#because it's not about getting it all right at once. its about leaning into the cycle and how it guides you through developing these

[euthymiya]

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.

He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.

“What are you talking about?” He grunts.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)

“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).

“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”

“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”

It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”

“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”

“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.

It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.

It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”

“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”

To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.

“You fucking freak,” he mutters.

Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)

You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.

Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.

But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.

But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.

“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”

Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.

You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.

But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.

“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are,” he agrees instantly.

You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”

It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.

“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.

“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”

“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.

“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.

Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.

“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.

You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”

“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”

“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.

“And if I do?”

“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.

When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.

He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.

It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.

You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.

“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I love you.”

He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”

“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”

————————

a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.2 | MV1

an: guys my time off is coming to an end, i move to france next week and start my job the week after rip me but in the mean time enjoy this badboy i've been sitting on

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 6k

part one

Max pushed open the door to The Rusty Wheel, the familiar creak of its hinges greeting him like an old memory. The low hum of country music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, and the faint smell of spilled beer and worn leather hung in the air. Not much had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in here, years ago—except, maybe, for the fact that now every pair of eyes in the place was on him.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the bar, pausing only long enough to hang his cowboy hat on one of the hooks by the door. He used to come here every weekend, same as the rest of them. He hadn’t expected the town to change much—but somehow, it felt smaller now. Tighter. Like it didn’t quite fit him anymore.

Before he could take a seat, the owner, Earl, stepped out from behind the bar. Earl was a grizzled old cowboy, his flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a white beard flecked with grey. He stopped in his tracks, wiping his hands on a rag, and gave Max a once-over, his face creasing with disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Earl muttered, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t believe it when they told me.”

Max chuckled softly, not missing the edge in Earl’s voice. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You actually back for good?” Earl asked, still eyeing him like he was trying to decide if he was a mirage.

Max shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Earl grunted, leaning his hands on the bar. “Guess we’ll see how that works out.”

Before Max could reply, a figure appeared beside him, sliding a bottle of beer across the counter. Max glanced up and saw Daniel—his best friend from back in the day—giving him a smirk as he set the beer down. Daniel was leaner now, with a few more lines around his eyes, but he still had the same mischievous glint that had gotten them into trouble as kids.

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he wiped down the bar. “Bold move, man,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, really bold.”

Max took the beer, the cold glass sweating in his grip. “Figured it was time.”

Daniel leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, half the people in this town think you’ve got some nerve coming back after what you did to her.”

Max’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral. He knew it wouldn’t take long for that topic to come up. “And the other half?” he asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

Daniel snorted. “They’re just in awe of what you’ve done with your career. Hell, I’ll admit it—I followed your rides. Man, some of those bulls you took on… I thought you were insane, but you sure made a name for yourself.”

Max nodded, setting the bottle back down on the bar. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Daniel tilted his head, studying him. “That right? Because last time I checked, you were in all the magazines, got sponsors throwing money at you, and about a million followers watching your every move. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

Max sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “It was great for a while. But the thing is, they don’t see the rest of it. The part where you wake up and don’t know where you are half the time. Or when you’re trying to remember which interviews you’ve already done or whose hand you shook at some event you didn’t even want to go to.” He shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Everyone thinks they want that life until they get it.”

Daniel didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him, the silence between them hanging heavy. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “So why’d you come back? You finally get sick of signing autographs?”

Max’s eyes drifted to the shelves of dusty bottles behind the bar, memories of a simpler life flooding back. The long nights in places like this, where the biggest problem he had was getting enough cash together to fill his tank. Where people knew him as Max, not Max Verstapppen, the famous bull rider plastered on posters across the country.

“Something like that,” he said quietly. “I was never cut out for that big city stuff. The lights, the cameras… all of it.” He paused, running a hand along the neck of the beer bottle, feeling the condensation slick against his skin. “I missed home. The quiet. The way things made sense out here.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “Home, huh?” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad to see you. Always hoped you’d come back. But you know it’s not going to be easy. People here… they don’t forget.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his grip on the bottle a little firmer. “Yeah, I know.”

Daniel stared at him for a long moment, and then his expression softened, some of the teasing edge fading from his voice. “She’s still hurt, you know. Even if she doesn’t show it. You coming back… it’s gonna stir up a lot of things.”

“I figured that,” Max replied, his voice low, almost resigned. “But I had to come back anyway.”

Daniel nodded, his eyes softening. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve got a lot of work to do, man.”

Max took another swig of beer, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the unease that had been bubbling in his gut since the moment he’d driven into town. “Trust me,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I know.”

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted the conversation, and Max glanced over his shoulder to see a group of locals walking in, laughing and chatting as they made their way to a corner booth. He recognised some of them, faces he hadn’t seen in years, but he wasn’t ready for more conversations, more questions.

Turning back to Daniel, he nodded toward the bar. “Mind if I hang here for a while?”

Daniel smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Stay as long as you need. Just don’t expect the town to make it easy on you.”

Max nodded in appreciation, as he sipped his beer, letting the familiar hum of the bar settle around him. The chatter, the music, the faint clink of bottles—it all felt like a song from a time he thought he’d forgotten. But he hadn’t. Not really.

He’d been running from home for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to just stand still. And now that he was back, he wasn’t sure what hurt more—the memories of what he’d lost, or the fear of facing the woman he’d left behind.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Max stepped out of his truck, the early sun casting long shadows across the gravel driveway of High Ride Stables, Austin. The familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses filled the air, stirring memories he hadn’t thought of in years. It was a place he knew well—he’d worked here as a kid, mucking out stalls and helping with the horses. But today, the barn felt different, like the weight of his past was waiting for him inside.

He pushed open the large wooden door, the creak announcing his arrival. Inside, horses shuffled in their stalls, and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed from deeper within. He glanced around, spotting the counter near the back where Leslie, the barn’s owner, was talking to one of the stable hands.

Leslie had been running this barn for as long as he could remember. She was tough as nails, with streaks of grey in her otherwise jet-black hair and a sharp gaze that could cut through any excuse. The stable hands called her “Les” when she wasn’t listening—if she caught them at it, they'd regret it.

When she saw him, her conversation trailed off, and her expression hardened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter, eyeing him like he’d just tracked mud through her pristine barn.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Leslie drawled, raising an eyebrow. “If it ain’t the hometown hero.”

Max tried to smile, but it fell flat. He took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Morning, Les.”

“Morning,” she replied, her tone flat. “What brings you here?”

“I’m lookin’ for work,” he said, stepping closer, but staying on the other side of the counter like it was a barrier between them. Which, in a way, it was.

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “Work?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “After all that bull riding fame and fortune, you’re back here beggin’ for a job?”

“Not beggin’,” he muttered, his voice low. “Just askin’.”

She pushed herself off the counter, walking around it and standing toe-to-toe with him, hands on her hips. “Same difference.”

“Come on, Les,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You know how it goes. The fame doesn’t last forever. Sponsors move on, injuries pile up… and the money—well, it dwindles. I can’t live off my bull riding winnings for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

Max sighed, glancing around the barn, trying to find the right words. “I grew up here, working in this barn. I know horses, I know the work. You know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Leslie tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You really expect me to just hand you a job, after everything?”

He frowned, confused. “After everything?”

She shot him a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb with me, Max. You know who works here.”

His stomach sank, realising where this conversation was heading. Of course, she worked here—why wouldn’t she? It was her world. She’d never left it, never had a reason to. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“I’m not lookin’ to cause any trouble, Les. I just need work,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll stay out of her way.”

Leslie raised an eyebrow. “Stay out of her way? You can’t just waltz back into this town, askin’ for a job, and think you can just avoid her. This is a small town, boy, not some city where you can hide from the people you’ve wronged.”

Max winced at the word “wronged.” It was blunt, but he couldn’t argue with it. He had wronged her. Maybe more than he even realised.

He took a deep breath, meeting Leslie’s gaze. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But… I need this job, Les. Please.”

Leslie studied him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, she turned and walked back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a small notepad. She scribbled something down on it, then tore off the piece of paper and held it out to him.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I’ll give you a job if you go apologise to her. And not just any apology—she has to forgive you.”

Max stared at her, not taking the paper. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “Les, that’s impossible.”

Leslie crossed her arms again, looking at him with the same steel-eyed determination she always had. “Well, if you think it’s impossible, you don’t want this job bad enough.”

His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand, knowing exactly what was written on it. He didn’t need to look to know it was her address.

“You know she’s not gonna forgive me,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the past like a stone in his gut.

Leslie gave him a half-smile, but there was no softness in it. “Well, you better get working, boy.”

Max finally took the paper from her hand, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. He looked down at the address, familiar yet distant, as if it belonged to another lifetime.

“I’m serious,” Leslie said, her voice softening just a bit. “You want a job here? You’ve gotta make things right with her. I won’t have you causing more mess in this barn—or in this town. Either she forgives you, or you pack your bags and keep drivin’.”

Max swallowed hard, tucking the paper into his back pocket. He wanted to argue, to tell her that there was no way in hell she’d ever forgive him. But he knew Leslie well enough to know that there was no arguing with her.

He nodded once, stiffly. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Leslie smirked, her eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

As he turned to leave, the barn door creaked open behind him, and for a split second, his heart froze. He half-expected to see her there, standing in the doorway, glaring at him like she had on that road. But it was just another worker, coming in to start the day.

Max let out a breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It had been one thing to face her the first time, in the heat of the moment. But now… now he had to go, hat in hand, and ask her to forgive him. To admit he was wrong. To dig up all the things he’d been trying to bury for years.

He shoved his hat back on his head and walked out of the barn, the piece of paper burning a hole in his pocket. The road ahead of him felt longer than it had ever been.

The next day, Max stood at the front steps of the small house, nerves twisting in his stomach like a coiled rope. He stared at the chipped paint on the door, feeling the weight of years pressing down on him. This was the house he’d been avoiding ever since he set foot back in town. And now, here he was—about to knock.

He took a deep breath, raising his fist and rapping his knuckles on the door. The sound echoed in the still morning air, louder than it had any right to be. For a moment, he thought maybe she wouldn’t answer, maybe he could just turn around and—

The door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing the second she saw him. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore an old flannel shirt that he recognised—one she stole off of him when they were kids. She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked like she’d been expecting him.

“Nope,” she said flatly, her hand already on the door, ready to slam it shut. “Not happening.”

“Wait,” Max said, holding up his hands. “Just… just hear me out for a minute.”

“I don’t think I need to,” she shot back, her voice cold. “I’ve already heard enough.”

“Darling, please—”

“Do not call me ‘darling,’” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her eyes flashed with anger, and Max felt the sting of it, like a whip cracking against his skin. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Max took a step back, raising his hands defensively. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” she interrupted, her voice rising, filled with a raw, seething rage that had been simmering for eight long years. “What, Max? You didn’t mean to leave me in a hospital bed without a word? You didn’t mean to disappear without so much as a goddamn goodbye?”

He swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him like it always did when he thought about that day. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from him. “So, you just ran? That’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t running,” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow even to him. He’d been running for years—he knew it, and so did she.

“Bullshit,” she spat, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been running your whole damn life. When things get hard, you don’t face them—you just pack your bags and leave. That’s what you did to me, and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that wasn’t true, but the words died in his throat. She wasn’t wrong. He had run. He’d run the second things got complicated, the second he felt like he was losing control.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less sure. “I thought you’d hate me if I stayed.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a step forward, her fists balled at her sides. “You really think I could’ve hated you?” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of years of hurt. “You think I wanted you to just leave me behind like I didn’t matter?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you!” Max burst out, the frustration and regret spilling out of him. “You were laid up in a hospital bed because of that fall, and I was getting calls about sponsors and competitions. I was torn in two, and I didn’t know what to do! I thought if I stayed, you’d see me as some reminder of what you’d lost, of the future we’d been planning and couldn’t have anymore.”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, the anger flickered, replaced by something else—something rawer, more vulnerable. “So, what? You thought I’d hate you? That I wouldn’t want you anymore? Out of pity?” She shook her head, stepping back from him as if the very thought disgusted her. “Is that what you really think of me?”

Max dragged a hand through his hair, hating how badly this conversation was going. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice pleading now. “I didn’t want to be a burden. You’d just lost everything, and I didn’t want to remind you of the future you couldn’t have anymore. You deserved better than a guy who was barely hanging on.”

“Barely hanging on?” She seethed, her fists trembling. “You didn’t give me the chance to decide that! You didn’t even try to talk to me, to ask me what I wanted. You made that choice for me.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing!” Max shouted back, his frustration boiling over. “I thought if I walked away, you’d move on. You’d be better off without me, and I could… I could disappear before you realised I wasn’t enough.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. “You think leaving was easier for me? You think watching you drive off without a word made me better off?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d hurt you more by sticking around. I thought you’d hate me, that you’d look at me and see someone who was staying out of pity.”

“God, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t even get it, do you?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words crushing him. “Then tell me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I didn’t see.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her breath shaky as she tried to compose herself. When she opened them again, there was no anger left—just hurt. “You were everything to me. Everything. And you took that away because you were scared. You left me in that hospital bed, and you didn’t even let me fight for us. You made that choice, and I had to live with it.”

Max felt his chest tighten, the guilt and regret almost suffocating. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her lip trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then, just as quickly, she straightened up, hardening herself again. “Sorry doesn’t fix eight years, Max. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that you abandoned me when I needed you most.”

He took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them. “I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just walk back into my life and pretend like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I can’t fix what I did. But I want to try. Please, just give me a chance.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped back inside and slammed the door in his face.

Max stood there, staring at the closed door, the sound of it still ringing in his ears. The weight of her words, the pain he’d caused, hung heavy in the air around him.

He slipped his hat back on, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes. As he turned and walked back to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath his boots, he realised something: he’d always been running. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could ever stop.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, the weight of her words pressing on his chest like a stone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—angry, hurt, and accusing. It had been easier when he thought he was protecting her by leaving. Now, after their argument, it was clear that all he’d done was rip open a wound neither of them had been able to heal.

With a frustrated groan, he threw off the blankets and sat up in bed. Sleep wasn’t coming—not tonight. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight, but it felt like the hours were crawling by, leaving him trapped with his thoughts.

His mind wandered to the only place that ever brought him a sense of calm: the rodeo. The old training grounds on the outskirts of town where he’d spent countless nights like this, working out his frustrations with the one thing he understood—bull riding. He hadn’t been back there in years, but tonight, it felt like the only place he could go to clear his head.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and his boots, Max grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the house, the cool night air hitting his face as he headed to his truck.

The rodeo grounds were quiet when he pulled up, the faint glow of the moon casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The scent of dirt and leather filled his lungs, familiar and comforting in a way that nothing else had been since he’d come back to town. He walked toward the arena, the sounds of his boots crunching on gravel the only thing breaking the silence.

As he got closer, something caught his eye. Movement in the arena. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but then he saw her.

She was on horseback, weaving through the barrels in the dim moonlight, her movements graceful and precise. It was like watching a memory come to life. She moved with a fluidity that made it look effortless, but Max knew better. He’d seen the hours she used to put in, the work that went into every sharp turn, every quick burst of speed. She hadn’t lost her touch.

He stopped at the edge of the arena, standing just out of sight, not wanting to disturb her. For a moment, he just watched, his chest tightening as he remembered how much she loved this—how much they had loved this world together.

Then, it happened. As she rounded the last barrel, something went wrong. Maybe her horse misstepped, maybe she pushed too hard, but in an instant, she was thrown off, hitting the ground hard. Her horse skittered to the side, startled by the fall.

Before he could stop himself, Max was moving. He vaulted over the fence and ran toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was sitting up by the time he reached her, dusting off her jeans with a wince.

“Who the fuck did I piss off in my past life for you to be the one to find me?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up at him.

Max skidded to a halt, a little breathless, and held up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by. You okay?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Like you care.”

He didn’t argue, just crouched down beside her, unsure of what else to do. “How can I help?”

“Help?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You really think you can help now, after everything?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice softer than before. “But I’m trying.”

She rolled her eyes, but her usual fire seemed to be dimmed, just a little. “Doctor’s orders,” she said finally, wincing as she shifted her leg. “You wanna help? Raise my leg and keep it elevated for fifteen minutes.”

Max hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was messing with him or not. But the way she was holding her side, the tightness in her face, told him this was real.

He nodded and carefully slid his arm under her leg, lifting it gently and resting it on his knee. She didn’t protest, but she also didn’t look at him. They sat there in silence, the tension between them as thick as the night air.

The minutes dragged by, and Max could feel every second of it. He kept his gaze focused on the ground, resisting the urge to say something—anything—to break the silence. But she was the one who spoke first.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” she said quietly, her voice lacking the venom it usually held.

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I couldn’t.”

“You mean you didn’t want to. Big difference.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her focus trained on the darkened arena ahead of them.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her leg. “I missed this place,” he said after a long pause. “Missed the people. Missed… you.”

She scoffed, but there was less bite to it. “You missed me? Is that why you didn’t call for eight years? ‘Cause you missed me?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought you’d moved on. I thought it was easier for you if I wasn’t in the picture.”

“Easier?” She let out a humourless laugh. “Do you even hear yourself, Max? You just disappeared. You didn’t even give me the chance to move on, to deal with any of it. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces.”

He clenched his jaw, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were filled with anger, but underneath it was something else—something softer, more vulnerable. “You keep saying that like it was some noble thing you did, but all you did was make a decision for both of us. You never even asked me what I wanted.”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was right. He hadn’t asked. He’d just assumed.

They fell into silence again, the weight of the unspoken things between them pressing down like a heavy fog.

After what felt like forever, she sighed, leaning back against the fence, her leg still resting on his knee. “You know,” she said quietly, “there was a time when I would’ve given anything to hear you say you missed me. But now… I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Max looked at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, yet so far away. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “I know I messed up. I know I can’t fix what I did, but I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She didn’t respond, just stared out at the empty arena, her face unreadable.

The silence stretched between them, and Max could feel the weight of it settling in his bones. He wanted to say more, to tell her everything that had been building inside him for years. But the words felt too small, too insignificant for the damage he’d caused.

After a long while, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Max’s heart clenched, but he nodded. “I get that,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere this time.”

She didn’t say anything else, and the two of them sat there in the quiet of the rodeo grounds, with nothing but the stars and the distant sounds of the horses to keep them company.

For the first time in years, it wasn’t the silence that felt unbearable. It was the hope buried somewhere beneath it.

She shifted slightly, wincing a bit as she adjusted her leg on his knee. Max kept his hold steady, though every muscle in him was tense. He was waiting, unsure if she’d kick him out of her life again or keep him suspended in this strange limbo they found themselves in.

“What was it like?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes trained on the horizon, as if the answer was out there somewhere in the night sky. “To make it big? To live that life?”

Max glanced at her, surprised by the question. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His instinct was to downplay it, to gloss over the highs and lows like he had so many times before when people asked. But this wasn’t just anyone asking—it was her.

He took a deep breath. “It was everything I thought it’d be,” he started, his voice low. “At first, anyway. The crowds, the money, the fame… it was wild. Everything moved so fast. One minute I was just this kid from nowhere, the next I was on posters, doing interviews, getting invited to places I’d never even dreamed of.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the memories flooded back. “The adrenaline—it’s like nothing else. Every ride, every victory, it felt like I was on top of the world. But the crashes… they’re just as big. Bigger, even.”

She listened quietly, her face unreadable. He wasn’t sure if she cared or if she was just being polite, but he kept going, needing to get it out.

“There were nights when I’d lie awake in a hotel room, hundreds of miles from home, and wonder what the hell I was doing,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I was surrounded by people all the time, but I never felt more alone. It was like… like I was chasing something, and no matter how far I got, I couldn’t catch it. Every high came with a low, and after a while, the lows started outweighing everything else.”

She still didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the stars. He looked down at the ground, the dirt beneath his boots feeling more real than anything had in a long time.

“I got tired of it,” he confessed after a long pause. “Tired of the crowds, the noise, the pressure to be something I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anymore. I missed this place. I missed…” He trailed off, but she didn’t need him to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant.

Finally, she turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his. “And you think you can just come back?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something bitter, something hurt. “After all of that? Just walk back into this life like nothing happened?”

Max swallowed hard. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that. I know I can’t just… fix things. I’m not here to pretend that the past didn’t happen.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Why should I trust you?”

He didn’t flinch at the question. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.

“You don’t have to,” he answered honestly, meeting her eyes. “I know I haven’t earned that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Her jaw clenched, and she turned her gaze back to the arena. “You hurt me, Max. You didn’t just leave—you disappeared. Like I meant nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered, the words heavy with regret. “And I’m so damn sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “You don’t get to come back after eight years and expect me to forget what that felt like.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “I’m not asking you to forget. Or even to forgive me right away. I just want a chance to make things right. To prove that I’m not that guy anymore.”

She didn’t respond, just sat there in the silence, her leg still resting on his knee. It was a strange kind of intimacy—one built on years of unresolved hurt, but also on something deeper. Something neither of them wanted to name yet.

After a while, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Nothing ever changed here, you know,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “While you were out there, living that big life, everything just… stayed the same. The same people, the same rodeos, the same barns. It was like I was stuck while you were off becoming someone else.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words. He couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, to watch the world move on without her, to feel left behind. And worse, to know he was part of the reason she felt that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words feeling inadequate, but it was all he had. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to leave you stuck. I thought you’d move on. I thought you’d—”

“Stop thinking,” she cut in, her voice sharp again, though there was a weariness in her eyes. “You keep telling yourself you did what was best for me, but you never asked me what I wanted. You just decided for both of us.”

He nodded, taking the hit. She was right, and he wasn’t going to argue with that.

She shifted again, pulling her leg off his knee and standing up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Max stood too, though he kept his distance, unsure of what to do next. The tension between them was still there, heavy and thick, but something had changed. There was a crack in the wall she’d built around herself, just a small one, but it was there.

“Look,” she said after a long pause, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. But… I don’t hate you. Not anymore. I thought I did, for a long time. But it’s just… it’s hard to hate someone you used to love that much.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at the word “love.” Even though it was in the past tense, it still felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “I just want to be here. Whatever that looks like.”

She gave him a long look, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Finally, she nodded, just once. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even close. But it was something.

She turned and started walking toward her truck, her steps slow, like she was still testing how much she could trust the ground beneath her.

Max watched her go, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the weight of the past still pressing on him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

part three...

[livbedum]

one conversation part two

maybank!reader x rafe cameron

summary the aftermath of you and rafe ‘talking’ things out

warnings profanity , smut ( fingering , manhandling , squirting , daddy kink , unprotected pinv , choking , creampie ) more of rafe being an honest little baby because he misses his girl , uh oh! kie kie sees!

18+ minors dni

you’re not too sure when you and rafe managed to move to his room , but there you were back in his bed. your hair was thrown around the pillows messily as rafe kissed down your body , muttering apologies as he did so. “promise , i’m gonna make up for everything,” he whispered , planting a kiss on your thigh and looking up at you like you were the moon and the stars, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you sighed , letting your head hit the pillows again as rafe worked to pull your swimsuit bottoms off. the overalls you were wearing earlier had already been discarded on the floor. “i want you , baby,” you added quietly , softly as though anything could tear this moment away from you. a moment you had been vying for for almost a year, “its been so long.”

“too long,” rafe agreed , pulling his shirt off and leaning over you, “never letting you go again. nothing’s coming between us , okay?” he dipped and kissed you deeply , holding your body tight against his. he missed the feeling of you melting into him. he missed everything about you. you were the one thing in this world that rafe could say kept him grounded.

“tell me you love me again,” you asked him , pulling back to look him in the eye. oh , those ocean blue eyes you missed so much. they were always softer with you , opening up like a vault that only you could reach. it had been so long since you’d been close enough to see them sparkle.

“i love you , y/n maybank,” rafe obliged with a soft chuckle , like it was the easiest thing you’ve ever asked him to do. in all fairness it was. “you’re my god given solace. going to marry you one day.” he threw in , grinding your hips into yours for some relief.

you moaned into his mouth , wanting nothing more than for him to just take you like he usually did , but you knew this was different. you knew that as much as you wanted it rough , rafe needed it to be soft. “i need you to stop drinking so much , baby,” you spoke gently , knowing he’d promise you anything in the moment if you said it sweet enough, “for me?”

“i’ll do whatever you want , princess. anything,” he nodded, “let me make love to you first?” he asked , hand moving between you to run his fingers through your folds , pulling a long overdue whine to escape your lips.

as much as you wanted him to just take you and have his way with your body , you knew that rafe needed it to be soft. “yeah , honey. i’m all yours,” you sighed , feeling him push two fingers into you, “do whatever you want to me.”

rafe’s fingers continued to move in and out of you , prepping you for his cock. you were already leaking around him , not having spent any time with yourself lately to get off — not that it would work without rafe. “oh , i’m gonna,” rafe chuckled deeply , unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down with one hand while his other kept busy, “just want you to cum on my fingers first.”

he pushed his hand in deeper , adding another finger. “fuck , ray! want you,” you cried out , hips meeting his hand in attempt to finish sooner. you needed him , not his fingers.

“you’ve always been so impatient , baby. just let me take care of you for once.” his voice was still soft , but you could hear the irritation, “feels like your pussy is just fine with what i’m doing right now,” he laughed , grabbing your neck and making you look at how you took his fingers , leaking and sucking him in. you cried out , watching his thumb reach for your clit and rub at it in time with his fingers fucking you. “just cum for me and i’ll give you what you want.”

your hips were moving , not being able to help all the squirming you were doing. you let you hand reach down and grab him , stroking his cock in tandem with the way he was fingering you. “m’so close , daddy!”

hearing you call him that again only made him shove his fingers into you harder , adding one more to stretch you just that much more. “oh , yeah? i’m your daddy again? huh?” he mocked you , curling his fingers and hitting that sweet spot in you just right, “cum for your daddy then. fucking cum,” he groaned , feeling your cunt tighten around his fingers while yours were busy jerking him off. your hand let go of him , gripping the sheets instead as you squirted around his fingers , high pitched whine filling the air. “agh— just like that , fuckin’ take it,” he moaned , continuing to fuck you as you kept convulsing under him , spraying more of your release onto his legs and sheets.

“will you—“ your request was cut off by rafe shifting down the bed and licking at your glistening folds, “fuck! daddy , s’too much!” you reached down to push his face away , but he held you tight against his mouth , slurping up your juices until he was satisfied.

“fuck , i’m sorry,” he breathed out , coming up from between your legs , his chin dripping with you, “i’ll give you what you want. you want my dick , huh?” he asked you , stroking your cheek lovingly as you nod before giving you a kiss , letting you taste yourself on his tongue, “already got you fucked out. forgot how easy it was for me to do that to ya.”

you laughed breathlessly for a moment , pulling rafe in to kiss you again. “only you do that,” you assured him , wrapping a leg over his hip and pushing him closer , forcing his cock against you, “missed this so much.”

“turn over for me , baby,” rafe instructed , not even giving you the chance to listen as he manhandled you into a position of his liking, “just like that.”

your face was in the pillows , hands in the sheets as you felt rafe guide himself to your sopping entrance. “really tired of waiting over here,” you whined , wiggling your hips. the tip of him caught your opening , letting him slip into you with a moan.

“so impatient,” rafe repeated from earlier , pushing his hips forward until you reached back and put your hand on his hip, “no , no. you don’t get to choose how you want it anymore,” he chuckled , leaning forward and covering your entire body with his. his arm came around your neck , lifting just enough to choke you as he started thrusting. “fucking missed this pussy so much , baby,” he moaned into your ear.

rafe wasn’t stopping any time soon , that much you knew. there had been so much time that had passed since the last time you guys were together ; more than there had been before. you used to know what to expect when it came to a fuck it out session. it was never after such a long time before. the only thing you knew in the moment was you felt good.

“feel so good , daddy,” you whined , pressing a kiss to his cheek as he grunted in your ear , telling you all of the nasty shit he missed doing to you.

you were still on the brink of euphoria when rafe had started his own journey. “fuck , m’not gonna last long,” he moaned , hips already jerking in less fluid motions, “gonna let me cum in this pussy , baby? huh?”

there weren’t even thoughts in your head anymore. just pure bliss ; physically , emotionally , spiritually. your head nodded before you had the chance to think it through. you weren’t on birth control anymore , and it was stupid , but your body was on a different wavelength.

with another , much louder and prolonged , moan , rafe finished inside of you , continuing to fuck his cum into you. “want that shit to stick,” he grunted , kissing the side of your face as he stilled in you.

the sun was starting to set , and you were still at rafe’s , lying in his bed after a shared shower. “why did you bring her around then?” you wondered aloud , laying on rafe’s chest. it had been picking at you since the enduro ; how loudly rafe was with sofia , how he didn’t hide her from his world.

rafe looked at you , reading your face to see if this was going to be a fight. “are you actually asking me?” he questioned , not being able to decipher your motives, “because i—“

“yes , i’m truly asking why,” you assured him, “not trying to fight. i just wanna know things.”

“we met for the second time at a party,” rafe started , drawing on your skin with his finger lazily, “i was already around everyone when they saw us go and hookup , so it wasn’t a surprise. i mean — it’s not like they like her , but they tolerate it , i guess.” he shrugged like this wasn’t a huge thing.

“why didn’t you do that with me then?” your voice was barely a whisper , not even sure if he heard you entirely.

rafe took a deep breath , looking at the ceiling for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “i think— well , i liked you being just mine , but we didn’t tell anyone because we both agreed that it was smarter that way. she isn’t as — i don’t know,” he gave up toward the end , not knowing how to word what he wants to say , with a huff.

“they don’t like her?” you checked , not wanting to love the fact that another girl was hated , but it did make you feel better knowing she didn’t get that much special treatment.

“not at all,” rafe chuckled, “ruthie — oh , my god , ruthie is a fucking bitch. all of the time. kelce is kelce. the other girls are just as monstrous. you’re actually lucky i love you enough to not bring you around them.” it was a sweet sentiment , and it was true. you would’ve hated having to hangout with rafe’s kooky friends all the time.

so , you just nodded and closed your eyes , letting your body melt into rafe’s. “i love you too,” you happily sighed, “but i gotta go. i don’t know if kie— i just gotta go. can you give me a ride?” the sky had become significantly darker since the last time you looked out the window , and you became painfully aware you still had no idea where your brother was.

“yeah , let’s get you dressed and gone,” rafe agreed , rolling out of bed and picking a shirt out of the closet for you.

the drive was quiet ; you and rafe listening to your music he oh so missed as you held hands the entire time. when he came to pull up to the house , you noticed your truck back in its spot. you let kie borrow it to go looking for jj , and she was already home. a good thing because that means she found your brother , but a very bad thing because she would easily be able to see rafe’s truck if she just looked out a window.

“don’t turn the truck off,” you instructed , not wanting kie to hear the roar of his engine when rafe started it back up to leave, “kie’s home , so um—“

“i’ll see you soon,” rafe spoke for you , a soft smile on his lips, “i love you,” he added , leaning over and pressing a kiss on your temple.

“i’ll text you?” you offered , not wanting to leave just yet. you missed this bubble you and rafe lived in. he nodded , assuring you that would be just fine but also understanding that was your way of telling him not to text you first. anyone could see his name pop up on your phone. better safe than sorry.

you got out of the truck , heading to the porch to walk inside before you stopped and turned when you realized what you forgot. rafe rolled his window down , seeing you rush back to him. “i love you too,” you smiled , leaning in the window to kiss him goodbye.

with that , you were confident you could go to sleep with peace tonight. your strides were full of childlike giddiness , like this was the first time you had hung out with your crush. you were happy again , and it was already so easy—

“how come i just saw you and rafe kiss?”

kiara’s voice startled you , causing you to jump and grab the closest thing to you in defense. “jesus , kie! y’know there’s a guy after all of us right now. it’d be nice if you’d announce your presence more obviously,” you gasped , putting down the skateboard you picked up.

“it’d be nice if you���d start talking,” she hummed , giving you one of her fake smiles she’d only reserved for kooks up until now, “hate for this to be some misunderstanding”

taglist @maybankslover @annatartastic @maroonz @ravenmedows @yootvi @icaqttt @inlovewithmorales

[puppy-stevee]

steve's bad day

it's always noticeable when eddie's had a bad day at work. he pulls into the driveway with his music blaring through the open windows and he slams the door shut when he gets out.

the first bad day during the beginning of their relationship had terrified steve to his bones. his father had similar and frequent days when he was growing up and he always took it out on his mother, who gave it right back tenfold.

steve was so sure that eddie was going to be the same and that he'd be stuck in an endless cycle.

but eddie wasn't. he isn't.

he slams the door on his van shut, but he never slams the front door. he never yells or raises his voice. he doesn't speak at all, actually. when steve first told eddie of his fears, after that first day, eddie sat him down and explained that yes, he's irritated and pissed off on these occasions, but he's also overstimulated. talking about it won't make him feel better, it'll just make him shut down. but he assures steve that he won't ever put him in the crossfire.

this evening is no different than past bad days.

steve can hear the music before eddie even turns onto their street. it gets louder and louder until eddie is in the driveway and it abruptly cuts off, followed by the loud slam of the door. steve's surprised the thing hasn't fallen off its hinges, honestly.

the front door is softly opened, though, and steve starts walking himself through the routine they've both picked up: the first thing eddie does is take the dog for her evening walk around the block. sadie's become accustomed to this, so she's already sitting at the door with her tail wagging.

in the time it takes the two of them to get around the block, steve goes upstairs and turns the water on in the shower. if sadie is good and doesn't get sidetracked on their excursion, they're normally back right when the water has started to get hot. he lets eddie pick his own clothes out because more times than not, he ends up wearing his own pair of sweats and socks and one of steve's hoodies.

the lack of acknowledgment from eddie on these nights used to put steve on edge, but he's learned to leave eddie be and let him simmer down until he's ready to let the world around him in again.

eddie isn't in the shower long when he's this upset—he just wants to get clean and wash the grime of the day off—so once steve hears the splattering of water hit the tub from eddie rinsing his hair, he takes up a small mug (with a little cow on it) of cold milk for eddie to drink as soon as he steps out of the shower, when his skin is still hot and his bones start to ache with the day's stress.

steve doesn't bother with making dinner for the two of them. eddie doesn't have much of an appetite when he's upset and steve can eat whenever. so he makes his boy a cup of coffee and has two cold bottles of water waiting for him when he comes down the stairs, dressed in steve's grey swim team hoodie and a pair of black adidas sweatpants, his socks mismatched and the hood pulled over his damp hair. he's got his laptop and padded headphones tucked under his arm.

eddie pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps himself in it until he resembles a human burrito. he leans back against the comfy couch pillows and makes himself comfortable as he watches his various videos of deepdives, lore videos, true crimes. steve never really got the appeal of them, but eddie eagerly soaks up the content like a sponge and makes sure he catches every video from everyone he's subscribed to.

he looks peaceful like this—swathed in the warm, dim lights of the lamps on the couch's end tables, the light from his laptop reflecting on his face.

eventually, when it's nearing bedtime and the water and coffee are both gone and eddie feels a bit more like himself again, he'll shut his laptop down and unwrap himself from his cocoon and shuffle around the house until he finds steve. he's usually in the sitting room, the one they don't keep a tv in, doing whatever on his own laptop, and eddie will shuffle and shift until he's laying on top of his boyfriend (who is always so, so patient with him) with his nose pressed to steve's neck.

then is when steve will card his fingers through eddie's hair and untangle the knots that have formed underneath the hoodie, and eddie will try his hardest to crawl into his skin and between his ribcage and nestle himself right next to his heart.

"want me to make you a sandwich?" steve whispers against the crown of eddie's head.

eddie nods and holds steve's hand as he follows him to the kitchen. he sits at the island while steve makes his late dinner and they end up splitting a turkey sandwich off a paper plate. steve's lips quirk up as he reaches out and wipes a bit of mayo off the corner of eddie's mouth with his thumb and sucks it off.

they throw the plate in the trash and the mayo covered knife in the sink to be washed in the morning and head up the stairs. sadie is already in her doggy bed in the corner of their room and eddie kneels down to cup her head in his hands and cover her doggy face in as many kisses as he can. sadie, of course, returns them to the best of her ability and sends eddie into a giggling fit.

steve is the little spoon at bedtime. eddie curls himself around his back under the covers and steve laces their fingers together over his chest after he kisses the back of eddie's hand. eddie falls asleep knowing that even if tomorrow ends up going the same way, steve will be waiting for him with a hot shower and a cold mug of milk.

buy me a ☕?

[lavendernlilac]

Scar gently wrapping the rope around Grians arms, connecting her to the bed posts, tugging the knots once or twice to make sure they’re secure. He makes sure he gets her legs too, a little less restrictive than the arms so she can squirm around a bit. The last of rope is used to make a bralette shape across Grians chest, beautifully framing her boobs. By now she’s already whining slightly, the texture of the rope and light touches of Scars fingers winding her up, while he’s calmly asking how each knot feels.

Once she’s all settled in her bindings, Scar picks up the vibrator and sets it in place, turning it on briefly to make sure it works, getting a high moan out of Grian. Content with this set up, he makes sure that the camera and earpieces are all ready to go, and that Grians all set(and still play with this all) before he’s hopping out of the window to start his patrol.

It’s sudden when the first wave of vibrations hits Grian, a shocked gasp and whine falling out of her throat as she tries to grind against the sensation. Steadily, the intensity drops, sitting at the lowest it can for a while. She can hear Scars soft chuckles and praises in the earpiece as he messes with the intensity again.

This goes on for a couple hours, Scar reducing the intensity when he has to fight something/someone, but edging Grian when he’s just observing the area. They chat a little(it’s more begging on Grians side) when the vibrations are low, making sure to check in whenever possible.

Scar barely lasts 4 hours into his patrol shift before he’s on the way back home. He’s been edging Grian(and himself) for the last hour and a half and he can’t take it anymore, his hands twitch for Grians skin, lips dry from not being able to kiss her. He doesn’t tell her he’s on his way, just appears in Grians bedroom so suddenly she’s jolting out of her skin.

The rope stays on when he gets on top of Grian, kissing down her body until he’s lapping at her pussy, right next to the vibrator. She’s moaning and twitching while Scar eats her out and ups the vibrations. Takes barely a minute until her orgasm hits and the vibrator is turned off, leaving her to grind as best she can against Scars tongue until he’s leaning back up to kiss her. Grian is babbling between kisses, whining for scar to fuck her right in his ear.

The vibrator gets removed, but in its place lands Scars cock, already sliding into Grians hole. It doesn’t take long for Scar to finish, maybe a handful of slow thrusts, before he’s leaning back and untying the rope from Grians body.

She’s boneless, fully ready to knock out as Scar cleans up the bed. She barely registers getting picked up and transported to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Scars fulfilling the usual bath routine with a mostly asleep Grian against his chest, who’s mumbling all sorts of praises about tonight. She’s out cold when Scar tucks her back into bed, but he still has at least half his patrol left so Scar is giving her a kiss on the forehead and climbing back out of her window, leaving the camera on just to keep an eye on her.

My own prompt got stuck in my own brain lmao. Personally can’t really write, but I gave it a shot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-bodypillow anon

chomping on this actually hello??? I love this wdym you can’t really write !!!! /lh

I’ve been spinning this around in my brain for the past few days and now you hit me with THIS… I’ve been meaning to actually write out a drabble for this idea because of how much it’s latched on LOL. that’ll be in a separate post me thinks but I’m looking at this with big wide eyes waugh !!!

obsessed with the image of scar just showing up announced and scaring the hell out of grian DBDBRHRH but I’d image with how quickly scar is climbing on top of her she doesn’t have much of a chance to say much 😳

though I’m also very soft over scar holding her to his chest after. I can imagine him untying her very slowly and very carefully, rubbing her arms as he helps her sit up. grian being grian, flops herself right against scar’s chest and demands that he carries her and who is scar to deny her?

and WAUGH I just have this image of the two of them after, grian’s starting to fall asleep and scar’s stroking her hair,,, he still has to finish patrolling for the night but grian is so warm and soft he doesn’t want to leave her,,, he kisses her forehead and starts to get up but a hand is grabbing his shirt to stop him. grian looks at him very sleepily and asks him not to leave ;w;

it’s,,, so tempting for him to stay with her, pull her into his arms and fall asleep. but he has a responsibility to the city,,,, he promises to be back as soon as he can :(

this isn’t related to the post at all but it’s got me thinking about like. one of the first times they really butt heads about anything. in the beginning I don’t think scar has any balance between being scar and hotguy, and when he starts dating grian, it gets even more complicated. and grian kind of gets a bit upset about that because a) she wants to see him :( and b) scar’s not taking proper care of himself but he fails to see why that’s a problem and waugh. waughhhh!!!!

anyways. ahems. ty for this <3

[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[ttsukiimi]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ F⍣CK HER ‘TILL SHE SORE!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ He’s not addicted to your cũnt—he swears. He swears even as he’s forced the fourth ōrgasm out of you tonight; and there’s more to come.

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, smut (mdni), tit play, multiple örgasms, size difference (choso), slight còckwarming (nanami), reader referred to as (princess, baby, doll, good girl)

✧･ﾟ𝓖. 𝓢 ✧･ﾟ

Gojo didn’t even know how he even initially found himself inside you—it was like one second he was cuddling closer to you as his eyes glued to the tv, then another your leg was hoisted over his waist as he jerked his hips into you repeatedly. Was it his fault? Had he begged you to let him put just the tip in? Yes.

But you had given in, and that in its own was your mistake.

“Stay still, princess, wanna give it to you good,” he whispered in your ear, the way his shaky breath fanned past your neck causing goosebumps to bloom on your skin. You nodded, though it wasn’t a promise, and tried to take each passionate thrust of his girth he gave to you.

You were clutching the couch pillow for dear life, whining as you felt euphoria rock through you so pleasurably for the umpteenth time that night. The movie playing had long been forgotten—only serving as background noise, and to Satoru a nuisance since the sounds drowned out your heavenly moans.

He huffed into the skin of your neck, determined to now make you louder, and a hot slap landed on your left cheek, effectively coaxing a loud yelp from your lips. “Mh—!”

And you were sensitive by then, his seed dripping from your battered cunt, your body shivering and thighs quivering, but even then he was set on urging one last orgasm out of you.

Or two.

Hell, he couldn’t even promise it wouldn’t be three. But he just needed to stay inside of you.

Satoru’s hands came up from behind you before they latched onto your chest, groping your tits as he muttered lewd words in your ear.

“You like when I fucking play with these pretty tits, hm?” He kissed your shoulder, and you felt a smile form against your skin as the only thing you could let out was a weak whine—too drunk on his dick to speak. Satoru groaned at the sound, his lips finding your pulse point as he spoke.

“Always so dumb once I get inside you,”

✧･ﾟ𝓒.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Choso doesn’t have an exact idea of why he loves being buried inside you so much; perhaps it’s the way you sound, the way you feel, or the way you look—tears in your eyes and all—but he does know that he’d die happy if that meant he was inside you in his last moments.

And he absolutely adores every minute that he is.

Because with how much your greedy cunt is pulsing around him, and your manicured nails are scratching red lines down his back, Choso thinks he’s really found heaven. Right between your legs.

“Baby, slow down, Cho,” you whined, your sight obscured with tears though you could still make out the image of his sculpted body over yours, and he’s so big compared to you.

Sometimes he might forget that—but could you blame him though? Anyone would forget about some mere size difference when inside your addictive pussy, and he proved to be that anyone.

Choso leaned forward, and in the process his hair fell forward, framing both yours and his face. His hands ventured up your body and found their place on your chest, squeezing the meleable flesh.

“‘S okay, you can take it,” he mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, uncaring of the slight drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. With each thrust the course hairs at his base tickled your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good your whole body was quivering with pleasure.

“Just..one more, baby,”

✧･ﾟ𝓝.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Sometimes Nanami finds himself wondering just what you do to him, how you’ve changed him in ways he couldn’t himself in the past years you’ve been together. He can't help but smile when he sees your infectious smile, and he melts when he hears your sweet laugh.

But, above all, you've created an addiction in him. One that he seems to think about every waking moment; even at work, and that’s new territory for him.

What’s worse is that you know. Always teasing him about how pussy drunk he is, how he’d really do anything just to be inside you—not like he’s denying that—but he can’t retaliate with the way the tips of his ears burn pink. So, he’ll prove it.

“Kento, what’re you—“ you cut yourself off with an uneven breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head in tandem with the way he pushes himself into you.

His strong arms are wrapped around you, keeping you in place, but he strangely doesn’t begin to move. The reason being—well, he’s testing himself. His resolve, his patience by not moving a single inch, even while being compressed by your tight warmth.

Which is proving to be a challenge already for Nanami.

“Proving to you that ‘m not—“ he halts, groaning and gritting his teeth as you slightly shift, causing a grin to flourish on your face.

“That you’re not what?” you retort, pushing your hips back onto him, taking him in deeper than he already was. Your hand reaches back and caresses his face, cooing above his lips. “Know you wanna move. ‘M not stopping you either, ken.”

You’re so close to his lips Nanami could move an inch and they’d touch, but he won’t, of course. But…when you’re fucking yourself on his cock, moaning out for him to hear, to tease him, Nanami thinks maybe there isn’t anything to prove.

Maybe he is drunk on your pussy.

✧･ﾟ𝓣.𝓕✧･ﾟ

Toji knows of his slight compulsion towards your pussy. His tendency to always want to be inside is truly something that needs to be studied—because there’s absolutely no way his sex drive should be this significant.

Admittedly, he is aware of his addiction, but will he take any action to try to change his behavior? No. That then becomes your problem to tackle, but you have the perfect solution.

“A what?” Toji mumbled, licking the scar on his lip as he creased an eyebrow upwards in confusion. You were sat on his lap, your arms looped around his neck and you began to speak.

“A Sex ban, Toji.” you attempted to suppress your grin when you saw the confusion on his face only deepen, and a big hand came to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“‘M not for all your little games today, doll. Got a mission tomorrow and y’know what that means.” he sighed, his free hand holding your waist, slowly sliding to the waistband of your shorts and beginning to pull them down.

“But, really baby, we—you need a break.” you protested, but just couldn’t counter back with the way his rough and thick fingers were already playing with your folds, gathering your essence.

Quickly, his lips were on yours and that shut you up, which gave him time to free himself from his sweats and enter you in one, swift motion.

He wasted no time in holding your hips and bouncing you up and down on his cock, a smug smirk on his lips as he looked at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You weren’t one to talk about a sex ban when you could hardly even let him go on a mission for more than 2 days without complaining about how much you missed him and his magic dick.

“Now ya just be quiet and take what I give you, yeah?” he breathed in your ear as his big hands groped your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. The pleasure coursed throughout your body so deliciously, already causing your thighs to begin quivering and your pussy pulsed around him, greedy to suck him dry.

“Good girl,”

[tonycries]

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) - C.K.

Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing. 

Word count. 9.0k

A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.

Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.

With a capital h. 

Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.

Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly. 

The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air. 

Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.

Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome. 

What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.

Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?

Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real? 

You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.

But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique. 

“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable. 

“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot. 

You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks. 

Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”

You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo? 

In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.

God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol. 

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.

You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.

Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-” 

And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.

Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine. 

And then it’s all black. 

To match his eyes.

---

The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact. 

Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into? 

Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment. 

Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that. 

With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.

And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”

You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”

Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.” 

You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-” 

“It’s al-”

 “I swear I’ve seen ankles-”

A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.” 

And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about. 

Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”

And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling. 

As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.

You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso. 

It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.

You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye. 

Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve. 

At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.

“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-

Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.

Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.

…

Nahhh. 

Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.

Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.

And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again. 

His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.

Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.

So he does have nipple piercings.

God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.

As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.

The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.

“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.

Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,” 

You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”

His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, it’s on now.”

“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.

Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.

---

Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.

Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. 

But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”

“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”

Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that- 

A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.

Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…

Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory. 

Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.

So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.

Like, right now.

Shit. 

With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.

And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.

With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you. 

Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.

With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock. 

Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.” 

Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-

He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock? 

One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well. 

Or maybe…

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins. 

Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”

“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him. 

All for him. 

It’s too much. 

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.” 

Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon. 

Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind. 

Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand. 

Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.

But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.

Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could. 

“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”

You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him. 

You. 

And then he’s cumming. 

A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-

You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.

You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.

Shit.

Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.

But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him. 

Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-

…

God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow. 

Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course. 

Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.

…

Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved. 

Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.

Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.

At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.

Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.

And you didn’t mind?

In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-

Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?

You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-

Click!

You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

---

You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies

And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.

But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.

You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.

Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt. 

Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time. 

It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.

“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R. 

It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.

You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?

And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right? 

It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.

Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.

Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.

Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.

Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.

Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.

This was absolute torture. 

“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.

His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”

You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”

Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success. 

“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. 

“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”

His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.

You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”

It was like something snapped.

Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.

Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.

Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.

You minx.

Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.

God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.

Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.

With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing. 

You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”

Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.

Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.

Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting. 

“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue. 

“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that. 

Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-

Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.

Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.

You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. 

Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously. 

And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?” 

You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”

Smack!

The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.

“What was it, sweetheart?”

You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”

“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions. 

God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”

And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples. 

Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping. 

Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.

Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing. 

“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips. 

He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.

Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face. 

He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”

Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-

His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.

“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue. 

Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”

As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.

Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water. 

Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.

So you do. 

Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide. 

“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need. 

You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you. 

And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue. 

“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”

Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. 

You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could. 

Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life. 

A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl. 

Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”

“Feels perfect.”

But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.

Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.

Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.

Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-

Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.

Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips. 

Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.

So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same. 

Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat. 

Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later. 

Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face. 

You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt. 

“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.

And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well. 

“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him. 

Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more. 

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty. 

And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.

The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.

“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”

A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”

Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.

Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.

You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass. 

“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them. 

Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?

“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.

And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”

The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?

“Wha-”

And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.

Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.

Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him. 

But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.

There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.

Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason. 

“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.

“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”

You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.

And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. 

Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more. 

Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him,  “More? My sweetheart wants more?”

And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get. 

“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.

And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.

Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”

“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”

You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”

You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”

“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.

And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.

Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”

“I know.”

“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”

“Choso, just kiss me.”

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you. 

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut. 

White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.

It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want. 

As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully. 

A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.

In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.

Too afraid to break you.

To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.

And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.

“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually. 

“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves. 

Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”

“Nope.”

Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed. 

“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.” 

Except maybe those. 

You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.

Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, we still have time so how about-”

A distant click!

“Honey, we’re home~!”

Shit.

A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[screampied]

໒꒱ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, sugar baby gojo, missionary, tīt play, praise kink, mdni.

sugar baby!gojo who lives off your praise,

you can buy him anything in the world—but hearing you call him a ‘good boy’ was the most expensive, priceless gift he could ever get.

anytime he’s buried between your thighs, it’s like pure heaven to him. satoru can’t help but shove his face between your soft breasts, humping sloppily against your body as you run your fingers down his hair. down his undercut, oh that spot . . it makes whimpers spew straight past his lips at the simple touch of your fingers. “f- fuck, miss,” he’d grunt, almost forgetting that his hardened cock was stilled inside of you. his bottom lip quivers as his body continues to sloppily thrust against you, his hips lazily trying to become in sync with your own. satoru almost purrs, feeling your thumb swipe down his undercut and the way you clench around him. “y- you feel so good.”

“eyes up here, ‘toru baby,” you coo in a sweet tone, almost angelic. pretty azul irises dilate, meeting yours whilst you cup his chin. he leans into your touch as his eyes shimmer in the light. “thaaaat’s it pretty boy, jus’ hold my hips,” and he shivers once you drag your tepid hands further down, grabbing ahold of his frigidly cold hands. satoru moans, continuing to drive his dick into your sopping cunt before he leans in for a kiss. “mmpf,” you let off a muffled squeal, tossing your arms over his tensing broad shoulders.

satoru’s soft lips crash onto yours, tasting the remnants of peachy moët & chandon on your tongue—you tasted sweet, rich. .

“no, call me a good boy again,” and with how whiny his voice is and how far apart his snowy white brows furrow, he��s not asking he’s begging. “please miss . . please.”

“mhm, satoru,” you breathe through gritted teeth, his sizzling hot body continuously rocking against yours. the queen-sized bed grows rickety and your nails claw a long slope down his tensed back.

he’s stupidly feral, rutting into you again and again with his hungry jittery hips plowing into you with such needy, greedy thrusts. and as he’s between your thighs—going back and forth, hearing the sloshing sounds of your pussy shriek in rapture, satoru’s got that look in his eyes awaiting for you to say it again.

those sweet sweet words, sweeter than honey.

satoru’s sloppily kissing down your neck as his hips thrust into you quicker. he huskily groans, the sweltering hot tip of his cock kissing up against that same spot. your toes curl in pleasure as you feel his pumping surge deeper into your loving core.

“good boy,” you whisper, letting off a soft whine once he goes back to sucking on your tits again. with a loud ‘pop’, one tit of yours jiggles out from his mouth with a silvery string of saliva swallowing. a sleazy grin spreads across his lips as he heard your words of approval. he’s nodding with your swollen nipple, his eyes telling you, ‘say it again, again. . ’

“ngh, good boy,” you repeat in broken breathy whimpers, feeling the shaky weight of his sculptured hips continuously buck into yours. satoru can’t get enough of you, your scent — oh, that expensive acqua di parma perfume you’d spritz all over yourself purposely just for him to smell - it drove him insane.

satoru’s whining, his face sitting up from between your chest and he’s staring dead at you. dewy hooded eyes lock onto yours before he’s starting to see nothing but white. as satoru’s weakly moving his hips against you—his eyes were staring to roll back, he was about to almost drool. all because of your sweet cunt—the epitome of pussy drunk.

his base was the fullest its ever been. it thwacks and thwacks against your sloshing wet cunt until you’re dizzy, until he’s dizzy. wrapping your legs around his slim waist, you grind yourself back into him. “fuck me, right there ‘torubaby, fuck.”

“ ‘m gonna cum just from your voice—shit,” he huffs, and he can feel your pussy slobbering all down his pace with your slick. your hands run down his waist and he moans from your touch. it was almost cute at how sensitive he was to something as simple at touch. to the outside world—he’s satoru gojo, the strongest. but between your legs, he’s weak—happily weak just for you and only you.

with how wet you were and how his cock’s just twitching and throbbing inside of your clingy gummy walls, it’s just so damn lewd. he sucks his teeth as his bare knuckles split, turning pale. “god, keep touchin’ me please, touch my body. keep t- touchin,”

cupping his cheeks, you have a sheepish expression. “baby, you’re rambling again,” you softly murmur, and he’s panting, rolling his hips faster into you. he leans into your touch, his plump cheek squishing against your palm. your arms go back to hauling themselves over his shoulders before you bring him into a kiss.

satoru’s shivering at how your lips crash onto him yet again—your hands feeling all over him. his hips grew so unapologetically sloppy that it was only a matter of time before his knees pathetically buckled.

as his tongue blissfully curls against yours, strands of sappy saliva tangling amongst each other, he whimpers right into your mouth. satoru’s hips pop against you as he tries to slow down, feeling himself finally let go.

it’s so good, his cock emits out lustrous ribbons of cum right into your cunt and your lips part, gasping. “oh, o- oh shit,” he grunts, feeling the warmth of your ankle run down his chiseled back. satoru’s panting heavily, cowardly tucking his head back between his favorite place — your tits.

“mmpf,” he tries to suppress his moans as he’s still cumming. it’s so much that he can’t help but shake. euphoria overtakes his body as he’s dumping satiny strands inside of you. his tongue swirls against each of your pretty tender nipples before he gives each of them a long three second suck. you whine, feeling him pour every dribbling drop inside of your pussy until it’s no more for him to spill.

a hand of yours runs through his unkempt ivory strands as he’s trying to silence his sweet noises by having his mouth stuffed full. “f- fuck, that’s it, ‘toru,” and he hums with his pretty lashes fluttering themselves shut, feeling butterflies once your fingers drag through his delicate scalp.

satoru’s entirely sloppy without zero shame either. with half-lidded droopy eyes, you watch as a bit of his own saliva runs from the corners of his pink crooked lips. “s- satoru,” you moan, his flaccid cock still plugged into you. it’s hot, his tip was barely even leaking anymore, and yet between your thighs—it was an entire mess he’d gifted you. you always showered him with praises and gifts so he decided he’d shower you with a gift of his own this time.

the gift in question was currently spilling down your thighs and staining the rich velvety sheets.

“say it again,” he whines, pretty eyes pleading at you. satoru’s got a pout displaying against his lips as his head presses on top of your breasts. but his pout suddenly turns smug once he playfully nips at the sheeny pearls that wrap around your neck.

“call me your good boy again, miss . .”

[ddejavvu]

Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now

Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned

The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.

You.

Your pussy.

You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.

But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.

Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.

Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."

"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."

Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.

Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.

"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"

Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.

Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"

"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."

"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."

[nanaslutt]

Geto would beg to put it in…

hahahhehehehoohooho yes he would

geto needs to zip tie his mouth shut because it’s so FILTHY

MDNI

He would rub the tip up and down your folds, smearing his cock all over your pussy lips, looking down at you with a weak smile.

"Please baby, wanna put it in now, please." He begged. Your hand was gripped firmly against his scalp, his soft hair between your fingers. "Mmm, but it feel so good when you rub your tip on my clit like that."

He repeated the action again, hoping him obeying you would let him get his cock inside you sooner. "They're kissing, how cute." you whined.

Geto looked down between the two of you and saw your little clit catch perfectly in the slit of his dick when he used it to rub circles against the nub. When he looked back up at your flushed face, pretty eyes staring up at him through your lashes, he had to try not to blow his load prematurely.

He gripped the base of his cock firmly, aiding him in staving off his orgasm. "Yeah yeah so cute,” he rushed, “Can I please put it in now? Gonna cum all over your clit if I dont stop rubbin it like this." need laced in his voice when he spoke.

He had started to slide his cock back down to your entrance, getting stopped in his ministrations when you yanked his head back, making him whine, "Fuck!" he groaned, tip leaking out more precum at the delicious pain on his scalp.

"Maybe I wont let you put it in at all, since youre being so impatient," you huffed breathily, trying to sound dominate but the need ultimately sneaking its way into your voice.

"Come onnnnn," Geto dragged out the syllables, "I know you need it too.." Leaning his big frame down over yours, pressing his mouth to your ear as his deep voice vibrated in your ears, "Please let me fuck you baby, need to cum so deep inside your little pussy, need it so bad." He teasingly groaned when your hold that was still on his head made itself known again, pulling the strands at his dirty words.

"You like that idea?" he kept pushing, knowing he was winning you over, "want me to stuff you full of my cum, huh?" he moaned into your ear, pressing the tip against the tight ring of your cunt before retracting the pressure, repeating that action a couple times, successfully making you needy for him.

"S-supposed to be you begging m-me, not the other way around suguru." you wined, feeling yourself lose the hold you had over him, geting lost in the pleasure and promise of what was to come.

"Your so right baby," he cooed, sucking your earlobe into his hot mouth and stimulating it with his tongue before he spoke again, "Please let me put it in, pretty please." He asked, concecending tilt in the undertones of his pleasding voice, “M about to cum jus’ thinking about it…”

"O-ok, you can put it i-" Sentence getting cut off with a moan when he thrusted the entire length of his cock inside you all at once.

Geto buried his face into the crook of your neck, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw when he was fully inside, "F-fuckkk, haha," he groaned, balls already twitching, and stomach coiling with the need to cum. "So- fucking- tight-" He growled, fucking his words into you.

Lifting his head to get a better view of your face, he caressed the side of your teary cheek when he spoke, "Thank you for letting me fuck you baby, so fucking good to me." Groans and moans filled the air as he thoroughly fucked you into the mattress for the rest of the night in appreciation.

yeaahhhh, geto would def beg to put it in :p

[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head his nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; fem!reader + daddy kink

shoko smoking a cigarette while she's fucking you with her strap.. chuckling at the way you're drooling into the pillow,, she's got a knee on the bed while her other leg is propped up on the mattress, so she can reach even deeper, so she can fuck you even better. her free hand kneads the plush flesh of your ass, slapping it every once in a while just to hear you whimper her name. it's like music to her ears, she fucking loves it.

throwing her hair over her shoulder, she leans forward, her strap now slotted so deep inside you that you feel it in your throat. her tits press against your back and you arch up into her on instinct. she takes the cigarette from her lips and places it onto the ashtray right next to the bed, just so she can get closer to you.

her pace turns into a slower one, simply grinding her hips into yours as she kisses your sweaty temple. "does it feel good, hm?"

your grip on the sheet below you tightens, the flame in your stomach burning brighter at the sudden proximity. your mind is hazy, your thoughts all jumbled inside your head, so you give her a faint nod, hoping that'll be enough.

shoko's lips trace down the side of your face and your body moves all on its own, leaning into her touch like a cat in heat. you feel her smile against your skin. "c'mon, use your words, baby... tell daddy how you feel."

her voice is raspy, the coo trickling from her lips like sticky goo, trapping you under her indefinitely. you're burning all over; the rays of sun that peek from between the curtain cradle your faces, they illuminate the pleasure painted onto your expressions. shoko places another kiss right in the middle of a light patch right on the corner of your lips and it all feels unreal.

she presses you down further into the mattress, the sweat of your bodies mixing together as she continues rocking into you. the words get stuck in your throat and she laughs at your cute, fucked out expression.

the sound makes you want to take a peek at her and you regret the decision to do so immediately, because she's right there, staring down at you with low eyes, her lips swollen from all of the kisses you stole but a mere hour earlier. the makeout session escalalated fast – with you sat on her lap, nipping at her neck and her mouth hungrily, all while whining about her not paying enough attention to you, it was impossible for it not to go from one to a hundred. you asked for this. begged for it.

the marks on her neck are darker now and she looks fucking heavenly. her lipstick is smudged, a droplet of sweat dribbling down her forehead – there's a sick little grin glued to her lips, the kind that lets you know that she's so fucking far from being done with you, despite the numerous orgasms she's pulled from you already.

when you still can't muster up a single word, she slithers a hand into your hair and gives it a tug strong enough for you to raise your head from the bed. you hiss at the faint tinge of pain and she lets out another raspy laugh – she likes seeing you like this, she loves ruining you. with her mouth latched onto your jaw, you feel her wet and warm tongue draw shapes into your skin.

"aw, has daddy fucked you dumb already, baby?"

the coil in your stomach tightens at her words and you don't even try to hold back the filthy moan that spills from your sore throat. she gives your hair another tug and you know she expects a proper answer and that there will be consequences if you don't give her one. so you try to hold her gaze with everything you've got, tears brimming in your lashline from how much everything is starting to become.

"so– so good."

you sound pathetic and you know it. her grin widens.

"who's making you feel so good?"

"you are."

her lips brush over the shell of your ear.

"who is?"

she angles her hips, making the tip of her silicone cock hits the spongy spot inside you that makes your eyes go cross. "i– fuck."

her hot breath fans your face, her fingers still twisted around the strands of your hair as she waits for your answer.

"daddy is."

you bite down onto your lip at the pleased hum she gives you and let your heavy head fall back onto the pillow the second she lets go of your hair. she leans closer once more, pressing a sloppy, haste kiss to your lips before pushing herself into her original position while dragging her nails along your spine. with her thighs flush to yours, she reaches for her cigarette again; she doesn't rush it, she takes her time ashing it, reveling in the way you're trembling on her cock.

her lips wrap around the already stained stick as she stares at where you're connected, the mess of it all – her masterpiece.

"good girl."

[luvsupa]

#HOW TO TAME YOUR BRAT: 101?!

featuring: gojo, geto, toji, sukuna

summary: jjk men brat taming you after pushing them to their limits, mdni

w.c: 3.3k

+ill fix any errors tmr 🙂‍↕️

☆SATORU GOJO

— cw: gojo x fem reader, office au, missionary, squirting, degrading, etc.

running your own business has its perks and its downfalls, but right now? this is the worst. your business partner, gojo satoru, drives you absolutely insane. he shows up late to every meeting—hell, he didn’t even bother to show up at all this week!

you’re now standing next to him in the elevator, arms crossed tightly under your chest, trying to ignore the headache his obnoxious presence gives you. gojo leans casually against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets, rambling on about his latest wild night, his words muffled by the cherry favoured lollipop lazily hanging from his glossy lips, leaving a red stain that only adds to your irritation.

“c’monnn, you’re seriously mad at me?” he whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, your black heels tapping impatiently against the elevator floor as it crawls toward your floor.

“seriously? we lost that business deal because you can’t stop chasing after new girls every night.” you grit your teeth, glaring at him as he swirls the candy around before popping it out with a little pop!

“what, are you jealous that i’m getting laid and you’re not?” he smirks, clearly reveling in the thought.

“fuck you, gojo.”

your last words before you truly regret putting yourself in this predicament. you reaalllyy struck a nerve as he slammed you on your back on top of his desk- crowded with important documents that he did not care about. the slutty position he had you in was filthy, your knees pressed up to your chest. your black pencil skirt now bunched to your waist as your panties were thrown somewhere onto the desk, showing how impatient he was. gojo jackhammers his thick cock into your sopping cunt as the decorations on the desk began to slip off the desk— some even breaking due to the impact, but he did not care. lewd squelches ring in your ears as you’re moaning uncontrollably. his pace is beyond brutal your breasts jiggle by each thrust. 

“are you gonna be a good girl and watch that dirty mouth?” he says through panting breaths as one of his hands move to your clit, rudely pinching your sensitive nub between his fingers as you sob loudly. your eyes flutter open as you make eye contact with him, trying your hardest to speak as he darkly chuckles.

“awh, poor baby can’t speak— that’s okay, she’s doing allll the talking, right?” he says, referring to your pussy as loud sloshes of your cunt cry louder with each thrust. 

“f-fuck you- hahh,” you manage to speak out as his eyes darken. his thrusts come to a stop as he moves his hand from your cunt to grab something on the desk. your panties. he scrunches your damp panties into his hand as he shoves it into your mouth- nearly choking on the fabric.

“thaats much better,” he says as he picks up his rhythm once again. but this time- this time you fucked up. his hips snapping at an animalistic pace as your body aches at being folded in half. he’s showing you no mercy. your moans muffled by the cotton fabric in your mouth as tears races down the sides of your cheeks. you cunt clenching around his length as he lets out a low groan. 

gojo bites his lower lip hard as he feels his cock twitching- his balls tightening as your pussy sucks the soul out of him. “gahh- f-fuck, sloppy fuckin’ pussy.” he moans as his hips stutter. your eyes crossed as he brings his hand to your cunt once again, as he draws rough circles on your nub. he can tell you’re close just by the way you’re-

oh.

your body feels limp as you unexpectedly come undone. you see white splotches in your vision as your ears slightly ring. gojo looks down at your fucked expression as he admires the mess you’ve made. your juices everywhere, all over his suit, his desk- fuck you’ve soaked the business contacts that you two needed.

“w-what, mmf,” you moan when you feel gojo slip out of your gaping cunt- thick globs of cum seeping out your hole, creating a puddle of your mess on his desk.

“mmm, you squirted- that was fuckin’ hoottt,” he says while admiring how much cum your pussy can take before it spills out. he slaps his cock onto your swollen cunt as you whine at the sensitivity. your legs aching at having them up against your chest- but just before you can rest them down, gojo pulls something out of his pocket. another lollipop. seriously. 

he unravels the new flavour, strawberry lemonade, as he brings it into his mouth. humming in content at the sweet flavour. he looks down at your cunt filled with your mixed juices. gojo brings the fresh candy out of his mouth as he smirks, bringing the candied stick to your cunt, smothering the sticky candy in your sweet cum. you bite your lip as you watch the entire scene unfold as you gasp loudly once he plunged the pink lollipop into your pussy, twirling the stick as he slowly thrusts the candy in your hole. collecting your gooey cum along the lollipop as he pulls it out with a slight pop! before sticking it back into his mouth- this time moaning at your honeyed essence.

☆SUGURU GETO

— cw: fwb!geto x fem reader, blow job, riding, etc.

sugu: come outside, baby.

you: nah.

you toss your phone onto your bed after sending the text. you shouldn’t feel this way—after all, you’re not even together! just before his message, you saw geto posing with a girl who clearly had her eyes on him. it infuriated you, but you both had agreed on being friends with benefits.

your phone chimes again, geto clearly unhappy with your response.

sugu: ???

rolling your eyes, you glance out your bedroom window and spot his matte black sports car parked in front of your apartment complex. your heart sinks a little when you realize no one is in the car. that means—

shit.

you forgot you gave him your spare key. you rush to the living room to lock the extra locks on the door, but you stop dead in your tracks. there’s geto, standing in the middle of your living room. damn, he looks good—his messy long hair falls over his back as he digs his hands into his black sweats, swaying slightly as he waits for an explanation.

“gimme a kiss, baby,” he rasps. you cross your arms, your silk black pajama dress accentuating your figure, and he bites his lip, eyes roaming over you. you don’t move closer, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“what’s got you upset now, hmm?” he steps toward you, closing the gap, shamelessly staring.

“i don’t know, maybe you should ask your other girl for a kiss,” you reply coldly, looking away. he laughs genuinely at your response.

“heh, don’t worry, i only want you,” he reassures, reaching out to caress your face. but you stubbornly swat his hand away, surprising him.

“go call her when you want your dick sucked, pussy,” you mutter under your breath, loud enough for him to hear as you turn your back and storm toward your room, anger simmering beneath the surface.

geto’s eyes widen, his jaw tightening as your words hit him like a slap to the face. the silence behind you feels charged, the tension growing.

you barely make it halfway into your room before your mouth runs ahead of your mind. “if your dick was even big enough to suck,” you mutter quietly to yourself. but he heard. 

that’s it. you can feel the heat of his stare burning into your back, the shift in his energy unmistakable. before you can take another step, his voice cuts through the air, low and deadly. “what did you just say?”

your loud mouth is what ended you up here, knees digging into the carpet- almost burning- of your living room in between getos thighs. your jaw aching as you attempt to take in all of his inches- hell you’re barely half way! and fuck, he was so big and so girthy it hurt. geto fucks your face hard as both of his hands grip the sides of your hair- bobbing your head roughly as you loudly gag on his cock. his tip hitting the back of your throat as his hips snap up. drool slips past your mouth as your chin is covered in saliva and cum as you’re in tears- mascara running down your face, your eyes roll to the back of your head as your cunt clenches around nothing.

“say that shit again baby- my dicks what?” he taunts as he pulls your head away from his cock, causing you to choke up a cough as you’re trying your hardest to breathe properly. geto grows impatient at your silence as he grabs the base of his cock as he slaps your cheeks to regain your consciousness.

“don’t tell me you’ve given upp,“ he trails as he drags his leaky tip across your swollen lips- painting your lips as a shiny gloss.

“lil’ dick,” you spat out, giving him a weak smile as geto stares into your eyes. you’ve got the fuckin’ nerve, he thinks.

geto grabs the back of your head, shoving his shaft back into your mouth- this time he pushes your head to the base, your eyes widening as you’re nearly choking on his cock. your nose brushes along his neatly trimmed pubic hair as you swear you felt him in your chest. you’re hallowing your cheeks as the room fills with pornographic squelches from your mouth as you can’t believe you’re making these sounds.

you slowly snake your hand under your dress, parting your folds as you rub your clit as you moan around his cock. geto groans loudly at the vibration. he notices you touching your pussy as he roughly pulls you away, a string of saliva connected from his tip to your swollen lips as you choke up a cough. geto suddenly lifts you off the ground as he pulls you into his lap, staring up at your fucked out expression.

“since you wanna be in charge, ride me.” he demands as he aligns his tip to your drooling hole. but before you could go at your own pace, geto tuts in annoyance and slams your hips down onto his- earning a loud sob from you. he’s practically moulding himself in your gummy walls each time you two fuck. your cunt squeezes his shaft tightly as he moans, throwing his head back on the couch as you slowly pace yourself on his dick.

“‘so b-big sugu’— i f-feel you-“ you could barely finish your sentence without whimpering as one of your hands glide against your tummy, feeling the bulge of his cock ramming himself in you as your breasts bounce in his face. fuck, he’s so inlove with you.

“yeaa I bet you feel me rightttt here, pretty”

☆TOJI FUSHIGURO

— cw: yakuza boss!toji x bimbo!reader, voyeurism, tojis being very patient but he’s mean.

“toj’, i wanna leave,” you whine, tugging at his long-sleeve button-up, the top three buttons casually undone. he’s trying to focus on the meeting, surrounded by men who practically tremble at his presence. you huff in annoyance, crossing your arms and eyeing the other gang members, wishing he hadn’t dragged you into this boring affair that has nothing to do with you.

he promised it would only take thirty minutes of your life, and then he’d take you on a shopping spree for your favorite purse. your acrylic nails tap impatiently on your phone as you check the mall hours—oh my goodness, it’s closed. your eyes widen, rage bubbling up inside you.

“toji, you lied! the mall’s closed and i’m stuck in this boring-ass meeting!” you whisper loudly, glancing at the other gang members as they discuss business that feels miles away from your world. not even a glance from him; his eyes remain glued to the conversation. muttering under your breath, you call him a “useless bitch” and return to your phone, pouting once more.

but your frustration catches his attention. without you realizing it, toji shifts his focus to you—not just because of your outburst, but because of the sly comment you let slip. one hand rests on the back of your head as you look up at him, your eyes sparkling with hope for some acknowledgment. that hope quickly fades when you see the look in his eyes.

“wanna repeat that for me, pretty?” he asks, his voice low. your heart races as he gently pets the back of your head, and suddenly, all the gang members and bodyguards are looking your way.

“the mall’s closed,” you whisper, feeling small under their gaze. he chuckles, knowing you’re not as clueless as your bimbo outfit suggests.

“mmm, you think i’m a liar and a useless bitch, huh?” he scoffs, and you frown, realizing how impatient you’ve been.

“well, you are! you promised we were going shopping, but you’re prioritizing this shitty meeting!” with that, he simply nods, slipping his hand from your head and turning back to the men at the table.

“this—this is what happens when y’er pet never fuckin’ listens,” he announces to everyone, suddenly pulling you into his lap, making you yelp at his speed.

“’m not your pet—”

and with that toji had your pussy on display for everyone to see- to witness how your bratty mouth causes you to be punished when things don’t go your way. your mini skirt now thrown across the room as toji had you prettily on his lap- your back to his large chest- as he bucks his hips up from the squeaky chair, your pussy sobbing with loud and lewd squelches as your feet were up in the air- pretty platform heels on display- kept up nice and wide by his beefy arms as he commanded everyone to watch. your head rests on his shoulder as you tongue lolls out. he’s already fucked you dumb.

your moans bounce off the room as toji rams his cock into your cunt- kissing your cervix as you tighten around him. the chair squeaking with each thrust— your gummy walls nearly suffocating him. all the eyes on you make you squirm on tojis lap as you attempted to close your legs- but not as fast as he spreads your legs wider as you babble incoherent apologies. 

“‘s too much toj’— you’re being ‘s mean,” you cry out as your cunt spasms around his thick cock. he grins as he finds this ironic— insulting him and you think this is too much. pathetic.

“mean? ‘m being mean? alright mama,” he darkly says as he rises from the chair, many pairs of eyes watching your every move as he bends you over the meeting table as it slightly shakes at the force- causing you gasp at the impact of the hard wooden table as you catch a glimpse of some of the men palming themselves to you.

tojis hands grip the flesh of your hips as his unrelenting tempo quickens as you sob out. your knees nearly give out as he hoists you up, chuckling at how much you’re struggling to take him. tojis merciless pounding cause you to crawl forward— you can’t take it anymore that he slams his cock deeper into your cunt as tears spill from your eyes, your makeup now ruined and smudged.

“going somewhere, doll?”

☆SUKUNA RYOMEN

— cw: trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, jealous sukuna, monster fucking (i think), full nelson, etc.

“‘kuna?” you call out in his dark chambers, a chill creeping through the air. he already knew you were coming. stepping inside, you see dimly lit torches flickering against the cold, ancient stone, illuminating his crafted throne where he sits, a vision of beauty in his white kimono.

“‘kuna, what’s wrong?” you ask, feigning concern as his unsettling presence fills the room. his gaze is fixed elsewhere, and the two guards at his side look at you with barely concealed anger. you saunter closer, your heels echoing against the concrete floor as you ascend the steps to stand before him.

he’s mad. he barely acknowledges you, confusion swirling in your mind as you try to understand his sudden shift in demeanor.

“have I done something to upset you?” your voice drops, scanning his face for any sign of distress.

“what have you not done?” his low voice echoes ominously through the chambers, sending a shiver down your spine. you step back, taken aback by his tone, racking your brain for anything that might have provoked him.

“please, explain,” you plead, taking one of his massive hands in yours, feeling the heat radiate from him. all four of his crimson eyes fixate on you, piercing through the tension.

“I saw you too close to that scum,” he grits out, his expression darkening. your brows furrow as you think of who he’s referring to.

oh.

the guard.

you giggle, brushing it off as you reassure him you were just doing your duties around the estate, completely ignoring his darkening aura.

“if you really want that lowlife, then go,” he snaps, his eyes beginning to glow, a clear sign of his fury. your heart races, offended by his comment as he pushes your hand away. “leave,” he commands, and your heart sinks—what have you done to deserve this?

you nod, turning to walk away, but just before you can exit, you catch his attention. his ears perk up, listening intently as you toss out your final words.

“maybe I will fuck him—let us know if you’re willing to watch.”

with that, sukuna rises from his throne, a terrifying presence. you’ve truly provoked the king of curses.

shit.

“you think this is funny, woman,” sukuna growls in your ear as a pair of his hands drew you close, wrapping his arms securely around you, pinning your arms behind your head as your legs are dangling in the air- locking you in place. the warmth of his body envelop you as your back is tightly pressed against his broad chest. his thrusts are inhumane as your whole body bounces with every thrust as he has you on full display for anyone to walk in his chambers.

your poor cunt sobbing out loud cries as you’ve barely took him in whole. you rest your head on his shoulder as you’re panting loudly, pleading for him to slow down but it quickens his pace. his lower cock hitting your sensitive cunt as sukuna chuckles- enjoying your sobs- as sick as he is, it’s an encouragement. his other pair of hands play with your swollen clit with a playful smack! and your fondling with your sore breasts as he takes your nipples in between his fingers, pulling and pinching as it gives a new wave of pleasure that has you curling your toes in the air. 

“how many times do ya’ run that mouth, huh? is there anything up there?” he laughs in your ear as you whine, everything’s too much for you that all you could do is nod. 

“yeaaa there nothing there, my little fuck toy,” he rasps as your walls spasm around the delicious girth- his cock filling you up to the brim

“do you think this sloppy pussy craves that guard hmm? is she as nasty as you are?” he taunts as he slaps your cunt twice. you sob loudly as more tears spill from your eyes— your cunt tightening around his length as his brow quirks up.

“you fuckin’ slut—“ he growls as he’s now speaking to your pussy as a mouth forms on his hand as he hovers it against your cunt— his tongue sucking on your clit as you start babbling nonsense. the combination of his thrusts and new stimulations send electricity through your body as you feel your orgasm approaching fast. sukuna removes his hand aww from your cunt as rough pace does not stop. sukuna grabs the base of his lower cock- parting your slick folds as a sinful thought comes to mind. he darkly chuckles behind you as his thrusts come to a brief stop- giving you time to take a breather as he still remains himself deep in your pussy.

“let’s test and see if she can handle another one, hmm?”