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gutsby · 5 months

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Playing Dangerous

Pairing: Detective Dixon x Reader

Summary: Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Warnings: NSFW. Thigh riding. Brat taming. Daddy kink. Dubcon elements vis-à-vis power imbalance and forceful facefucking, plus some dark-ish dirty talk, face slapping, overstimulation where Daryl keeps making you cum after you say that you’re finished (all meant to be consensual).

Notes: Big big thank you to @dilfsandmartinis for this filthy lil idea!! 🫣🩷 Requests are always welcome :-)

Shitty was an understatement.

This was a full-blown, top-notch terror of an evening, rivaled only in its sheer lethality by the time you once broke your nose and got arrested twice in the same day.

Tonight was likely to be a close second, though.

You’d spent all of ten minutes in the center of that hot and sweaty club, fighting madly not to drop your drinks or lose your purse, when suddenly, simultaneously, it seemed every guy around you had lost the power of self-control. You were prodded and groped like a shiny slab of meat ripe for any man’s hands—and no matter how hard you elbowed each offender, you couldn’t find reprieve. You were constantly being grabbed.

You’d grumbled as much to your friends, and they’d told you to ‘lighten up’ and ‘not be so surprised when you were wearing something like that.’

Something like what? A super mini skirt and a bustier?

You promptly informed each member of your party they could kiss your ass, and left.

That had been almost half an hour ago, and you were still currently stuck outside the club waiting for a lift. In the snow. With no jacket, or adequate covering.

Every time a taxi passed, you’d wobble over to the street corner and wave your hand, but on each endeavor, without fail, its driver would shoot you a dirty look and speed right off. Like you had, ‘I’M GONNA ROB YOU’ written on your forehead or else smelled of rotting flesh.

You were mystified, distraught, and supremely pissed off. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong.

The second you saw a semi-reputable looking Dodge Charger pull up to the curb, you decided you’d had enough. Uber or not, you needed a fucking ride.

You stalked over to the vehicle, already seeing its passenger side window creeping down on your approach. Your arms were quick to fold over your chest as you bent down and scowled,

“Could you please take me home?”

The man you saw inside looked polished. Well-groomed.

You hardly had more than a second or two to inspect his appearance, though, because in an instant, he was leaning over the center console to shoot you a smile.

“How much, hon?”

You heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was taking you seriously.

You reached for the door handle and tumbled right in.

“Any price, just name it,” you groaned. You rubbed your face with both hands and leaned back in the seat. Almost unable to believe your stroke of good fortune after so many failed attempts, you let out a shaky, but grateful, breath and spread your legs just a little to get comfy.

“Good,” the man to your left said, calmly, evenly...then, “Now put your hands where I can see them.”

You lowered your hands from your face and gave the stranger a puzzled look.

“What?”

“Hands, show me hands,” he said, voice raising ever slightly in volume.

What the fuck was he on? Staring you down with that stupid, self-righteous face, lip curled in a melodramatic snarl like he could’ve been one of those lousy fuckin’—

“Police,” he barked. Louder, this time. Flashing a badge before your panic-stricken eyes and clenching his jaw.

Your hands flew up instinctively.

Was it illegal to hail a cab now?!

You didn’t have time to think, or blink, or do much else besides breathe when the well-dressed man got out of the car and instructed you to do the same. Your hands and feet seemed to move of their own accord as you gingerly slipped out from the front seat of the car to the cold wintry night outside. You were pushed to your knees on the concrete sidewalk and made to kneel.

To your right, you saw a gaggle of college kids strolling by—some pointing, others laughing, but all watching in muted awe as the undercover cop circled to your back.

“You have the right to remain silent—” he started, reaching for the handcuffs on his belt.

“Excuse me?!” you hissed.

“—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—” he continued. A couple gentle clinks and suddenly your wrists were in chains.

“What’d I do? What the fuck did I do?”

“You have a right to an attorney,” he droned on, heedless of your cries as he read your Miranda rights, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

You felt tears spring to your eyes as both cuffs locked into place and you were being hauled back onto your feet, sniveling and sobbing before throngs of amused onlookers. Your face burned with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know it was a crime, officer— I didn’t know, I swear— I-I-I’m so fucking drunk!” you blubbered as he guided you swiftly to the rear of his car. You practically bawled when he opened the back door.

“I just really needed a taxi!” you wailed, legs shaking as he started to lower you into the vehicle.

At that, he stopped.

He tugged you back on your feet and spun you around.

“A what?” he asked.

“A taxi,” you cried, “All the other drivers kept— kept driving away, I thought, I-I don’t know, I thought you might be another Uber driver or something.”

The man’s expression betrayed a change, though you couldn’t decipher just what that was through your tears. You sniffled and tried to wipe your cheek with your shoulder but ended up smearing more makeup in your line of sight. You whimpered at a pathetic pitch.

“Taxi,” the police officer repeated, seeming to mull over the word in his mind like it was the latest addition to the English language. He frowned.

Through your tear-streaked vision, you could just then detect the faintest trace of affliction…even remorse? His eyes wavered between your face, your ensemble, and the ground below, making a couple quick circuits before finally settling on your wet, bleary gaze.

His voice sounded strained to you now.

“You weren’t…trying to have sex with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You coughed, blinked, looked the man up and down and hardly knew to even shake your head with how blind-sided you felt.

“W-What? What?”

“You’re not…a prostitute?” the man said, almost pained.

That query threw you for a loop just the same. You pressed your weight on the car and sensed a strange unsteadinesses seize your limbs. This undercover cop thought you were a hooker—and a cheap one at that, game for any price the man was offering—and presently, you felt queasy. You looked down at your outfit.

It surely wasn’t that revealing, was it? He couldn’t have been so easily convinced of your profession by a...pair of glossy go-go boots, latex skirt, and lacy top, right?

Okay, you looked a little bit like a hooker.

Worse yet, you noticed a wad of cash stuffed between your left tit and armpit, from the time you tried to bribe the bouncer for a ride while leaving the bar. A loose cigarette stuck behind your ear, two hickeys suckled into the skin of your neck, and a teensy bag of blow to boot, tucked haphazardly between an assortment of Trojans and Magnums strewn lazily throughout your purse.

Alright, you could’ve been cast in the next Pretty Woman remake, but who cares? Half the girls in the club were dressed just as scantily, if not more so.

You somehow mustered the strength to squeeze your hands into frozen little fists behind your back and gave the officer a brazen look.

“Think I don’t have anyone better to fuck?” you scoffed.

The detective’s expression went from inscrutable to uncomfortable in fewer than two seconds. He seemed hardly able to look you in the eye any longer, casting sidelong stares at the crowd growing larger on the sidewalk. Collective curiosity piqued at the sight of a cop and a would-be streetwalker making small talk outside of the club, he knew he had to get out of this. Quick.

“I’ll, uh, take ya home, ma’am,” he said under his breath.

Before you could either accept or reject his offer, he had your cuffs undone—discreetly—and your body shuffled hastily inside his car. You heard the door slam shut and saw the officer make quick strides toward the driver’s side. You raised both brows as soon as he re-entered.

“That’s it?” you quipped.

“What?” he returned as he started the engine.

“You make that hot-shot unlawful arrest in front of all those people, and you’re not even gonna say sorry?”

The man made every effort not to shoot you a look in the rearview mirror. Slowly, he pulled into the street.

“Well...y’know, you do look the part. But I’m sorry.” Proffering one of the most pitiful apologies you’d heard in your life, the detective fixed his gaze on the road.

You knew he was bluffing. The man was humiliated as shit, too coy to come clean with the fact that he’d just made an egregious error, and now offering you a ride all to make himself out to be the good guy—and quite possibly avoid a wrongful arrest lawsuit.

Maybe it was the residual amounts of alcohol still coursing through your veins or else the cocaine, but you couldn’t let the dipshit get off that easy. You scrambled your way up to the front of the car.

It was at that moment Detective Dixon sincerely wished he’d driven the squad car—complete with a cage, of sorts, to keep inmates locked away in the back seat—rather than his unmarked vehicle, to be making arrests that night. He stifled a groan when you plopped down in the passenger seat next to him.

“What do you mean, ‘looked the part,’ hm?” you quizzed, burning a hole through the side of his head with how intently you were watching him.

“Put yer seatbelt on,” the man rolled his eyes, attention never straying from the long line of cars ahead of him, “And where do you live?”

“Over on ‘Fuck 12’ Avenue, Officer...Dixon?” you answered sarcastically, scanning his chest for a nametag.

“Detective,” he corrected, “Friends call me Daryl.”

“Detective Dixon, I am not your friend.” You smirked, and for the first time, you thought your discomfited front-seat companion might be tempted to crack one too. You watched him fight his base instincts, however, and force a frown instead. Still not tearing his gaze from the road, he reached over, blindly, for your seatbelt.

“C’mon now, buckle up,” he urged, echoing the words of a concerned father but somehow making it sound far more sexy when he said it. You swallowed a giggle and swatted his hand away.

“Detective!” you feigned an offended gasp.

“Ah, hush up, will ya?” Daryl muttered as his broad, veiny hand continued fumbling for the seatbelt, “You know it’s against the law to— shit!”

The two of you simultaneously leapt in your seats with near-identical sounds of...shock. You, feeling his fingers accidentally graze that tender spot between your legs and him, in turn, finding it unclothed. And soaked.

Detective Dixon retracted his hand just as fast as he’d sunk it in place, only holding it up in the air for an instant—but that was all either of you needed to see that his digits were glistening. You clamped your legs tight together and sucked in a breath.

Under any normal set of circumstances, you would’ve been much more in tune with the way your body was reacting to external stimuli. With all the commotion of your almost-arrest and the subsequent desire to exact revenge on the undercover detective, you hadn’t even realized how physically aroused you were.

Still reeling from his touch, you sank back in your seat. Suddenly more conscious of your bodily fluids than ever before, and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” Daryl blurted out in a hurry. Gripping the steering wheel and pretending not to notice the slight wet slip of his right hand.

You couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare to venture a look to see if you might.

Now this would make for one hell of a career-ending lawsuit, Detective Dixon thought with a grimace. Wrongful arrest, soliciting sex on the clock, making unwanted advances on a woman who was technically, in a sense, being detained in his car while he—

Jumped, again, the second he felt your hand on his own.

You were pulling his arm over to your side of the car.

When Daryl turned his head, he paled the instant he saw you bring his hand to your mouth. Watched you pucker your lips and move them over his still-damp fingertips. Then suck them inside your mouth, three at a time.

He nearly swerved off the road and took out six civilians.

“Eyes...on the road, detective,” you murmured quietly, words garbled by the obstruction of his fingers.

Daryl swallowed thickly, and then, reluctantly, turned his attention to the street. He didn’t see much of what was in front of him.

“13 Peachtree Place.” You plucked his fingers out of your mouth just long enough to tell him your address. Then you went right back to suckling down the skin, letting your tongue glide gently over the tender, slick digits.

Daryl stifled a groan. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Guided by the faintest idea of where your neighborhood was located, he pulled off onto a side road and tried hard not to let out a sound when you sucked his three fingers to the back of your mouth—and felt your throat seize just a little at the sudden intrusion.

You pulled him out of your mouth with a wet pop and started over his lap.

You, yourself, were hardly more aware of what you were doing than why you were doing it, a slave to your sensory impulses and a sucker for a man in brown slacks. You crawled across the lap of the plainclothes officer who’d accused you of ‘selling yourself’ just minutes ago, only to show him what you were happy to do, free of charge.

It wasn’t your most gloriously feminist moment, to be sure, but then again, when were you going to get another chance to fuck the police and get off scot-free like this?

You palmed Detective Dixon through his pants and smiled when he whined just a little.

“Bet you wish I was selling, huh? Wish I was some pretty little thing for you to use at your convenience?” you purred, stroking over him gently.

Daryl gritted his teeth but said nothing in return. He brought the car to a stop under a red light.

You didn’t like the quiet types. You squeezed him harder in your hand, felt his erection grow even larger between your fingers, and moved up to press a kiss on his neck, tasting tiny beads of sweat there.

“How badly did you wish I was a whore, detective?”

When you leaned in for another couple light kisses, you were startled to feel a hand at your own throat, jerking your face up to his.

“Already knew you were the second I saw you.” he returned, deadpan, before your wide and unsuspecting eyes.

When the light turned green, he released your neck and reached for the back of your head. You let out a muffled whimper as he shoved you down against his crotch, stiff as a rock underneath your cheek.

“Why? Does a whore wanna suck it?” he asked, pressing his foot on the gas.

At a moment’s notice, you were robbed of your slight dominant edge and made to grovel under his touch like a bitch in heat. Daryl rubbed your plush lips over the mound in his pants like he was proud to make you feel it. And you, yielding as ever, made no attempt to keep from being manhandled because, if you were honest with yourself, you knew that you wanted it that way. You smiled against the cotton blend of his trousers and made a soft moan along the fabric, letting him drag you by the hair any way that he pleased.

When he yanked your head up and the car came to another stop, you weren’t surprised in the least by the trail of saliva that followed your lips. You locked eyes with his steel blue set and grinned again, quite stupidly.

“Well?” Daryl pressed, giving your hair a sharp tug.

You thought the sight of your watering mouth and blissed-out expression would have sufficed for an answer, but clearly, he wanted more. You worked gracelessly over the belt buckle and zip beneath your chin, and had his cock freed in seconds.

The car sped up again. Detective Dixon’s grip tightened on your scalp.

The second your lips latched onto the head of his dick, you knew you’d be in for a bumpy ride. He hissed as soon as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him, gripped the wheel like a vice, and made sure to spare your throat no expense the second he came to a sloppy halt.

Either your car was in bumper-to-bumper traffic, or the man couldn’t drive for shit while getting road head. You’d put a large sum of cash on the latter if you had it.

Regardless, you bobbed your head up and down and tried your best to suppress the urge to gag when you could. It was tough work, flattening your tongue down his length, gripping his cock at the base, sucking hard until your cheeks hollowed out, and then bump went the whole fucking car, and suddenly your throat was forced to take four more inches in the span of a second.

You lifted your head to protest but were swiftly met with a firm hand holding it down. Keeping it down.

“You’re done sucking this cock when I say you’re done,” Daryl informed you sternly, sucking a breath through his teeth when you gagged around him once more.

He pulled you off just long enough to breathe—and answer a question.

“You live over by McGinty’s? Or MacManus’?”

“McVeigh’s,” you supplied in a shaky voice. No one ever got the Irish pubs around you right.

Daryl hummed and shoved you right back onto his dick, pretending to take no notice of the way you gripped his thigh or tried to groan, ‘Fucker’ against his shaft. Your oral cavity was presently flooded with cock, pre-cum, and saliva, and the longer you sucked, the harsher he got to pushing your head up and down. Your eyes stung with tears.

“In through yer nose, darlin’, almost there,” he hummed, smug as ever. Whether he meant you were close to your house or he was about to cum down your throat, you couldn’t be sure. Your mouth slipped and squelched gently over the man’s throbbing member and made tiny whimpers when you felt you might climax any minute.

In a clandestine act, you moved one hand down your body while you continued blowing Daryl’s brains out. You were half-cockdrunk and hardly more sentient than a sex doll, it seemed, but you could’ve sworn you were quite discreet about the endeavor between your legs. You had just grazed the slick wet seam of your slit, about to press two fingers to your clit, when a hand jerked at a clump of your hair. Hard.

As soon as your mouth was disconnected from his shaft, Daryl landed a tart slap on your cheek.

“My baby need something?” he said, almost tauntingly.

You blinked up at him, failing to understand, until he reached down and pried your hand away from your heat.

“If tha’ wet, greedy cunt needs sum’n, ya better tell me.”

You were amazed how deftly he appeared to maneuver the car now, just pinching your face between forefinger and thumb as he veered down winding streets. When you paused a second or two to answer, you were punished with another slap.

“Just wanted a touch,” you whined, trying to rub the cheek that was stinging and finding yourself outmatched by Daryl’s grip. He squeezed you even tighter.

“Then you say that next time. With your big girl words,” Detective Dixon grunted, bringing the car to a sudden halt and hauling you into his arms.

You looked small splayed across his lap. Perhaps even tinier just straddling one leg, as you were, body writhing beneath his touch and moans and whimpers bubbling up your throat one at a time.

When you looked around, you realized you were home.

Part of you wanted to bolt, for a second. Go sprinting up the lawn toward the safety of your home and jump straight under the covers, a place where you would be free to touch yourself as you pleased—no smug homicide detective breathing down your throat.

But, as you straddled his wide, beefy thigh and felt one gentle pulse of the muscle underneath, you knew you were done for. He saw just as clearly as you that your body was in need of release. Not from your fingers, not from his tongue, perhaps not even from the fat, throbbing cock that had been fucking your mouth the whole way home.

In this moment, all you needed was for him to bounce you on his thigh, let you ride, and make you cum.

Your expression must have looked exceptionally pathetic when you tried stirring your hips and felt two hands stop you cold in your tracks.

“What did daddy just say about big girl words, hm?” Daryl’s voice took on a tender lilt so unlike anything he’d said or done before that you almost didn’t hear the word ‘daddy,’ or think it strange at all. It seemed so natural playing off of his tongue.

“I need you, daddy,” you whimpered.

To say you were putty in his hands was still something short of the truth. You were damn near liquified underneath his touch, half-limp and wholly yearning as the man steadied you in place and began his delicate ministrations like you’d never experienced before.

The once callous, largely cruel law enforcement figure took on something of a gentle affect as he ran his hands up and down your body and let you ease yourself into his touch. There were kisses, caresses, and all sorts of soft little touches on your skin that made you feel pampered and prized, even precious in his eyes. Was this really the same man whose cock had been choking you to the point of tears just minutes ago?

Daryl hiked your skirt up your hips until the sight of your bare, needy cunt was all he could see. Still, he stayed cool and trained his eyes up to yours.

“How’s that feel, honey?”

Even as still as a stone, you felt sparks of hot energy fly up from your center. Remembering your big girl words, you replied, ‘So good, daddy, I just need some more.’

Daryl seemed happy to oblige his good little girl and made sure to shift his knee a little to the right. At the slightest bit of friction, you moaned.

“Oh, daddy,” you whined, leaning in to that praise-heavy dynamic Daryl seemed keen to play out. When he bounced his foot once or twice, shaking your whole body as he did, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and grabbed hold of his thigh. Even rolled your hips right back to his movements.

As light, tender sounds tumbled past your lips with increasing frequency, so too did Daryl’s mouth impart more gentle kisses and dirtier words for your ears to hear:

“Such a pretty little thing, ridin’ daddy’s thigh like tha’.”

“Grindin’ tha’ needy wet pussy all over my leg.”

“Gonna make a mess fer daddy? Show me how much my sweet girl’s been needin’ a good fuck?”

You loved every last filthy syllable. You braced hard against his leg and rutted up and down, in circles all around until you thought you could’ve soaked his whole pant leg. Meanwhile, he was bouncing his thigh, stroking your sides, and making sure you were never wanting for affection or praise as a soft swell of pleasure came dimly into view.

When he flattened one palm across your tummy and told you to lean back, you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

Daryl took hold of your hips and made an even quicker cadence with his leg, bouncing you fast and hard and hopelessly tight against his thigh as he drank in every one of your moans coming out.

You pressed one hand to the window—long since fogged up and opaque with the hot breaths you were panting—and placed the other on Daryl’s shoulder.

You could tell by the glint in his eye and the grin on his face that he loved you like this. Spread out and desperate for release as you rocked your hips a vicious course over him, using his body for leverage as you fucked his leg for all it was worth.

“Tha’s my girl,” Daryl beamed, practically scintillating with joy.

He watched you rut your hips again and again in the most obscene sort of fashion, riding his thigh with a moan never far from your lips. You squeezed his shoulder.

“Daddy, I—” you started, only to swallow your words with a whimper the second Daryl started bouncing his foot even faster.

“Daddy what?” he teased, pretending not to notice the elevated pitch to your whines.

“Fuck— you know what!” you cried.

“Nah, pretty baby, I ain’t got the slightest clue,” Detective Dixon was exuberant now, grinning from ear to ear as the pleasure visibly mounted inside of you, “Fuck my leg a little harder and tell me how it feels.”

You did. He helped. Even gripped your hips and moved them for you, keeping that breakneck pace as you moaned and writhed and sank your nails into his shoulder as the feelings just got to be too much.

With one last strangled cry, you came all over his thigh.

And, whether that climax lasted two seconds or two hours, the man beneath you didn’t really care—he kept bouncing his leg as you finished, and long after you had, as well.

You seized both of his shoulders this time as you tried to slow his movements. He made no such effort to oblige, only flashing a smile and nodding his big, dumb head as he said:

“I want one more.”

What? No fucking way, you thought, communicating as much through your frantic eyes and the shake of your head. Daryl kept right on moving his leg and holding you firm to that mile-wide wet spot on his thigh, which only grew larger and larger the longer you rode him.

As a bizarre, unfamiliar feeling sank to the pit of your stomach and twisted, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or cum all over again—luckily, your body decided for you and graced you with yet another orgasm. You gritted your teeth and tried not to scream as a wild wave of a new sensation washed over your senses…

And Daryl kept bouncing that fucking knee.

Mind-numbing waves of ecstasy came crashing closer and closer than ever before, and frankly, you couldn’t quite tell how, or when, you’d ever cum again until you did it, you felt it: walls clenching back and forth while your vision blurred with pleasure. A sound wavering somewhere between a scream and a plea—Daryl, keep that goddamn knee to yourself, for fuck’s sake!—tore out of your chest and prompted you to sink all ten nails into flesh that told your sly detective it was time to stop.

Your whole frame was shaking by the time his foot came to rest. If you hadn’t been so fucked-out and sensitive, you just might’ve jumped out of the car the second it did.

But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, let your vision return apace, and didn’t let your eyes stray an inch from Daryl’s smug face while your third orgasm subsided.

Fighting every urge to giggle when he squeezed your ass and begged for another.

“Fourth one’s gonna cost ya, asshole.”

“Oh yeah?” Daryl said, grinning, “What’s your price?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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hazashiovo · 2 months

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Hiiii! I just saw you’re taking requests could you do some bolin and/or mako relationships hcs with a badass/cool/badgirl kind of s/o please? Thx so much in any case!

I gotchuuu 😉

Bolin and Mako x reader (separate) with a badass s/o

A/n: keep the requests coming people

When Mako first met you he knew you were trouble. From the way you were talking to how you acted,he knew.

You're the kind of person that says ACAB,very loudly, near a police station just to piss him off,and don't deny it.

Becoming friends was unusual to him,only for him to realize you're a really good friend but have odd ways of showing it.

One time this dude went off on Bolin, yelling something about his cabbages,until you appeared in front of him.

He swears he never saw someone go quiet that fast before. That's the first time he felt something for you(or so he thinks).

Mako would be reluctant in confessing to you. He would be worried you don't like him back or laugh about it in his face.

But it was nothing like that, because he didn't confess. You did. During a fight with the equalizers.

It was sorta funny really,for a few minutes mako thought he got knocked out and he was dreaming.

"Hey mako?" A punch in one's face, "What is it (Name)?" He dodges an attack.

"I like you!" You wink at him,after knocking an enemy out.

Oh and the expression on his face 😭

Yeah after you got rid of Amon's followers,Mako looked at you like you asked him to marry you.

It wasn't a shock when you got together, everyone shiped you.

The two of you are an amazing duo,bad ass boyfriend and even more bad ass girlfriend.

When he joined the police department,you joined him.

Now Mako knows your beautiful,and strong,but he still hates the way his colleagues undress you with their eyes.

God forbid anyone to try to ask you out without knowing you and Mako date.

It would sometimes create arguments between you two, Mako would say some harsh things,things he didn't mean. Of course the next day you'd make up.

But if it was for a girl to flirt with Mako, you wouldn't get all defensive because you trust him.

Now, leaving that aside.

One thing Mako noticed is that you can take good care of yourself,so you never were in need of help in combat.

But if it ever happens ,his whole world would crash,like if you're a bender, imagine Amon taking away your abilities.

Even without your bending you would be confident and strong,which makes Mako admire you more than before.

On top of it,you're great together and most of the people would say so.

Now Bolin here? Oh Bolin, when he first saw you his pupils turned to hearts,and I'm not joking.

Like,you would be over there with your cool car or cool motorcycle,and Bolin would gawk at you from across the street. He almost fainted when you crossed the street to start a conversation with him.

Of course Bolin would be a flustered mess every time you flirted with him.

Frankly all you wanted was a soft boy to match with your tough personality. The people who don't know you would think you'd prefer a boy with the same personality as you,but no, Bolin is the perfect boy.

Some people think you're intimidating,but not Bolin.

He knows you're badass,but he could never see you as scary.

He likes when you stand up for yourself,and for him.

One time Bolin happened to trip over this guy's cabbage stand,and he just flipped! Started yelling at the poor boy and all.

Until you came,you gave that man the coldest glare which made him shut up so quick. He couldn't lie to himself that he found it really attractive, especially in you.

I like to think that he confessed his love to you while you were saving him from Amon with the Krew. Imagine him just jumping on you , bawling his eyes out and telling you he's in love with you after he almost lost his bending.

Of course you accepted and returned his feelings,wich got the two of you in a long term relationship that is still strong.

This one was cute 😽

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fandomnerd9602 · 2 months

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Scarlet Delivery

a Scarlet Webs story

Wanda Maximoff x Spider-Man!Reader

Wanda was hyperventilating. Her cell phone was buzzing just waiting for you to pick it up.

“Hello?” You manage to answer.

“Detka, where are you?!” She managed to say in between her hyperventilating breaths.

“Currently…rush hour” you said sticking to the front of a police car. The perp was Mac Gargan. “You shouldn’t worry, baby. I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” Wanda said, tears streaming down her cheek.

“I promise.” A gunshot went off. You narrowly dodged a bullet, “gotta go. Hey! Can’t you see I was taking a phone call!?”

And with that you had to hang up and jump back into the fray. You hated having to do patrol without Wanda. But circumstances had changed the flow and now you were solo again. Nothing changes when you’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s tears were still flowing as a portal opened behind her. And out of the portal comes this universe’s Doctor Stephen Strange.

“It’s time,” he says gesturing for your lovey witch to follow. She does so, all the while hoping that you’d keep your promise.

You land on the hood of Mac Gargan’s stolen vehicle. “License and registration, sir?”

Blam! Another shot goes off, you jump onto the roof of the car. A couple more shots ring out. You dodge each bullet flawlessly.

“Can we wrap this up?” You mockingly whine, “I have prior engagements!”

You web up Mac and yank him out the car, webbing him to a nearby streetlight. The car barrels towards a nearby crosswalk where a little old lady with a Walker is currently trying to cross.

“Of all the times!” You jump onto the hood and spray it with various webs before jumping onto the back and yanking the car back with all your might, bringing the car to a dead halt mere inches from the elderly lady.

You give a quick salute and swing off. You knew the location. You knew where Wanda was gonna be. It was all a piece of cake right?

Well then came the Vulture. He tries to slice at you once, twice. “Not now Toomes! I have some place to be.”

“Yes. The morgue!” He tries slicing at you again. You swing thru Times Square and web the winged foe in a giant spider web.

“Yo! Spidey!” A citizen calls out to you.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your lady? The Witch?”

“I’m trying to get to her now!” You call out before swinging off again into the city. Why did it have to be on the other end of New York?

You land on a rooftop. You quickly web a couple silk lines to your suit, forming a makeshift pair of wings.

“I’m coming Wanda,” you shoot out two web lines and slingshot yourself across the city. Catching a wind current, you sail thru the open air of the city.

You see your destination: the Sanctum Sanctorum. You dive bomb and land right in front of the building. Wong quickly answers the door.

“How far?” You ask.

“You made it just in time.” He smiles and leads the way. You nearly run the way to the little room.

You run in to find Wanda in a relaxed position, still hyperventilating. Nine months pregnant and she still looked beautiful as ever. Dr Strange was readying his medical scrubs.

“Detka!” Wanda exclaims, tears of joy streaming down her face. You run up to her, kissing her gently.

“I promised I’d be here, right?” You ask with a little smirk. Wanda giggles and kisses you again.

“Okay Wanda,” Strange intones, “it’s time. Now push.”

“Sure you got this, Doc?” You ask.

“It’s not surgery. I’m just catching the babies. I won’t drop them.”

“Drop them and I will kill you” Wanda say through gritted teeth.

“I believe you” Strange answers back. “Now focus and push.”

It ended up taking the rest of the day and into the night but Wanda delivered two healthy baby boys. You and her were so excited.

“My boys,” Wanda said with fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Billy. Tommy.”

“They’re amazing,” you kiss the top of Wanda’s head, “thank you baby.”

“Thank you. I love them so much already,” Wanda let out a little tired laugh. She actually had her boys in her arms. This wasn’t some conjured up version of them. This wasn’t some other universe’s version of them. This was them, flesh and blood. She had a loving spouse, two handsome little babies, a nice little home in Queens.

Wanda finally had the life she always wanted. And best yet, she got to have it with you, her Spider Monkey.

Tags: @tokufighter @ma1egamer @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @family-house-of-m @multi-fandom-enjoyer @iamnicodemus @rroyale-109 @scarletquake-n7 @moonpheus

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet webs #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff imagine #spider man #multiverse of madness

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trafltr · 1 year

Text

eren + his dodge charger + scaring his pretty princess

꒰ঌᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ໒꒱ black reader in mind, smut, fingering, mdni

eren drives a yummy black dodge charger and he’s sexy while doing it. he doesn’t even need to text when he’s here to pick you up; you can hear his engine from a mile away and the head splitting bass of rap music playing through his rolled down windows. he smiles when he sees you shushing him from the steps of your porch, hurrying down to his car while holding your purse. “my neighbourhood doesn’t like you ‘ren.” you giggle and grab the spare lip gloss always laying around in the console. but eren won’t let you use it, not before he grabs a hold of your face, makes you look him dead in the eye and kisses off your lip combo, “hello to you too, mama.” and he’s just so carefree while driving, a tattooed hand palming at the staring wheel not even bothering to check the speed number displayed on his dashboard, and the other settling in nicely on your plush thigh. eren has racked up his fair share of speeding tickets too, looks the police officer right in their eyes and they smile at him knowing how it goes—still, he doesn’t care too much for it. don’t let it be nighttime on an empty road either, because before you truly even know it the engine is almost screaming and eren’s pushing well over 100 kilometres an hour. he laughs when you’re hitting his arm, yelling at him to “slow the fuck down!” and gripping onto the side door for your life while being pushed deeper into your seat. but somehow he’s just so calm, giving you a grin that gets you agitated just after securing his grip on your thigh, “just stay put, i won’t crash”. he always makes good on his promise, but you’re annoyed—folding your arms against your chest and tilting your legs away from him when he slows down after what felt like an eternity. he’s not oblivious, knows you’re mad when you ignore him, closing yourself off and sniffling away whatever was gonna come—and it’s only till you’re seconds away from completely bawling that he’s pulling over and asking you to head to the backseat with that sweet voice that makes you do almost anything for him. and your compliance doesn’t go unrewarded—eren has you in a corner of the backseat, head tilting against foggy windows with breathy whimpers escaping your juiced lips with every curl of his fingers dipped into your cunt. “i’m sorry for scaring you baby,” he’ll say taking his hand to the apples of your cheeks to wipe your little tears just so sweetly, it almost makes you forget how his thumb wanders to your clit. “s’okay—i forgive you, jus keep going please.” he can’t help his knowing smile when you achingly rut your hips to clumsily fuck yourself on his fingers, lips meshing into a pout when it just doesn’t hit right. he’ll steadily start at unbuckling the belt slung on his hips, “you just stay put and think about cumming, yeah? lemme do the work.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x black reader #eren x black reader #aot smut #aot x black reader #snk x reader #snk smut

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scremogirl · 7 months

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☾✧꥟ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✧✰☀︎︎

𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐧

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

Mentions of blood! Mentions of Death! Mentions of mutilation! Mentions of Murder, GN! Reader, NReader/Diolouge uses a lot of black colloquialisms/AAVE *slightlyyyy black coded but only for the speaking bits. NO APPERANCE MENTIONED!* READ THE NOTE AT THE END PLZ! (●’◡’●)ﾉ Part 2 here Part 3 here

Halloween.

The day where people grasp the fact that the summer's over and the seasons have finally changed. Corny decorations on front porches, masks in windows to scare unaware customers, and people dressed as slutty cartoon characters.

You loved the last one. You’ve always worked hard on your costumes; from a small cameo in the school yearbook to entering contests and pageants. You loved fashion, everything about it. The different fabrics, colors, patterns; you cherished it all. So, it’s no wonder that’s what you’ve chosen as your destined career path. You somehow managed to get into the third most prestigious fashion school. I say third because the first one you applied for, was full of egotistical French exchange students who do nothing but compare their lives at home to their lives in America. The second… well, you don’t want to talk about it. Regardless, you’re so grateful your talents have been recognized.

That leads us to now. At the biggest fright fest of the year. Your professor decided that if everyone got at least a 95% or above on the unit test, he’d take the whole class on a field trip to the annual Freak do Shek Carnival. A free trip and creating a new costume? You’ve never studied harder in your life. You spent days working on your costume; hoping to win the annual costume contest.

“Breaking news! The killer know as the “Mask Maker” is still on the loose and is currently suspected to be in the Witchwood area. It is recommended for all residents to stay indoors travel in groups-,”

Your heart sinks.

No, no, no! Why does it have to be now? Why here? The area you lived in was one of the safest in the city! Police patrolled regularly, security systems were available to all, and most people have been traveling in groups these days. So, why? You look at your friend, Malika, who no doubt received the same alert as you did, judging by her face.

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do now!?” She yells in frustration. You all have arrived at the festival and the bus has already taken its leave. Unless you call an Uber, there’s no way out; but then again, with a killer on the loose, no person would be dumb enough to let any stranger in their car. You tell your teacher your concerns, but does he listen? No.

“We’ll be fine,” , “just travel in groups,” , and “make sure you check in with everyone at least every 15 minutes,” is all he says to shake your worries. Great job by the way. With that, he goes ahead with another one of the chaperones, probably on their way to get drunk on cheap beer and look at young girls. Pig.

“I know I ain’t stayin for damn sure,” you chuckle at Malikas abrasiveness and nod your head in agreement.

“Who’s gonna pick us up though? We all came here on a bus and no Lift driver is stupid enough to let strangers in at this time,” you both sigh and end up agreeing that she’d call her boyfriend to come get you. The only downside is he lives in the next county. That means 3 whole hours plus some that you two have to try and rid your paranoia.

“How ‘bout we go check out the costume display for the upcoming show? Maybe scope out some the competition?”

“You know what Malika, that sounds like a great idea,” she holds out her arm and you take it , laughing your way down the hay covered dirt path wearily dodging scare actors. Unbeknownst to you the glowing eyes of one of the masks are filled with anything but fake intent.

“Hey, Mal? Is he on the way yet?” You two have already viewed the display, concrete knowing you’re gonna knock everyone at the park. So you decided that maybe a little sightseeing wouldn’t be that bad.

“Ugh! He said he’s on his way but knowing him, that means he just got in the shower,” with a deep sigh she puts her phone back in her pocket.

“Look,” she continues

“ How about we go get something to eat and enjoy what we can. I mean, we did wait all year for this,” you’re a little hesitant but you end up caving; fried oreos do sound good right now.

The walk to the concession stands is filled with jump scares from actors, Jack, o lanterns illuminating your path and the laughter of children and adults a like. The environment reminds you of why you came here in the first place, maybe there is nothing to be worried about.

Oof!

“Oh I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” to wrapped up in the scenery and nostalgia, you failed to notice one of the actors scrambling by. You hear the muffled laughter of Malika and try your best not to strangle her to cover up your embarrassment. Fortunately , it was just the water that spilled on them; Unfortunately, your oreos lay spread eagle on the ground. However, even with a soaked costume and powdered sugar all over their boots, they remain in character. Only giving you a tilt of the head, a grunt, and tightening their grip on their axe. The eyes that lay behind the papier-mâché mask boar deep into your soul, the white contacts holding something deep and dark. The feeling of guilt is slowly washed away and replaced with anxiousness. Man, they're getting employee of the month. Still, you feel bad so you grab the napkins from your back pocket and gently wipe their mask, some of the fake blood coming off along with the water. Hmm, these effects are off the chain too.

As you clean them up you can’t help but to think that they’ll join the costume contest, definitely giving you a run for your money. You're snapped out of your thoughts when Malika pulls you along the road, whining about how upset she is because she didn’t get to snag one of your Oreos. Making your leave, you look over your shoulder one last time, only to find those same white eyes trailing your figure.

My god, you're even more beautiful up close.

“Personally, if that happened to me I’d kill myself,” once again, your friends laughter snapped you outta your own mind. You just giggle and brush it off.

“Shut up! It’s not like I did it on purpose! Besides he was kinda fine not gon’ hold you,”

“I know right! the way he titled his, had a tear running down my leg not gon’ lie,”

“Girl… don’t you gotta man? Like… on his way here?”

“Shhhh don’t ruin the fantasy,”

Two hours have officially passed, the same old texts between Malika and her boyfriend, this time however he was actually in the car. She had pressed him to turn on his location for safety, you could never be too sure now can you? He should’ve been here by now but with how crowded the festival is getting, you can’t blame him. Thankfully, the contest is just about to start! Going against your better judgment, you and Malika thought that being apart for about 15-20 mins wouldn’t hurt. She’ll be waiting in the audience while you go change anyways.

Rushing to the changing rooms you fail to notice another contestant coming towards you just as fast. For the second time this night you managed to bump into someone.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t mean I-,”

“Watch where you’re going bitch! Y’know how long it took me to make this thing?” You look to the left and then to the right trying to figure out who the fuck they think they’re talking too.

“Look I didn’t mean it, I’m sorr-,”

“Yea yea whatever, just stay outta my way next time. Besides, it’s not like you're gonna win this thing anyways,” just before you were about to give them a piece of your mind, the manager stepped in and separated you two. Jeez now this is gonna take even longer than you expected. You thought it was only fair to let Malika know shoot her a quick text. “No worries, babe! Gill's location says he’s here already so Imma grab us a quick bite to eat before I look for him and we head to you. See ya soonnn❤︎︎!!!”

Good; that buys you just enough time. After getting changed and checking your reflection for the hundredth time, you step out feeling as confident as ever. Just as you exit the stall, you hear the worst blood curdling scream of your entire life. You look over to your right and see that asshole from early and that guy with the really nice axe murder costume. Your eyes have to be deceiving you! One of their legs is completely severed, blood dripping from the stub left behind. Slash marks, deep and crooked, adorn their arms and remaining leg. They Look as if their limbs could snap off at the slightest breeze. They cry and groan as they reach out to you. Following their eyes the crazed murder shifts his eyes to you. Their weapon of choice freezing in their hands mid swing. Their victim continues to moan in pain and crawl away, begging and pleading for someone to save them. But…you just laugh.

“I see what you're trynna do here, and it ain’t workin’. Your costume is good but it isn’t better than mine. Assholes,” the last part is mumbled under your breath as you walk away. Even though you presented yourself in this prideful manner, you can’t help the feeling of disappointment that bubbles inside you. You tried really hard this year, let’s just hope that everyone else thinks you did too.

CHOP

Finally. Holding up the severed head he smiles, crooked and eerie. The bitch wouldn’t stop screaming, but at least he gets to see the look of fear in their face forever.

“Hey! What the hell’re you doing!?” hm? Turning around he sees the manager from earlier, standing before him with wide eyes filled with shock and anger. He can’t have his plans be ruined by a little slip up! He didn’t mean to act so impulsive but he couldn’t help. Nobody talks to you like that; not if he had something to do about it. Swinging his weapon of choice up on his shoulder, he’s about to take a step before he’s interrupted.

“Didn't I tell you guys to keep all spare props in bags because of the fake blood?! It gets everywhere and I’m the one who has to clean it up!” They shoved him to the side before grabbing a large trash bag from the cart they lugged behind them; simultaneously grabbing a mop and bucket. Continue to grumble about how “they don’t get paid enough for this” and “all the newbies are irresponsible”. But hey, free disposal.

“Sh, sh it’s okay; it was never your fault,” you tried comforting her but to no luck. All she can see is red as the burning hot tears streaming from her eyes ruin the makeup she spent so long on

“Okay?! It’s not okay (Y/N)! He said he was stuck in traffic all the while he was toungin’ down some bitch in a slutty cat costume. Very unoriginal btw!” You try to keep your giggle in for her sake. You kept trying to tell her this idiot wasn’t any good for years but nooo “the dick was too good to let go,” and apparently, someone else thought so too. Her weeping continues before she builds up the courage to speak again.

“All I wanna do is go home; fuck this competition,” you smile seeing her personality shine through her sadness just a little.

“Yea, fuck this competition,”sure you’re sad about to being able to participate this year, but with your best friend in distress and a serial killer on the loose, you can’t help but to think that maybe you could wait until next year. Ordering the Uber, you suggest that before it gets here, you should check in with your teacher first. Of course you don’t have his number and you're sure your other classmates are not worried about their phones unless they’re snapping pics and recording for their stories . You send them a quick text to your classes group chat and look for the exit.

“He really is a dick, you don’t need him,”

“Yea, I know. Besides, maybe that axe guy will take care of him for me,” she giggles but you don’t find it funny at all.

“What?”

“Yea, I saw him outta the corner of my eye when I walked in on he who shall not be named about to fuck that other girl,” she rolls her eyes and continues walking but you remain stationary.

“You gotta be joking,“ she turns around and gives you a quizzical look so you continue further.

“He and another dickhead I bumped into put on this whole show to get me to drop outta the contest. Lost limbs, fake blood and everything. I don’t know what his problem is, but he needs to leave me the fuck alone before I get the manager, on some Karen shit”

“Now that I think about it, he has been high-tailing us ever since we’ve got here,” she freezes before looking at you dead on. She wipes away the tear stains and brushes her nose against her sleeve before scanning the area.

“You don’t think it’s Kee-,”

“No! Don’t. It’s not him. It couldn’t be,” she holds up her hands in defense before pulling you along to get the hell up outta here. It goes dead silent, tension filling the air. It couldn't be him! It’s just some rando whos jealous of your skill! But…your mind was just playing tricks on you. That feeling of paranoia started to rise again and the flashbacks felt like they were hitting you in waves. She saw this and decided to speak up before it got worse.

“Hey, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I really didn’t mean to-,” this time it’s your turn to cut her off. You offer her a light smile and hold her hand in yours before squeezing.

“It’s alright. Besides, who needs men anyways. You’re all I need,” she gives you an even brighter one, her usual self returning, before squeezing just as hard, laying her head on your shoulder while you walk.

“Yea, fuck men,” you two laugh in sync before changing the conversation to what you’ll do when you get home; maybe a Horror movie marathon and some junk food will cheer you up. Who cares, the night has just begun for you and there’s no way anything was gonna ruin it.

Watching you walk away a gloved hand slams into a tree. Dammit! You won’t get away so easily. You’re his. Nobody else’s. He’ll make sure of it. Starting with her.

Hello everyone!!!! Hope you enjoyed the first part of my Halloween special. I’m breaking this down into 3 parts because I’m afraid people will think it’s too long if I put the whole thing on tumblr. I will be making an Ao3 and the whole fic will be posted without any split up. When it’s created and up I’ll let you know. Hope you enjoyed Loves!!! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎.

-Love, Sosa❤️

#Yandere! serial killer #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #✧✩🜚𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐂 🜸𖤐✰

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satoruhour · 8 months

Note

requesting jealous racer gojo with this scene!! https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSN8XvT2Y/ DK as gojo; From afar, Gojo caught his girlfriend chatting with a new racer and the new guy have no idea that the reader is gojo's girl 🥹🥹🥹🥹

a/n: REEEAAALLLLL! find the au masterlist here. loser daisuke makes a return !!!!

warnings: mentions of sexual harassment, assault (against daisuke) — uh dont do this in real life guys !!!!!!, mentions of ejaculation, public teasing & makeout

it was no secret gojo was a naturally possessive man — always glaring at anyone who even took a glimpse of you in your miniskirts or needing to have an arm around your waist whenever you conversed with another racer; whoever you chatted with also knew not to cross too many lines.

what gojo liked the most, though, was always having you run into his arms after every successful win, swooping into your arms and looking at whatever man who’s staring at your ass and then kissing you right on your mouth. the sour scowl on their faces are his favourite part.

so when you’re looking over the condition of your boyfriend’s friends’ cars — geto’s Mazda and nanami’s ’68 Dodge Charger — and checking that their engines could cool down in time for the next race, you’re pleasantly surprised when a man comes up to you without knowing the repercussions he’s about to receive, looking interestedly at the heavy duty metal you’re handling.

“you know you wouldn’t have that heating problem with a V8.” he smugly explains, leaning against the hood of your boyfriend’s car that you have half a mind to ask him to get off — you know how pissed he could get when random people lean on it — but you think you’d see how far this guy would go just for a piece of your ass (plus, your boyfriend loved you too much to put any ounce of blame on you). you’re no stranger to the weirdos around these parts, getting unwarranted slaps on your butt and caresses along your waist that inch too close to your chest, and all they get in return is one sweet, clean punch to their face.

“don’t need to bruise your pretty knuckles for these degenerates, baby.” gojo kisses your temple after knocking a guy unconscious, returning your sick grin right after you dig your heel into their face. “that’s my girl!”

you’re far from the police chief’s daughter after all those years, amusing the man just for a bit with a cute tilt of your head and a pop of your hips. you roll your eyes when you see how he licks his lips, eyes flicking down to your too short skirt.

“all you men care about is who’s got the biggest and better engines,” you click your tongue. even with your half-assed attitude, he takes it as a sign to advance, following you like a lost dog after you monitor nanami’s LS3, which was significantly cooler than geto’s 13B-REW. you take out your flip phone to shoot a text to the race coordinator.

nanamis car gud 2 go 1st. engines cooldown is faster than getos

but all he thinks is that it’s a green light that you wanted his number — he was probably patting himself on the back, didn’t even need any effort to woo you!

all gojo does is look at the ruckus from half a mile away, not listening to a word shoko was saying about her car; not even the cigarette smoke blowed into his face did anything, well, except for make him cough a little. shoko sports a little grin when she follows his line of sight.

“who’s the loser?” gojo asks, pushing off of her car and eyeing how you’d handle the situation. he knew you could hold your own perfectly fine, but with each stupid face the man makes, he’s driven to walk up to help you.

“some douche named wakashita daisuke, heard of him?” shoko replies boredly, tsks when her friend shakes his head, “fucked him for some parts. mediocre dick game.”

gojo scoffs, “not surprised.”

“y’all race with these lame engines, then?” daisuke seemingly had embarrassed himself with reaching out for your phone, seeing as you pocket it right after sending the text, but that doesn’t stop the man one bit. he continues to ramble about the pros of a V8 long after you’ve removed the hood struts from under the two cars. popping the hood to gojo’s car and you successfully shut him up when he sees the RB26DETT engine. albeit, only for five seconds before he starts spouting stupid crap again.

out of the corner of your eyes, you can see a head of white approaching and you hope the corners of your lips don’t give away the fact that he’s about to earn himself a beating. the feel of satoru’s arms around your waist infiltrate your senses first, and then his voice.

“you feelin’ lucky today?” he asks uninterestedly from your shoulder and your hands naturally hold onto his arms. you can feel him fiddling with your belt, and you’re almost 100% he’s pushing his pelvis into yours.

“the girl or the car?” daisuke smirks and you want nothing but to curb-stomp his annoying fucking face. gojo is close to doing it though, but you’re holding him back with a squeeze to his hand; all he replies with is a kiss to your neck, and he thinks this guy must have balls of steel or he’s just insanely dumb because the piercing blue stare satoru gives doesn’t faze him one bit.

“you—”

“baby, leave it.” you whisper, removing his hands from your waist gently and walking over to daisuke with calculated, slow steps. the interaction garners a lot of eyes especially for someone with enough guts to flirt with the gojo satoru’s girl, but you do something unexpected, tracing a finger up his chest and pull at his t-shirt, yanking him right down to your boyfriend��s engine and you nod towards it.

“tell me about it.”

daisuke thinks he’s scored and he leans over the Skyline with both elbows and you follow, sticking your ass out. gojo’s used to this sight and it never gets old, but the smile on his face turns into a glower once the other tries to take a glance as well. you notice it, too.

“engine. i wanna know allll ’bout it . .” you give him a sweet smile and daisuke looks like he could come on the spot — a premature ejaculation for an idiot like him — and he shoots off into a passionate ramble. all of which was wrong, by the way, but you let him have his fun before you’re straightening up and—

plop!

you remove the hood strut and the hood of the Nissan Skyline closes right on his back and there’s a pained scream from under his hood and gojo just laughs out loud. you hear a few other laughs from your spectators, too.

“that’s my baby.” gojo sashays up to you with a smirk, pushing you against the not so flat hood of his car, where it’s moving from daisuke’s flailing body. he’s not too concerned about the damage if he continues to press you onto the uneven parts; he’s got money, no big deal.

like usual, gojo isn’t shy about affection and he goes right for your lips, curling both arms around your waist while one hand gets distracted and squeezes your ass. you’re only able to fit your upper back along the hood as you bend back, moaning exaggeratedly for daisuke to hear.

“hmm . . it’s a little too high, don’t you think, ’toru?” gojo only caresses your hips in response, slotting his thigh between your legs and now it’s going into dangerous territory. you let out a soft whine.

“yep, definitely too high.”

with one swift movement of your heel, you knee daisuke and he falls, both of you jerking down lower on the hood — the edge of the car is probably digging into daisuke’s back by now, but it’s nothing a little money can’t fix.

“sooo much better,” gojo grins, hovering over your body now as his words ignite flames along your lips and the deep kiss leaves you dizzy. he swallows your sounds easily, but he knows when to quell his needs — after satoru’s race is when you’ll be treated for being such a brave girl, not that you need any reason in the first place.

at the end of the day, you’ll forever be satoru’s lucky charm and the only one in his eyes.

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