to drown out all the bad memories. That’s where you encountered two of the most powerful villains — Shigaraki Tomura and Todoroki Touya, formerly known as Dabi. Upon discovering and testing your quirk, an idea began to take root in Tomura’s mind. And naturally, why stop there? Why not test your other talents too?

AMORIA - act II (to be added) AMORIA - playlist MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Waking up felt like crawling through fog, each blink a struggle against the dim, dizzy haze leftover from last night’s drinks. Blurred flashes came and went, half-formed memories that made little sense. The heaviness settled in slowly, the realization that this wasn’t your bed striking a second before something shifted against your waist.

A scarred arm draped loosely around your waist, its calloused fingers brushing your bare skin with a possessive kind of laziness, the rough pads of fingers brushing over the curve of your abdomen. Breath, hot and slow, fanned across your nape with each rise and fall of the man's chest. Dabi lay pressed against you, his white hair a tousled mess that grazed your shoulder, his sharp features softened just enough by sleep to make you forget, for a moment, how dangerous he really was. Even in sleep, he moved with a casual possessiveness, shifting closer, pressing his frame firmly against your back, grinding his slack cock against your bare ass from time to time. The warmth radiating from Todoroki felt alive, almost searing, as though the man behind you burned hotter than anything should.

The pounding in your skull throbbed with each inhale, a dizzying reminder of just how much you’d had to drink last night. The haze hadn’t lifted yet, your thoughts murky, slippery, and impossible to pin down. Bracing yourself, you blinked slowly, inhaling through parted lips as the sheer weight of his body pressed you further into the mattress. Shifting slightly, you turned, trying not to jolt yourself awake too quickly, and that’s when you saw him.

Tomura was sprawled out on your left, his wiry frame half-splayed across the mattress. His chest rose slowly, bare and warm. One hand was tucked under his head, elbow bent lazily, while the other rested on your hip. He still wore his protective glove. If he hadn’t, you knew what a single slip might mean.

A soft sound escaped your lips - something between a gasp and a whimper - as you shifted your legs, and that’s when you felt it. The unmistakable slickness between your thighs, sticky, cold and raw, made you freeze. The memories slammed into you like a tidal wave, fragments of last night piecing themselves together.

Hands - scarred, rough, and demanding - roaming over your plushy skin, leaving trails of bruises in their wake. Mouths pressed against yours, against your neck, your chest, your thighs, your pussy, taking and claiming every inch of you. The sound of low voices, rasping commands and dark praises that made your body shudder. Your skin still felt branded, marked by their touch, every nerve tingling as if it were reliving the night in flashes.

Shifting your hips again, the motion earned another quiet sound that you couldn’t suppress, and the arm wrapped around your waist tightened slightly in response. Dabi stirred, a low, guttural hum rumbling in his chest, his lips brushing faintly against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers flexed against your abdomen, pulling you closer with a lazy dominance that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t start squirming unless you’re ready for round two,” came his voice, gravelly with sleep but still laced with that dark, teasing edge. He didn’t even open his eyes, his body already responding to the subtle movements of yours, hips rolling just enough to remind you exactly how tangled the three of you had been hours before.

On your other side, Tomura’s gloved fingers pressed lightly into your hip, his red eyes cracking open just enough to watch you through the veil of his lashes. A voice, dark and dripping with mockery, cut through the haze. "Oh, sweet thing, you’re finally awake.” Shigaraki slowly moved his hand up your body, caressing the curve of your waist and reaching your chin in the end. His thumb and index finger clamped around your chin, firm and unyielding, tilting your head with a deliberate force that left no room for resistance. "What a perfect morning for us, don’t you think, Dabi? I can’t fucking wait to ruin that pretty pussy of hers all over again. And don’t you even think about leaving us, Amoria. You’re ours, now and forever."

The club pulsed with heavy bass, each beat reverberating in your chest, and a thick haze of smoke clung to the air, a cocktail of cigarettes, weed, and cheap perfume mixing with the ever-present burn of alcohol. It was the kind of place you were warned to avoid, especially alone - one of those places where villains went to disappear, blend into the night like smoke.

But after tonight? Warnings didn’t mean much. The sting of a fresh breakup had driven you straight into the dark, to the kind of place that would swallow up your thoughts and leave you numb. No one you knew would set foot here, especially alone. The criminals and castaways who haunted these walls weren’t just rumors; they were way too real. But right now, you didn’t care.

Perched at the bar with one leg hooked over the other, a tight red dress hugging your figure, and a jet-black bag draped over your shoulder, you sipped slowly on something the bartender had called a Blood Moon. A wicked blend of dark rum, cherry liqueur, and a touch of grenadine, it tasted like rebellion in a glass, something that burned on the way down but left just enough sweetness behind to make you want more.

The air grew heavier, thick with tension, and it took you a minute to notice why.

High above on the VIP floor, two figures lounged in shadows. But it wasn’t the distance that made them unapproachable - it was who they were, and the weight of what they carried. They noticed you, of course. It was impossible not to feel their stares, the way they sized you up, cutting through the smoky air like blades.

Shigaraki stood above, leaning against the steel railing of the VIP lounge, his posture loose and almost bored. Dressed in a sleek, dark suit that clung to his wiry frame, he seemed a creature entirely his own, something both sharp and unsettling, his presence a chill running through the pulse of the club. His hands, resting on the railing, wore thin black gloves over two fingers on each hand - a careful precaution, one you didn’t want to dwell on. The other fingers tapped rhythmically against the metal, a steady, almost taunting beat.

Next to him, more menace than man, lounged Touya Todoroki - Dabi, though that name was practically useless now. His hair, white as death, fell messily over his eyes, but his gaze - heavy-lidded, cerulean gaze, bored directly into you. It was the kind of stare that looked through you, stripping you bare and seeing every lie, every flaw. Like he’d already decided exactly what to do with you. His white hair was catching the colored lights and casting strange shadows across his face. He wasn’t wearing a suit - of course he wasn’t. His choice of attire was as casual as it was provocative: a black, fitted, buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a mess of scars trailing up his forearms, and ripped jeans that sat low on his hips, held up by nothing more than a thick, black, leather belt.

Shigaraki’s eyes were assessing you as though deciding what to do with a curiosity he hadn’t planned on. Dabi’s smirk had a different edge - sharper, darker, a look that made your pulse spike in ways you’d never admit out loud. Whatever this was, it wasn’t simple curiosity.

There was no reason to be here. Nothing logical, anyway. The breakup had left you restless, something bitter and rebellious churning in your chest. Revenge on your ex? Maybe. A flirtation with something you shouldn’t have? Probably. Or maybe it was just the need to feel alive, if only for a night, surrounded by people who understood what it meant to live outside the law.

The bartender slid another drink in front of you - a Blow Job. Confused, you looked up. “I didn’t order this.”

He jerked his thumb toward the bar, where Dabi now stood, ordering a fresh bottle of whiskey. His eyes, that unmistakable blue, were locked on you. He didn’t bother looking away, just let his eyes roam over your body, slowly, deliberately, with an intensity that was anything but polite.

“Guess he did,” the bartender shrugged, turning away to tend to someone else.

Dabi raised his drink in your direction, smirk tugging at his scarred mouth, a silent invitation - or maybe a dare.

Dabi didn’t move at first, leaning casually against the bar, his smirk sharp as a knife. The bottle of whiskey dangled loosely from one hand, the other lifting his glass to his lips, eyes never leaving you. His gaze was a slow drag, deliberate, assessing. “Why don’t you come join us upstairs, princess?” His voice was low, gravelly, and loud enough to cut through the music. There was no question in the way he said it - more an invitation wrapped in a command, laced with an edge that made it clear he didn’t hear no very often.

Tilting your head, you gave him a once-over, matching his intensity with your own. “Not interested,” you said, your tone sharp, controlled. “I’m fine right here.”

The smirk widened, and he let out a short, amused laugh. “Yeah?” He leaned closer, setting the glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “I don’t think you know what you’re turning down, sweetheart.”

Something in the way he said it sent a flicker of heat through you, but you held your ground, your leg crossing over the other as you turned back to your drink. “I’ve got all the excitement I need down here,” you said dryly, lifting your glass with a raised brow.

Dabi didn’t back off. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence radiating warmth that felt too intimate, too deliberate. He dipped his head slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he spoke, low and dangerous. “You shouldn’t play games with people like us. We don’t do soft. We don’t do fair.”

He wasn’t bluffing, and you knew it.

Straightening up, he looked at you again, letting his hand trail along the bar as he stepped back. “But if you’re really not interested…” His shrug was slow, his smirk still carved onto his face as though he knew exactly how this would end. “Suit yourself.”

You hated how your pulse quickened, hated the way the challenge lingered in the air between you. The words don’t do soft repeated in your head, pulling at the threads of your resolve. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the week you’d had, but before you could stop yourself, your feet were moving, heels clicking against the marble floor as you followed him.

He didn’t even check to see if you were coming. The bastard already knew.

The staircase was tucked into the far corner, shadowed and out of sight of most of the club.

Dabi’s shoulders led the way, the bottle swinging lazily in his grip as if he didn’t care that every eye on the dancefloor followed his movements. The music faded slightly as you ascended, but the air grew heavier, thicker, as though the space above carried its own gravity.

The VIP lounge was dimly lit, the low, amber light reflecting off a sleek, black leather couch where Shigaraki sat sprawled out, one leg hooked lazily over the other. His white hair fell messily over his forehead, a cigarette dangling between two fingers as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke. A lowball glass sat in his other hand, whiskey and ice swirling in lazy circles as he tilted it absentmindedly. His red eyes flicked up as you entered, sharp and cutting, taking you in with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

“Finally brought her up, huh?” His voice was smooth but tinged with that unmistakable edge of boredom, like he couldn’t care less, yet his eyes told a different story. They lingered on you a beat too long, assessing, weighing, before he took another drag from his cigarette.

Dabi shrugged, tossing himself into the opposite end of the couch. “Wasn’t easy,” he said, his smirk never wavering. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

Shigaraki’s lips twitched into something close to a grin, a humorless thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. It’ll make things more interesting.”

You stood at the edge of the room, every instinct screaming at you to leave, but the weight of their gazes pinned you in place.

Dabi poured a generous amount of whiskey into his glass, then tilted the bottle toward the empty one next to Shigaraki’s. He didn’t ask if you wanted a drink; he poured you one anyway. “Sit,” Dabi growled, nodding toward the space between them on the couch, his voice casual, but there was a command in it that left no room for argument.

Shigaraki’s hand rested on the back of the couch, fingers drumming slowly against the leather as he watched you, waiting. “Unless you’re scared,” the white haired man said, his voice soft, almost mocking, a challenge hanging on every syllable.

Something in your chest tightened. Pride or stubbornness - maybe both - kept your feet moving until you lowered yourself onto the couch, your body painfully aware of the heat radiating from both sides. The glass of whiskey was pressed into your hand, Dabi’s long fingers brushing against yours as he handed it over.

“Good girl,” the leader of the League of Villains murmured, leaning back into the couch with a smirk that promised nothing about tonight would be soft.

The leather couch felt sinfully soft beneath you. You cradled the glass of whiskey in your hands.

The air in the room thickened like tar, suffocating and inescapable.

Shigaraki tilted his head, studying you with the same detached curiosity as a predator playing with its prey. His crimson gaze burned with an intensity that seemed to peel back your skin, exposing something raw and vulnerable beneath.

Your throat felt dry despite the whiskey still warming your hand. Steeling your nerves, you met his gaze head-on. “You’re the leader, right?” Your voice was steady, though you hated how breathless it sounded. “Why would someone like you want someone like me around?”

Shigaraki’s lips curled slowly, something far too knowing glimmering in his eyes. “Someone like you?” he repeated, voice smooth, low, and entirely dangerous. “You underestimate yourself.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearm on his knee, letting his fingers hang loosely, inches from where your thigh rested against the couch. Shigaraki chuckled, a low, dry sound that barely stirred the air. “Let’s say I’m a connoisseur of beauty.” His words were slow, deliberate. “And you,” he continued, letting his eyes drag down your frame in a way that felt like a physical touch, “look exquisite in that dress.”

Dabi snorted from the other end of the couch, his smirk widening as he poured himself another drink. “Connoisseur of beauty,” he repeated mockingly, shaking his head. “You’re so full of pretentious shit, boss.”

Shigaraki didn’t so much as glance at him, his focus locked entirely on you.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks despite yourself, and you took a longer sip of your drink, hoping it might disguise the faint blush.

Shigaraki noticed, of course — he didn’t miss much, apparently. His grin widened, a touch of smugness slipping into his expression.

"You're blushing, doll," Dabi pointed out bluntly, his voice dripping with mockery. "That’s fucking adorable."

Shigaraki, clearly entertained, shifted closer. His partially gloved hand reached out, resting lightly on your knee. "So," he drawled, his voice conversational, as though he weren’t sitting far too close for comfort, "what’s someone like you doing in a place like this? This isn’t exactly the scene for someone so soft."

You glanced at him, the faintest flicker of a challenge in your eyes. "What makes you think I’m soft?"

Shigaraki’s lips twitched into a smirk. "You don’t exactly scream villain." He tilted his head, studying you. "But you’ve got an edge. Something’s brought you here. What is it?"

The question lingered, heavy and probing.

You took a sip of the whiskey, its burn cutting through your nerves as you turned your attention to the man sprawled across from you. You exhaled, feeling the whiskey’s fire loosen your tongue. “My boyfriend cheated on me,” you confessed, bitter and sharp. “With someone I thought was my friend.” You exhaled slowly, setting your glass on the table as you straightened your shoulders. "So, here I am. Figured I might as well see how the other side lives."

Dabi let out a low, wry whistle. "Oh, the little doll has been hurt? How sad must be your life ever since!”

"Cheaters are the worst," Tomura stated matter-of-factly. "But that doesn’t explain why you’d come here of all places. This club isn’t exactly known for its wholesome clientele."

You shrugged, feeling the tension in the room shift slightly. "Maybe I wanted to see if there was anyone left in the world worse than him."

Dabi laughed, a dry, humorless sound that made the corners of his scarred mouth twist upward.

"Oh, sweetheart," Shigaraki started, his hand leaving your knee to retrieve his cigarette, "you definitely came to the right place." He took a slow drag, his crimson eyes never leaving yours. "But you might want to be careful. Looking for something sharp enough to make you feel again might be a risky move.”

Your breath hitched, but you clenched your jaw, refusing to break under his scrutiny. “Maybe,” you admitted, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “What does it matter to you?”

Tomura’s smirk widened, slow and predatory, as though he’d already won some unspoken game. “It matters because you walked into our world,” he murmured, voice dark as the shadows clinging to the room’s edges. “And I’m curious just how far you’re willing to fall.”

Dabi poured himself another drink, downed it, and set his glass down with a sharp clink. "We don’t fix broken things. We break them further."

His scarred hand lifted, fingers brushing along the curve of your jaw, his calloused thumb briefly rubbing against your lower lip before trailing to your neck, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His long fingers ghosted over your shoulder, where your pulse thudded traitorously fast. Dabi leaned in, inhaling deeply, as if memorizing your scent, the warmth of his breath searing against your skin. He stuck out his tongue and ran it up your pulsepoint.

A cold chill ran down your spine.

“Sweet,” the scarred man murmured, voice low and rough. “You smell so clean, so untouched.”

Shigaraki’s amusement flickered in the curve of his mouth as he reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring another drink for you. “Where do you work?” His tone was casual, but the underlying curiosity felt anything but.

You hesitated, weighing the danger of answering truthfully, but there was no point in lying. They’d sniff out deceit like blood in the water. “Endeavor’s agency,” you admitted carefully. “I handle paperwork.”

The moment the words left your lips, the atmosphere in the room shifted violently, like the air had been sucked from it.

Dabi’s smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of raw fury that turned his eyes into blazing shards of ice. His glass hit the nearest wall with a deafening crash, shards of crystal scattering across the floor. The amber liquid smeared down the wallpaper like a wound.

“Endeavor,” Dabi snarled, his voice venomous, the name leaving his lips like a curse. He surged to his feet, towering over you in an instant. “You work for that bastard, cunt?” Touya’s chest heaved, nostrils flaring as though he could still smell Endeavor’s presence clinging to you. The growl in his voice was feral, like a wildfire barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, his scarred hands twitching at his sides as if itching to burn something — or rather someone.

Instinct overrode reason, propelling a desperate retreat from the leather couch. The corner of the room felt like a safer haven. Your breath came in short, uneven bursts, heart pounding as you pressed yourself against the wall, putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the sheer force of his rage. “I… It’s nothing but a job… I need to pay rent, to pay bills… And he pays well…”

Tomura rose from his spot slowly, movements fluid and purposeful. He reached Dabi with unhurried ease, his touch strangely tender as his fingers brushed along the edges of that scarred jaw. “Touya.” His voice was soft yet commanding, laced with something purely intimate.

Dabi’s breath hitched but didn’t slow as his azure eyes were locked on your trembling form, fury still crackling beneath his skin like an electric wire.

Tomura’s fingers tightened, holding the other man in place — not restraining, but rather grounding. He tilted Dabi’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. “Look at me.” Shigaraki pressed a firm, grounding kiss against the jagged edge of Touya’s scarred jawline. “Breathe,” he murmured against the marred skin, voice softer now, a private thing not meant for anyone else’s ears. “And calm the fuck down.”

Shigaraki didn’t wait for any response from the scarred man. He yanked Dabi closer by the collar of his jacket, crashing their mouths together with bruising force.

A low, guttural sound escaped Dabi’s throat as Shigaraki bit down on his lower lip, dragging his teeth across scarred flesh in a way that was equal parts punishment and possession. Dabi hissed, but instead of pulling back, he leaned in harder, matching the intensity with reckless hunger. His fingers clawed into Shigaraki’s sides, pulling him closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance between them.

Their tongues danced together.

The sight was mesmerizing and intimate, enough to make your heart thud erratically against your ribcage. You watched, your mouth hanging open slightly, a realization dawning — they were a thing, unmistakably so, and they were unabashedly natural about their affection.

Shigaraki finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Dabi’s, murmuring something low you couldn’t hear.

“Better?” Shigaraki finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dabi exhaled shakily, his scarred lips quirking into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re such a bastard, boss,” he rasped, voice low but lacking any real venom. The tension in his frame eased.

Shigaraki finally turned his attention back to you, his expression calm, composed, as though nothing unusual had just happened. “Why don’t you take a seat over there, doll?” He gestured to a plush leather armchair nearby, his voice cool but not unkind. “Relax, and tell us a bit about your quirk. I’m curious about that part.”

You moved to the armchair, its soft leather embracing your form as you tried to compose yourself.

Dabi, his earlier fury now cooled, returned to his spot on the couch beside Shigaraki. Rather than pouring himself another drink, he simply grabbed the whiskey bottle, tilting it back for a long, hard swallow, his eyes never leaving your form.

Gathering your nerves, you began, "My quirk is called Amoria," you uttered, your voice steady despite the swirling emotions. "When I kiss someone, I can amplify their quirks, enhancing their abilities beyond their usual limits for a couple of minutes.. And if I am in love with that person, the effect is not only stronger but lasts longer, too."

Dabi set the bottle down with a thud, a smirk playing on his lips, while Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You might actually be more useful than I initially thought,” Dabi remarked, grinning. There was no warmth in his smile, only a sardonic twist of his lips that suggested he saw you not as a person but as a potential tool to be exploited. "Especially with a quirk like that."

Shigaraki, who had been quietly observing the exchange, perked up with a renewed interest that bordered on avid fascination. "I think we need to test this power of yours," Tomura declared, a hint of excitement threading through his usually calm demeanor.

Your heart skipped a beat at the directness of his demand. The thought of kissing Shigaraki, of being so close to someone so dangerously powerful, sent a shiver of fear mixed with a disgust down your spine. You hesitated, your instincts screaming for caution You shifted uncomfortably in the armchair, the weight of their gazes making you feel exposed and vulnerable. "I — I'd rather not," you stammered, trying to muster your courage to deny him.

Shigaraki’s expression darkened at your reluctance. He leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper that somehow filled the entire room. “Don’t make me regret my curiosity,” he said, his words carrying a sweet venom. “It would be a shame to have to disintegrate you for withholding such a valuable demonstration.”

The threat, veiled in a veneer of charm, was clear. Swallowing hard, you realized that your options were few and your situation precarious.

With a heavy heart and mind racing with anxious thoughts, you stood from the armchair and approached Shigaraki and Dabi, the tension palpable.

Shigaraki's gaze was fixed, predatory, as he watched you come closer. In a swift motion, he reached out and grasped your wrist, pulling you towards him with an unexpected force.

Caught off balance, your only options were to awkwardly straddle his lap or risk tumbling to the floor. Choosing the former, you settled uneasily atop him, feeling his hands begin a slow, almost explorative motion up and down your waist. His touch was paradoxically gentle, fingers tracing the fabric of your dress as he inhaled deeply, taking in your scent with an almost reverent curiosity. His chapped lips parted slightly, eyes locked onto yours with a piercing intensity.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, Shigaraki moved his gloved hand to your neck, guiding you down into a kiss. His lips were rough, tasting strongly of whiskey and cigarettes.

As the kiss deepened, a faint glowing aura began to radiate around you, the visual manifestation of your quirk activating under the intimate contact.

Tomura shifted beneath you, his hands moving to your back to pull you closer, an unspoken demand for more of the power you were unwittingly amplifying. Shigaraki could feel the raw power filling his veins with a raw, unnatural power, every cell in his body seeming to awaken with renewed vigor.

When he finally broke the kiss, a thin string of saliva connected you momentarily, and you whined at the loss of contact.

Shigaraki's breath was heavy, his eyes alight with a wild sort of exhilaration. "Fuuuck. I've never felt so powerful before," he confessed, his voice hoarse with wonder. He turned to Dabi, his expression one of awe mixed with a fierce triumph. "Not even after months in that tube at the doctor's hideout when I was getting boosted. This is fucking incredible."

"Come here," Shigaraki panted, voice low, roughened by desire and authority. There was no room for disobedience, no chance to escape. His fingertips pressed into the soft curve of your waist, sliding possessively up and down your sides, mapping every inch of skin through the thin fabric of your dress. “Kiss me again,” the leader of the League of Villains demanded, the edge in his voice razor-sharp, leaving no space for refusal. The implied threat lingered, dangerous and undeniable — you knew exactly what he was capable of. One wrong move, one hint of defiance, and he could end you with the barest touch.

So you leaned in for a kiss.

His mouth crushed against yours, demanding everything. He groaned against your mouth, low and guttural, his body rigid with restraint he was quickly losing. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sharp and possessive. He never knew someone else’s spit could taste that good. His crimson eyes burned with violent need, pupils blown wide with lust.

Your head spun, breath stolen as his tongue delved deeper, tangling with yours in a battle for control you’d already lost. You gasped against his mouth when his grip on your hips tightened, pressing you down against the hard, unmistakable evidence of his arousal straining beneath his suit pants.

Shit. You were completely, utterly fucked.

A sharp, irritated growl suddenly shattered the charged atmosphere.

Touya's jaw clenched as he watched Shigaraki’s hands roam possessively over your body, his fingers digging into your waist like he owned you. The sight clearly infuriated the scarred man.

Shigaraki didn’t loosen his grip on you, his crimson gaze flicking lazily toward Dabi without a shred of concern. “Don’t forget who the boss is.”

“Thought we were sharing,” Dabi drawled, voice low and threatening. “Didn’t think you’d keep all the fun for yourself, boss.” Dabi yanked you off Shigaraki and forced you to straddle his lap. His kiss was brutal — searing and unforgiving, all teeth and tongue, like he was determined to brand himself into you.

Suddenly, a heat exploded where his fingers dug into your waist, the surge of your quirk sparking to life as your mouths tangled together. You felt it hit him — a sudden, visceral rush of boosted power crackling beneath his skin like wildfire.

Dabi broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, his pupils blown wide with lust and power. “Fuck,” he rasped, eyes blazing like molten fire. “Fucking amazing.”

Before you could answer, a sharp snarl tore from Shigaraki’s throat. He was on you in an instant. “She’s fucking mine, Touya,” Tomura snapped, voice low and deadly, every syllable dripping with dangerous intent.

Before you could even steady yourself, Shigaraki yanked you back into his lap with brutal force, his fingers digging possessively into your thighs. You gasped, hands bracing against his chest as he hauled you close, locking you in place.

His tongue forced its way past your lips again, demanding dominance.

You had no room to resist — not with the way his hips rolled beneath you. You whimpered against his mouth as he rocked his hips into yours again, letting you feel just how hard he was beneath the rough fabric of his pants. The friction was intoxicating, setting every nerve alight with white-hot need. And you discovered you weren’t scared anymore.

Shigaraki broke the kiss just long enough to rasp, "I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard, doll." His voice was raw, wrecked with desire and possessive rage, leaving no room for interpretation. His red eyes gleamed with dark intent, lips twisted into something between a snarl and a smirk.

Your breath hitched, shock and adrenaline colliding in your chest. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think — trapped between two villains driven by lust, power, and an insatiable need to claim what they thought was theirs.

Dabi wiped his mouth with the back of his scarred hand, eyes still blazing with want and jealousy. His tongue flicked over his lower lip, tasting the remnants of your saliva as his gaze snapped to where you were pinned on Shigaraki’s lap, bodies tangled in a possessive, desperate clash of dominance and need. “Oh, so now you get greedy, huh?” Dabi sneered, his scarred lips curling into a mocking smirk. “You’re not the only one who wants a piece of her, Shiggy.” His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and filled with something feral, before settling back on Tomura. “I think I deserve a turn with that little whore after that little taste.”

“Hey, I’m not a whore!” You protested with furrowed brows.

“Oi! Shut the fuck up,” Touya replied dismissively.

Tomura’s hand sneaked under the edge of your tight dress, boldly rubbing against your clothed pussy. You were oh so hot down there.

You parted your lips, letting out a cute moan as you shivered.

Dabi’s jaw clenched, anger flickering hotly behind his eyes. He tilted his head, a wicked grin spreading across his scarred face as he dragged his gaze down your trembling form. “C’mon, boss.” His voice dipped lower, almost coaxing but still dangerous. “You really wanna share her here? In this shitty club, with all these useless extras nearby?” His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “We could take her back to the hideout. Somewhere private.”

Shigaraki’s lips twisted into a grin, sharp and predatory. He looked at you, tilting your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his unrelenting gaze. “What do you say, sweetheart?” His voice dripped with mock sweetness, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a way that made you shiver. “Hope you are ready to come with us.”

You couldn’t speak, your throat tightening as their intentions became horrifyingly clear, so you just shook your head.

Shigaraki sighed and leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “I wasn’t fucking asking.”

Before you could even process the command, Dabi was already moving, improving his leather jacket. His gaze lingered on you, sharp and hungry. “Move your ass,” he warned, his voice a dangerous purr. “We don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Shigaraki’s hand trailed down your waist, tugging you off his lap with rough impatience as he rose to his feet. His fingers never left your body, keeping you tethered to him like a prize he’d already claimed.

Your heart pounded in your chest as they guided you toward the club’s shadowed back exit, Dabi’s molten gaze burning into your back while Shigaraki’s hand stayed possessively firm around your waist.

There was no escape.

And the most terrifying truth was that, deep down, a part of you didn’t want to escape at all.

Your body trembled as you were bent over the edge of the bed, completely naked — exposed and pliant, just the way they liked.

The sheets bunched beneath your hands as you braced yourself, trying to focus — trying to breathe — but it was impossible with Dabi lounging lazily in front of you.

His scarred back pressed into the mattress, one arm propped behind his head as he gazed at you through half-lidded eyes, utterly at ease. His cock, flushed and hard, rested against his stomach as he watched you.

“Come on, don’t get shy now,” Dabi murmured, his gravelly voice a mixture of teasing and condescension. His thumb traced your bottom lip briefly before guiding himself into the warm heat of your mouth.

Your tongue welcomed him, slick and obedient, and he groaned lowly, his hips rocking just enough to force you to take him deeper.

Touya hissed through his teeth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. “That’s it. Good girl.”

The sound of his pleasure reverberated through you, but your focus shattered when a new sensation made itself known — a hot, slick pressure against your folds. Your thighs twitched as the sensation grew bolder — tracing the curve of your pussy lips before pushing past them.

A muffled whine vibrated around Dabi’s length, and you instinctively arched. With a sharp pop, you pulled off Dabi’s cock, saliva trailing from the corner of your mouth as you gasped for air and moaned shamelessly. Your voice wavered with desperation as you glanced over your shoulder.

There he was — Shigaraki, kneeling between your spread legs, his crimson gaze half-lidded and focused solely on you. “Stop fucking squirming,” he rasped impatiently, giving your cheek a hard spank, his voice raw and hungry. His calloused fingers spread your ass cheeks wide, holding you open for his eager mouth. The drag of his tongue from your soaked entrance to your clit sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, and your knee buckled.

Your mouth formed a large “O”, and a tear threatened to roll down your cheek.

“Tsk. Pathetic,” Dabi scoffed from in front of you.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he delivered a stinging slap to your cheek. Your head snapped back, and your wide, tear-glazed eyes met his.

“There we go,” he smirked, clearly pleased to have your full attention again. Slowly, almost deliberately, Dabi ran his hand over his throbbing cock, his skin glistening with the remnants of your spit. He stroked himself lazily, letting you watch every movement, every twitch of his muscles. “I didn’t say you could stop, doll.”

He tapped the head of his cock against your lips, and of course you accepted him in your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down, up and down, gently flexing your tongue to tease the massive vein located underneath his cock. A tear finally escaped your eye.

Dabi clicked his tongue, his hand tangling into your hair before giving a sharp tug that forced you off him with an audible pop. Your lips parted, spit trailing down and on his thigh as you looked up at him, dazed and desperate. “You’re pathetic, you know that, whore?” he taunted, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, teasing himself while spreading your saliva all over his shaft. “Can’t even handle both of us, huh?”

“I am… Not a whore,” you reminded him, slowly opening your mouth to moan loudly as Tomura spanked your ass a few more times.

Behind you, Shigaraki groaned impatiently. “Stop hogging her attention,” he rasped, his voice rough with want. Without waiting, he buried his face between your legs again, his tongue flicking messily over your swollen clit before dragging back down to your slick entrance.

“Shit— Tomura…” you gasped, your back arching instinctively as you ground your pussy against his face. “Just like that.”

“Focus,” Dabi growled from above, snapping his fingers to reclaim your gaze.

Your eyes darted back to him, your face still flushed and your lips glistening.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, that sadistic little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You nodded and wrapped your lips around his shaft again. You pushed your mouth down his shaft until you felt his white, pubic hair that surrounded his cock tickle your nose. While you were sucking Dabi's cock, doing your best to make him satisfied with your efforts, your hand instinctively drifted down between your trembling thighs, fingers seeking relief. Just as you brushed against your slick folds, a rough, calloused hand snatched your wrist, shoving it away.

“Don’t,” Shigaraki growled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver up your spine.

Before you could protest, his hands gripped your hips, spreading your ass cheeks apart until your pussy was exposed, open, and vulnerable to him. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on you.

Shigaraki’s tongue teased the sensitive edges of your entrance slowly, circling in a way that made your thighs tremble. Then, without warning, he pushed in, his tongue slipping into your tight hole, wet and insistent.

The sensation sent white-hot pleasure through you, a sharp, helpless moan tearing from your throat as you arched beneath his touch. Spit spilled from corners of your mouth, dripping on Touya’s thighs.

Dabi’s cock twitched against your tongue at the sight, his grip tightening in your hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough with amusement. “You really are a mess, aren’t you?”

Behind you, Shigaraki decided to shove your thigh up, pressing your knee onto the edge of the bed to grant himself full, unhindered access. His mouth returned to your pussy, more frantic this time — his tongue working in desperate, messy licks as if he were starved for the taste of you.

Between Dabi’s demanding gaze and his cock successfully suffocating you, and Shigaraki’s relentless tongue attacking you from behind, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped your lips.

“That’s more like it,” Dabi praised mockingly, his smile turning cruel as he watched you unravel.

Shigaraki let out a low, pleased hum, his face buried between your thighs yet again. “She’s close,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his nails digging lightly into your flesh as he kept you exactly where he wanted you while he fucked you with his long, skilled tongue.

“Better not pass out yet,” Dabi added, his voice a wicked purr as he delivered a few hard slaps to your face. “We’re just getting started.”

You pulled off Dabi’s cock with a gasp, your chest heaving as you desperately sucked in air between moans. Your lips were swollen, glistening with spit.

Dabi growled low in his throat, a dangerous sound that made your core tighten. His scarred hand curled around the base of his cock, dragging the flushed, leaking head down the side of your face, smearing it across your heated skin before settling it against your parted lips.

“Don’t get lazy on me now,” he warned, voice gravelly with irritation.

Your tongue darted out instinctively, flicking teasingly over his tip as he groaned softly in response. You played with him, swirling your tongue around the angry red head before slowly wrapping your lips around him again. You moaned, your eyelids fluttering in bliss. Inch by inch, you pushed him deeper into your mouth, sucking greedily until you took as much as you could manage, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, making you gag each time.

Your lips stretched tight around his veiny girth, and you began moving in earnest, bobbing your head forward and back, each bounce deliberate and needy. One of your hands reached to cup and fondle his balls gently, coaxing soft curses from his lips, while the other steadied yourself on his shredded thigh.

Dabi hissed between gritted teeth, his cock twitching angrily in your mouth, pulsing in warning as he grew closer to his release.

Then Shigaraki joined in.

You gasped softly when you felt his fingers slide into your slick pussy from behind, curling just right as they pressed against your walls. He didn’t stop there, though — his mouth returned to you, tongue swirling over your folds in tandem with his digits. Your knees nearly buckled from the dual sensations, but you didn’t falter.

If anything, you grew more relentless.

You let your spit spill messily. Your hair was tangled, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears as you worked him harder, sucking him down greedily. You didn’t care how fucked out you looked. It didn’t matter after all.

“Fuck—” Dabi hissed, his voice shaky now, his composure cracking. His hand fisted into your hair, tugging hard enough to make your scalp sting. He bucked his hips into your mouth with wild desperation, chasing his release. “That’s it, you little slut,” he grunted through clenched teeth, his voice rough and broken. With one final thrust, he pressed your face flush against his pubic bone, holding you there as he came. His cock twitched violently, spilling hot, thick ropes of cum down your throat in short, jerky spurts.

You moaned around him, the vibrations sending another shiver through his overstimulated body as he groaned loudly, rolling his head back against the pillow. His grip on your hair loosened just slightly, and when you pulled back, your mouth was still full of his seed.

Dabi cracked open one eye, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he looked down at you. “Don’t swallow yet,” he ordered, his voice strained but firm.

You stared up at him, cheeks puffed slightly and tongue cradling his release as you awaited his next command, your body trembling while Shigaraki’s relentless ministrations continued behind you. You could only whine in a strange voice as you didn’t want to spill a single drop of Dabi’s cum.

Shigaraki's tongue and fingers worked you over relentlessly, a maddening rhythm of teasing and torment. He slipped two fingers inside you with an ease that made you shiver, his knuckles pressing against your entrance as he angled his head just right. His tongue flicked purposefully over the swollen bundle of nerves, the sensation sharp and consuming.

Your thighs trembled again, threatening to buckle, but Shigaraki’s grip held you firm, forcing you to take it all.

“Open up.”

Dabi’s voice cut through the haze, a low, commanding drawl that demanded your focus. Propped casually on his elbow where he lay, he watched you with narrowed, calculating eyes.

You obeyed without hesitation, your lips parting, tongue sticking out just enough to display the evidence of your submission — his seed still cradled there.

A faint hum of satisfaction vibrated from Dabi’s throat. “Look at you,” he murmured, his scarred hand reaching out to stroke your cheek in a gesture that was far too gentle given the situation. The warmth of his palm lingered as he cupped your jaw, tilting your head upward with effortless control.

“Been such a good girl for us,” he praised, his tone soft but tinged with that edge of condescension that made your stomach tighten. He pushed himself up onto his knees, his presence now towering over you as he gazed down at your wrecked expression. The grin that stretched across his face was wild and possessive, a cruel glint in his pale eyes as he leaned in closer. “Open wide,” he mused, and you could do nothing but obey, your mouth parting further at his demand.

Dabi held your gaze as he spat, the slow descent of a globe of his saliva deliberate. It landed messily on your upper lip, the warmth of it pooling before sliding down into your waiting mouth, mingling with his cum and your own lingering spit. Your breath hitched as you felt your pride stripped away.

“Now, you can swallow,” he ordered softly, his voice dripping with twisted satisfaction.

You did, your throat working as you obeyed, your gaze never leaving his. The desperation in your eyes only seemed to amuse him more, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw in reward as you blinked up at him.

It was then that Shigaraki’s fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect spongy spot deep within. Your body tensed, a loud, broken whine escaping your lips as your walls spasmed around his digits, your release crashing over you in uncontrollable waves. Shigaraki’s tongue stayed firm against your clit, drawing out every last tremor as you came apart.

You couldn’t stop the shy, breathy whimper that left you as your body sagged slightly, your face flushed in embarrassment.

Shigaraki pulled back just enough to growl lowly against you, the vibration sending another spark of sensitivity through your core as you cleaned your folds from remnants of your release. “Good girl,” the man praised, his voice rough and husky with satisfaction.

Dabi chuckled darkly from above you, thumb tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze again. “Don’t get all shy on us now,” he teased, his smile sharp and devilish. “You’re doing so well.”

Shigaraki’s gloved hand — slick with your cum — wrapped firmly around your chin, tilting your head up until you were forced to meet his eyes. His crimson eyes burned into yours before he leaned in, claiming your mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. He groaned as his tongue pushed past your lips, eager, desperate to taste the remnants of Dabi’s cum still coating your tongue.

The moment his mouth met yours, your quirk activated instinctively. A faint aura bloomed around you, light and humming with energy, sending a ripple of warmth through the air.

Shigaraki growled deep in his throat, his entire body tensing as the surge hit him, spreading like wildfire through his cells. The sound was guttural, animalistic, as if he’d been jolted alive. “Fuck—” he hissed, his lips leaving yours briefly as he shivered from the rush.

“Tsk,” Dabi chuckled, the sound low and smug as he took advantage of Shigaraki’s distraction. Dabi’s scarred hand wrapped around Tomura’s cock. His hand pumped slow, deliberate strokes, his thumb brushing against the sensitive head just to coax a sharp gasp from his boyfriend’s lips. “Relax, hothead. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Your lips were abandoned as Shigaraki’s focus faltered completely, his attention turning to Dabi with a heated glare. “Ugly bastard,” Tomura rasped, though the way his hips bucked into Dabi’s hand betrayed just how easily he was unraveling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dabi murmured smugly, his voice a soft purr. With a rough tug and a smirk, he pulled Shigaraki into a kiss that left you breathless just from watching. Their lips met in a clash of teeth and tongues, Dabi’s dominance clear as he guided Shigaraki back onto the bed with ease. Tomura didn’t resist; he let Dabi push him down, his white hair splayed like a halo on the sheets.

Dabi settled between Tomura’s thighs, his sharp grin softening into something dangerously wicked as he ducked his head. Without preamble, his mouth wrapped around Shigaraki’s cock, and Tomura let out a broken groan, his back arching off the bed.

“Fucking hell, Touya…” Tomura rasped, one hand flying to Dabi’s white hair, gripping tight.

You were left kneeling at the edge, forgotten, stripped of their attention. A needy whine escaped you before you could stop it, the ache between your legs too much to ignore. Frustration flared hot in your chest, but you couldn’t look away from the sight in front of you — Shigaraki, the leader of the League of Villains, wrecked and trembling under Todoroki’s mouth, and Dabi himself, so smug and methodical as he sucked his boyfriend off.

“Assholes,” you muttered under your breath, though your voice lacked any real venom. Giving in, your hand drifted down between your thighs, your fingers brushing over your slick folds. A sharp inhale left you as you began to rub lazy, teasing circles against your clit, your gaze fixed on them as if the sight alone might bring you release.

There was something maddeningly hot about the way Dabi could so easily dominate Shigaraki — about how quickly the sharp edges of the most powerful man softened under Touya’s touch.

How the hell had it come to this? You barely remembered. The whiskey at the club burned as it came back to you, their teasing words, the way Dabi and Shiggy had leaned close to murmur threats into your ear if you didn’t follow them. A shiver ran through you at the memory, though whether it was fear or excitement, you couldn’t tell.

What you did know was that this — this night, this wild chaos — was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was raw and humiliating, your body used and claimed by two men who couldn’t care less about your dignity. And yet, you were dripping for them, your fingers already working faster as you squirmed on the bed, watching the two men you couldn’t get enough of.

Your body quivered, breath ragged as you bit your lip, already desperate for more. One thing was certain: you didn’t care how you ended up here. All you could think about was how much you wanted them inside you — both of them — until you forgot your own name.

And judging by the way Dabi’s eyes flicked toward you, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face as he pulled off Shigaraki’s cock with a sinful pop, they weren’t done with you yet. “Look at her,” Dabi drawled, voice thick with amusement as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Couldn’t handle being left alone for five minutes. Such a needy little shit.”

Shigaraki’s head lolled to the side, his crimson eyes barely focused but sharp enough to catch the way your fingers moved between your thighs. “So fucking needy.”

Dabi grinned and pushed Shiggy’s cock past his lips again. Dabi worked Shigaraki’s cock with an eager, unrelenting rhythm, his mouth gliding along the length in sloppy, wet strokes that filled the room with the most obscene, filthy sounds you’d ever heard. His lips stretched wide, dragging over every vein, his tongue teasing mercilessly as he sucked in earnest, loud and unapologetic, his turquoise eyes never left Shigaraki’s face.

With a sharp pop, Dabi pulled off, a strand of saliva connecting his lips to Shigaraki’s throbbing shaft. He tilted his head, eyes glinting, before he tilted his mouth horizontally, wrapping his lips along the sensitive side of Shigaraki’s cock. His movements turned fast — up and down, slicking him completely with spit that glistened in the dim light of the room.

“Fuck—” Shigaraki hissed, his voice cracking with the effort to keep his composure, but Dabi wasn’t done. He slid further down, taking one of Shigaraki’s balls into his mouth, sucking and rolling it against his tongue, his hands working the rest of his boyfriend’s shaft in time with his mouth.

The control didn’t last long. Shigaraki’s breaths turned ragged, his hips twitching with the need to chase release, and within seconds, he snapped — his cock jerking in Dabi’s hand as he came, hard and sudden.

Thick ropes of cum spurted forward, hitting Dabi’s face in messy streaks.

Shigaraki groaned through gritted teeth, his body trembling as the last of his release spattered across Dabi’s scarred chin and nose.

Touya sat back slowly, his expression smug as he swiped his tongue across his lip, unbothered by the mess dripping down his face. “Didn’t think you’d lose it that fast, Shig,” he mused, his tone laced with a teasing drawl. “Guess I’m just that good, huh?”

Shigaraki’s red eyes burned into him, his breath still heavy as he scowled faintly. “Shut up, Todoroki.”

Dabi just grinned, licking his fingers clean as he savored every last drop of Tomura’s cum. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It was when their attention returned to you.

“You should fuck her,” Touya pointed out, glaring at Shigaraki, his tone lazy yet deliberate, as if offering the most obvious suggestion in the world. “Look at her — she’s trembling. Can’t fucking wait to have her needy little cunt stuffed full of your dick.”

Shigaraki shivered at the words, his red eyes darkening as he raked his gaze over you. A shudder ran through his body, his voice a breathless rasp as he muttered, “I’m overstimulated. You go first. It’ll be even better when I take her after you’ve filled her needy cunt with your hot cum.”

The way they spoke about you, as if you weren’t even there — like you were some object to pass between them — made your stomach twist and a shiver race down your spine. You clenched your thighs instinctively, but the heat pooling low in your belly was unstoppable.

Dabi, lying back next to Shigaraki on the bed, gestured lazily with two fingers. “C’mere, whore. Straddle me.”

“I’m not a whore,” you reminded him once again with a frown crossing your forehead. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Todoroki growled back.

The command was all you needed, your body moving instinctively to obey. You climbed over him, settling your knees on either side of his hips, your trembling hands already reaching for his cock. He was rock hard again, pulsing and ready for you, and you dragged him along your slit, teasing both yourself and him as the head of his cock glided through your slick folds.

Dabi’s patience, however, was notoriously thin. His large hands suddenly gripped your waist, and before you could react, he pushed you down onto him with one firm thrust.

You cried out as he impaled you, the stretch of his cock filling you completely and stealing the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet and tight,” Touya growled, his voice low and guttural as his fingers dug into your flesh. His hips shifted slightly, grinding into you to pull another broken moan from your lips. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”

Above him, you clung to his chest, nails scraping lightly over the healthy patches of skin as your body adjusted to the sudden fullness.

Dabi didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath though; his hips rolled beneath you with slow, intentional force, and the pressure made your head spin.

“Don’t stop,” Shigaraki muttered, his voice strained as he watched you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Keep going. I want to see her fall apart on you before I take my turn.” The man of course was jerking himself.

Dabi’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes gleaming with that signature cruelty as he tilted his head to look up at you. “Hear that, doll? You’d better give us a good show.”

His hips snapped up suddenly, and you cried out again, the room filling with the sound of skin meeting skin and the broken moans spilling uncontrollably from your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back toward the ceiling as Touya’s hands worked over you, rough and greedy. His scarred fingers pinched and kneaded your breasts, each tug on your sensitive nipples sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His heated gaze stayed fixed on you — on the slow, mesmerizing roll of your hips as you started grinding your pelvis against him, dragging your slick pussy over the massive length of his cock.

“Fuck, just like that,” Touya praised, his voice gravelly and strained, though he made no move to stop you. His cock pressed against your entrance, teasing you, every shift of your hips making him twitch and pulse in response.

A pure bliss overtook your features.

When you placed your hands flat on his scarred chest, steadying yourself, he let you take control, his pale cerulean eyes narrowing with dark satisfaction.

You began to move faster — hips gliding forward and back, dragging his thick cock up through your folds, almost slipping it out before grinding back down to bury him deep inside you. The friction burned deliciously, and the sound of his low groans only spurred you on.

Opening your eyes, you locked gazes with him as you picked up the pace, your movements sharp and purposeful. Without breaking a sweat, you rode him hard — bouncing on his cock with quick, fluid movements that had him pressing deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you over and over again. The mattress beneath you creaked in protest.

Touya’s lips curled into a wicked grin, clearly pleased with your display, but he was never one to let you feel too triumphant. With a sudden shift, he reached up and wrapped one large, scarred hand around your throat. His grip was firm — tight enough to steal a fraction of your air, to make you lightheaded and needy as his rough thumb pressed against your pulse point. “Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, voice low and dark, his eyes drinking in every reaction you gave him.

Your whine came out broken and pitiful, a sound that only spurred you to ride him faster, harder, your body slamming down onto his cock with a desperation that left you trembling. You knew you had to work hard to be able to breathe again.

Before you could think, another touch joined the chaos. From the side, Shigaraki’s pale fingers pressed roughly against your clit. He rubbed in firm, purposeful circles, coaxing you closer to the edge before landing a few sharp slaps to your sensitive, swollen bud.

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki muttered, his voice gruff and mocking. He trailed his fingers lower, gathering the juices that had spilled out of you, smirking as he scooped up some of it. With a satisfied hum, he sat back slightly, spreading the slick over his cock with slow, intended movements. His hand glided easily along the long length of his shaft now, each stroke lazy as he watched you. “Make him cum in your cunt finally.”

Dabi’s grip on your throat finally loosened, though the sight of you gasping for air, eyes glazed and lips parted, was enough to make his cock twitch. As much as he loved watching you struggle, he didn’t want to break his favorite toy.

“Fuck, you’re a mess,” he uttered, a dark smirk curling his lips as one scarred hand slid up to cradle your cheek. His other arm snaked around your lower back, locking you against him with ease. Before you could catch your breath, he drove his hips up sharply, forcing you to cry out as his thick cock filled your aching pussy to the brim. “Feel that?” Dabi taunted, his voice low and teasing as he set a ruthless rhythm.

Your body rocked with each brutal thrust, the sound of his balls slapping against you echoing obscenely through the room. “Tight, little thing can barely take me.”

Your mouth fell open reflexively, head lolling back as the relentless pace had you seeing stars.

Dabi’s grip on you tightened as his thrusts grew sharper, harder, forcing you to take every inch of him. Sweat began to bead along both your bodies, the heat of it all adding to the haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

Then he shifted, pulling you down until your chest met his, your chin resting over his scarred shoulder. Both of his arms caged you in, holding you flush to him as his hips began pounding up at an impossible speed.

Your breath came out in ragged pants directly into his ear, your whines growing louder, more desperate. “Ahh— Touya… I’m gonna—” you whimpered, voice trembling as your entire body started to quake. “I’m gonna—”

“Cum,” he growled into your ear, his teeth nibbling on your earlobe as his hips snapped upward mercilessly.

With a sharp gasp, you came undone, a broken moan ripping from your throat as your pussy clenched down around him, milking his cock with every pulse of your release. You lolled your head back to lower it and rest your forehead against the crook of his neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh my god, yes!” You cried, the words dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan as waves of pleasure crashed over your being.

Dabi hissed through his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple as he fucked you through your orgasm, refusing to let go. The slick, obscene sounds of skin meeting skin grew louder, wetter, as he chased his high.

And then it happened — your body, overstimulated and writhing, couldn’t hold back anymore. You screamed his name as you squirted, a torrent of juices splashing over Dabi’s abs and thighs.

“Fuck! Look at you,” Dabi chuckled darkly, his voice strained as he watched you, his teeth clenched hard. He delivered a sharp slap to your cheek, the sting sending a jolt through your already-sensitive body. “Dirty little whore. Look what you’ve done.”

With a final, deep thrust, his cock twitched violently inside you, and he let out a guttural groan as he came. Hot ropes of cum spilled into your soaked pussy, the sensation making you shudder, trembling from head to toe as you wrapped your arm around his neck, hugging him as tightly as you could.

For a moment, you waited for him to push you off — but he didn’t.

Instead, Dabi’s arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you closer as he pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple. “You did oh so well, doll.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Shigaraki’s gravelly voice broke the moment. “My turn.”

Reluctantly, you pushed yourself up, Dabi’s hands steadying you as you moved. His release, mixed with yours, dripped shamelessly down your inner thighs and onto the sheets, staining them in messy evidence of your debauchery.

“On all fours,” Shigaraki ordered coldly.

Your body obeyed instinctively, trembling slightly as you got into position. Shigaraki knelt behind you, his pale hands spreading the cheeks of your ass as his crimson eyes drank in the view of your pussy entrance clenching around nothing, missing the contact. With a low curse, he spat directly onto the valley between your cheeks, watching the saliva trail down over your puckered hole and toward your slick, used entrance.

“Stay still,” Tomura warned, the tip of his cock sliding through the mess he’d created. He dragged it deliberately, spreading the wetness across both openings before aligning himself. Without another word, he pushed in, forcing his length into your soaked cunt in one slow, steady stroke. “Fuck! So warm,” he applauded, his voice heavy with hunger as he sank his cock to the hilt. “And still so fucking tight. C’mere,” Shigaraki called, turning his head to Dabi, who was still sprawled beside you, watching the scene with an air of smug satisfaction.

Touya didn’t hesitate, moving closer as Shigaraki grabbed his jaw roughly and tilted his head, pulling the scarred man into a messy, sloppy kiss.

Dabi growled against Tomura’s mouth but let him take control.

Their tongues clashed, heated and unrestrained, while Shigaraki’s hips slammed into you from behind. The combined sound of their heavy breathing, and the wet slap of Shigaraki’s thrusts filled the room entirely.

Your body rocked forward under Shigaraki’s relentless pace. You sneaked a hand between your trembling thighs to rub your clitoris and move your fingers further to spread your entrance more. The feeling was deliciously good, and you moaned like a whore when your pussy clenched fitfully.

“Shit,” Shigaraki rasped, breaking the kiss long enough to groan, “you’re gonna squeeze me dry if you keep that up.” Tomura’s gloved hand tangled into your hair, tugging harshly and smashing your head down onto the mattress. The movement was rough, his grip unyielding as he bent you forward to angle himself deeper inside you.

A strangled gasp left your lips, your body arching instinctively as he adjusted his stance, burying his cock to the hilt with a single thrust.

Smack.

The sound echoed through the room as his palm connected with the curve of your ass, the sharp sting blooming into warmth almost instantly. “Stay still,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and low. Red prints of his hands marked your skin, glowing against your plushy flesh.

You cried out, fists clenching tightly into the sheets as Tomura gripped your waist, holding you in place. His thrusts grew brutal and relentless, hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that bordered on feral. Each movement dragged him against every ridge of your walls, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock, the friction overwhelming.

Tomura’s gaze dropped to where your ass pressed back against him, mesmerized by the way your body swallowed him whole. The tremors that coursed through you only spurred him on, his cock throbbing as he leaned forward. His mouth found your neck, trailing hot, sloppy kisses between your shoulder blades and up behind your ear.

His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and within moments, you felt the twitch of his cock inside you. Tomura groaned, pulling out abruptly, the tip of his length gleaming and oozing precum. “Suck,” Shigaraki ordered, voice sharp but breathless as he looked at Dabi.

Touya — who’d been lounging with that ever-present, pervert smirk — sat up at the command, eyes flicking to you before sliding to Tomura’s dick. Without protest, Dabi knelt and leaned forward, wrapping his lips around Tomura’s leaking cock with deliberate ease.

Tomura’s head fell back briefly, a hiss escaping his lips.

While Dabi worked his boyfriend, his hand snaked between your legs, two long fingers sinking into your soaked cunt. His digits thrust into you with a lazy, calculated pace at first, the slick sound of your arousal driving him wild. The movement of his hand sent splashes of your wetness dripping onto the sheets below, a testament to just how far gone you were.

It didn’t take long for Tomura to lose patience. His hand shot to Dabi’s hair, yanking him off his cock with a wet pop. “Enough,” the leader growled, before guiding himself back into you with a single, unforgiving thrust. The force knocked the breath from your lungs as he picked up a wild, punishing pace.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated and unable to do anything but take what he gave you.

Tomura’s nails dug into your hips, his low moans mingling with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. His pace faltered as his cock twitched, his release barreling toward him. “Fuck—” Shigaraki snarled, thrusting into you one last time, as deep as he could go. His body shuddered violently as he came, spilling himself inside you in thick, hot pulses. He stayed there for a moment, grinding his hips to push every drop deeper in your pussy before finally collapsing against you, his breaths heavy and ragged.

You slumped onto the mattress, your limbs weak and spent, but Tomura wasn’t done admiring his work. He withdrew slowly, watching intently as his cum — white, and thick — began to trickle from your overstimulated, reddened cunt. The sight alone made him groan softly, his fingers spreading you apart to see the mess he’d left behind. He licked his lips; the thought of his cum being so easily mixed with your and Dabi’s releases drove him crazy. “Looks good on you,” Shigaraki chuckled, dark and satisfied.

You didn’t have the strength to answer, so you moaned quietly.

“Do you think about the same thing I do?” Dabi asked Tomura, his voice low and deliberate as his scarred hand kneaded the soft flesh of your ass, fingers sinking into it with casual possessiveness.

Shigaraki, kneeling behind you, dragged his palm lazily up and down the length of his cock, thumb teasing over the tip. He licked his chapped lips, hesitant. “Yeah, but… I’m not sure if she’s loosened up enough.” His voice wavered faintly, rough and uncertain. “I don’t wanna hurt her.”

“Tsk.” Dabi clicked his tongue in irritation, his free hand coming down hard on your ass with a sharp slap that made you yelp and jolt forward. The sting and print of his unnaturally warm hand bloomed across your skin. “She’s unbreakable. Ain’t that right, Amoria?” he added, using the name of your quirk as a pet name.

Your body perked up at the sound of his voice, though you turned your head to glance over your shoulder at him with a tired but questioning look. “Mhm?”

Dabi’s grin widened, a wicked gleam in his pale turquoise eyes. “We wanna try something new. Something your beloved ex probably wouldn’t have let you do. You up for it?”

Even through the haze of exhaustion, you found yourself nodding eagerly, curiosity outweighing fatigue as you slowly sat up. “Sure. What is it?”

Dabi scoffed, shooting Shigaraki a smug look. “Told ya,” he noted before his gaze fell back to you, his voice softening slightly. “Have you ever had your cunt stuffed with two cocks at the same time?”

Your eyes widened, the question hitting you like a bolt of electricity. You shook your head slowly.

“Wanna try it?” He phrased it like a challenge.

You rubbed your palms against your knees after sitting on them, glancing between the two men before smiling faintly. “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, I guess…”

“That’s the attitude,” Dabi murmured, his grin stretching wider.

Without another word, Dabi lay back against the bed, dragging you with him until you were straddling his hips again. His cock — thick, hard, and begging to be stuffed in your warm cunt yet again — throbbed against your swollen slit, which still ached from earlier. He grabbed your waist, guiding you down onto him with little patience, groaning as he sank back into your warmth. “Fuck…” Dabi hissed, his head pressing into the pillow as he felt how easily you took him again. His cock slid inside your stretched-out entrance, and he smirked darkly as he felt Shigaraki’s cum leaking out of your slit, flowing over his erection, slick and hot. “See that, Shigs? The slut's so fucking loose. You’re good to go.”

Shigaraki didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded curtly, shuffling closer to get into position behind you. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he adjusted himself. One of his palms slid along the curve of your ass, and he delivered a quick, stinging slap that left you whining softly.

“Relax,” Shigaraki muttered, though his own breathing had grown uneven. With a rough groan, he began pressing himself against your already stuffed cunt, his long, slender cock sliding slowly alongside Dabi’s.

The stretch was immediate, sharp and overwhelming as your walls struggled to accommodate the added girth.

“Fuck, she’s tight now,” Shigaraki growled under his breath, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back.

“Yeah?” Dabi sneered, though his voice was breathy with his own pleasure. He shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his angle so you were forced to take more of him. “Told ya she could handle it. She’s tougher than she looks.”

Neither of them seemed to mind the friction where their cocks pressed together, filling you completely. In fact, it only made them more eager.

The combined stretch sent you reeling, tears pricking your eyes as they started moving — slow at first, then building in rhythm, a perfectly matched pace that had you gasping for air.

“Shit… look at ya,” Dabi stated, his voice low and hungry as he dragged you down against his scarred chest. His long fingers tilted your chin up until your face hovered just above his. His tongue darted out, running lazily up your cheek to taste the salt of your sweat and tears. “You look fucking ruined, doll. You like this, huh?”

Your only response was a broken moan and eager nod of your head, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself up while they worked you over.

Behind you, Shigaraki’s nails dug into your hips, his restraint slipping with every thrust. “She’s so— Fuck!— Full,” Shigaraki rasped, his voice cracking slightly as he buried himself deeper.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dabi grunted beneath you, his smirk never fading. “You better keep up, Shigs. Can’t let me outdo you, now, can we?”

The two of them moved in perfect rhythm, their thrusts syncing to a punishing pace that left you helpless and whining in their hold.

Dabi’s chest rumbled with laughter as he watched your face twist with pleasure, more tears spilling down your flushed cheeks, every broken sound you made only fueling him further. “Good girl,” Dabi murmured finally, his voice dark and satisfied. “Such a good, little pet.”

At that point, you were completely incapable of forming coherent words. Your mouth fell open, spilling nothing but broken moans, tiny strings of saliva, and strangled cries as they both relentlessly tore into you, their thrusts striking every sensitive, sweet spot deep within your pulsing, velvety walls. The pleasure was unbearable — overwhelming to the point that you felt yourself drifting off, your mind teetering on the edge of oblivion.

A sharp slap brought you back.

Dabi’s scarred hand cracked against your cheek, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to jolt you awake, his azure eyes narrowed. “Eyes open, doll. You’re not tapping out yet,” he growled.

Behind you, Tomura delivered another sharp smack — this time to your ass. “Don’t you dare pass out,” the leader hissed, his voice raspy as his nails dug into the soft flesh of your hips.

The two men fucked you mercilessly, their cocks stretching you to your absolute limit as they plunged into your dripping cunt, their movements fierce and unrelenting. Your entire body trembled from overstimulation, every nerve ending alive and alight, your pussy clenching uncontrollably around them. It was maddening, beyond anything you’d ever felt — pure, unadulterated bliss mixed with the sharp edge of being completely, utterly used.

“Look at her,” Dabi murmured through gritted teeth, his smirk curling at the edges as his thrusts grew sloppier. “She’s fucking gone, Tomu. You feel that? She’s throbbing around us like she’s about to break again.”

Tomura let out a growl of agreement, his pace turning frantic as he rutted his dick into you, the slick sound of their cocks rubbing against each other within your tight, soaked walls driving him wild. “She’s perfect,” he rasped, his crimson eyes wild with lust.

You couldn’t hold back — couldn’t stop yourself as the climax built and crested like a tidal wave, ripping through your body with unforgiving force. You screamed — a raw, desperate sound — as your abused pussy spasmed violently around them, the overwhelming pleasure forcing tears to slip down your flushed cheeks.

But they didn’t stop.

Over the next several minutes, they continued to fuck into you without mercy, their movements relentless even as your body twitched and jerked in oversensitive ecstasy. Their cocks slid into your overstimulated, reddened cunt, rubbing against each other with every brutal thrust, the friction pulling deep groans and grunts from their throats.

Dabi was the first to snap.

You felt it — a sudden stretch as he buried himself to the hilt, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix in a way that had you sobbing. He cursed under his breath, his body tensing as his shaft twitched violently, pumping hot, thick spurts of cum deep inside you. The warmth bloomed within your core, unnatural and heavy, his groaned “Fuck, that’s it…” echoing in your ears.

Tomura followed moments later. He threw his head back with a ragged yell, his fingers bruising your hips as he came hard again, emptying his balls inside you in thick, pulsing waves. “Take it, take it! Take it, you filthy little cunt,” he choked out, a string of curses tumbling from his chapped lips as he pushed in as far as he could go. His release shot deep, mixing with Dabi’s until it overflowed from your ruined cunt, spilling in hot rivulets down your trembling thighs.

The sensation of being stuffed so full — of their seed mixing and dripping from your stretched, abused pussy — pushed you over the edge once again. Another orgasm tore through you, sudden and brutal, making you squirt violently around their still-hard cocks. A choked cry escaped you before your mind finally went blank.

The world dimmed at the edges, your body completely, utterly spent. As your consciousness slipped away, the last thing you registered was Dabi’s voice — low, dark, and smug — murmuring, “Looks like we broke her, Tomura.”

A soft chuckle followed before everything went black.

Tomura pulled out of you slowly, his cock slick and throbbing as he stroked himself a few more times, riding out the last shudders of his release. With a low, satisfied groan, he collapsed beside Dabi, his chest heaving as his body finally gave in to exhaustion.

Dabi shot him a sidelong glance, already sprawled comfortably on the bed like he owned it. “Move over, Shigs,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, though there was no real bite to his words. “Make some room for her.”

Tomura grumbled something under his breath but obeyed, shifting further to the side. With that, Touya carefully pushed you off his cock, his movements surprisingly gentle despite his usual rough demeanor. He shifted you between them, taking care to ease your limp body into the space they’d made. His scarred hand slipped beneath your head, lifting it just enough to place you onto one of the pillows. Dabi hovered for a moment, watching your flushed face as you drifted off, spent and serene. Your lips were parted, and you were breathing heavily, yet you looked as peaceful as if you’d merely fallen asleep after a long day.

Tomura watched the scene in silence, his red eyes narrowing with faint curiosity. It wasn’t often he saw Todoroki like this — so still, so intent. There was something rare in the way Touya looked at you, something bordering on concern. It tugged at something unfamiliar in Tomura’s chest, though he quickly brushed the feeling off. Breaking the quiet, he reached out, his gloved fingers brushing along Dabi’s scarred cheek. “You were fucking awesome,” Tomura rasped, a crooked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Touya’s lip curled upward into a smug, familiar grin, the cockiness returning to his expression like a reflex. “Yeah? I know. So were you, Shigs,” he replied, his voice smooth with praise and self-satisfaction. “You’ve got an eye, I’ll give you that. Thought this one would be another shy little thing to fuck but turns out, we found ourselves a damn sex machine.”

Tomura chuckled darkly, resting back against the bed. “We did. And her quirk…” He trailed off, tilting his head as if replaying the events in his mind. “It’s fucking awesome. I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life — like I could destroy anything just with a glance.”

Dabi hummed in agreement, propping himself up on his left elbow and letting his cheek rest in his palm. “Same here,” he admitted, voice softer now, though the sly smirk remained. His gaze flickered back to your sleeping form. “Pity, though, the cunt works for that old fucking bastard.”

“Not necessarily,” Tomura countered, his tone sharper, more thoughtful. His red eyes gleamed with intent as his mind turned over possibilities. “That might be one of her most valuable assets for us. We can use her — turn her into our spy. With her in our pocket, we’ll always be a step ahead of the fucking heroes. It will help us win the war.”

The suggestion hung heavy in the air. Dabi fell quiet, his grin fading as he considered Tomura’s words. His eyes lingered on you for a long moment, the weight of the choice settling over him.

Tomura tilted his head, watching his boyfriend with mild amusement. “You know I’m right,” he declared, the certainty in his voice absolute.

After a beat of silence, Touya sighed through his nose, a reluctant smirk curling back onto his lips. “Yeah, you might be onto something,” he muttered, the faintest hint of admiration coloring his tone.

“I like how you’re using the name of her quirk as a nickname,” Tomura remarked, his voice low and amused as he reached out, brushing a tangled strand of hair off your cheek with surprising gentleness.

Touya let out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah,” he drawled, his lips tugging into a smug grin. “Suits her, doesn’t it?”

Between them, you slept soundly, unaware of the plotting, of their voices weaving around you like a web — one you might never escape.

@unhinged-bratty-boy @hornydynamight @alexandhisstuff @shonen-brainrot @roast-toast

@pixelcafe-network @dabislittlemouse @within-eyesight @sahhuban @jowjayjax

@pridefulbakugou @irkedpomeranian @crystalwolfblog @gojoswifesworld @commonmisery

@proherodabisballsack @bitchyfestivalbouquet @starandcloud @shionancientsblog @words-of-wonder

@fallenrosesblog @t4ters

961 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

2K notes · View notes

ur-local-wizard · 2 months ago

Text

Eye of the Storm

Your desk partner leaves his notebook after class, and you’re struck by the beauty of its contents.

This is part 1! Purely build up in this, so not much fluff and no smut.

characters are college age, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, theo nott being a little oblivious, use of y/n, i think that's it

w/c: 627

masterlist part 2 part 3

a/n: was this supposed to be a oneshot? yes. did it turn into a multiple part story? also yes. (Shout out to an irl friend for helping come up with the title!! ily A)

Divination has never been your favorite class. Not because you’re bad at it, you’re actually quite an accomplished student, but because your desk partner was a nuisance.

Mattheo Riddle was the epitome of chaos. And the fact that nobody took Trelawney’s class seriously definitely didn’t help. He wouldn’t even show up half of the time. But when he did, he barely worked. He would just be scribbling in that notebook of his – the one he’s so protective of. “What’s in that notebook? It looks so beat up,” you asked once, leaning forward to get a better look. He immediately snapped the pages shut, “none of your business,” he told you. You haven’t mentioned it since.

But strangely enough, he’s been coming to class pretty consistently this past week. Not like he pays attention, though. And today was no different. His nose was stuck in his notebook, his hand gripping a pencil tight as he scribbled madly. He rarely looked up, but when he did, it was at you.

You brushed it off, however, telling yourself that he's just making sure you're not trying to sneak another peak at whatever it is he's so wrapped up in. Why would he be looking at you anyway? Or maybe you had something in your teeth.

By the time class ended, Mattheo had already rushed out. But strangely enough, he forgot his notebook. That was a first. He usually never goes anywhere without it. So, being the good person you are, you stuffed it in your bag and walked out the door – deciding that you would give it to him when you see him next.

The day passed by, and Mattheo was nowhere to be seen. Classes finally ended, and you strolled the halls looking for the Slytherin. After half an hour of looking, you gave up, deciding to wander the halls aimlessly. However, you were broken out of your reverie when you crashed into someone. You stumbled back, apologizing profusely.

“Shit- sorry,” a deep voice says. It had a hint of an Italian accent – was it Theo?

You looked up, and sure enough, your hunch was right. The tall European stood in front of you, looking down at the books that fell from your bag. Among them was Mattheo’s notebook. And it fell open to a page full of drawings, one of which caught your attention. It was an eye, drawn in exquisite detail. It was beautiful; the shading, delicate pencil strokes, the way he somehow was able to capture such raw emotion in such a little piece of art. It was truly mesmerizing.

You quickly dropped down and began to pick up the books sprawled out on the floor, putting Mattheo’s notebook away first. He never let you see what was inside, so you might as well try not to let Theo look at it any longer.

“Was… that your eye?” Theo asked, startling you. You didn’t even realize it was yours. All you could focus on was the sheer talent radiating from the page. You stood back up, slinging the bag back over your shoulder.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. Deciding to change the subject, you asked, “Anyway, sorry for bumping into you.”

“It’s quite alright, bella. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No, no. I’m perfectly okay. Um… have you seen Mattheo? He left something of his in class,” you questioned.

“Left something in class? Are you sure you’re alright, y/n? The man never attends lectures. You should know that,” he chided, but the look on his face was one of concern.

“Okay, well, forget I said anything,” you blurted. And with that, you hurried away to your dorm, your quick footsteps ringing off the stone floors – a storm of mortification and curiosity warring within you.

This was an extremely short fic, but I hope you enjoyed it!! Let me know what you think! And as always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

430 notes · View notes

lumiambrose · 7 months ago

Text

kaiser x reader, watching his practice

kaiser knows he’s being watched, he always does, especially when it’s your eyes on him. bm was having one of their open practice sessions today where members of the public could watch the upcoming stars and their raw potential. of course, the training grounds tonight were filled to the brim. you being the amazing partner you are, decided to drop by with some of your friends, all fully enjoying the show being put on.

he feels your eyes on him as he dances across the field almost too easily. each step, each turn, calculated, a display of his sheer talent and confidence. and he knows damn well he looks good doing it.

you sit on the sidelines with your friends, trying to focus on your current debate over the very important topic of who's hotter, chris prince or noel noa, but to no avail you were constantly distracted by his presence. honestly, it’s hard not to watch him, especially when he keeps glancing your way, a smirk tugging at his lips every time he catches your eye.

“show-off,” you mutter under your breath, your friends giggling in response, knowing you damn well love it. i mean, you can’t really deny the flutter in your chest whenever he looks your way.

kaiser, displeased with your reaction, decides to take it up a notch. he calls for the ball, dribbling it effortlessly between his feet before using his kaiser impact to score into the top corner of the net. the crowd is applauding and going wild, but kaiser only has eyes for you, raising an eyebrow as if to say, “did you see that?”

you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“come on, kaiser! stop flirting and get back to practice!” one of his teammates calls out, laughter in his voice.

kaiser just shrugs, jogging back to his position, but not before blowing you a sly kiss. you feel your face heat up, quickly burying into the shoulder of your friend to hide your blush.

practice continues, but kaiser’s attention is split between the drills and you. he loves showing off, especially when you’re watching. kaiser wants your entire being to be consumed by him. he wants your eyes on him and him alone. whenever he catches your watching him, a fire is lit up inside of him, making him play even better.

as the session comes to an end, kaiser slowly makes his way over to you and your little group, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his jersey, flashing his abs, doing absolute wonders on you and his audience.

“enjoy the show?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

you look up, finally facing him with a smirk. “maybe a little. you weren’t too bad out there.”

he laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. “only ‘not too bad’? i’ll have to try harder next time, schatz.”

you shake your head, standing up and stretching. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

he steps closer, his eyes glinting mischievously. “only because you make me want to be.”

before you can respond, he pulls you into a deep kiss, full of desire. it’s enough to leave you breathless, and as he pulls away, you can see the satisfaction in his eyes.

“come on,” he says, grabbing your hand. “let’s get out of here.”

you quickly apologise to your friends as you scurry off. hand in hand, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride when it comes to kaiser. his antics are nothing new, never ceasing to give you a headache, but you can’t help but feel the utmost happiness for him. and god are you proud to be his.

god i hate writing the endings of fics.

anyways "schatz" -> darling (literally translated: treasure)

703 notes · View notes

ruewritesoccasionally · 5 days ago

Text

Friction & Flames | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black!reader

warnings: smut (18+), workplace rivalry, power dynamics, forced proximity, angst, rough sex, oral (f receiving), light hair pulling, explicit language, possessiveness, a lot of dialogue, a little slow burn and Terry being an absolute menace (but we love him).

summary: a classic enemies-to-lovers showdown: sharp words, sharper tension, and a deadline that forces them into close quarters. When tempers flare and restraint snaps, her and Terry finally settle their differences - in their own way...

word count: 6.4K

a/n: this came out much longer than intended 😭 this is a reupload, just reworked - the original didn't do as well as i would've liked but also it wasn't my best work. i'm much happier with it now though and i hope you guys are too 🫶🏾

The alarm buzzed, shrill and relentless. She groaned, blindly slapping at the snooze button before peeling herself out of bed. Coffee brewed while she moved through her morning routine—shower, dress, make-up—each step as precise and efficient as the last. The world felt easier when it followed structure, when things happened as they should.

Which was exactly why he drove her insane.

Terry Richmond had no regard for order, for rules, for method. He operated on instinct, on charm, on raw talent that somehow, infuriatingly, got him just as far as the meticulous planning she slaved over. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But it was the reality she faced every single day as his co-lead project manager.

By the time she arrived at the office, it was still quiet—just the way she liked it. These early mornings were her sanctuary, the only time of day when she could get ahead without distraction. But of course, peace never lasted long.

The telltale hum of easy conversation carried through the space, growing louder as he made his usual rounds. Schmoozing. Charming. Doing absolutely nothing useful. She didn’t even have to look up to know Terry had entered the room.

“Morning, everyone,” his voice rang out, smooth as silk.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. Not yet. Not today. She kept her gaze locked on her screen, willing him away with sheer willpower.

No such luck.

“Well, well, Princess” he drawled, stopping beside her desk. “I see someone made it in without getting lost. Impressive.”

Her jaw tightened as she slowly swiveled in her chair, eyes locking onto his. That smirk. That self-satisfied, arrogant, infuriating smirk.

“For the last time, Terrance,” she said, enunciating his full name like a curse, “it’s not Sweetheart, it’s not Babygirl, and it’s definitely not Princess. Now turn around and—”

“Terrance,” he interrupted with a hand over his chest, feigning a wound to his heart. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were past the formalities.”

Her glare could’ve set the whole office ablaze, but he only grinned wider, like he enjoyed the fire.

He always did.

The smug grin Terry shot her before he strolled to his desk was enough to make her want to hurl her coffee at him. Bastard. He knew exactly how to get under her skin, and he did it with a deliberate ease that made her blood boil. She inhaled deeply, gripping her pen tighter than necessary, willing herself to stay calm. The workday had barely begun, and he was already pressing every button she had.

It had been like this for years. Their competition wasn’t just petty office bickering—it was a game of survival. A slow-burning, high-stakes war waged between two people too damn good at what they did to ever back down.

The promotions? She’d landed hers first. The biggest client of last quarter? He’d swooped in and stolen it from right under her nose. Every time she thought she had the upper hand, Terry Richmond would find a way to level the playing field—or tilt it entirely in his favour.

And he loved it.

She could see it in the way he watched her now, that knowing glint in his stormy grey eyes as if he was waiting for her to snap.

Not today.

Before she could drown him out with work, Linda’s heels clicked against the floor, her presence snapping the room into silence. Linda was direct, no-nonsense, and not easily impressed—so when she stopped by their desks instead of addressing the entire team, something was up.

“This next campaign is the biggest account we’ve landed all year,” she started, flipping through the folder in her hands. “Which means I need our best people on it.”

She paused—just for a beat—before letting the inevitable bomb drop.

“I want both of you heading it.”

Her stomach twisted, and she barely managed to suppress a groan. Of course.

Terry leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual amusement. “Our best, huh? You sure you want to put her in the running, boss?”

Her jaw tightened. “I should be asking the same about you.”

Linda exhaled sharply. “Enough. I don’t care how you two feel about it—I care about results. And between the two of you, I expect nothing but success.”

Linda’s expression remained impassive as she looked between them. “I don’t care how you two feel about it. This job is crucial, and it needs to be done. Quickly.” Her voice was sharp, clipped, leaving no room for argument. “In fact, why don’t you use tonight to start planning? Somewhere neutral. Off-site. No distractions.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The mere suggestion of being alone together outside of work sent an undercurrent of something charged through the air.

Terry’s smirk stretched wider, like a cat toying with a trapped bird. “Neutral, huh? Guess that rules out your place, Princess.”

Her jaw clenched at the nickname, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed, voice razor-sharp.

Linda, either blissfully unaware or purposefully ignoring the crackling tension, made a quick note on her clipboard. “That’s settled, then. I expect a full report by tomorrow morning.” She barely spared them a glance before walking away, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp finality.

Terry, ever insufferable, watched her go before turning his gaze back to the woman standing in front of him. His smirk hadn’t faltered once.

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other tonight,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

She shot him a withering glare, but deep down, she already knew—this was going to be a very, very long night.

The words settled like a weight in the air. She hated that Linda was right. Neither of them would ever willingly bow out of something like this, not when winning meant getting one step ahead of the other.

And Terry knew it too.

He tipped his chin toward her, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “What do you say, sweetheart? Think you can keep up?”

She refused to look at him, refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she turned to Linda and gave a curt nod. “Fine. I assume we’re getting full creative control?”

Linda returned the nod. “Within reason.”

“We’ll see about that,” Terry murmured under his breath.

Linda gave them one last pointed glance before walking off, leaving the tension behind her thick enough to choke on.

She should have just let it go. She should have focused on the work, ignored him like he was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

But then she saw it—his damn smirk widening, like he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to bite back.

Slowly, she turned her head to him, keeping her expression neutral. “Try not to get in my way, Richmond.”

His gaze flickered with amusement, but he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t dream of it, babygirl.”

Her fists clenched at her sides as she bit back a retort. She was going to need every ounce of patience to survive this.

The hours ticked by, and as expected, Terry took his sweet time getting back to her about the details of their meeting. She wasn’t surprised. He loved making her wait, forcing her to reach out first. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not tonight.

She went about her evening, refusing to check her phone, knowing that the moment she did, he’d win. And she’d sooner staple her own hand than let him believe she was sitting around, waiting on him.

When her phone finally buzzed, she ignored it for a few minutes before opening the message with deliberate disinterest.

Terry: Meet me at my place. 10 PM. Try not to get too distracted tonight, Princess.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening around the phone. She should have known. Of course he’d make this as inconvenient as possible. Not a café, not a bar, not even the office—his place. A blessing in disguise to be honest. There was no way she’d let him pollute the sanctuary of her own home with presence.

He was testing her.

She could decline. Tell him to meet somewhere neutral, somewhere that wouldn’t give him the upper hand. But then he’d smirk that insufferable smirk and say something smug about her being too scared to be alone with him.

And she refused to give him that, too.

So she texted back.

Her: Fine.

The response was short, devoid of anything he could twist into a game. Still, she knew he’d find a way.

Standing in front of his door, irritation coursed through her, tangled with something deeper—something she refused to name. She wasn’t nervous. That would imply he had some kind of power over her, and he didn’t. He didn’t.

The door swung open, and there he was: Terry Richmond, leaning lazily against the frame and she was immediately annoyed. He looked too good. Smug satisfaction lined his face, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing inked skin stretched over muscle.

"My, my, my," he drawled, letting his gaze sweep over her with deliberate slowness. "Don’t you look stunning. Don’t tell me you dressed up for me."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Terry, you’re on my time now—use it wisely," she snapped, slicing through his charm before it could gain traction.

Terry raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering for a split second as he clocked her no-nonsense mood. He adjusted quickly, though, stepping aside and gesturing her in with a lazy wave. "Come on in, then. We wouldn’t want to waste your precious time, would we?"

“Didn’t think you’d show.” His voice was lazy, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

She tried pushing past him but he blocked her movements. “I’m here to work, not play into your little games.”

He finally moved, shutting the door behind her, a low chuckle escaping him. “Princess, everything we do is a game.”

She walked past him, jaw tightened, but she ignored him, scanning the apartment instead. It was neat, too neat. The kind of place that suggested he didn’t spend much time here, that it was more of a crash pad than a home. Still, it smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with a faint trace of cologne—and the familiarity of it made her stomach tighten.

Terry shut the door, watching her. Always watching. "Drink?"

"No."

He hummed, pouring himself a glass of whiskey anyway. "Suit yourself."

She moved to the dining table, pulling out her laptop. "Let’s just get this done."

Terry exhaled dramatically, taking the seat across from her. "So eager. You always this desperate to get away from me?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she met his gaze, bored. "Depends. You always this desperate to keep me around?"

His lips curled. "Oh, always, sweetheart."

She hated the way her pulse betrayed her. The way his voice dripped with a promise she refused to decipher.

As the night stretched on, she noticed his focus drifting—not from the project, but from her. His gaze lingered too long, tracing the line of her throat when she sipped her drink, flicking to her mouth when she spoke, dropping to her bare legs beneath the table.

She knew the exact moment he stopped caring about work.

“Tired?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Terry leaned back in his chair, stretching leisurely. “Bored.”

“Because you’re losing?”

His smirk deepened. “You think this is a competition?”

She mirrored his expression. “Isn’t it?”

The words hung heavy between them, thick with something unspoken. Something neither of them wanted to name.

Shaking it off, she focused on the task at hand. They settled into work, heads bent over the project, their focus sharp. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe this might actually be productive.

But Terry was Terry, and peace was never part of his repertoire.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing—he did. But slipping in his usual jabs was second nature, like breathing. Whether it was the clash of egos, his compulsive need to compete with her, or sheer stupidity, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

To her credit, she let it slide. For now. His behaviour, by his standards, was almost tolerable, and she kept her focus on the task at hand. So much so that she barely noticed the way his eyes lingered on her.

Terry wasn’t focused on the proposal anymore. His gaze drifted, taking in every detail: the shimmer of gloss on her lips as she spoke, the way her movements carried an effortless grace even in her irritation. He wasn’t oblivious to the effect she had on him.

She walked into every room with a quiet confidence that drew him in, her voice carrying an authority that demanded attention. And it drove him mad that she seemed entirely unaffected by him. Her refusal to acknowledge his flirtations turned into a game he couldn’t resist playing. He loved riling her up, watching her react. Every glare, every clapback—it all meant she cared, and that’s what he wanted.

He leaned back in his chair, letting her take the lead on the project, though his mind had long since wandered. His eyes lingered on the way she crossed her legs, the slight arch of her back as she leaned forward to emphasise her point. He imagined how it would feel to have her closer, to—

And then he couldn’t resist.

“So," he drawled, his voice low, carrying that signature teasing edge, "how many other guys would kill to be in my position right now?"

That was it.

Something inside her snapped. Her face flushed, anger blazing in her eyes as she shot to her feet. Fists clenched at her sides, she fixed him with a glare that could melt steel.

"You arrogant, son of a—"

But she didn’t get the chance to finish.

Terry was already grinning, wider than ever, his expression one of pure satisfaction. He basked in the chaos he’d created, every ounce of her fury a testament to his power to get under her skin.

He leaned back, utterly unbothered, his smirk taking on a wicked gleam. He’d pushed her to this point, and he loved it. Relished it. This was his game, and he was playing it to perfection.

The tension in the room shifted—thick, potent, and almost suffocating. He moved toward her with a predatory grace, every step deliberate, his presence commanding. Placing his hands firmly on the armrests of her chair, he caged her in, leaving no room for escape.

Trapped and surrounded by his heat, her senses were overwhelmed. But even as he asserted his dominance, one thought lingered in his mind: she would taste him later.

Leaning down, he lowered his voice to a murmur that sent shivers racing down her spine.

"You see how easy it is for me to get under your skin?" His breath ghosted against her neck, his lips barely brushing her ear in a tantalising tease.

"But between you and me," he continued, his tone thick with sinful intent, "I’d rather you be under me."

The hitch in her breath was almost imperceptible, but Terry caught it. Of course, he caught it. That was the thing about him—he noticed everything. The way her pulse flickered at her throat. The way her fingers clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again, like she was trying to fight off whatever was brewing inside her.

And the way she didn’t move away.

His smirk deepened, his hands still bracketing her chair, keeping her right where he wanted her.

“I can see you're thinking about it,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something richer, smoother, meant to sink under her skin. “We both know how this ends. Why fight it?”

She scoffed, though it came out weaker than she wanted. “You’re delusional.”

His lips twitched. There she was. “And yet,” he murmured, tilting his head, “you’re still standing here. Close enough to feel me.”

She swallowed hard.

Terry chuckled. Low, slow, like he had all the time in the world. He let one hand trail up the armrest of her chair, fingers grazing hers. Barely a touch. Just enough to make her breath hitch again.

Then, he leaned in. Closer.

She could smell the whiskey on his breath, the warmth of it mixing with something darker, something entirely him.

And she hated—hated—how badly she wanted more.

“You know what I think?” he murmured. “I think you like this. The arguing. The tension. The push and pull. I think it gets you off—”

She moved before she could second-guess herself. A sharp, frustrated sound left her throat as she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down, her lips crashing against his.

Terry groaned, deep and guttural, as if he’d been waiting for this, aching for this. His hands found her waist, gripping tight, and then suddenly she wasn’t in the chair anymore—she was against it, her back pressed into the table as he stepped between her legs, pressing into her, all hard heat and impossible arrogance.

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, holding him there, not that he had any plans to go anywhere. His mouth was urgent against hers—hot, demanding, a perfect mirror to the fire that had been simmering between them for months.

She bit down on his lower lip, just hard enough to make him grunt.

Good, she thought, satisfaction curling in her stomach. If she was going down in flames, he was burning with her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, wild, consuming.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” he murmured, his thumb dragging over her bottom lip.

She licked the tip of it, just to watch his jaw tighten.

“I think I have some idea,” she teased, voice breathless, electric.

Terry’s eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something sharper. Hungrier.

“Alright, Princess,” he murmured, voice dropping to something low, something dangerous. “You wanna play?”

The air shifted.

The power balance tilted.

And neither of them were backing down.

Terry let out a slow, dangerous chuckle. Then he kissed her again—deeper, harder, bruising in its intensity.

His hands gripped her waist with practiced ease, lifting her effortlessly to her feet as he closed the remaining distance between them. Their bodies collided, his heat searing against hers. His lips crashed into hers with an intensity that was anything but gentle—a clash of teeth and tongues, raw and unrestrained. She tasted like temptation, and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

She met him with equal fervour, her fingers threading into his hair and tugging him closer, pulling a low growl from his throat. He took it as permission to push further, his lips leaving hers to trail down her jawline. His teeth grazed her skin, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue.

As they pulled apart, his smirk spread, slow and calculated, dripping with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed with the knowledge of what he’d just unleashed. The storm between them was no longer just a simmering rivalry—it was a blaze, out of control, and neither one of them knew how to stop it.

“You think you’ve got this figured out, don’t you?” His voice was rougher now, all edge and low heat. There was an unspoken challenge in the air. He was no longer just teasing—this was war, and the rules had changed.

Her heart raced, her pulse thundering in her ears, but she refused to let him see the effect he was having. Instead, she shot him a pointed look. “I’ve got more than you think.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and mocking. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He pushed off the desk, the sudden movement bringing them closer, his towering presence stealing her breath away. His eyes never left hers, hungry, predatory.

They were circling each other now, neither willing to show weakness, both battling for dominance. The air around them felt too thick, too heavy, but neither of them could make the first move. The competition had always been fierce, but this? This was something different. Something primal.

Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, as if time could be her ally. “I’m just here to finish the job,” she said, trying to sound detached, but the words caught in her throat, betraying her. They both knew it was more than that.

Terry’s gaze softened, just for a moment. Then he was back to his usual cocky self, pressing closer. “It’s funny,” he murmured, voice quieter now, like he was letting her in on a secret. “You act like I’m the one distracting you.” His fingers brushed the edge of her desk, and the simple movement was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Her clenched her fists at her sides. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She was playing right into his hands. Lowering himself further, his lips brushed along the line of her jaw, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered, "Nuh-uh. That’s not how this works, sweetheart. You’re in my house now." His voice dropped even lower, the words landing with weight. "And you play by my rules."

Fully closing the space now, his breath warm against her skin. “You always know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against her flushed skin.

It was a challenge. A dare. And it hit harder than any insult or word they’d thrown at each other before.

His proximity was intoxicating. She could feel his heat radiating off him, like a physical presence pressing against her own, testing her resolve. For a moment, she considered backing away, but something about the way he looked at her—so assured, so relentless—made it impossible to move.

His fingers grazed her wrist, just barely, the touch lingering enough to make her skin burn. She could feel her breath quicken, the air around them thick with unspoken words. The space between them was dangerously small now, and neither one of them was backing down.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asked, voice a little more breathless than she'd intended.

Terry’s smile turned devilish, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening. “What would be the fun in that?” he said, then stepped back, breaking the spell with a sudden, disarming ease. He ran a hand through his hair, cocky as ever. “Let’s see who cracks first, then.”

Her pulse quickened at the challenge, the tension between them building with every word. Neither of them was prepared to lose. Not this time. And as the clock ticked on, the battle between them grew more intense, the stakes impossibly high.

His hands moved with purpose, one slipping to the small of her back while the other pressed against her hip, guiding her until her back met the solid surface of the nearest wall. The coolness against her skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him, pressing into her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. Every nerve in her body was alive, her senses alight with the overwhelming presence of him.

She wanted to snap back, to hurl something biting, to put him in his place with that razor-sharp tongue of hers—but nothing came. Her thoughts were too hazy, clouded by the way he towered over her, by the way his body felt against hers. His presence was magnetic, undeniable, and it was pulling her under like a riptide she had no hope of escaping.

Then his hand brushed against her arm—a barely-there touch, yet it sent a bolt of electricity straight to her core. A sharp breath left her lips. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. She hated him, truly, deeply. But she wanted him just as fiercely. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, to shove it down where it couldn't be touched, it clawed its way back to the surface.

Terry took another step closer, deliberate, unhurried, his confidence infuriatingly steady. His fingers trailed lower, sliding to the small of her back again, and this time, he pulled her in. Every inch of her was flush against him now, the heat between them scorching, the last remnants of distance obliterated.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice dripping with challenge. “You gonna keep pretending? Or are you ready to stop fighting this?”

The words settled heavy between them, the weight of them undeniable. The world outside blurred, irrelevant. All she could hear was the deafening pound of her own heartbeat, the ragged pull of her breath.

And then, like a dam breaking, every pent-up emotion, every unresolved moment between them came crashing down.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt before she could stop herself, a sharp tug pulling him into her space. She wasn’t following his lead anymore—this wasn’t about his challenge, his rules. She was setting the pace now. She was in control.

His smirk deepened, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction of gloating. She surged forward, her lips crashing into his with a force that stole the breath from both of them.

Terry groaned against her mouth, the sound raw, almost desperate. Then his hands were on her again, moving with an urgency that sent a fresh wave of heat through her. He caught her wrists in one swift motion, lifting her arms above her head, pinning them effortlessly against the wall. His body followed suit, pressing her there, letting her feel the weight of him, the full brunt of his control.

For just a second, he held her like that—let her feel the shift, let her know exactly who had the upper hand now.

Then his lips crashed into hers again, rough, unrelenting.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was everything they had never said, everything they had pushed down, everything that had burned between them from the very first moment they met.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, trapping them in the storm they had created. Her pulse pounded against her ribs as his hands slid down, gripping her waist and pulling her tighter against him. His touch was firm, possessive, but there was something else beneath it—a quiet, maddening restraint, like even now, he was holding back.

She arched against him, breathless, defiant.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, his voice dark, taunting. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Her breath shuddered as she stared up at him, her mind a blur of want and frustration, her body betraying her with the way it leaned into his.

And the worst part?

She had been waiting for it too.

The arrogance in his tone should have pissed her off. She should have shoved him away, thrown a cutting remark to put him back in his place. But instead, his words sent a shiver down her spine, pooling heat low in her belly. Her heart pounded—loud, insistent—as if trying to warn her, but she knew he could hear it, feel it, just like she could feel the heat radiating off him, pressing into her.

She hated that he had this effect on her. Hated how effortlessly he stripped away her defences, unravelled her completely with nothing but a look, a touch, a single taunting word.

In a blink, she found herself against the wall, the hard surface biting into her back, his body caging hers in. She should have fought it, should have snapped something defiant—but she didn’t. The space between them dissolved, his lips hovering just inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was thick, roughened with something unreadable. It almost sounded like concern. But she knew better. This wasn’t concern. This was a test. A challenge. A game of control, of willpower, of just how far he could push her before she shattered.

Her lips parted, but hesitation caught in her throat. Because if she said no, she couldn’t take it back.

Terry’s fingers skimmed the side of her thigh, his touch maddeningly light, a whisper of contact that made her body jolt in anticipation. The bastard was waiting. Letting the silence stretch. Letting her squirm under the weight of her own restraint.

Her nails curled into his chest, tension coiling tight in her stomach, and she knew she was at the edge—dangling over it.

Then, barely audible, she whispered, “No.”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “That’s my girl.”

Then his mouth crashed into hers.

There was nothing soft about it. No careful prelude, no tentative exploration—just pure, unchecked hunger. He kissed her like he wanted to brand her, own her, stake his claim right there against that cold, unforgiving wall. And she met him just as fiercely, dragging him in by the collar, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a battle of dominance neither was willing to concede.

His hands moved with intent, sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her ribs before finding the swell of her breasts. He cupped them through the thin lace, his thumbs circling over her nipples with infuriating precision. A sharp gasp left her lips, her body betraying her, arching into his touch instead of away.

Terry hummed against her mouth, amusement flickering through the kiss. “So sensitive,” he murmured, dragging her shirt higher, exposing her inch by inch like he had all the time in the world. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to bite out something sharp to wipe that smirk off his face, but then his teeth grazed her jaw, his lips dragging down her throat, and any words she might have had died in a sharp inhale.

His hands were ruthless now, dragging her skirt up, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her knickers. The moment he found her, slick and wanting, a curse left his lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “Look at you.”

Her thighs tensed, heat surging through her, but before she could process the words, before she could react, he was gone.

The sudden loss of his touch made her shudder, her breath catching—but then he dropped to his knees.

Her stomach clenched.

Strong hands gripped her thighs, pried them apart, lifting one over his shoulder with unrelenting ease. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more smug remarks. He just stared up at her, dark eyes gleaming with wicked intent, and then—

His mouth was on her.

A choked gasp tore from her lips, her head knocking back against the wall. His tongue was relentless, dragging over her with obscene precision, tasting her like he’d been starving for it. Her fingers twisted into his hair, her grip tight enough to hurt, but he only groaned, the vibrations sending another wave of heat crashing through her.

She refused to give in so easily. She refused to let him win.

But then he sucked—slow and devastatingly deep—and her entire body jerked, a whimper slipping free before she could stop it.

Terry chuckled against her, the sound smug, knowing. His grip on her thigh tightened, a silent warning, and then his fingers joined the fray—two slipping inside her, filling her with an unrelenting precision that had her shuddering against the wall.

Her resolve shattered.

“Terry—”

He grinned, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that had her thighs shaking. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against her, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

She had no choice. He tore the sounds from her, made her body betray her again and again, driving her higher, dragging her over the edge with devastating ease. And when it finally hit, when pleasure crashed through her like a violent storm, her body seized, her breath strangled, her fingers yanking at his hair as she cried out his name.

Terry didn’t stop. He worked her through every wave, every tremor, didn’t let go until she was fully spent, trembling, utterly undone.

Then, finally, he pulled back, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, his voice smug, satisfied. Then he rose, towering over her once again, his gaze locking onto hers as he wiped the last traces of her from his lips.

And God help her, she wanted more.

Neither of them had the patience—or the inclination—to take this upstairs. The moment stretched, charged, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Every second they waited only made it worse.

Terry’s hands were already on her, firm and insistent, guiding her towards the couch like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between them.

“Right here,” he growled, voice low and commanding. “I’m done waiting.”

She didn’t protest. Couldn’t. Her breath hitched as he turned her around, rough hands gripping her hips with purpose, bending her over the plush cushions. The anticipation was maddening, her skin buzzing under the ghost of his touch as his fingers trailed down her back, slow, deliberate—like he was savouring the moment, relishing her submission.

“Stay just like that,” he murmured, his voice dark silk, but his hands were anything but gentle. The rush of air against her thighs sent a shudder through her as he pushed her skirt up, his fingers dragging over the lace of her underwear before slipping them down in one smooth motion.

A sharp inhale cut through the silence. He wasn’t even touching her, but she felt it—his gaze, the weight of it scorching her skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re perfect.”

Her nails curled into the fabric beneath her, fighting for something to ground her, but then Terry was pressing against her, all heat and hunger, the hard evidence of his arousal making her breath falter.

“Say it.” His voice was thick, strained, heavy with restraint he was barely holding onto. “Tell me you want this.”

She clenched her jaw, heart pounding. He wouldn’t move until she said it. Wouldn’t give her what she was aching for.

Her resolve cracked, her need eclipsing her pride. “I want this,” she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. Then, stronger—daring. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

His grip tightened—one hand pressing into the small of her back, the other bracing her hip—before he thrust into her in one fluid movement.

A broken gasp tore from her lips, her body arching as he filled her completely, stretching her, owning her. There was no hesitation, no restraint. He took her with raw, unrelenting force, his movements deep and demanding, fuelled by the same tension that had kept them at odds for so long.

His fingers dug into her skin, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. “So fucking good,” he groaned, voice wrecked, like he was barely holding himself together. “Better than I ever let myself imagine.”

She barely registered the words. Her mind was slipping, drowning in the rhythm of him, the way he moved, the way he took. Every deep stroke unravelled her, pulling her further under, until all she could do was surrender to it—to him.

Terry leaned in, his chest flush against her back, his breath hot against her ear as his hand slid into her braids, tugging just enough to tilt her head back. “Don’t hold back, baby.” His voice was a rough whisper, wicked and coaxing. “I want to hear you.”

And she did.

Her moans spilled into the room, raw and unrestrained, each sound sending a fresh surge of heat through him. He rewarded her for it, driving into her with punishing precision, wringing every reaction from her until she was teetering on the edge, trembling, gasping—

Then she shattered.

A sharp cry broke from her lips as pleasure tore through her, leaving her breathless, undone. She felt him falter, his pace growing erratic, his grip tightening—then, with a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the edge, his release spilling into her as he collapsed against her, spent.

Silence settled over them, save for their ragged breaths.

Terry’s hands, once rough and claiming, softened on her hips, tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin. He eased out of her, lingering for just a moment longer before stepping back, watching as she pulled herself together.

Then, with all the composure she could muster, YN wiped her mouth and turned to face him, lips curling into something wicked. “Well,” she said, smoothing her skirt down, “I suppose we can’t call it a productive meeting until we actually finish that proposal, huh?”

Terry chuckled, raking a hand through his messy hair, looking every bit as wrecked as she felt. “Oh, don’t worry,” he drawled, flashing that signature, lazy grin. “We’ll get it done. I work best under pressure… just like tonight.”

She arched a brow, crossing her arms. “Funny,” she shot back, “you didn’t seem too worried about the deadline when you were too busy getting under my skin.”

His grin widened, smug, infuriatingly charming. “Well, now that I’ve got you warmed up, I’m sure the rest of the work will be a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Let’s just make sure we finish before Linda decides to make one of her famous surprise appearances.”

Terry laughed, shaking his head as he reached for his laptop. “Agreed. But next time—neutral ground, alright?”

“Next time?” she echoed, tilting her head. “You’re really pushing your luck, Terry.”

He leaned back, flashing her a wink. “Don’t worry, babygirl, I’m not done with you yet.”

And as they turned their attention back to the proposal, the tension between them still hummed in the air, thick and unresolved. They both knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond #terry richmond smut #ruewrites #aaron pierre x black reader #terry richmond x black reader #aaron pierre #terry richmond fanfiction #aaron pierre x black!reader

252 notes · View notes