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ponderingmoonlight · 7 months

Text

Gojo going berserk after his wife got injured

Pairing: husband!Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Warnings: slight injury, language, Gojo being really mad lol

Notes: My dearest @hitori979, this one is dedicated to you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting me since day 0, always liking and commenting my brainrot. I hope you enjoy this fanfic as a little thank you from me 🤍 How other JJK men react when (y/n) gets hurt here Choso with injured (y/n) who has blood phobia here

„Do you really have to go, babe?“, Satoru’s oh so sweet voice mumbles against your neck.

You know exactly what he’s up to. Satoru always acts this way when you’re about to leave for a mission. How much he hates to see you walk through the door. While he’s fully aware of the fact that you’re a damn strong jujutsu sorcerer, he just dislikes the thought of you getting injured on some stupid mission. If he had it his way, you would stay at home, maybe teach here and there at Jujutsu High, but that’s it.

You are way too precious to risk your life on a mission.

“You know I have to. This is my job, remember? And I have to let you go every day, knowing that you’re not even paying attention. May I remind you that I haven’t been injured for over a year?”, you softly reply.

“That’s not true, I am paying attention!”

You raise your eyebrow demandingly by the way he ignored your last question.

“At least sometimes…Come on babe, this is not fair! Just because you haven’t been injured for some time doesn’t mean you won’t get injured today! Also, I wanted to spend the day with you!”, he complains, arms wrapped around your frame so tightly that it’s getting hard to breathe.

“You always want to spend the day with me. As much as I’d love to stay here, I have to go. Megumi will assist me.”

“I should assist you…”, he mumbles.

“They wouldn’t even send me, then”, you chuckle.

“Promise that you’ll text me, I already threatened Megumi to take care of you.”

“I will, darling. Now let me go or I’ll be late.”

With one last grumble and kiss, he finally lets go of you while you smile to yourself. God, how much you adore your husband. Even though it can be quite challenging from time to time, you admire the way he cares about you.

“I love you”, you shout before you close the door behind you.

“Love you too!”

-later-

“Don’t worry, one or two hours and we’ll be done with this”, you reassure Megumi who stands beside you.

“This doesn’t look good”, he comments.

Unfortunately, he’s right. You don’t know why there are so many curses around, but an uneasy feeling spreads in your guts. This isn’t the right place for a grade 2 sorcerer, let alone a first class student. Well, maybe even you…

“Try to stay behind me. This will get ugly”, you instruct Megumi when another wave of curses appears.

“Gojo-sensei will kill me if you get injured because of me.”

You wink at him while as you unsheathe your sword.

“Who said I will?”

Without wasting another precious minute you sprint forwards, eyes darting around the area. There are so many, way too fucking many, curses around here. This isn’t normal, something is very wrong here. But you don’t have time to think about it any further – Megumi’s and your life depend on your abilities.

You fight off more than 40 curses with ease, slashing your sword over and over. Fuck, this has no end. As soon as you exorcise one curse, two more appear on your sides and try to attack you. With every passing minute it becomes clearer and clearer to you that you won’t be able to complete this mission unscathed with Megumi alone.

“Here are many curses around, I can’t explain why though. It wouldn’t hurt to send some help”, you instruct into your headphone, fully aware of the fact that your husband is able to hear your decent cry for help as well and might freak out.

Where do all of these curses come from? This is a public place, it shouldn’t be possible for them to develop here this well. Expect this aren’t traditional curses…

“I won’t lie to you: Something’s off here. I’m not entirely sure if these are normal curses. Just stand your ground, I already informed the higher ups about this”, you inform Megumi with firm voice, fighting off a curse just before it is able to scratch your face open.

They come from all directions, almost absorbing you. Desperately you fight back with all your abilities, holding onto your sword so tight that your knuckles stand out white. You have to get through all of these curses, you have to find out why they’re here and why on earth so numerous.

But you can’t. Your thoughts wander to Satoru and his words this morning. He’ll definitely go insane when he hears about this. And for a moment, a wave of relief washes over you by that thought. Because this means he’ll come here and end this madness without Megumi getting hurt.

Megumi.

You almost miss the way a curse lunges from behind towards him while he’s busy fighting off three other ones at the same time. Instinctively you sprint forwards as fast as your feet carry you, breath going sharp and fast. No way in hell this thing will hurt Megumi. Not when you’re in charge.

“Bend over!”, you scream on top of your lungs, blade already on its way to cut through that curse.

But just before you hit it, its claws find their way into your face, scratching your forehead slightly before it falls to the ground lifelessly.

You hiss, a stinging pain crawling up your skin. But when you gently scan the spot with your fingertips, only a minor stain of blood shows itself. You let out your breath, relief flooding your body. This is nothing serious, nothing to worry about.

But before you sprint back in action, a reflex holds you back.

“Don’t move an inch, Megumi”, you warn the boy next to you.

In the split of a second, a wave of hollow purple rushes past your orbs, killing every curse on its way. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, heartbeat picking up in an instant. It’s him. It has to be him.

“(y/n)!”, he cries out, large frame suddenly by your side.

“What is this?”, he hisses.

Frantically, his eyes scan your forehead, widen in blank horror.

“Oh, this? Just a minor wound, nothing to worry ab-“

“Nothing to worry about!? You promised to be careful, you promised not to get hurt!”, he literally scolds you while his fingertips inspect your wound.

“Stop that”, you warn him, slapping his hand away.

“I did the best I could but they were just too many. And there are always more to come, look.”

Not even a minute later, dozens of new curses begin to flood the streets.

“We need to get back to work!”

“No”, he interrupts you roughly.

“Not you, you’ll stay here.”

You can’t believe your ears, mouth too stunned to speak for a second. He can’t be serious, right? This is your mission. You won’t give up because a small wound on your forehead that isn’t even bleeding severely.

“This is my mission, Satoru. I will help you exorcising these curses”, you state in all seriousness.

“Oh yeah? Watch me, then.”

You aren’t able to react any further. With breathtaking speed, Satoru lunges from curse to curse, ripping their heads off in the most violent way you have ever seen while all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. Of course you always knew that your husband is not to be trifled with when it comes to his precious wife, but you’ve never thought that his concern would reach as far as him going berserk because of you.

Because of a minor laceration on your forehead.

It doesn’t even take him 30 seconds to kill all the curses entirely, leaving you completely speechless and a little dizzy. When he walks towards you, a maniac smile is plastered on his blood-covered face.

“No one is hurting my wife and gets away with it. Especially not some random curse”, he announces under his breath, gaze still stone cold.

“How are you feeling, love? Is your head doing okay? Did you get injured somewhere else?”

As soon as his eyes meet yours, they are filled with nothing but concern and love, making your heart skip a beat.

“N-No…I’m fine…”, you stutter while getting lost in his bright blue orbs all over again.

His hands roam around your body gently, gaze scanning every inch of you with that worried expression plastered on his face. Moments like these show you with all urgency how much you really mean to your husband.

“I will kill every single curse walking on this earth to save you, (y/n)”, he speaks out with low voice, lips hungrily brushing over yours so strongly expressed that you feel like fainting.

“I’m sorry you were worried”, you mumble against his mouth.

“You’ll never get hurt by a curse again. I’ll make sure of that.”

2K notes · View notes

sunkendreams · 2 months

Note

asking for some ethan landry smut ,,, I don’t care what you write but I need it! 🧎‍♀️

when the party’s over.

➾ pairing ; ethan landry x fem!reader.

in which you meet a cute boy at a college party and decide to have a little bit of fun behind closed doors.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 4K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), alcohol/drinking, typical college party antics, hooking up, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, virgin!ethan, making out, hair-pulling, groping, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), extreme horny antics, handjob (m!receiving), fingering, cumming together ;)), ethan has some dark/weird thoughts, cumplay, begging, dirty talk, ambiguous ending

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m suffering from chronic ethan landry brainrot :’) he’s so cute but unhinged/deranged and I love that !!! I love my men sexy and out for blood !! I am absolutely planning on writing a part two and/or more of him, this was so fun & horny (my favorite). I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

A homemade concoction of various alcohol stung your nose as you strolled past the kitchen, surrounded by a swarm of neon lights — vibrant shades of violet, green, and hot pink. The music blared all around you, bass booming hard enough to make your bones rattle.

Blackmore University was infamous for its chaotic parties and mixers that involved too much to drink and too many people — tonight was no exception. Halloween was right around the corner, and the party was lively with plenty of buzzed college students dressed in costumes.

The rest of your entourage had decided to be the fairies from Pixie Hollow. You hadn’t decided on a particular fairy, but you’d gotten a cute dress and trinkets to look the part. Your wings — cheap gossamer stretched over wire frames — were serviceable at best.

You came along with a group of your friends, but they scattered as soon as they walked through the door. You were left to your own devices, sipping on a hard lemonade with a sour expression. The alcohol tasted decent enough, but you were wary of getting intoxicated in unfamiliar locations.

Some radio-popular hip-hop song provided a steady ambiance as you traipsed through another hallway, narrowly avoiding a collision with a sashaying junior.

The thick, heady scent of marijuana drifted throughout the frat house, accompanied by clouds of hazy smoke. As you passed by the staircase, there was a boy slumped to one side, puffing on a bong that seemed comically large. Typical college party antics, you assumed.

As you rounded the doorway, you slammed right into a boy who seemed just as startled as you were. The drink in your hand smashed into the cardboard chest piece he was wearing, exploding onto your silvery evening dress.

“S—Shit! I’m so sorry,” He stammered, fumbling over his words as he clamored to grab a towel or a rag — anything, really. He hastily decided on a throw blanket draped over the back of a leather couch, tossing it over the puddle of spilled alcohol. “I didn’t see you.”

Before you decided to admonish him for his carelessness, you realized that it wasn’t his fault — more of a joint mistake, really. “No, it’s fine! I should’ve been looking.” You replied, crouching down to help him clean up the mess.

The front of your pretty dress was now coated in a layer of sticky booze, clinging to your chest with an uncomfortable dampness. Unfortunately, you’d left your jacket back at your dormitory, riddled with a stain that would likely stay for the duration of the party.

When you finally got a look at your obstacle, you were delighted to find that he was cute — arguably the most attractive boy in the room. “I’m really sorry about your dress. I ruined your costume.” He frowned, brows furrowing together.

You realized that he was dressed as a Knight, armor meticulously crafted of intricate cardboard cutouts and patterns. “I think we ruined each other’s costumes.” You mused, gesturing toward the splotch of alcohol all over the front of his chest.

“This is going to the dumpster once the party ends, anyway.” He confessed, letting out a soft chuckle. Admittedly, it made you laugh, nose crinkling in amusement as you cleared your throat.

“Really? I think it looks great! You put a lot of effort into it.” That was true — it was a neat costume. You found it amusing that the knight and the fairy had run into one another, as if it were ripped from the pages of some gaudy romance novel.

“Thanks,” The boy chewed at the inside of his cheek, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. “You’re supposed to be a fairy, right? I noticed the wings, and the … Dress. Before I collided with you.” He was in awe of you, truly — you were absolutely gorgeous.

Part of him thought about staking out your dorm for later, but now wasn’t the time.

A familiar wave of heat washed over you, creeping into your features as you playfully spun around. Your glittering dress and cosmetics glistened in the lower light. “The rest of my friends came as the Pixie Hollow fairies. I couldn’t really decide on one, so I made my own.”

“Yeah, well you — You look really pretty.” He swallowed the growing lump within his throat, attempting to kick away that twinge of social anxiety. It was something he struggled with — he wasn’t nearly as outgoing or charismatic as his older brother.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” Bristling from his innocuous compliment, you stepped closer, attempting to close some of the distance between the both of you. “What’s your name? I didn’t catch it.” You piped up, leaning against the doorframe.

Unable to keep from smiling, he stayed static, watching as you bridged the gap. “I’m Ethan, Ethan Landry. It’s nice to meet you.” His chest shook with a brief chuckle when you stuck out your hand for an exaggerated handshake.

“Ethan Landry,” You beamed, shaking his hand with excitable energy. After you gave him your name, the conversation only seemed to blossom from there. “It’s nice to meet you, too! What are you studying here at Blakemore?”

Ethan never had the best luck with women, especially ones as pretty as you. Not only that, but you had a whirlwind of charm to you, too. “Uh … I’m still deciding. Leaning toward film, though! What about you?” He asked, unable to keep his eyes off of you.

“I’m also in the process of deciding. I’m trying to get my basic courses out of the way before I commit to something.” You chimed, sidestepping away from the swarm of rancorous students that began to pile into the living room.

With a constant grin, you peered toward the growing crowd of students dancing in the middle of the room. A fast-paced hip-hop song began to thrum over the speakers, filling the frat house with music.

“Do you want to dance?” You asked, motioning toward the gathering in the center of the room. This was the one college party where you’d met a cute boy who seemed to take an interest — you weren’t about to squander it.

He seemed visibly hesitant, making a face that screamed ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea’. Ethan relented, deciding that taking a risk and spending more time with you would be worthwhile. “Just one. It’s getting pretty crazy in here.” He wasn’t much of a dancer, either.

“Just one!” You reaffirmed, snatching ahold of his hand as the two of you joined the mosh pit of students. Somewhere through the chaos, you ended up right against him, chest to chest, swaying and bouncing to the music. It was loud, so loud that it shook the very foundations of the building.

Ethan didn’t want to make a fool out of himself. He simply mimicked some of your movements, entranced by the way you involuntarily pressed against him, a smile on your face, drifting off to the music. You grabbed one of his hands, prompting him to twirl you around.

“So what are you doing at this party? Did you come with friends?” You asked, practically yelling at Ethan as the two of you continued to dance. It was a little awkward, but he seemed engrossed, stooping down to give you an answer.

“Yeah! I came with some friends, and my roommate. They’re around here somewhere.” Ethan replied, grabbing you and pushing you aside to avoid being smacked by flying arms and stray bodies.

As Ethan briefly looked through the crowd, he noticed Chad somewhere on the other side, cheering him on with a toothy grin. It gave him a bit of a confidence boost, no matter how small it seemed to be. You were so beautiful, jubilant and vibrant, moving with the music.

The way he looked at you was mesmerizing, the stare of a charmed, smitten boy. You were the center of gravity, the sun — bright and shining just for him. Admittedly, you weren’t oblivious, and if it weren’t for the sea of people, you might’ve been emboldened enough to kiss him.

The music began to dissipate, song trailing off into the next track. “Do you want to go somewhere else to talk?” Ethan asked, surprising you by being the first to make a move. You wondered if he really meant talking, but either way, you were happy.

“Yeah.” You nodded, reaching for his hand as he escorted you out of the dance room and toward the staircase. The two of you carefully avoided any stragglers slumped on the stairs, slipping past a gaggle of girls stumbling down from the bathroom.

Once you were upstairs, things became more hushed altogether. Even just standing on the balcony provided some relief as he ran a hand through his mop of curly hair, glancing down at you with a smile. “Is this better?” He asked, leaning against the bannister,

An amused chuckle escaped you as you nodded, tilting back against the wooden post at the top of the staircase. “Much better,” You mused, absentmindedly biting at your lower lip. “You know, if you wanted to be alone, all you had to do was ask.”

Ethan’s countenance flushed from ivory to scarlet within the blink of an eye, throat becoming dry as he attempted to come up with some viable excuse. “It’s not that, I just — Shit. This isn’t what it looks like.” He groaned, feeling your hand slip around his.

“Ethan,” You murmured, canting your head to one side. “You need to stop psyching yourself out.” Another giggle left you, enough to reassure him, put his nerves to rest as you coaxed him closer. You tugged on his hand, leading him toward a room somewhere in the back hallway.

Wordlessly, you slipped inside, realizing that this was likely someone else’s room — one that was clearly unoccupied. It was all nondescript and outfitted with the bare essentials of a dorm, lights dimmed as you shut the door behind the both of you.

Your back gently pressed against the uncomfortable wood of the door as you latched it, ensuring that no one would be barging in anytime soon. Ethan appeared both excited and bewildered, chomping at the bit to finally touch a girl. He’d been lonely for so long — and now, fantasy was becoming reality.

“Are you sure? I — What if somebody hears us or comes knocking?” Ethan asked. In all actuality, he didn’t care whatsoever. He was aching, desperate to feel you and be inside of you, if you let him. The idea of losing his virginity to a beautiful girl at a party was enticing.

Neglecting to offer an answer to his constant string of worrying, you decided to change course. “Kiss me.” You whispered, feeling a pang of molten heat hit your stomach when Ethan practically pounced on you, lips messy and inexperienced as he kissed you.

The stiff cardboard of his helmet bumped into your face, causing you to giggle. Ethan became crimson-faced, swiftly tossing it behind him onto the gray carpet. Without hesitation, he grabbed your face, kissing you again with a low groan.

Music blared from downstairs, bass able to eclipse all of the noise emerging from the guest room. Your hands moved toward his shoulders, lips tangling with his as he readjusted his grip. Ethan’s palms sank into your soft curves, clutching at your hips above the dress.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Ethan mumbled, peering at you through his lashes. “I want to learn, though.” He wasn’t clueless — he’d watched things online before and indulged in the company of his right hand on multiple occasions.

Gentle laughter escaped you, accompanied by a twinge of understanding. “I don’t know if I wanna go all the way in the guest room of a frat house,” You mused, fingers shifting to rake through his hair. “It’s okay, Ethan. I’m not worried about it.”

Ethan relaxed, visibly reassured by your words before you tapped a nail against the cardboard cutout framing his chest. He got the hint, happy to be rid of the ridiculous costume. He didn’t care very much for it — you, on the other hand, looked ethereal.

Instead of you steering him around, he took ahold of your hands, coaxing you toward the unmade mattress. He had a vivid idea of what he wanted to do to you. Ethan watched with wide, desirous eyes as you sat down, flesh crawling with heat when he stood between your legs.

To your complete delight, Ethan sank down onto his knees, all six feet and two inches of him, hands gently caressing your legs. “You’ll tell me if I’m not doing something right, yeah?” He prompted, sucking in a sharp breath when you kissed him.

He was tall, and you didn’t have to stoop very much at all to reach him, feeling his fingertips tease the hem of your dress. Your fingers scraped against the nape of his neck, pushing themselves throughout his mop of curly hair. The soft groan that escaped him made your heart flutter.

“I’ll tell you.” You murmured, watching as he sheepishly tilted inward for another kiss. Ethan’s hands began to creep underneath your dress at a snail’s pace, exploring every inch of you. You felt velveteen beneath his fingertips, like a fine silk.

“Can I take your dress off?” Ethan murmured, peering at you through thick eyelashes. His breath hitched within his throat as you reached toward your back, unzipping the shimmering garment.

You neglected to shimmy out of the snug fabric, letting it pool around your chest, instead. “All yours.” Your hand dipped toward the silvery straps around your ankles as you stepped out of your heels.

Ethan swallowed the lump of excitement that coalesced within the back of his throat, hands curling into the hem of your dress. Sluggishly, he began to coax the fabric down, mesmerized by the way you lifted your hips, wordlessly assisting him.

The thin straps of your lace brassiere clung to your chest, accompanied by a matching pair of panties. Ethan’s sigh was shaky, quivering with a tremor of delight as he grabbed your thighs, body pushing them apart.

“You’re so beautiful.” A low, throaty groan escaped him, lips agape as he pressed a kiss against your thigh. Even your smell was intoxicating, swarming his senses like a heady tidal wave. He didn’t know where to start, but he had an idea of what he wanted.

Swallowing his bout of nervousness, Ethan continued to kiss along your leg, feeling your fingers curl into his hair. The little tugs and motions you made only served to make his heart beat faster, goosebumps coalescing along his spine. His hands curled into the waistband of your panties, inching them down your legs.

You squirmed, chest fluttering with warmth as he looked to you for consent, skin flush with scarlet. “Please, Ethan.” Your hips jolted forward, aching for his mouth, fingers — anything that he was willing to give you. “Please keep going.”

Ethan loved that — he loved hearing you beg.

He wondered what it’d be like to make you cry, perhaps toy with you, knife in-hand, make you writhe. Some sinister part of him wanted to hear you say it again, and without thinking, his mouth moved before he could comprehend anything else.

“Say it again,” Ethan urged, chest rising and falling with soft pants as he clutched at your legs. The doe-eyed expression on your countenance only added fuel to the now-raging fire, and he watched with silent glee as you let out a soft whine. “Please.”

“Ethan, please,” Without hesitation, you pleaded with him, desperate for friction — for any shred of it. Your voice rose an octave, bleeding heat from between your legs. “Please, please,” You moaned, watching the way his pupils expanded with lust. “I want you — want your mouth.”

Despite his inexperience, Ethan was prepared to follow basic instinct, palms smoothing themselves along your thighs until he held your hips. His head dipped between your thighs, tongue sluggishly swiping along your cunt, familiarizing himself with your taste.

Your back arched, stomach swirling with an excitable heat as he took his time. There was something exploratory in-nature, a desire to savor you. His cock strained against the front of his jeans when your nails gently raked themselves over his dark curls.

He shuddered with delight, ministrations lacking any haste. Ethan went slow, almost painfully so, tongue dutifully lapping at your cunt as he kneaded into your hips. The sounds that escaped you were divine — intoxicating, really.

The bass of the music thundered underneath the both of you, and any footsteps that reverberated close by were met with indifference. He was buried between your legs, lips caressing your core as he traced along your slit. Your hips jolted forward, desperate for any scrap of friction he provided.

“Ethan,” You moaned, pleasantly surprised by how eager he was. A surge of molten heat coalesced within the pit of your stomach, churning with excitement and desire. You gingerly tugged at his curls, feeling his tongue sweep over your clit. “A—Ah! Right there!”

He paused, mouth clamoring to find that sweet spot of yours, feeling you steer him in the right direction. He lapped at your clit, cock throbbing with an urgency when you whimpered. Ethan hunched forward, gently placing one of your legs on his shoulder.

Ethan felt a newfound rush of confidence, skin hot and visage flushed as he ate you out, increasing his pace and intensity. It became somewhat sloppy, a mess of tongue and desperation, aroused by the noises that escaped you and the constant pressure of your hand in his hair.

What he wouldn’t give to watch you by yourself — a picture for later, or touching you while you slept. The thought of you beneath him, begging for more, tears in your eyes — he groaned, cock straining against the front of his jeans.

His heart hammered erratically, mirroring your own galloping heartbeat as he kissed your clit, tongue messily lapping wherever he could. You squirmed again whenever he touched that sensitive clutch of nerves, slumping backwards onto the mattress.

“Fuck, you’re addicting,” Ethan groaned, and that was enough to get you to whimper. You’d never been called that before, and the way he half-whined the words himself made your hips buck forward. “So pretty.” He whispered, nearly in disbelief as he lapped at your clit.

Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, lips agape as another moan tore past your mouth. He was working wonders, nails digging into your haunch, causing goosebumps to prickle along your thighs. “I want you to use your hand.” You sighed.

Ethan knew that he wouldn’t last long himself watching you, and when you sat up, he was scarlet-faced and visibly pained. “I—I’m sorry.” It was as if his confidence had shattered completely. He was a little embarrassed about how hard he’d gotten from this, but you seemed understanding.

“Come here,” You gestured toward the empty spot next to you, and Ethan quickly sat down. Without hesitation, your hands flew to his belt, unzipping his jeans as you reached into his boxers. “Together.”

His breath hitched within his throat as he ushered you into his lap, hovering above one of his thighs. Ethan kissed you, swallowing your needy moan in the process — you could taste yourself, the lewdness of it all. He didn’t need any guidance as he slid two fingers against your slick cunt.

It was instantaneous — the both of you were catching fire, succumbing to basic instinct and desire. You began to steadily stroke along his cock, thumb caressing the tip of his erection, oozing with precum. Ethan gasped, hips stuttering as he bucked into your palm.

Your body rolled into his hand, digits sluggishly seeking your entrance. You guided him there, noticing the way his gaze had flickered from your face to your body. You whimpered when he sank his fingers into your tight heat, pistoning in and out.

A string of saliva connected your swollen lips to his, but Ethan didn’t stop kissing you. They turned from gentle and exploratory to rough and wanton, tongue briefly tangling with yours.

Between the dimly-lit, sienna glow of the room and the thrum of the bass downstairs, you were lost in his touch, floating away into the blissful taste of his mouth. He was all around you and in your blood, like the surging of the music.

You didn’t stop whatsoever, palm slick with his precum as you pumped along the length of his cock, mesmerized by that glazed, lovestruck look in his eyes. You were wonderfully naive, oblivious to the hungering darkness and obsession that rested within Ethan’s pretty stare.

“I want you.” Ethan’s voice reverberated in between strings of heated kisses, sending a wave of heat all throughout your body. There was a stark juxtaposition between the meek, inexperienced boy and the darker, deeper tone he had just now.

You felt his desire seep into your very bones, rocking atop his thigh as his digits continued to piston in and out. Ethan was content to finger-fuck you into your orgasm, thumb seeking to toy with your clit. It caused you to gasp and shiver with delight, feeling his teeth momentarily catch your lower lip.

A soft, simpering whine left you, one hand digging into the nape of his neck as the other stroked along his cock. The intensity only continued to mount, rising like the swell of a tide. Ethan’s hips began to stutter as he let out a groan of his own, cumming into your palm.

It was messy, hot and sticky in glistening tendrils across your thigh, and you were right behind him. As you sank forward, he curled his fingers just slightly, sending you into the white-hot explosion of your release. There was a newfound spot on his jeans from where you’d been moments prior.

“Shit,” He huffed, somewhat abashed about making such a mess. His curls were disheveled, flesh shimmering with perspiration, face noticeably flushed. “Ah … Sorry.” Admittedly, Ethan loved the sight of you like this, stained with his seed, but he didn’t want to scare you off.

As you recuperated, you reached for your dress, unable to bite back the smitten smile on your features. “It’s okay,” You giggled. “I thought it was hot.” You confessed, using the spare t-shirt in your purse to clean yourself up. Something to throw in the washer, later.

Ethan blushed, clamoring to zip his jeans up as you shimmied back into your panties and dress. He noticed you struggling with the zipper towards the small of your back. “You need some help?” He asked, voice unusually soft as he stepped closer.

“Thank you,” The gesture was sweet, something that you didn’t expect. Regardless, you let him zip you back up, noticing the way he’d simply lingered close by as you buckled your heels around your ankles. “I should get going. I’m sure my friends are wondering where I am.”

“Wait,” Ethan’s hands involuntarily flew toward your hips, gently pulling you close. “I want to see you again.” Even if he had duplicitous methods of getting your phone number, he wanted this to be organic.

“Okay,” Despite having a hookup in the empty room of a frat house, you did want to see him again, too. He was painfully sweet — and that was hard to come by. “I want to see you again, too. Here.”

You wrote your number down on the cardboard chest-plate of his knight costume. He said he left his phone back at the dormitory — and you came prepared with the half-dried ink pen wasting away in the bottom of your purse.

By the time you and Ethan made it back out to the party, he was being hauled away by his friends, and you had found your group again.

If he had it his way, the next time you’d see him, you’d be at the end of his knife.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #ethan landry fanfiction #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #scream fanfiction #scream

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angelwhisp3rs · 4 months

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ man like me

Pairing: RE!2 Leon x fem!reader

Summary: Leon has gone through so much training, life always made it look like he didn't luck out. Always the butt of the joke, he questioned if he would ever be a man. His partner seems to think he is man enough for her <3

Tags: Smut; bj; he cums in her face; slight sub!leon; leon gets called a fairy because he is not considered a "macho man" (i hate m*n)

Notes: First post! I'm so excited, i've been brainrotting for RE for years, and just now decided to add to the community. Love you all! Feel free to give me any tips for my writing or some prompts!

Also, please! If you are a minor, i don't feel comfortable with you interacting with my content, so no minors allowed ok?

Have you ever felt like you weren’t blessed? Well, Leon felt that every day of his life. His parents dying, his rough childhood in the orphanage, he had to work twice as harder than anyone of his peers to achieve anything. Now, as a cop, he believed that this was all in the past - he chose the manliest job of them all.

Oh, well. Turns out that stations were just an adult hangout spot for jocks that never grew out of their high school days.

The women would coo at him, calling him cute and adorable, while the older officers would sneak some comments about him being a “fairy”. Fucking idiots.

After some months working with them, Leon managed to gain at least some respect among his colleagues - he was a great cop after all, and he even managed to tone down some of the ridiculous teasing (and plain homophobia, if you ask him).

To the surprise of everyone there, a new recruit would be coming in, making Leon celebrate a little on the inside - maybe it would be his chance to stop being the butt of the joke and finally laugh along with the rest, not being the one laughed at.

He couldn't wait to finally turn his luck around.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

Turns out he is wrong. Of course things wouldn’t go his way once. The rookie was a girl - well, a woman, and a pretty one at that.

The men there went ballistic. The single, desperate for attention, and the married, aching for an affair. Used to the calm and pliant women in the precinct, the men didn’t wait for even 5 minutes to let out their disgusting comments, calling her a hot piece of their ass, some even suggesting that they could ‘teach her’ the ways around there.

They were so wrong. Cutting their comments short, she looked at them in disgust, and distributed answers that put them back into their places. Hell, she even dared to ask how the deputy’s wife wasn't arrested for animal cruelty for sleeping with a pig like him.

Leon looked at her with stars in his eyes - she was different from him after all, not letting those idiots run through her. The bigoted idiots decided that as a “punishment” to her, she would be his new partner, matching their work hours and patrolling together. That fact made him excited, but not for long. Unfortunately, his intrusive thoughts began swarming his head: “Do you really think she won’t make fun of you?” and “A woman like her would eat up a man like you”.

The only thing he could do was stand a hand to her, offering a handshake “Hi there, partner. I’m Leon Kennedy”.

She had a predatory smirk on her face, looking at him up and down. “Hi, Leon. I think we’re gonna be great partners”.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

When Leon thought she would eat up a guy like him, he didn’t think it would be like that. It was way after the time they had to clock out, and they were the only ones left in the station. Leon was backed up in the evidence room, his pants on the floor as her mouth worked around his cock, drenching it with her spit. The only sounds heard were the man trying to drone out his moans with his hand on his mouth, and her gagging as she took him as deep as she could in her throat.

To Leon, this had to be a dream - no way that would ever happen. But as he looked down, her sinful eyes looking up at him, he knew that he couldn’t even dream of something as good as this. He had to be careful not to knock out the evidence in the surrounding files, choosing to rest his hand on her ponytail - quite convenient for the situation.

“You are doing so well, baby. Why don’t you come in my face, and show them that you are the only man able to do that, huh?” She taunted him as she kept pumping his cock his her hands, slick with her saliva and the precum that drooled on his tip

Her mouth returned to his member as she kept her hands going, thriving at his blushing face and his desperate whines. The man was going crazy, it’s been so long since something other than his hand touched his cock, that the 8 minutes of her mouth - which he believed to be 30, were enough to bring him to the edge. Soon, her mouth pulls back as she jerks him faster, angling at her face as he coats it with his pearly cum, hitting her cheeks, mouth and chin.

While he believed that his soul had left his body and come back, she stood up and grabbed some tissues there to clean her face. All cleaned up, she helped him put his pants back on and pressed some kisses to his jaw, whispering to his ear “Why don’t you come over to my place and show my cunt who is the only man to fill it up?”. After that, she left the evidence room with a smirk, looking back at him once and throwing a wink at him.

Well, it turns out that luck was a person, and it finally caught up to him.

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mitsuyeaah · 10 months

Text

i’m yours, and you’re mine.

— bachira meguru x f! reader

cw: college au, student athelete!bachira, nsfw (mdni), smut, exhibitionism, semi-public sex (empty locker room), unprotected sex, backshot, clit slapping (brief), fingering (brief), jealous bachira, pet names (baby).

a/n: mitsu’s bachira brainrot has officially started 🧎🏻‍♀️ this drabble is purely self indulgent!! apologies if my characterisation of meguru is inaccurate, this is my first time writing for him, and bllk in general <3 hope u enjoy!

bachira wasn’t the jealous type, nor was he an individual who easily lost his cool when it came to other boys possibly hitting on you, no. he knew that your relationship with him was secure—he was yours and you were his. bachira didn’t have to worry about anyone stealing you away from him but today was different. right after tonight’s game ended, his demeanour was different despite his team being tonight’s victor.

“he didn’t have to do all that, you know..” bachira clicked his tongue and jutted his bottom lip out—a sweaty arm secured around your waist as the two of you walked side by side to the locker room. grabbing the towel that hung loosely around his neck, you wiped at the sweat rolling down the side of his face, “i’m sure he meant no harm, baby. he was just being nice.”

you didn’t miss the way his fingers at your waist tightened, and the muscles in his arm becoming taut—a clear sign that he wasn’t going to let this go that easily. was he seriously that upset about it? you’ve never seen him act this way before, especially when other men tried to hit on you. usually, he’d even joke about it, saying things like “look how lucky i am to be your boyfriend!”. praising you because of how wonderful you were to have all these guys after you.

a few minutes after the second half of the game started. the ball suddenly came hurling your way. you had no time to react, blurry hues of black and white rapidly making its way over to you and the only thing left to do was close your eyes and accept the ball to your face. you sat on the sideline seats as usual, with every game that bachira had. he liked seeing your face while he ran up and down the field, a good luck charm that helped him calm his nerves during the match.

you waited for what felt like eternity for the ball to come in contact with your face; you were surrounded by the roaring of tonight’s crowd, panicking for your sake for what’s about to hit you but it never came. you took a peek with one eye before opening both of them, one of the players from the rival team had skilfully blocked the ball from smacking you dead in the face which caused the crowd to go wild.

barely even registering what had happened, the rival player—who had blocked the ball—now stood in front of you, asking if you were okay. upon nodding, he gave you a small smile but before leaving to go back to the field, he looked over his shoulder, “can’t have a pretty face like yours get hit, can we?” it left you dumbfounded.

bachira, of course, had heard this small exchange since his first instinct was to head your way and check if you were hurt in anywhere—and this was the sole reason why he was in a sour mood up until now, even though it’s almost been an hour since it happened.

normally, he’d shrug it off and simply tell them that you had a boyfriend but it didn’t sit right with him if the flirting came from a rival player, especially from the one who had been swiftly stealing the ball from him while he dribbled down the field earlier.

“yeah.. being nice or flirting?” he deadpanned. bachira held your gaze, his citrine eyes that used to be filled with joy was now full of annoyance. before you could say anything, his teammates—who had already changed and washed up—rolled out of the locker room, their voices echoing throughout the walls as they celebrated tonight’s win. “bachira! we’re heading out for drinks, coach’s treat for winning the first game of the season! you in? we can wait for you.” isagi rubbed a towel at his wet hair.

“mhm, i’ll meet you guys there. just text me the address.” your boyfriend let out an exasperated sigh before heading inside the locker room. isagi nodded at his reponse and turned to you, “all of us should be done washing up by now, you can head inside.. just don’t let coach catch you.” the man chuckled before leaving.

by the time you got inside only one shower was running and you knew who it was. you walked to bachira’s locker and fished for his change of clothes. the spare uniform that hung on a hanger caught your eye, you took it out from his locker and examined it—it was the same one he wore tonight, the number ‘8’ plastered on both sides, with his name in big, bold letters at the back.

suddenly, an idea popped into your head. you quickly changed out of your blouse and wore bachira’s spare jersey, a smile plastering across your face.

“baby, what if i just wore your shirt to every game i attend so they know that i’m yours and you’re mine?” you joked and turned to your boyfriend who’d just gotten out of the shower. as usual, he didn’t cover himself up.

your eyes widened at his nudity and you quickly averted your gaze, “b-bachira! will you cover up please?” you could feel your cheeks heat up from embarrassment even though you weren’t the one fully naked. bachira chuckled, “what? it’s not like you haven’t seen any of this before..”

bachira took a few steps forward to close the gap between the two of you, the soles of his bare feet slapping against the tiled floor. “what was it you were saying..? you, wearing my jersey so they know that you belong to me?” his voice was much lower now.

he gently grabbed your chin and angled your head to face him, there was a weird glint in his amber eyes, it was clouded with lust. “i.. i was just joking..” your lips were parted as you took shallow breaths to calm yourself down. the heat in the apex of your legs suddenly made itself known; bachira noticed the way you rubbed your thighs together to chase after some kind of friction.

the corner of his lips tugged up. ah, there’s that smile he always wore in the field—the one he uses against his opponents to rile them up but now he’s using it on you. to rile you up. “oh? but my name on your back looks so good on you, my baby..” he removed his fingers from your chin and grabbed your hand, sensually kissing at your knuckles while keeping eye contact.

bachira has seen you wear his soccer jersey in different occasions but it didn’t do anything to him more than his heart just skipping a beat when he saw you in it but tonight.. seeing you with his name and number plastered on your back, it awoke something else in him. especially when you told him that you’d wear it during his games so people knew you belonged to him. yes, you were only joking but he didn’t care. it turned him on.

your eyes fixated on a bead of water at the tip of his bangs, following it as it dropped on the floor, and in the process, you saw how his pretty cock now stood against his abdomen. you swallowed thickly and bit your lip.

bachira didn’t hesitate to grab your chin once again and kiss you. his lips desperately moved against your own—it was rough, needy, and full with want. almost like he wanted to prove to an imaginary audience that you were his, and only his.

you moaned into the kiss, hands coming up to rest against his naked, wet chest. your nails left trails of pink and red as you balled your hands into fists—fuck, he absolutely loved it when you marked his skin with your nails. it drove him crazy.

he was quick to move. turning you around and pressing you against the cold surface of the lockers with a loud thud, earning a yelp from you. “mmm—ah! bachira..” whines left your lips as he planted open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. his hands skilfully circled to your front and unbuttoned your jeans, hastily tugging them down—shivering as the cool air kissed your bare skin.

“hmm? already wet, aren’t we?” he whispered against the shell of your ear. you bit your lip as bachira ran his index finger along the valley of your wet folds, he pushed your soaked panties aside and plunged two fingers in without warning. desperate attempts to hide your moans were long gone as your lips parted to let out sounds of pleasure. you rested your forehead against the cool metal and closed your eyes, relishing in the pleasure of his fingers inside you.

“fu—ah! fuck, baby!”

bachira tugged your panties down just enough to expose your sopping cunt; he pulled your ass back to his crotch so that you were bent at the hips—the only thing you could do was lay your palms flat against the lockers, you couldn’t even hold onto anything.

“fuuuck.. look at you. so pretty. so perfect for me.” bachira purred, citrine eyes filled with nothing but lust scanned your back. he kept his jersey on you for the sole reason of wanting to see his name on you while he fucked you from behind. there, in big, bold letters was his name and underneath it was the number ‘8’. his number.

“baby.. please! put it inside me—ah!” bachira slapped your clit with the tip of his cock before pushing it past your wet folds. the sound of your nails dragging across the metal surface of the lockers could be heard as you balled your hands into fists. “so fucking good—ngh!” you moaned as he bottomed out.

he let out a breathless laugh before leaning forward, moulding his hands against your own at the locker. the new angle drove his cock deeper into you, now deliciously kissing your cervix—your legs wobbled at this. he hasn’t even started moving his hips yet you were already gone.

amidst the pleasure you felt, you suddenly remembered where the two of you were. in a locker room, and anyone could come in at any time. “w-wait, baby! what if someone comes? we have to—” “hmm? don’t tell me you’re scared, baby? you know, something inside me is saying: we should be excited, not scared when we’re in a desperate situation.”

before you could respond, bachira moved his hips at a fast pace, earning a loud cry of his name from you. the sounds of wet squelches, and a mix of his and your moans bounced around the walls of the locker room. he rested his forehead on your upper back—where the letters of his name were plastered—and moved his hips at a faster pace.

his heavy balls slapped against your clit; his pelvis turning red from making repeated contact with your ass. bachira panted against the soft fabric of his uniform, gripping at it as you tightly clenched around him—beads of water from the shower mixed with his own sweat, coating him in a light sheen.

“aaah—ngh! so so tight for me, baby! looking so good in my shirt—fuck!” he brought a hand to your front and toyed with your clit, causing your knees to buckle. if it wasn’t for his strong hold, you would have been on the floor by now.

“you’re mine, and mine only. tell me—haah! what number am i drawing on your clit? hm?” you furrowed your brows at his question. your mind was fogged with lust that it almost didn’t make sense but you could feel the way his finger moved against it.

bachira was drawing figures of eight on your clit. number 8.

“e—ah! eight!” you stammered. he smiled even though you couldn’t see his face. “hmm—yeaah.. that’s right. the number eight. my jersey number.” bachira stood upright and used your hips as a leverage to drive his cock deeper into you. he wanted it deeper, faster, and harder, and boy did he fulfil that.

your moans increased in volume and pitch, and if there was someone to walk by the locker room, they’d know exactly what the two of you would be doing. “aaah! me-meguruuu~ i’m close!” bachira’s knees buckled at the use of his first name. fuck, he always found it sexy whenever his name rolled off your tongue so flawlessly.

“fuuuck! aaah! come on, baby.. cum for me—ngh!” he watched the way his jersey bunched up on your mid back, leaving his name in view—your ass bounced with every powerful thrust of his hips. fuck, you were so wet that a white ring had started to form at the base of his cock. you were such a good girl for him. all his.

your back arched further which allowed the blunt tip of his cock deeper. it pounded against your cervix over and over again until the knot it your stomach snapped. your sweaty hands slid from the locker, causing you to fall forward but bachira’s hold stabilised your limp body.

you moaned his name out as every muscle in your body stiffened with pleasure—a sharp sensation shooting up your spine. bachira massaged at the skin of your hips, still driving his cock in and out of your sopping wet cunt. he gave you breathless praises mixed with possessiveness—broken sentences declaring that you were his and he was yours.

it didn’t take long for bachira to reach his sweet release. pulling out, he came all over your back, both on his shirt and on your skin. he threw his head back in pleasure as spurts of his cum messily shot out of his tip—lips parted and amber eyes rolling back from the intense orgasm. his loud, shameless moans filled the entire locker room, and you feared that someone may walk past and catch the two of you in such a lewd act but bachira didn’t care.

the two of you stayed that way for a couple of seconds, chests heaving while catching your breaths. he turned your body around to face him before pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

“mine. all mine..” bachira whispered, resting his sweaty forehead against your own.

“all yours.”

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luxesiren · 1 year

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⸻ 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐌; a.arlert x black reader

ෆ synopsis: you were unsatisfied with your latest hookup and armin claims that he is actually better than him and he could fuck you way better than he could.

ෆ warnings: black fem reader, thick/chubby reader, uses she/her pronouns, use of profanity, mentions of smoking, weed smoker!armin, sex confident!armin, smut warning; oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, slight degradation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie

ෆ author’s note: this is fully self indulgent bc yknow armin brainrot🤭 i literally cannot get him out my head so i made this lol, hope you enjoy!

you were sitting on your couch with armin right beside you and you were telling him about your less than satisfactory hookup, “i just don't understand why it’s so hard to make me cum like i’m so frustrated, this is the fourth time this has happened.”

armin chuckled as he rolled up the blunt you guys were going to smoke, “you just have shitty taste in men.”

you scoffed at his response and rolled your eyes at him, “i mean, it could be that but as any decent man would think about letting whoever he’s fucking cum first.” you reasoned with an aggravated shrug.

armin could’ve been right but at the same time, it was so easy to care about the sexual pleasure of your partner, you always came to armin to vent about your sexual frustrations thinking that he could give you some good advice but he always had that smug ass grin on his face.

you watched as he licked the blunt to seal it and maybe, you could’ve been very horny but something about how he moved his tongue to seal up the blunt made your insides ignite. he lit up the blunt, inhaling some of the smoke before passing it to you, you took it between your fingers and brought it up to your lips, and took a drag of it, your lip gloss staining the blunt.

“you’re right. any decent man would make their partner cum first before thinking about themselves, that’s why i’m a decent man.” he chuckled smugly.

you rolled your eyes at his comment and took another hit of the blunt before passing it to him, you could already feel the high getting to you, “right, you’re a decent man. you mean to tell me that you could make me cum before you cum?”

armin nodded as he inhaled the smoke, he blew the remaining smoke out and turned to you with a smirk, “yeah, baby. that’s exactly what i’m saying, i could probably make you cum more than once too.”

at this point, your pussy was throbbing with need. armin was confident in whatever he was saying and you wanted him to prove his point, you bit your lip as you looked down at your lap. you wanted him, you wanted armin so fucking bad.

you and armin have known each other for a long time and for a while he was never this confident in his sex life but now he seemed to know what to do with his tongue, his dick, his fingers — so maybe you wanted to see what it was like. he was always smart and nerdy but now he was a whole different person.

armin smoked the blunt carelessly as you just stared at him in awe of his attitude, it was something attractive in the way he carried himself now and you wanted to know just how many times he could make you cum tonight.

so deep in thought, you didn't see him move closer to you, you just felt his hand on your thigh, his hand squeezing gently and his breath fanning your neck. “whatcha thinking about, mama? hmm? tell me.”

you bit your lip in hopes that no sounds would come out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head at his words. maybe it was the fact that you were high as fuck or the fact that you were very much aroused from the sound of armin’s voice. “you’re so confident in making me cum so why don’t you do it?”

armin smirked and squeezed your thigh tightly, he passed you the blunt again. you took it and put it between your lips inhaling more smoke, you wanted to know why he just passed you the blunt again instead of making good on his promise.

as you took another drag of the blunt you felt his lips on your neck, you just sat there enjoying the attention. his lips were soft and skilled, you knew this just by how he was kissing your neck — his hand trailing up your thigh and caressing softly as he started to suck on your neck. you bit your lip, swallowing at moans that threatened to come out; this was already new to you, none of your hookups cared to make you aroused, they just wanted to fuck you and leave which is why you were so unsatisfied.

maybe armin was right about you having shitty taste in men. you finished off the blunt before putting it in the ashtray, your breath getting heavier as armin’s tongue started to lick at the marks he already left.

he pulled back with a smirk, “any of your fuck buddies do that?”

you shook your head no and he laughed, “i figured. they don’t know how to fuck and they certainly can’t fuck you the way i could.”

the moan you let out was loud and embarrassing but armin just bit his lip and kept going, he started to manhandle you into laying down so he was on top of you. you brought his head down to kiss him with ferocity, his lips fully encased with yours, almost like a perfect match — fitting together like a puzzle piece.

his hand moving to your tits and fondling them through your tight tank top, you weren’t wearing a bra and armin was grateful. your nipples were hard against his hands as he groped and played with them.

you moaned into the kiss as his hands roamed your body. you started to realize something about the way armin was moving his hands and all of his movements; they were gentle. he touched you as if you were priceless china and fuck, if that wasn’t a turn on,

your tongue tangled with his, your hands finding his shoulders and holding on tightly. you were both high as fuck but this? this was a new high, your pussy was leaking just from his tongue being in your mouth and his hands massaging your tits. how the fuck could he make you like that? you didn’t know but you couldn’t find time to care either.

armin pulled back and you whined at the loss of his skilled tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. his smirk gone and his eyes blazing with arousal and excitement, you were losing your mind at the thought of this armin making you cum.

your eyes met his and he smiled, “how many times do you think you could cum tonight?”

your head was fuzzy, and any other thoughts were nonexistent. armin tsked and grabbed your face gently, “i asked you a question. how many times do you think you could cum tonight?”

you whined loudly, he was so much different than usual and it made you wet behind belief, “shit, min, i don’t know.” his hand left your face and you let out a breath.

he took off his shirt and threw it somewhere across the room, your hands immediately went to his abs. his hands grabbing yours and placing them above your head, “keep those there, yeah?”

you couldn’t do anything but nod your head, his hands moved underneath your shirt to feel on your titties. you arched into his touch pushing into his hands, “feels good, min.”

“yeah?” he smirked. his fingers playing with your nipples making them hard, he leaned down and kissed your body, licking over your stretch marks. it was single-handedly the hottest thing you’d ever seen, his gaze focused on you when you looked down — your eyes locked and it was almost like you could cum from that look alone.

his hands left your tits and moved to take off your jogging pants and toss them behind him, “look at you, moaning and writhing under me like a little slut”

you whimpered softly and wiggled under his gaze, you were so wet and it was embarrassing how your closest friend could make you this aroused. “you gonna make me cum like a slut then?”

armin playfully shrugged, his head went between your thighs, his hands squeezing them hard before slapping your thigh. you arched and moaned loudly, armin was fucking sinful in the way he was handling you and he hadn’t even done anything major yet.

his tongue licking your clit through your panties, his groan settled in your core as he licked on your clit. his hands caressing your thighs as his tongue flicked and sucked at your clit through your panties.

“oh f-fuck, armin. f-feels so good, mmph!” you said with a whine. maybe you shouldn’t fucked armin from the beginning.

his hands felt on the lace of your panties before removing them and placing them in his pocket with a smile. it was fucking sadistic in the way his eyes locked with yours as he placed your underwear in his pocket.

but you didn’t care, not with the way his tongue returned to your clit and it was so much better without the piece of cloth in the way. broken moans and whimpers were the only things to be heard in the room.

it was an understatement to say that armin’s tongue was skilled, he was a fucking linguist with the way his tongue made your pussy wet. your hands flew to his hair and pushed his face into your cunt, his lips sucked at your folds and he was moaning and groaning into your pussy.

your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “FUCK! min!! goddamn it!”

you could feel his smile, he pulled back and kissed your inner thigh before his lips latched onto your sopping wet cunt again. it was almost embarrassing how you could hear the slurping noises but it was also so fucking hot how he ate you out like you were his last meal.

your thighs trembling around his head, you could feel your resolve starting to snap — the pleasure building higher and higher, his tongue still moving with no regard. he pulled back again to spit on your cunt and lick up your juices, his eyes locked with yours once more.

your eyes almost closed from his intense gaze but you kept looking at him, your mouth releasing nothing but countless moans and whimpers as he took you apart. all it took was one last suck on your clit for you to cum in his mouth.

your back arched, your toes curled as you let out a long drawn-out moan. you let go of armin’s hair and he gave your clit one last suck before pulling off to catch his breath. his jaw ached but it was the best kind of ache in the world — he wiped your cum and remaining juices off his chin.

“that’s one. you think you can do it again? i think you can.”

you couldn’t even respond, you just let him do whatever to you at this point. so when he put his head back down and started small kitten licks on your clit again you could help to buck in his hold, his hands on your waist as he started again.

“min, m’sensitive. oh fuck, fuck, keep going.” you whimpered loudly.

he pulled off to slap your clit, smirking at your broken moan before holding his fingers to your lips, “suck, baby.”

you took his fingers in your mouth and your tongue ran over the digits and moaned around them as armin never took his eyes off you.

you were starting to understand why armin was so confident that he could make you cum more than anyone before him because this man? he was a fucking god and it was unbelievably attractive. his bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat and eyes glassy and his pupils dilated, he looked so fucking good.

he pulled his fingers out and kissed you deeply, automatically entangling his tongue with yours — distracting you from his fingers entering your cunt and thrusting shallowly. you mewled in his mouth as his thumb circled your clit slowly, your legs starting to shake again.

armin looked at you and then down to your pussy, “you know what i love about your pussy? your pussy seems to like me more than any of the other guys. tell me, does your pretty pussy suck them in? hmm?”

“no, min. never, f-fuck. never does,”

he hummed silently. “your pussy is better than all the others i’ve indulged in.” he grinned and thrusted harder, curling his fingers perfectly and just enough to make you see stars.

your thighs closed around his hand as he kept thrusting his fingers inside of you, your hand grabbed his wrist but you weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop or keep going.

you tossed your head back and moaned loudly, his thrusts becoming relentless. countless moans and mewls escape your lips and you licked your lip as you felt another impending orgasm sneak up on you.

the knot in your belly tightened and armin kept doing what he was best at, making you speechless. his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers continued to take you apart, the build-up was almost painful but then you felt it again — the need to cum.

and so you did, one last flick on your clit and that was it. your cum oozing out around his fingers, leaving a white residue on his fingers. he pulled them out and licked his fingers clean all while looking at you.

you rolled your eyes and tried to catch your breath, armin laughed softly, “so did i meet your expectations?”

“huh? oh yeah. where the fuck did you learn that?” you sighed and tried to keep your eyes open.

“i can’t tell you my secrets.” he said with a wink.

~~~~

of course, armin didn’t tell you his secrets but of course, you went back to him whenever you were horny and needed some relief.

so that’s how you ended up on your back with your legs touching your chest and screaming nothing but his name.

“fuck, i love when you scream my name. you gonna let the neighbors hear you?” armin asked.

his hips snapping against yours and his balls hitting your ass, the deep strokes making your toes curl and your eyes roll back. his dick was covered in nothing but your cum and juices, he made you cum three times before he fucked you but now that he was fucking you? it was better than anything.

your pussy clenching around his dick tightly, sucking him in deeper so you could feel him in your stomach — slightly touching your cervix, making you cum again.

“AHH! armin! fuck, deeper, just like that..” you moaned out, your nails digging into his skin as his nails dug into your hips. grunts and groans were the only sounds coming from armin and you were enjoying all of the sounds.

he went deeper, watching his dick go in and out of you, seeing the white ring surround him, and hearing the sounds of your wet cunt sucking him in and not letting go.

“your pussy is mine, you know that right?”

you nodded, tears running down your cheeks as he continued to fuck you, “yeah, i know, baby.”

he smiled devilishly and this time when he moved his hips faster it was to make you cum again for the fourth time. your legs started to shake and your toes couldn’t curl anymore but the pleasure was something different.

it was dizzying, he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow — you would definitely be walking with a limp just like every time he fucked you.

his hands gripped your thighs tightly as tried to make you cum, his bangs sticking on his forehead before he moved his hand to push them back.

you were tired. you don’t know how you kept going, this time when you finally came, it wasn’t as extraordinary as the other ones but armin did pull four of them outta you.

your legs gave out and armin moaned loudly as his hips stuttered before coming to a full stop as he came inside you, he always made you come first and that was always his thing ever since he claimed that he was better than all your other fuck buddies.

and he was.

🏷: @phorxic @h34rt4u @takemichiluvr @angelora @blkcupid @si00p @norianao @venusflytrapstar

#✭ siren writes #aot x reader #armin x black reader #armin x reader #armin arlert #armin attack on titan #armin arlet smut #armin brainrot fr #armin headcanons #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot fanfiction

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teyamsatan · 6 months

Text

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xxᴠɪɪɪ - ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ/ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

pairing: dilf!jake sully x omatikaya!reader

➽ words: >400 words

➽ a/n: if you see the same drabble for ghost no you don't

look it fits them both!!! and the brainrot is too strong for two big ass older men in charge ok??? i can't help it i need them both at the same time

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: petnames (doll, princess, kid), implied age-gap, semi-public i guess?

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

“Feels… so… good… fuck!”

Bouncing on your Olo’eyktan’s cock in a hidden bush after excusing yourself from target practice was not on your list of things to do today, but then again… it never is. But you just couldn’t help it, not when there he was, so fucking hot, giving orders, showing warriors how to shoot the human contraptions he called “guns”, not when your tewng was uncomfortably sliding against your swollen folds, dripping in slick. The people will be fine practising on their own for a while, right? After all, the target was right there, all they had to do is… aim at it… right?

“Fucking hell, kid…” Jake’s voice was gravelly and low, mixing beautifully with the gritty groans that escaped him as you twitched around his length with every thrust that threatened to bruise your already aching cervix. It was maddening, the pace he set, the way he couldn’t help but buck his hips upwards to be even deeper in your tight, soaked pussy, the need to be closer, to feel you, to fill you, ever present and ever growing. “You look so good taking my cock. So good.”

The best you can do in response is a faint moan, so focused on maintaining the pace he set, thoughts overflowing with how good he felt, how much it all was, how when he captured your nipple in his mouth and sucked while circling your sensitive clit with his thumb, it all made tears prick at your eyes painfully and free flow down your face as the orgasm drew closer and closer with each passing moment.

“Couldn’t even wait til the end of practice, could you? My desperate, needy slut. Always have to have all your little holes stuffed, mm?”

HIs words always had such power to bring you to your knees, or to your orgasm, the feeling overtaking all of your senses, white noise all you were able to see and hear as he continued abusing your convulsing cunt.

“Squeezing me so well, gonna make me cum all over this pretty pussy. But I’m not done yet, princess.”

It took no effort on his part to pull you off him and manhandle you in a new position, barely managing to hold your own weight on all fours, so spent and overwhelmed from the onslaught of sensations he was so good at eliciting in you and for you.

“Come on. Face down, ass up. Gotta make sure to fill you up until everyone on that field knows how much you like being fucked until you’re dripping from all sides.”

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon@kasai-https @dvxsja @abcm18339 @neteyamswillow (if your tag doesn't work pls check your settings x)

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daisynik7 · 1 year

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Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday.

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

--------------------

The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying.

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth.

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours.

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment.

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children.

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade.

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you.

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor.

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol.

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him.

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass.

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.”

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting.

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?”

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger.

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all.

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons.

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command.

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg.

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him.

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him.

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth.

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst.

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering.

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight.

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock.

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment.

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can.

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger.

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips.

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient.

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word.

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper.

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.”

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence.

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too.

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession.

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead.

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke.

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen.

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave.

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.”

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking.

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him.

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food.

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt.

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment.

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.”

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud.

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him.

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already.

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself.

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way.

#kishibe #kishibe csm #chainsaw man #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #csm kishibe #kishibe brainrot #chainsaw man kishibe #dirty thirty

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soft-mafia · 6 months

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Modern AU Buggy headcanons/ideas(?)

warnings: SFW, mentions of drug use

a/n: I’m surprised I haven’t seen a lot modern x reader AUs with Buggy, so I decided to jot down some ideas I had!! This is also just an excuse for me to imagine Jeff Ward bc the brainrot is consuming me he’s so hot.

• Off the bat the first thing people notice about him is his nose; it’s not a ridiculously large, red clown nose, but the tip of his nose is abnormally rounded; after a few seconds of looking at it, it goes relatively unnoticeable once you get used to it but he is still VERY insecure about it.

• “Buggy” is probably a nickname he got from either playing on a football team as a kid, or a username for some video game. His real name is something he’s embarrassed about like Benjamin or something.

• I imagine that instead of pirates and pirate crews, these people are bikers with biker gangs. Idk it sounds hot to me.

• Sorry not sorry but I can’t see a modern Buggy who isn’t a stoner.

• I don’t see Buggy having a clown persona in a modern AU since he doesn’t have the nose for him to wanna cope with it, BUT he seems like a guy who can do some pretty rad sketches and he often just draws creepy clowns.

• Still has his luscious long blue hair of course, I imagine he uses box dye and usually keeps it in a pony tail or a man bun. It’s super soft and fluffy bc men just have a natural talent of having healthy hair without doing anything to take care of it for some reason.

#one piece #one piece buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #one piece modern au #buggy headcanons #buggy imagines #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #one piece au #buggy simp #buggy opla #opla buggy #one piece live action #jeff ward

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morphodae · 7 months

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(Not proofread, I’m eepy) I’m in my feels out of nowhere (that time of month T-T) and my brain has developed severe rot:

Some implied(ish) Wrio x Neuvi, and reader/you has budding feelings for all 3 yet their strongest ones are for Neuvillette as they fell for him first. It’s open-ended, really. This could be a cool concept to build from and either be pure angst, angst with hurt/comfort and see who reader ends up with :) I mean: who knows! Maybe Neuvi and Wrio also like reader!

If anyone writes something like this, adds onto it, or has more brainrot PLEASE tag me or let me know!

Consider falling for the chief justice and pining hard from afar. You’re a Khaenri’ah survivor and have recent dealings with the Traveler on their travels so you understand the hardships of immortality and have bonded with Neuvillette whenever you had the chance to be alone with him under those circumstances. You were always polite, always cordial - with a modest temperament and humble expectation. You were one of the few who knew his true identity as well and made sure to honor and respect that. But it never changed - what you believed - was the strong chemistry between you two.

Then, you meet Wriothesley. Being observant as you are, you notice he’s much snarkier and - more or less - polite/accommodating than you’d imagine. You treat him with the same respect as others yet the two of you hit it off right away; your personality and personal goals are rather similar — even if yourself has more… subtle and reserved ways of expression.

Obviously it’s not long before the budding feelings beyond what you’d classify family or friends in form, and you are comfortable there, or so you say.

After all, why would either of them give you a second glance? Not when the two of them have a history and you’d only arrived with the Traveler in Fontaine a few months prior? Especially since — the Chief Justice and Duke seem to give each other glances and comments that seem beyond the scope of platonic friendship. After all, Neuvillette refrains from interpersonal relationships and Wriothesley has his own way of keeping people at an arms length beyond the scope of his work. Yet, the two of them seem to make exceptions for the other.

Were you not.. also an exception? You never voice this complaint and continue on either conversing as if nothing is wrong or you distance yourself from both altogether.

The two of them are good men and, in your opinion, deserving of happiness.

During your time in Fontaine you’ve grown close with Lyney (and his siblings) so - being as observant as he is - can put puzzle pieces together in time.

Lyney has always admired you and appreciated your concern for him, your lack of nagging yet your protective, respectful, admirable, and supportive qualities. You accepted him for him despite the walls he so carefully crafted to keep others out and keep his facade up. You see him, see right through him (and others; it’s a feat he’s good at but you seem naturally better) and for that… well. It’s not long before his own developing feelings form.

He just wishes the other two objects of your affection hadn’t left you in tatters. Do they not see you? Not notice? Whether or not they do, and whether or not Lyney acts on his feelings doesn’t matter.

He will appreciate you. He will accept you. He will see you. Just as you have for him.

#.brainrot #neuvillette x reader #implied wriolette #wriothesley x reader #lyney x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader angst

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blossomverse · 8 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚El Chico del Apartamento 512˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: neighbor!miguel o'hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

summary: you've had a crush on miguel for the longest time. he happens to be your very kind, extremely attractive, next-door neighbor. what happens when you end up bonding over smoothies and a broken elevator?

cw & tw: mostly fluff, mildly suggestive dream, catcalling (by strangers), random man grabs reader's wrist without permission, stuck inside an elevator trope, some cursing, minors dni

a/n: i'm currently undergoing a miguel brainrot, that's how i found myself writing this in the middle of the night. the sentences on bold and italic are supposed to be reader’s inner thoughts. the story is heavily inspired by the song "el chico del apartamento 512" by selena. i srsly recommend listening to it as you read

Every day, coming home from work, same routine. Life in Nueva York was like this. The unwanted stares and comments from strange men were a frequent thing you’ve had to deal with. Your response would always be to ignore, continue walking as fast as you possibly could, and show that you were not afraid, nor bothered.

Today was no different, unfortunately. After a stressful shift at work, you had arrived inside your apartment complex and clicked on the elevator’s summoning button. That old thing would always take forever to arrive when called. As you waited patiently, one of the neighbors that always had some unwelcome attention to give, began approaching to make conversation.

Please, not today. I’m tired of rejecting this dude.

“Oh, how lucky I am! I’ve been waiting to see you again, Y/n.” He stood next to you.

“Mhm, I bet.” You answered, uninterested in whatever he had to say.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask–“

“No offense, but you should really go shower…” You blurted the words out, cutting him off before he could ask anything.

The man stood speechless for a hot second, unsure on what to say next. You simply stared blankly at the wall, not even sparing him one pitiful glance. He was about to speak again, when a familiar ding was heard. Finally, that prehistoric device had reached the first floor and opened its doors.

A few people made their way out and as you looked up to see the last one leaving, your heartbeat completely accelerated at the sight. There was he: the image of your dreams, the one your heart belonged to. The guy from apartment 512.

“M- Miguel, hi!” You said, a little bit too loud and enthusiastically for your own good.

You’d bask on the embarrassment later when you had reached the comfort of your home. For now, all you cared about was him.

“Y/n, it’s nice to see you.” He walked fast and made his way to open his mailbox.

“It is– it is always nice to see you, too.” You heard your words become nothing but stammers. Something that happened regularly when you would speak to him.

“Home from work already?” He asked while taking out his correspondence and shuffling through it.

“Oh, yeah… finished early. I’m guessing you’ll probably head to work now, I see you’re umm– you’re wearing your gym clothes.” You subtly admired his muscles, which looked enhanced by his tight fitted shirt.

“I’ll stop to get a smoothie from across the street first. They’re really nice and nutritious, you know. Maybe you’d like to check them out sometime.”

With you?

Your heart ran a mile, just thinking about that possibility. But no, his voice was too nonchalant to be asking you out. He was simply recommending the place. Nothing more, right?

“Sure, I’ll go when I have the time.”

There was an awkward silence growing as you looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to make this situation uncomfortable or to keep bothering him. Everyone that was waiting for the elevator along with you had already disappeared, including the annoying neighbor. You had completely disassociated with the fact that you were evidently trying to go home, ignoring everything just to give him your attention.

Would that make me look like a fool in front of him?

“Well, I– I should probably leave now. Guess we’ll talk another time.”

“Have a nice evening, Y/n.” He stuffed everything he had picked up at the mailbox into his duffle bag.

“Yeah, good luck at work.” You offered a tiny smile and pressed the button again, summoning the elevator.

“Thanks.” He chuckled and simply left.

In a few minutes you were stepping inside your apartment. Which just happened to be right next to his. That’s how you had met when you had just moved in. Both of you quickly became acquainted with each other over the months, although it’d be too extreme to call yourselves friends. You were just… neighbors on friendly terms.

“Ugh, I totally made myself look ridiculous again, didn’t I?” You spoke aloud to yourself as you took off your shoes.

This crush was something you had been harboring for quite a few months. At first, you just noticed he was an attractive man. No one could deny that. But as you continued getting to know little bits and pieces of him, and noticed how respectful and kind he was to you, compared to others, your heart couldn’t help but fall for him.

You went inside your room and opened the window. Looking down at the streets, you noticed how he was walking away from the kiosk with his smoothie in hand and couldn’t help but continue admiring him from afar. He took a small sip from it and continued his steps. Your eyes never left him, convinced that he would not notice you staring his way.

Miguel looked up and glanced at the building where you both lived. His eyes immediately noticed the opened window on the 5th floor, with a certain person leaning her elbows on it. He smiled at you and waved. Your cheeks and ears immediately heated up. He had noticed you.

You waved back reluctantly, then slowly stepped away from the window, closing it a few seconds later. As you sat down on your bed, you fanned your face and ears. Things just couldn’t get more humiliating than this.

You decided to take a cold shower, hoping it would relax your mood. Once the cool water hit your skin, you were able to take a deep breath and release all the tension. At some point you’d need to confess your feelings, right? The worst thing that could happen would be getting rejected. Or maybe he’d be nice enough to accept going on a date, just to try things out, and then end up confessing you’re not exactly compatible.

I could just keep this to myself forever, though.

The evening went on as it usually would. Dinner was made while playing that romantic playlist you had created when thinking of him. Then you watched some tv, not paying too much attention to it, as you wrote the —probably— thousandth love letter you had made for him. That was the only way you knew how to pour out your feedings. At least without stuttering like a fool. But you could never give these to him.

Acting like a schoolgirl in love was definitely not the best way to go about this, you knew it. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from wasting the ink of your pen on a piece of paper that’d remain stored away, along with others like it. A red sharpie adorned the corners of the letter with pretty hearts. Each one was a symbol of your infatuation.

The sky was dark outside, letting you know it was probably time to go to bed. After all, tomorrow you had to wake up early, just to repeat the same, boring routine. You went to the kitchen to grab some water, like you usually would before sleeping. The faint sound of a blender could be heard through the wall. He was already home.

You smiled, knowing that only a wall separated both of you. A wall that felt infinite. With a final sigh, you heard the blender stop, and made your way to your room. The satin bedsheets welcomed you, bringing comfort after a long day of work. The thought of your earlier interactions with him clouded your mind as you waited for sleep to take over.

The next morning, as you were making your way out of your apartment complex, some random old man you had never seen before began trying to talk to you. There weren’t a lot of people around, unlike most mornings. For a moment, you considered going back inside, but you simply couldn’t afford being late for work. The old man spoke in Spanish so you could just act like you didn’t understand that he was talking to you.

“Chica, ven a verme.” [Girl, come to see me.]

You walked away without breaking pace. The old man kept calling behind you, his voice getting closer, until suddenly, his hand was clutching your wrist to turn you around. Your gasp was audible. No one had gone as far as grabbing you without permission before.

You were ready to defend yourself and slap the man away, when you felt the presence of another person, yanking the stranger away from you. When you turned your head around, you saw Miguel. His tall figure was blocking you from the old man’s view.

“No le caen los viejos rabos verdes.” [She doesn’t like dirty old men.]

“Perdón, no sabía que tenía novio.” [Sorry, didn’t know she had a boyfriend.]

You were breathing heavily, trying to process everything that had just happened. The old man walked away. Miguel didn’t move for a few minutes, staring at him menacingly. Once your knight in shining armor had made sure the coast was clear, he turned to you with a soft expression on his face.

“Are you alright? That fucker didn’t hurt you, did he?” He was concerned and his arms wanted to hug you, but he didn’t want to step outside the line, like that other man had done.

“N-no, no, I’m okay… I think.” Your body was shivering just a bit, partially because of the chilly morning air.

“I’m glad to hear that. If anyone ever bothers you again, tell me.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Thank you, for helping me… but, how come you’re outside this early?” You were confused. He had told you about how he only worked from afternoon until nighttime at a gym, and barely ever woke up early.

“I was on my way to the airport.”

“Oh– you’re going to travel… well, I wouldn’t want you to lose your flight because of me. Anyways, I have to get to work–“ You began walking away.

“Wait wait, I’ll go with you. And I’m not traveling.” His words made you slow down your steps.

“I don’t want to be a burden…” You said, reluctantly.

“You’re not, I promise. But it’s completely fine if you don’t want me to accompany you, so don’t feel like you have to agree.” He assured you with a warm smile.

“No, I would really like that– I mean… sure, you can.”

He gave you one of the chuckles you loved so much and you resumed your walk to work. He followed after you silently. It was quiet as you both made your way through the streets, save for the sound of some cars and the other people that walked by. It was a comforting silence. It made you feel safe.

Once you had reached your destination, you turned around to thank him again. You both said your goodbyes as you watched him leave. There was barely any time to process anything. Much less as you both walked together. He always made you so nervous.

Work was slow and tiring. Your mind drifted to the thought of Miguel, as it often did. But today, he seemed to be persistent on staying running through your head for longer. It definitely made you get distracted way too many times during working hours.

Finally, after each agonizing second, it was time to clock out for the day. Once you were a block away from home, you remembered to buy groceries. By the time you had finished, the night had covered the sky with its starry mantle.

As you neared the building of your apartment complex, your eyes drifted to the kiosk across the street. There they found Miguel, and a smile crept up on your face. He was speaking with the other customers, a lively conversation likely taking place by the looks of it. His gym clothes were on, meaning he was back from work.

You considered going there with the pretext of trying the smoothies he had recommended, but desisted upon the idea for the moment. First, you needed to get rid of the grocery bags. Perhaps, by the time you had left them at home, he’d still be there chatting and you’d have time to come down and casually join the fun.

If only the elevator was faster, of course. It seemed to move even slower when you needed it to do its job the most. Miguel and the smoothies would have to happen another time. Or not… for you felt a familiar presence entering the building and joining the long wait for the elevator.

“Hey again.” Miguel’s voice rang across the hall.

“Oh– hi, Miguel.” You totally pretended you hadn’t recognized him by the smell of the Axe body spray he’d use after gym.

“Need help with that?” He pointed at the bags.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. But thanks, you’re always a gentleman.” Soon enough, you realized you’d given him a compliment and cringed internally for some reason.

“Heh, glad to know that.” His voice all smug.

The elevator arrived and you both made your way inside. It creaked loudly as it made its way up to the 5th floor. Miguel shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Remind me to tell the landlord to get this old thing fixed.”

“It’s no use, anyways. You know he’ll just ignore the request.” You sighed and leaned your back against the elevator wall.

“I should still try, at least before it brea–“ The lightbulbs blinked and the elevator stopped.

The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, realizing what was happening. You were now stuck inside an elevator, and with the man of your dreams no less. But even the fact of being here with him didn’t stop you from slowly panicking.

“Shit… Miguel, what are we going to do?” You asked, exasperatedly.

“Press the button for emergencies, it should alert the nearest fire department. Just don’t panic.”

“How can I not panic? We could run out of air and die here…” You pressed the emergency button repeatedly and checked your phone to find signal, but to no avail.

“Don’t do that, the button could break. And we’re not gonna run out of air. This has air currents here, I think.” He spoke while typing on his phone.

“You seem oddly relaxed…”

“I’m also worried, but I’m trying to text the group chat of the people I train. One of the dudes is an engineer and there’s also a doctor, so they’ll probably know what to do.”

“Shouldn’t you call 911 or something, instead? I have absolutely no signal–“

“Hold on, I’m getting some answers… Miles said ‘don’t run out of air’…” He squinted his eyes as he began reading the replies.

“Ha, I told you we could run out of air!” You began panicking more now, thinking his doctor friend had answered.

“Hobie said ‘lay flat on the floor if it starts falling’…” Miguel continued reading the texts out loud in a confused tone.

“WHAT? Don’t tell me your engineer friend said that.” You were now seated down on the floor.

“No, he’s a musician. Only the younger people are answering right now, but these sound ridiculous.” He almost laughed as he kept reading. Leave it to the teens to joke about a situation like this one.

You leaned your head back in frustration. Miguel ended up sitting down as well and carried on typing. He looked awfully chill in this situation. Your only hope now was that the fire department had been notified through the emergency button. As time passed, you convinced yourself that if you were going to die, at least it’d be with the man you liked.

“Well… thankfully we’ve got some food and water, in case we have to spend the night here.” You pointed to the grocery bags, which were now also laying on the floor as well.

“And good company.” He smiled without looking up from his phone.

You felt your face heat up again, and your heart jumped up and down. His words always managed to fluster you in the worst moments. Now that you were stuck together for so long, it was becoming harder to hide your crush. You thought that this was probably a signal the universe was sending you, to convince you to finally confess before you died and it was too late.

“Umm, Miguel…”

“Yeah?” He looked up, glancing at you now.

“So there’s this thing I’ve been meaning to say– or ask, I guess.” You breathed in before continuing.

“I hear you.”

It was now or never.

“Okay, so–“

The elevator shook slightly and began moving up again. The lights flickered repeatedly, then the doors opened after it had reached your floor. You were not dying there together, after all.

“Oh, I guess grandpa decided to take a nap in the middle of his shift.” Miguel joked as he stood up.

He reached out his hand and helped you stand up. He then took some of the bags and carried them for you until you’d reached your door.

“I’m so glad it started working again.” You commented as you fumbled with the keys.

“Yeah, but anyways, what was it that you wanted to ask me? You never got to finish your sentence.”

You stood there frozen for a second, trying to come up with something to say. Your life was no longer at risk, so you didn’t feel the need of confessing before death any longer.

“Oh, it was nothing important.” You stalled, still thinking about what to say.

“Are you sure? You can tell me anything.”

“I just– I wanted to know if I could start training at the gym you go to.” You said as you opened the door of your apparent.

“That’s it?” He sounded like he didn’t really believe that’s what you meant to say.

“Yep. I’ve just never been to a place like that in my life so I gotta ask the expert, of course.” You smiled innocently, as if to convince not only him, but yourself, that what you had said was the truth.

“Sure, you’re welcome to do so. It’s not exactly a secret society, so you could have joined any gym without asking me.” He spoke sarcastically but your mind focused too much on the last portion of his sentence.

He probably doesn’t want me to join the same gym as him.

“Right… well, it was a long day and you must be tired. See you around, Miguel.”

You took your bags inside and closed the door quickly, leaving him slightly dumbfounded. Leaning against it after locking, you took a deep breath. Your mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle, and overthinking wasn’t helping at all. A shower was all you needed to get rid of all the stress caused by today’s incidents.

Once you had finished freshening up, you grabbed a quick snack before heading to bed. Rest was due. You didn’t feel like thinking about him and confusing your head even more. Now in the comfort of your bed, you allowed sleep to take over.

Thankfully, there was no need to worry about waking up early the next day. The sweet weekend had arrived, meaning you could rest and stay inside all day. The perfect way to avoid Miguel.

However, your dreams had different plans. As if to spite you, your subconscious mind displayed images of how it would be like if you and Miguel were a couple. The dream began by showing how you knocked on his door and confessed to him, he looked happy as he confessed his feelings as well. Then everything shifted, you were both having dinner at a nearby restaurant and he leaned over to kiss you. One last shift of images happened before you woke up. This time, the images presented you both kissing inside the elevator, slowly taking each other’s clothes off. His mouth had moved to your neck, leaving marks as he made his way down your body. It all felt soft and intense… and so real.

The loud honk of a car resonated through the walls, making your eyes open. The memories of your dream flashing rapidly inside your head, making you cover up your face in shame. But you wouldn’t deny how much you were enjoying it, so you screamed into your pillow in frustration.

“Fucking car had to wake me up exactly when it was getting good!” You whined and threw the pillow.

What if this was another sign?

Sitting up on the bed, you reached out for your phone and called your best friend. Sometimes when a girl doesn’t know what to do, she needs professional assistance from someone who knows her better than she knows herself.

“Oh em gee, look who’s calling!” You heard your friend on the other side of the call.

“Hey, bestie… so, I really need help with something– more like, someone.” You admitted nervously.

“And here I thought you wanted to, you know, say hi to me and know how I’m doing, maybe ask me out for brunch but nooo… I’m kidding, of course. How may I be of service?” She joked, making you laugh.

“Well, it’s about my neighbor.” You whispered the word ‘neighbor’, as if it was possible for Miguel to hear you talk about him through the wall.

“Wait, is this the neighbor you spoke to me about like two months ago?”

“Yeah, it’s about him. I’m in dire need of some advice.” You hated how she knew you so well.

“Girl, seriously… I thought by now you had already fucked him.” Her words made you gasp and burst out laughing.

“You did not just say that.” You continued giggling, unable to control yourself.

“Well, did you do it? Or did he break your heart and you need your best friend to cheer you up?” Maybe she didn’t know you that well.

“No, I just have this huge crush on him–“ You began explaining.

“Still?” Your friend cut you off with her comment.

“Yes, still. And I don’t know, but lately a lot of strange things have been occurring. I keep thinking they’re signs saying that I should tell him how I feel, but he keeps giving me mixed signals sometimes. I never know what’s going on inside his head.”

You continued rambling about everything that had happened in the past two days. Your friend listened carefully, her own mind trying to come up with the best answer to your problem. Surely, you couldn’t continue living life like this. Once you had finished the rant, she stayed silent for a few more seconds before finally speaking.

“In my opinion, you should knock on his damn door and confess. What’s he going to do? Bite you? You’d probably like it, anyways.” At least she spoke the truth.

“You make it sound so easy.” You shook your head and sighed.

“Because it is. You knock on his door, confess, I’m sure he likes you so he’ll say yes, then he’ll invite you in and you can fuck. Simple.” She sounded proud of her answer.

“It’s not certain that he likes me, maybe he’s just really nice.” You protested, still denying that possibility.

“Gosh, just get it over with! If he rejects you, just come over to my house for the weekend and I’ll help you deal with the pain. But now I need you to get your ass up and stop being a coward. Or else, I’ll show myself up when you least expect it to tell him everything.”

“You wouldn’t do that…”

“Try me.” You heard her chuckle.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You sighed in defeat.

“Today.” She almost threatened.

“Mhm, today, whatever.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be expecting an update of how it went. But if by midnight I don’t receive anything, I’ll know for sure it wasn’t a rejection. Good luck, love ya!” She blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.

This girl…

You armed yourself with the courage your best friend had provided you with. She was right, you needed to get this over with. The next two hours you spent getting ready, making sure you looked and smelled nice. Even going as far as shaving, because you never know.

Once you thought you’d done enough, you checked yourself in the mirror one last time and inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. As you made your way out, your heart was racing like never before. With wobbly legs and fiddled thumbs, you found yourself at his door. Another breath was taken before finally knocking on it.

Each second felt endless, even the door seemed to be opening in slow motion. Goosebumps suddenly appeared on your skin as you timidly looked up. But right there, standing in front of you, wasn’t the guy from apartment 512. Instead, a beautiful blonde woman had answered.

You felt your heart chatter. A million things going through your head as you stared at this woman you had never seen before. She looked a bit confused, waiting for you to speak first. At the moment, you simply couldn’t find any words.

Of course, he has a girlfriend. How could I be so stupid?

You were about to turn around and walk away while apologizing for the interruption. She obviously didn’t recognize you, so you’d just pretend you didn’t live next door and act like you were looking for someone else’s apartment. Then you’d pick up the pieces of your heart and spend the weekend with your best friend. As you took your first step back, the blonde spoke up.

“Were you looking for my brother?”

You froze and blinked twice. The breath you didn’t realize you were holding was released. Now you felt even more confused than her.

“Your brother? Miguel never mentioned he had a sister.” You scratched the back of your head.

“Are you the neighbor he was stuck with inside the elevator last night?” Miguel’s sister chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“My brother went to the kiosk to get us breakfast, even though we should already be having lunch. You can come in and wait for him if you’d like.” She opened the door wider to invite you in.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come by another time.”

“Alright, then I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he comes back.” She gave you a warm smile as she began closing the door.

“Sure, no problem.” You smiled back.

Once the door was finally shut, you remained standing in the hallway. There were now two options: either run back inside the house like a coward, or meet him at the kiosk. You chose the latter.

The elevator was as sluggish as ever, yet this time you didn’t care. You made your way out of the building, feeling like you were in a movie scene as the air hit your face while you walked to the kiosk. You noticed him immediately, leaning against the counter as he waited to receive his order. And in this moment, this was all that mattered. Him, only him.

The guy from apartment 512.

He looked up and your eyes met. There was no turning back now as you approached. He smiled brightly and you returned the smile with a hint of shyness.

“So, you came to try the smoothies I told you about.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Actually, I came to talk to you about something– and I promise it’s not about the gym.” You heard him chuckle.

“Okay, how about we enjoy some smoothies first and then we talk?” You were about to agree to his suggestions and then you remembered…

“But what about your sister?”

“Oh, don’t worry– wait, how do you know about my sister?” He was confused.

“Umm, I knocked at your door earlier.” You nervously admitted.

“Hmm, I see. As I was saying, don’t worry. She won’t die without her overly complicated, banana, pineapple, kiwi, and almond milk smoothie. Or her empanadas, which I seriously recommend, too.” Miguel rolled his eyes playfully as he listed out all the ingredients from his sister’s smoothie.

“If you say so… then I’ll have an uncomplicated guava smoothie with empanadas.” You spoke cheerfully.

“Good choice.” He stepped slightly closer.

“I think today I’m finally making the correct choices, for once.”

Life in Nueva York was like this, same people, same routine. Skyscrapers reaching for the sky, a bustling city scene. Yellow taxis honking loud, streets alive with motion. From dawn till dusk, a vibrant place, a perpetual emotion.

And now you had someone to share it all with. The smoothies from the kiosk across the street. The ancient elevator that would sometimes fall asleep. The unwanted stares and comments. This life and its precious moments.

❀if you made it this far, thank you for reading~ it's been ages since i wrote anything, so i hope i'm not too rusty. let me know if you'd like a part 2❀

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thebearchives · 2 years

Text

slow days in monaco | PG10

PAIRING: pierre gasly x single mom!reader

REQUESTED: [] yes [X] no

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

SYNOPSIS: a slow day in monaco is like a bad omen, or so you were told. what happens when formula 1 drivers pierre gasly and charles leclerc enter the café you work at and spark up a conversation with your son?

WARNINGS: fluff, son has a name (thomas), reader can speak both french and english (translations are included), probably more interactions between pierre and the kid (sorry, not sorry. I'm a sucker for guys interacting with kids)

A/N: hello, hello!! first post alert!!! i hope you guys enjoy what i came up with during my dad!pierre brainrot. please don’t be a ghost reader! i love getting feedback, even if it’s just a small comment :)

( originally, this was supposed to be a series, and i’m more than willing to write more parts to this, but i’m not entirely sure if that’s what people want. that being said, send me a message if you'd like another part and I'll see what i can do! )

although there never truly was such thing as a slow and quiet day in a coffee shop in monte carlo, the mornings were just a little bit more mellow after the start of the formula 1 summer break. or at least they were to you.

this was your first year working at le pain d'amour, a bakery and coffee shop popular with tourists and natives alike, so you didn’t have much to go off of. you had started working there a couple of months prior to the monaco grand prix, and even three months later, you were still recovering from the weeklong madness.

long gone were the mornings where you made coffee for f1 enthusiasts and team members alike. now, your mornings were spent serving tourists looking for a good instagram-worthy latte, and suit-clad men complaining about their early mornings and lack of vacation days.

unlike other days, today felt like your longest morning shift yet; halfway into your five-hour shift, with only about five customers sitting inside the cafe. ‘a slow day in monaco is like a bad omen,’ your coworker had said. to you, it just felt like torture.

another hour passed, the five customers long gone, now replaced with three individuals who sat scattered around the shop, all busy with their own devices. the bells above the front door chimed announcing the entrance of two men. with the way the two men loudly chattered in french, you doubted the need for the bells in the first place.

you moved from your spot leaning against the counter to the front cash register. your coworker, michelle, had stepped out not too long ago for her break, leaving the cafe in your very capable hands.

“bonjour! welcome to le pain d'amour, i can take your order whenever you guys are ready!” you channelled your best customer service voice and looked up. the smile you slapped onto your face faltered slightly when you realized the faces of the two men standing across from you.

there in front of you stood f1 drivers, charles leclerc and pierre gasly.

you snapped back into reality when charles opened his mouth, “bonjour! can i just get an iced coffee and a croissant sandwich?”

you nodded as you entered his order into the system, “and for you?”

your question was directed to pierre, who had been gazing at the (h/c)-haired boy sitting on one of the stools near the counter. his head snapped back to you, a smile following as he looked over your head at the menu. a quick apology left his lips as he requested some more time, before opting to get the same as his friend but with a cookie as well.

as you turned to make their orders, telling the men to take a seat wherever and that you would call them up whenever their order was ready, you missed pierre gesturing towards the young boy, pulling charles up to sit on the stools near the kid. the alpha tauri driver couldn’t help but miss his nephew as he watched the young boy colour his page with great focus.

the quiet clicks of keys, and the music playing over the speakers was now overshadowed by the aggressive sounds of a crayon scraping against paper and the sound of the two drivers chattering in french. although loud enough for others to hear them, the speed at which the two men spoke made it hard to understand what they were saying.

“maman, regardez ça.” mom, look at this.

you drew your eyes from the espresso machine to the five-year-old, thomas, and the paper held up in his hand. you absorbed the shapes and lines on the paper before looking at the boy who was smiling widely.

“devinez ce que c'est!” guess what it is!

his energy was palpable, no thanks to the three hours he had spent sleeping on the couch in the backroom while you worked outside. you looked back at the machine, noticing the coffee just barely starting to stream.

you decided to entertain the boy, “hmm,” you furrowed your eyebrows in fake confusion, “est-ce un chien?” is it a dog?

“what?!” he gaped at you, “not even close! réessayer.” try again.

you giggled at the young boy’s exasperated face, “désolé, mon petit. je dois retourner au travail.” sorry, my child. i have to get back to work.

if it wasn’t for sanitary reasons, you would have reached over and ruffled his hair to get him to smile. instead, you resorted to calling out to him again, “stop pouting, amour.”

thomas grumbled, a mess of both french and english, albeit both sloppy, escaping his small lips.

a voice broke his muttering, “puis-je deviner?” can i guess?

both you and the boy looked over to where pierre sat, a small smile gracing his lips. you looked back at the young boy, eyes wide open and jaw slacked.

you huffed a small laugh, “tommy, ferme ta bouche.” close your mouth.

thomas sat up straight, “you’re in f1!”

he turned to look at you, “maman!! driver! un pilote de course!” a racing driver!

it was endearing, listening to him exclaim in both french and english. you, yourself, had been raised in a bilingual household, with your father being a native english speaker, who met your monégasque mother on his summer vacation. you grew up in a household where both english and french were spoken in tandem, and now, with your own son, you couldn’t help but raise him the same way.

you turned back to finish making the drinks that said driver had ordered, “oui, and he asked you something. sois poli et réponds-lui.” yes…be nice and answer him.

tommy’s eyes grew wide again and he turned back to the driver next to him, “pouvez-vous répéter votre question?” can you repeat your question?

pierre pointed to the drawing, repeating his question in english this time, “can i guess what you drew?”

thomas looked down at his drawing. an attempt at copying the foam art you had done on his long-empty cup of hot chocolate.

he looked back at you for guidance, gesturing you to come closer to him with his hand. you placed the sandwiches and coffees in front of the drivers, smiling apologetically to pierre for your son’s blatant avoidance of his question.

“i’ll get you your cookie in just a minute,” you stated, to which he responded, “pas d'inquiétude.” no worries.

as you neared the cookie display, and thomas, he reached up and whispered into your ear, “what if he thinks my drawing is really bad?”

you looked down at the boy, a small smile gracing your lips, “i’m sure he’ll think you’re very talented, and if he doesn’t…” you trailed off as you placed the cookie onto a plate.

after placing the cookie in front of pierre, you leaned down to whisper in your son’s ear, “i’ll fight him.”

thomas giggled, moving away from you to push his drawing in front of the driver, “maman said if you think i’m a bad drawer, she will fight you.”

charles’ chortle was loud, turning into a series of coughs as he choked on his coffee. you gasped quietly, quickly turning away from the three to avoid pierre’s amused gaze and get charles a tissue, to which he nodded with a red face, eyes watering. you began cleaning your station, ears not having to strain to hear the conversation going on behind you.

as charles’ coughs died down, pierre sighed, “well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

after a small sip of his own coffee, he continues, “is this a cup?”

you couldn’t see it but pierre was pointing to a spot on the drawing.

thomas nodded excitedly, “mhm! c'est une tasse comme celle-là.”

the five-year-old pointed to the large array of coffee cups and mugs just to the left of where you stood.

pierre nodded, “is this design on top one of those foam…” he trailed off forgetting the words.

charles piped up from his spot, “latte form art?”

again, thomas nodded fast, “yes! but maman says i can’t have coffee so she makes me it on hot chocolate!”

both charles and pierre nodded at his words, “your mother is very smart, then.”

you turned around just in time to catch thomas nodding super fast, cheeks turning red at the compliment.

pierre took a bite out of his sandwich and charles decided to reach out and make conversation with the kid, “what’s your name, buddy?”

“thomas! with an h,” he started, going on a ramble about his classmate who also shared the same name, but without the h.

your attention got pulled from the conversation as you heard the bell chime again. this time, however, it was your coworker coming back from her break, keeping the door open for the person who was leaving the shop.

michelle smiled at you with a wave, tapping on her wrist as if to indicate the time. you looked at your own wrist, eyes widening to realize your shift was due to end in about 10 minutes. as slow as your shift had started, in the presence of the two drivers, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how fast time had passed.

there wasn’t much for you to do, waiting for the time to pass. as thomas continued chatting up the two f1 drivers, you made rounds around the tables placed in the shop, cleaning up any messes left behind.

with thomas and pierre’s loud voices filling up the air, it wasn’t long before michelle pulled you by your arm, eyes widened at the sight of the two very famous men sitting next to your son. her inquisitive look made you laugh quietly, explaining that they had come in not too long ago and had already ordered, and finished most of their food by the looks of it.

the ten minutes went by quickly, and you found yourself apologetically disrupting the very important conversation between thomas, charles, and pierre about whether or not a velociraptor could outrun charles in his ferrari. (charles: “velociraptors cannot run as fast as a racecar.” pierre, smacking his hand on the table: “you can’t believe everything you read on the internet!” thomas: “yeah! raptors are fast!”)

you smoothed out thomas’ hair, “hey, mon petit chou. i’m gonna go get our stuff from the back so we can get ready to go, okay? why don’t you start wrapping up the conversation?”

you left before charles could ask for your opinion on the matter, not wanting to face the wrath of either side if you defended the other.

by the time you made it back out, thomas was sitting on his stool, hunched over a piece of paper, a red pencil crayon held tightly in his hand as he drew something. the plate with pierre’s cookie now sat next to the boy, small teeth marks indicating that instead of the man who had ordered the cookie, the young boy was the one eating it.

pierre, noticing your return, smiled sheepishly as if embarrassed. whether it was for not ensuring your son had packed up before you came back, or for the fact that he got caught giving your son a cookie, you weren’t sure.

“sorry, he said he wanted to draw something for us,” pierre started, his eyes catching the movement of thomas taking another bite of the cookie before darting back to your amused face, “and sorry for the cookie, i always intended on giving it to him, but i realize now i should have probably asked before if he could have one.”

you smiled at him, “don’t worry about it, either of the things. the cookies are by far his favourite item on the menu and he’s not had one yet, so no harm done.”

charles leaned over from his spot, pushing against pierre, “so, do you think i could beat a velocirapt-”

pierre’s groan cut him off, “fermez-la déjà.” shut up already.

charles poked pierre with his elbow, “no, you,” before he turned back to you, “google says raptors only travel about 40 km/h…”

you laughed, “i’m afraid i cannot give my answer without risking my life,” you gestured your head towards the boy still colouring, now with a blue pencil in his hand instead.

“i think that gave your answer perfectly.” though his words were directed to you, charles couldn’t help but stare at pierre, a cocky smirk planted on his lips.

before pierre could retort, thomas sat up eagerly, “j'ai fini!” i'm done!

he pushed the piece of paper into the middle of the counter, right in front of pierre. looking over thomas’ head, you couldn’t help but smile at the picture he drew.

two racecars, one red and one speckled with blue, the numbers 16 and 10 drawn on either car respectively. in between the two racecars stood four people. three squares bodies and one triangle, three boys and one girl. as thomas pointed at each aspect of his drawing including the people, not that any of them needed any supporting description, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that the triangle stick figure was connected at the hand to the smallest square figure. you and thomas, holding hands.

after pierre and charles thanked thomas profusely, you helped him hop off the stool. you turned to look at the two drivers one last time, “thank you for keeping him entertained today, you really didn’t have to.”

“nonsense, he’s a good kid.” charles smiled, pierre nodding at his words, “hopefully, we’ll see you both again.”

you smiled, “well, i’m here nearly every morning, so y’know.”

you helped thomas put his backpack on, “have a good summer break, both of you. hope the rest of the season treats you two well!”

the racecar drivers smiled, waving bye to both of you as you walked towards the door. before stepping foot outside, however, thomas turned around.

“maman’s number is written on the back! bye!”

A/N: second part is now posted!! read lonely nights in monaco here!!

#pierre gasly x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly 10 #pierre gasly x you #pg10 #pierre gasly fluff #charles leclerc #alpha tauri #fluff #ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ writes #f1 imagines #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula one #sdim #1k

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