#he's needs a baby to cheer up

[pininghermit]

Gift of Fate

AN: if you saw this on my ao3, no you didn't. Is it weird to write platonic stuff for him? Yes, but I want to.

Genre: fluff, found family

Pairing(s): Alucard x Platonic Reader

Summary: If he had been the Alucard of legend, the rumored savior of old tales, these people might have lived. But he wasn’t that Alucard anymore.

His slow heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. He pushed aside the shards of shattered wine bottles, uncaring of the glass biting into his skin. The surrounding ruins, broken furniture, faded tapestries, blurred into nothing.

Had the rotting flesh that adorned the castle not been enough of a warning? He summoned his sword, the weight familiar in his grip. Whoever dared trespass here would not be met with the welcome they expected.

Dracula’s castle welcomed no guests anymore. It once had. When his father met his mother. When love had breathed life into its halls. The last time its doors opened, two human corpses had hung outside them, rotting in the cold air. Now, death reeked from every cranny and crevice.

Long ago, these walls had known joy. A young master, he, had run through its corridors. Love once lit its chambers, and golden sunlight poured through the windows, warming stone and soul alike. Now those same rays only served to highlight the layers of dust, the decay of a forgotten past.

Alucard halted at the castle’s main door, sword gripped tightly. He listened. A heartbeat, soft, faint, alone echoed in his sharp ears. No other sound accompanied it. He scoffed at the fool who dared step into his father’s domain. Weakness would not betray him again as it had in the past.

The scars on his body were reminders etched into his skin as eternal warnings. No amount of alcohol could numb the pain that lingered in those wounds. It burned always, like the doom of patricide that weighed on his every breath.

He had once thought his father weak. In his arrogance, he had scorned Dracula’s fall. Fate, ever cruel, had broken him too left him hollow, drowning in his own despair.

Breaking from his stupor, Alucard slammed the heavy wooden doors open. He moved through the woods like a shadow, soundless and swift. The noise had been close, so close it felt as though it echoed from the castle’s empty halls. But he knew better.

His sword cut through the air in a deadly arc, swift and final. But no cries rang out. No burst of warmth from a severed artery sprayed his blade.

And then he saw it.

His sword suddenly felt heavy in his hands as he took in the scene. Blood soaked the earth in a deep pool around his boots. Five bodies lay still. Four men and one woman. A fleeting pulse clung to one, withering with every heartbeat.

Merchants, he decided, looking at the scattered goods. Bandits had attacked, overwhelming them. The couple had tried to fight but failed. The survivors had fled quickly, gathering what they could in their stolen minutes.

If he had been faster, perhaps he could have helped. If he had been the Alucard of legend, the rumored savior of old tales, these people might have lived. But he wasn’t that Alucard anymore. He was the man who stared emptily into nothing, passing his days in the wine cellar. The blood, the stillness, it was too familiar.

He could leave. The night creatures would erase the evidence by morning. He could return to his misery, save himself the fruitless seconds of caring. Yet… death lingered here, and he knew it too well.

Then he saw movement.

A faint shift, soft as a falling leaf, caught his eye. Hidden near the woman, tucked into the bushes, you stared back at him.

Wrapped in a bundle of worn blankets, you looked at him, stormy gray eyes unblinking.

He froze. In his two decades of life, Alucard had rarely seen human children. He had been one, once, though those memories were distant and faded. Vampires did not have children, not like humans did. They were creatures of cold immortality, unchanging and barren.

Yet here you were.

Your small eyes met his, wide and curious, assessing him.

No… this had to be a mistake. He could take you to the nearest village. Humans cared for their own, didn’t they? Surely they would take in someone so small and vulnerable. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew the truth.

Food was scarce. Famine, drought, and night creatures left little for anyone. Even in his isolation, he knew how ruthless humanity had become.

And you… you were different. Your skin held a faint tan, a sign of a warmer place. A tropical town, perhaps. Merchants, he decided again. Your parents must have traveled far.

You wouldn’t find love among strangers. People would see you as an outsider, at best. At worst, a servant. A slave. That fate would be no kinder than leaving you here for the night creatures.

A tuft of dark hair peeked from beneath your cap. You sat so still, tucked deep into the bushes. Had your parents hidden you, desperate to save you? Blood spattered the earth, but not a drop touched you.

Then you cooed. A soft, fragile sound that cut through the silence like a knife.

You didn’t know. You didn’t understand. You had no idea your parents were gone, that they would never return. Your smile was ignorant of the blood around you, of the death that loomed so close.

How could you smile?

He wanted to scream. They’re gone, he wanted to tell you. Your parents are dead! He wanted to shake you, to make you understand. But he didn’t.

Instead, you reached for him, little hands stretching out through the air.

Something in him broke. Without thinking, he picked you up, cradling you in his arms. You were so light. Lighter than you should have been. You blinked up at him, eyes unwavering, curious and calm.

Your small fingers curled into his hair, tugging. “Ow,” he muttered, untangling the golden strands from your tight grip. You smiled wider and stuffed a piece of it into your mouth.

“It’s filthy,” he grumbled, pulling it back.

You giggled, toothless and unafraid.

For a moment, he simply stared at you. How could something so small survive this? How could you look at him—HIM—and smile?

The sky darkened. Staying out would be unsafe, he knew. So, he made his choice. He would take you with him.

‘She does not belong with you,’ a voice hissed in his mind. ‘A fool to trust again.’

But you didn’t hear the voices that haunted him. You simply smiled, a fragile light in the dark. When your small fingers wrapped around his, he stilled.

So small… but not weak.

“You wish to come with me?” he whispered.

You cooed in reply, soft and sweet.

Alucard...no, Adrian held you closer as he turned toward the castle.

Just as he was about to step toward the castle, the bloody scene reminded him of its lingering presence. Gritting his teeth, he shifted you in his arms, shielding your face as best he could. You didn’t need to see what had been left behind. He would return later, he decided. Your parents...what remained of them would stay close to you.

Adrian pushed open the castle doors. They groaned under their weight, a sound like the ghosts of the past exhaling. Distantly, he noted that the corpses still hanging outside needed to be taken down. It would do no good to keep such grim reminders where a child could see.

You were eerily quiet now. Adrian glanced down, surprised to find you fast asleep, still tucked snugly in his arms. Your small face was peaceful, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted, the faint warmth of your breath a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of the castle.

You twitched in your sleep. Unnamed, your name lost to death, to bloodshed. What was your name? He wanted to ask, but what good would it do either of you now? Should he dare. Dare to give you a name and risk his heart again?

Adrian had buried that part of himself long ago. But somehow, when he looked at you, it stirred back to life. He had found Adrian again when he found you.

It was only fair he gave you a name.

“Ilvanya,” the word escaped him, soft and reverent, a name carried from a forgotten tongue, spoken only by people long gone. A name that meant gracious gift.

“Ilvanya,” he whispered again.

The child sleeping in his arms twitched but remained undisturbed, unaware of the name now given to you.

Dusty furniture and crumbling stone didn’t seem appropriate for someone so small, so fragile. After what felt like twenty minutes of struggle, Adrian managed to locate a satisfactorily clean pillow. He hesitated, reluctant to let you go, but carefully pried you from his arms and placed you on the cushion.

The loss of warmth startled him more than he cared to admit.

There were things he still needed to do. He would bury your parents for your sake, and perhaps for theirs. His mind began assembling a mental list, a torrent of tasks that hadn’t mattered in years. The castle would need cleaning. Windows repaired. Food, water, clothes. How much did human children need? A nursery, perhaps.

His life, once confined to the wine cellar in self-destruction, had suddenly erupted into movement.

His father’s libraries would hold the answers, he was sure. Everything ever recorded lay buried in those shelves. Somewhere, a book on human children existed. His mother must have had one after he was born.

Adrian looked back at you, a child small enough to fit into his arms, but somehow bright enough to cast light into the darkest corners of the castle.

The world is cold here. You don’t know how long you’ve been in it, only that it isn’t right. The ground pokes at your back through the blankets, hard and uneven.

It smells strange, sharp, like the old iron pots your mother used, but worse. It makes your nose wrinkle. You blink, and there’s dark, dark everywhere.

Then… there’s a sound. Slow. Heavy. Feet.

You don’t know what it is, but you feel it closer. You try to focus, but the edges of the world blur when you blink too long.

Something blocks the sky. It’s tall, bigger than anything you remember. It doesn’t move like other things do. Tts steps are quiet, like the cats that crept near the house.

The tall thing stops. You stare at it, and it stares back.

Golden. There’s something gold, like sunlight peeking through clouds after it rains. You blink at it...hair, though you don’t know that word yet. You like the way it shines. The face underneath doesn’t look right. Too pale. Too still. Its eyes are strange, bright and glowing, like little fires in the dark.

You’re not afraid. Should you be? You don’t know.

The tall thing tilts its head. You do too, because maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mouth makes a sound. A soft, uncertain coo. It always works. It makes people come closer.

It works now.

The man (you don’t know what that is, either, but that’s what he is) moves closer, his golden hair swaying slightly. He stops, then bends down, and everything feels bigger, his shadow, his face, his hands. He smells strange, like earth and stone and something faintly… warm. Not like your mother’s hands. Not like your father’s chest when he carried you.

He stares at you with his glowing eyes, his mouth a flat line. You wonder why he doesn’t smile. Grown-ups smile when they see you. They talk in sounds that make you giggle and touch your cheek softly.

But not him.

You reach out, your small hand finding the air between you. Your fingers curl and wave, searching. Hold me, they say, though you don’t know how to ask.

The man doesn’t move. For a moment, you think he’ll turn and leave you here, alone in the cold again.

But he doesn’t.

His arms scoop you up, and the world shifts. For a moment, you don’t like it. So high, so fast but then you’re against him. His chest feels strange: hard and steady. Not like your mother’s, but still warm enough to make you stop crying.

You look up at him, studying the lines of his face. His hair is close now, close enough to touch. It’s soft when you grab it, like the blankets at home. You tug hard, and he makes a sound low and sharp.

“Ow.”

You giggle because it sounds funny. He doesn’t smile, but his mouth moves, and he pulls the golden strands from your fingers. You try to put them in your mouth before he can, but he’s faster.

“It’s filthy,” he mutters.

You don’t know what that means, so you smile at him anyway. Your toothless grin always works. He stares at you, long and quiet, and you stare back. His face doesn’t soften, but you think maybe he’s not angry.

The man holds you closer. He smells better now, like something steady, something safe. You like him.

Your hands find his chest, small fingers curling into the black cloth that covers him. It feels thick and strange under your touch. You rest your head against him, pressing your ear to the thudding sound inside him.

Thud-thud, thud-thud.

It’s slow, not like the quick, warm beats you know. But it’s still there. It’s enough.

Your eyes grow heavy again. The dark is warm now, and the bad smells are far away. You feel the man moving, his steps steady. The world sways softly as he carries you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

You don’t know where he’s taking you. You don’t care.

The thud-thud sound lulls you to sleep.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 168

So. Apparently halfas are like phoenixes or something, which Danny would’ve really liked to know. 

See, usually with ghosts if they’re forced to retreat to their cores they reform as was, but apparently, since they’re still partially living, schrodinger's people and all that, halfas have to regrow their body from scratch. At least that’s what he’s understanding from Frostbite. 

But how come he has to deal with it? It’s Dan’s fault for trying to pull such a stunt! Oh, it’s either him or Vlad? Well fuck, he might have calmed down and is going to therapy in both the living realm and the Zone, but he’s waaay not equipped to raise a child except for like, monetarily wise. 

Well dammit, how long will this core incubation thing last, he has his new job in… let him check which offer he accepted again… He has his new job in Coast City that he needs to finish packing for and then all the rest of the stuff to do. 

What do you mean it’ll take months?! He doesn’t have months?! Urgh, fine. At least being a mortician isn’t that exciting, nor dangerous. Just hand him Dan’s core and he’ll figure things out for the living side of things. He’s sure Tucker and Sam wouldn’t be against helping, if only to try and claim favorite aunt or uncle spots. 

[jojo-schmo]

My job is burning around me and I’m only seen as an expendable cog in a giant corporate machine, but at least I have Helpy to lend a brightly colored hand!!! <3

[merakiui]

Meraaaa, im habing too much brainrot over ur fics 😢

Imagine Cater puts it in for the first time and he gets you preg on the first try. He's a mess but don't worry! Transfer med student Kalim knows juuuust how to take care of you! He has a ton of siblings afterall! Kalim knows just what to 'feed' the baby to keep them healthy while they're in ur belly. Cay kun is just happy to finally settle down with his first love, unaware of the cum dripping down her legs as she leaves her makeshift appts in kalim's dorm room. Everyone knows whats going on and instead of helping out poor Cay out, they ask Kalim to be let in on it 😖

AAAAAAAAA med students and roommates Kalim and Riddle who take such good care of you when Cater's off partying, neglecting you solely because he's struggling to cope with this new, life-altering circumstance. How can he continue to be cool, collected Cay if he's got a baby on the way? So not his style! But he'll warm up to the idea eventually. He just has to get the shock out of his system first (and work up the courage to break the news to his family and, unfortunately, his sisters. Though knowing how evasive Cater can be, he'll probably stretch the truth for as long as he possibly can just to avoid confronting the matter at hand).

Kalim is always so sweet. He has lots of healthy and delicious snacks prepared for each of your visits. Riddle is very level-headed and logical; very textbook, but still cordial and kind. It doesn't take Riddle long to realize Kalim's fucking you when he starts to put context clues together. At first he thought it was wrong to do such a thing behind Cater's back, but Kalim tells him he's just helping you out. Nothing wrong with helping friends, right? Besides, you and Cater aren't even together and he's not very present, is he? Someone has to take care of poor, cute, pregnant you! Riddle tells himself he ought to be the better person here and put a stop to Kalim's mischief before it spirals out of control. But then the next time you come in for a "check-up" you're spreading your pussy for him and he's sliding in and it feels so warm and wet and good inside, and suddenly being the better person doesn't really matter.

[memento-morri-writes]

This is far from my best work, but it's 1:30am, and I needed to get this down before I slept or lost my mind. So here, take a snippet of Rook seeing Zara again for the first time in 3 years.

Trying, and failing, to keep his voice from shaking, [Rook] said “Hello, Captain.” Mouth still open in surprise, [Zara] replied “Well, hello yourself.” The reality of what she was seeing seemed to hit her as she rounded the desk. “Rook, is that really you?” He nodded. “It’s me.” Zara ran towards him, stopping just short of touching him, and said “What did she do to you?” Rook’s heart stuttered and he had to brush his fingers together to confirm Sigmar’s ring was still in place. Could she possibly see through its illusion? But then he remembered what Lanny had said. She knew where you were. His throat clenched and he choked out “Two years.” A wave of grief swept across Zara’s face as she said “I’m so, so sorry.” Rook shook his head vigorously. “It’s not your fault.” Zara ignored him. “It is my fault. I failed you. As your captain, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe, and I failed you.” Rook wanted to say something, to reassure her, but she pushed on. “She sent me letters, told me all the terrible things she was doing to you. I… I let you down.” Those words hit Rook with the force of a dozen cannonballs. Lanny had said that Zara knew Wolf had him, but knowing that Zara had been aware of what Wolf was doing to him… somehow that was more painful than any wound Wolf had ever inflicted. He barely managed to force his next words out around the lump in his throat. “Where were you?” And why didn’t you come? “She said she’d kill you if I came to get you. Or if I hired anyone to get you. You’re standing here because I stopped sailing.” 

(honorary one-time tag for @space-writes bc I remember you enjoyed my other bits about Rook and Zara.)

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

trying to lay out my interpretation of why brad and judy are simultaneously awful and really goddamn sad, beyond just having lost their baby under traumatic circumstances as already-traumatized autistic young adults with zero support system left but each other, is wild because it includes in full seriousness the word 'sheepnado'

[meownotgood]

mags im finally rewatching csm and like seeing aki in the opening had me squealing and then his whole intro scene is on rn I CANNOT BREATHE AKI AKI AKI AKI AKI! especially bc it’s winter like AHHHHHHHHHHGH winter reminds me of him sm

YESSSS AKI IN THE OP AND THEN IN EPISODE TWO GET ME PARTICULARLY CRAZY JUSSSTTTTTT...... reminding me of how many butterflies I had seeing him animated for the first time... I get those same butterflies all over again.......

and he's just so handsome too, so pretty and hearing his pretty voice hhnnnngggggg

[kirishwima]

do i need help and comfort? yes

do i desperately want to gouge my eyes out when i receive it? also very much yes

[xxlelaxx]

I don't think my husband understands that there is a big difference between the kind of sleep I've been getting and the kind of sleep he's been getting. It's starting to make me very angry

[marshmellowtea]

update from the party down agere writingverse btw: i have chosen to fully lean into the "henry was a dinosaur kid and that interest is a prevalent part of his regression too" headcanon because it keeps slipping into my writing anyway lmao

[fairytaletold]

@striigon // continued.

From across the room, he watches fingers twitch in desperation, heartbeat racing in that chest. His father is asleep, of course — had been for some time, leaving Vasile to wander off and collect rocks and climb trees and carry on as any small boy would like. He'd gotten his hands dirty and shoes scuffed and wound his way back home once more, clutching a particularly shimmery rock within the safety of one small hand.

The drumming beneath his ear has slowed. He peeks up, a studious sweep of his father's expression, pleased to see how his mouth curls up. There are times when the sadness on him is so strong that it's almost a scent stinging his nose, sharp and brackish; he tries to intervene on those moments and chase away the dark clouds that look above his father's form, and today is no different. Vasile lifts a hand. Opens his fist to display the stone set against his palm. It's lifted, offered, the hint of a smile ( it was so rare for happiness to light his face ). ❛ ...found this. ❜ For you, he leaves unspoken.

[voidrantss]

UUUUUGH so I just finished Chaos; Child today, {my first play through, so common route END} and I have thoughts…

AAAA IM SO FRIKING DEPRESSED!! Like, I CANT 😭😭😭😭😭I knew the game would have some kind of cathartic ending but I am so depressed, the journey was incredible and I far too related to Takuru!!! I JUST….I just can’t I am so depressed and thoughtful, and the game had some incredible insight and understanding of weaknesses and the desire to be seen by others.

the game is absolutely a cathartic one, and I didn’t realize how emotionally invested I was till I finished the game today. { When I finished Chaos; Child, all the memories came rushing to me of my experience throughout the game. I remembered how I had screamed at the game, felt like I was going to throw up, and of course teared up, as well as stared anxiously at my TV. When I finished the game, I felt all these things. Wow} Honestly am so tired and full of so many emotions, I felt the highs and lows of the game all too well! {I am so emotionally drained, what an incredible game} I cannot tell you guys how insane all the feelings I feel because of it.

I DEEPLY felt for TAKURU, and so many slivers of his personality I resonated with. It honeslty touched me in a way I never expected. I honeslty realized just how many flaws I share with him, and introspected a lot because of him. He absolutely my favorite character AUNDISNSISNIS. And the fact I relate to him means a lot in its self. It also was really just incredible to watch Takuru progress throughout the game. Not only for the better or for the worst, but for him to know the truth, and all the pain that came with it. It hurt so bad.

I loved all, the characters by the 14 hour mark, each of them had such incredibly well written flaws and battles that were so heart wrenching. Each character was so deeply affected by the events of the game, I wish they could just all get a hug.

Stupidly didn’t realize Chaos; Child actually a sequel to Choas; Head, but meh, I’ll catch up with Chaos; Head another time. You can play Chaos; Child without playing the prequel because it works as a stand alone game. Chaos; Child makes brief references to it. Chaos; Head does give a basis and more context to the world.

SO, all this to say, I think I want to 100% the game! Right after I finished it I googled some guides, and honeslty hope I can get all the endings to unlock the true ending, {wish me luck.}

After playing Chaos; Child, I felt just so down/ just a bunch of emotions, I had to play some silly fighting games and not think about it, and feel better now. When I’m recharged I’ll get to the other endings hopefully!

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[harrysfolklore]

what's a soft launch? - fc43

summary: fraco's girlfriend wants him to soft launch their relatioship but franco has no idea of what a soft launch is. based on this request

folkie radio: ANOTHER FRANCO SMAU !! i'm currently working on a long franco fic so consider this a little treat while i finish that one👀 i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST | PATREON

liked my francolapinto, yourbff and 378 others

yourinstagram im the proudest girlfriend in the world because my boy is officially F1 DRIVER !! 🥹 go crush it my love 💙

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yourbff cuties 😍😍

username1 vamos franco !!

username2 ahhh congrats franco

username3 you’re officially a formula 1 WAG now how cool

username4 don’t forget me when you become the next alexandra saint mleux

username5 yaaayy for franco

username6 my favorite couple before you get viral

francolapinto te quiero hermosa 😍😍❤️

↳ yourinstagram 🥰🥰😚

liked by alex_albon, yourinstagram and 701,628 others

francolapinto VAMOS! excited for my first race in monza this weekend 🇮🇹

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username1 YAAAS

username2 hello ???? he’s gorgeous

username3 UMMM i was sad about logan but look at THIS

alex_albon 👏👏👏 Welcome !

landonorris let’s have some funnn

username4 IS HE SINGLE????

↳ username1 from what i’ve gathered, he has posts with a girl from last year but nothing recent (the girl’s account is private)

↳ username2 HES SINGLE WE WON

williamsracing 💙

username5 I HAVE MY NEW GRID CRUSH

yourinstagram 😍😍🤤 my man

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liked by francolapinto, yourbff and 375 others

yourinstagram cheering on my baby from home 🥺💙 VAMOS FRANCO !!

view all comments

yourbff YAYYY💘

username1 vamosss franco

username2 get your paddock passes girl

username3 gorgeous 😍

username4 we need your WAG debut

username5 🙌🙌🙌🙌

username6 i need that hoodie !!

francolapinto 😍😍😍

francolapinto i miss you so muchhh i love you

↳ yourinstagram love you forever

liked by yourinstagram, pierregasly and 587,638 others

francolapinto Que dia inolvidable… thank you so much for this opportunity 🇦🇷🤍💙🥹

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username1 KING

username2 franco colapinto consider me your fan

username3 HES SO DAMN HOT

williamsracing VAMOS 🙌

username4 LET ME BE YOUR WOMAN

username5 i can’t believe a man THIS hot is single

charles_leclerc Welcome 👌👌

username6 i bet he’s on raya and i’m not giving up until i find him

username7 both him and lando being single.. paris is my favorite city

username8 FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

username9 how long until he starts dating the journalist that kept flirting with him

yourinstagram 😍😍😍

yourinstagram mi amor ❤️

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yourinstagram has added to their stories

replies:

francolapinto im only yourssss bonita, always

↳ yourinstagram 🥹

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liked by francolapinto, yourbff and 398 others

yourinstagram a few days of rest and relaxation with mi amor 🥰

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username1 cutiesss

username2 my favorite anonymous WAG

yourbff my babies <33

username3 😍😍😍

username4 girl when are you going to the paddock?

↳ yourinstagram sooon

username5 i’m your biggest fan

username6 couple goals

francolapinto I love youuu😘😘😘

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liked by username1, username2 and 3,987 others

f1gossip During Williams' latest podcast episode, Alex Albon joked that Franco Colapinto's superpower was "his ability to charm all the ladies everywhere", Franco said that no one is charming him because he has a girlfriend 👀

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username1 HUHHH

username2 franco is so strange

username3 i know his ass is lying

username4 WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ORIGINAL PLOT OF THE MOVIEEEEE

username5 sometimes i don't understand what's up with him

username6 watch him flirt with all the interviewers tomorrow tho

username7 NOO FRANCO YOU'RE SINGLE

username8 he's lying his ass offffff

username9 pics or didn't happen

liked by francolapinto, lilymhe and 402 others

yourinstagram my first grand prix weeked. no biggie im ready

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username1 yayy about time girl!

yourbff HAVE FUN and don't forget to send me pics 💕

username2 my favorite WAG

lilymhe welcome to our silly world 💙

↳ yourinstagram love you already !

carmenmmundt So nice to meet you sweetie!

↳ yourinstagram likewise 🥺

username3 you're going to change us for your new wag friends

↳ yourinstagram neverrr

lilyzneimer 🤩

francolapinto My girl and now everyone will know 😉

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liked by francolapinto, yourinstagram and 865,088 others

williamsracing Love is in the air in Austin 💙

tagged: francolapinto, yourinstagram

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username1 OMFG??

username2 NOT WILLIAMS EXPOSING HER INSTA

username3 WAIT i saw pics of franco tagging her BUT I DIDN'T THINK THEY WERE A COUPLE

username4 AHHH HER INSTA IS PRIVATE

lilymhe 💕💕💕

username5 franco colapinto is the coolest driver the grid had seen recently

username6 GET FRANCO A SEAT

username7 they said fuck a soft launch

username8 THAT SHOULD BE ME

francolapinto 😍😍

yourinstagram 🥺

liked by username1, username2 and 5,099 others

f1gossip "My girlfriend is over there, she said she wanted to do something called sub lunch, or what was it called? Soft launch, yeah that. No hablo ingles no se que es, I just brought her with me so everyone can see I'm happily taken" - Franco for Sky before the race 😭😭

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username1 FRANCO OMFG

username2 hes so unintentionally funny

username3 him saying that he doesn't know what a soft launch is bc he doesn't speak english was me ROLLING

username4 franco the man that you are

username5 I CANT DO THIS 😩😩😩

username6 i need him bibically

username7 HES SO MESSY

username8 i need this or nothing

yourinstagram has added to their stories

replies:

lilymhe where have you been all my life?

↳ yourinstagram in the junior formulas 😂😂

yourbff my favorite WAG

francolapinto hermosa 😍😍

↳ yourinstagram love you so damn muuuch

username1 feed the people put the instagram public

↳ yourinstagram maybe...

liked by francolapinto, lilymhe and 348,099 others

yourinstagram he didn't understand the concept of a soft launch so we had to do this in the middle of the paddock 😅 love you so much mi amor @/francolapinto

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username1 AHHH

username2 HER INSTA IS PUBLIC NOW

username3 all the boyfriend content here im going insane

lilymhe cuties 💕

↳ alex_albon We need to step up our game

↳ lilymhe definitely

↳ username1 i love them sm

username5 THIS SHOULD'VE BEEN ME

username6 franco colapinto being a simp in a long term relationship wasn't on my bingo card

username7 can we talk about how pretty she is tho?

username8 THANK YOU FOR LETTING US IN BESTIE

francisca.cgomes my new bestie actually!

↳ yourinstagram love you already 🥺

↳ username2 AHHH BEST WAGS

username9 scrolled all the way down and she has the cutest posts about franco i cant

username10 IM SO JEALOUS

username11 franco not knowing what a soft launch is PEAK COMEDY

francolapinto love you hermosa 😍

↳ yourinstagram 😙😙😙

liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 1,022,379 others

francolapinto what's a soft launch?

view all comments

username1 FRANCOOOOO

username2 i love him so bad

username3 HOW TO MAKE A FORMULA 1 TEAM FOR FRANCO COLAPINTO FROM SCRATCH

username4 this man is so messy i cant help but love him

oscarpiastri I didn't know what that meant either, don't worry

↳ username1 LORD HELP ME 😭😭

olliebearman 🙌

username5 FRANCO LET ME BE YOUR WOMAN 😩😩

username6 franco is really a SIMP and not a fuckboy like everyone thought WE WON

williamsracing We love to see it💙💙

username7 wiki how to have franco's gfs life

username8 CRYING

username9 franco don't you ever gatekeep her from us again we need her at every race

yourinstagram i'm the luckiest ever 💕

↳ username1 AND YOU ARE

↳ francolapinto love you forever hermosa

[sugoroo]

warnings. fem!reader, oral (f receiving), face-sitting, ruined orgasm, satoru gojo is his own warning, 18+ minors dni.

thinking about absolutely insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo who always ruins your incoming orgasms by saying the corniest, most unserious things during sex.

picture him splayed across the bed, messy white locks stuck to his forehead with sweat and uncovered cerulean eyes clouded over with lust as you slowly lower yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

"mhm, that's it, baby," he's cooing, pale hands snaking around your thighs to help you stay upright as he impatiently pulls your pliant body down quicker onto his face. "sit riiight here."

and you're letting off a surprised squeak when he barely gives you a single moment to adjust to the new position before his full, grinning lips are planting a wet, obnoxious kiss right against your sappy folds.

"toru!" you giggle involuntarily, hips wriggling against his face as he continues placing such shameless, sloppy pecks against your sensitive skin — he's acting like a horny teenager making out with a girl for the first time, except in this case the girl is your pussy.

satoru's stupidly dopey smile never fades as he takes in your reactions to his ministrations, each whine and cute laugh just encouraging him to act even more ridiculous.

so he's flicking out his freakishly long tongue, gifting you with little kitten licks that are just barely enough to make your insides tingle but not enough to give you any real sense of pleasure.

and you rock against his face in search of the friction he knows you so desperately need, brows pinched in frustration and lower lip pushed out into an unconscious pout.

"aww, is this not enough for my pretty girl?" satoru chuckles, feigning obliviousness as he watches you restlessly grind into him — he just can't help that he loves seeing you like this, all needy and annoyed with his teasing.

"y-you know it's not," you grumble out, aiming what you hope is perceived as a scolding glare down at him as your fruitless wriggling slowly comes to a halt. "come on... please, toru?"

"now there's the magic word i was waiting for!" he cheers overdramatically, like a proud parent complimenting their child for finally using their manners like they were taught.

you roll your eyes in exasperation, but the action quickly morphs into one of them rolling backwards in pleasure when satoru finally drags his tongue properly through your sticky folds.

and you're rambling out various breathless 'thank you's, pent-up body relaxing onto his mouth as he begins to eat you out like he would've been doing from the beginning if he didn't enjoy making you work for it so much.

he's so unbelievably good at it too, wet lips peppering loving kisses against your cunt before he delves that lengthy tongue inside of your fluttering hole, effortlessly reaching your sweet spot without even having to try.

and you both know it's not long before you're going to fall apart, the thrust of the wet muscle in and out of you and the frequent pauses he takes to suck your puffy clit into his hot mouth just too delicious.

but just when you begin to feel that familiar feeling rising in the depths of your stomach, the metaphorical string of pleasure coiled tight and ready to snap at any moment, satoru just has to spoil it.

"yeahh, can tell you're close, baby." he groans into your pussy, the rumbling vibrations only adding to the colourful sensations coursing through your veins. "gonna cum for me?"

and you're nodding furiously, not even bothering to attempt to speak because there's no doubt in your mind that the words would end up sounding completely incomprehensible.

"mhm? gonna cum all over the strongest's face?" satoru adds in an exaggeratedly loud and sarcastic moan, the ridiculously corny words somehow managing to break through the fragile glass of your incoming orgasm, shattering it into a million pitiful pieces right before your eyes.

"g-god. why are you like this, gojo?" you groan in frustration, the haze of pleasure slowly but surely evaporating from your mind and leaving only a pathetic feeling of emptiness lingering in its place.

satoru just smirks smugly, shrugging as if he doesn't have a single care in the world and flicking his tongue back out to clear your glistening juices away from his lips. "like what?"

scowling in annoyance, you waste no time in swatting his hands away from your thighs and lifting your shaky hips away from his soaked face, rolling off of him and searching around the bedcovers for your panties.

"w-wait, baby, where are you going?" he mutters hurriedly, his entire face draining of all its colour as he watches you preparing to leave — it would almost be laughable how quickly he can go from teasing to pathetic in mere moments if you weren't so pissed off with him right now.

"to find someone who doesn't say shit like that when i'm about to cum." you state simply, tugging your underwear back up your legs before making a show of heading towards the bedroom door.

satoru is scrambling off of the mattress in seconds, almost tripping over himself in his determination to stop you in your tracks. "no, don't go, pretty girl! i was just joking around— h-hey... i'll make you cum as many times as you want if you stay, promise!"

...and that's the story of how you finally made your insufferable boyfriend satoru gojo learn his lesson.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[fushitoru]

so i know who i'm looking at! a sukuna ryomen oneshot

pairing ⸺ ghostface!sukuna x reader

summary ⸺ on halloween night, you get a strange phone call from a man with a distorted voice right as you're chilling while babysitting yuuji. you get an ultimatum: perform for him, or risk your and yuuji's lives.

warnings ⸺ smut, fluff (at the end), pre established consent but dub con just in case, cream pie, lots of degradation and praise, “good girl,” oral sex (m!recieving), recording and pictures, suggested infidelity (but it’s not actually infidelity), exhibitionism, reader gives him a show in exchange for her life, rough sex, semi-public sex, established relationship, mdni, pls help me find artist for credit :(

next. week two

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

you stretch, yawning as you adjust the blanket you had on you to cover you and give you warmth on the chilly october evening. gazing forlornly at the balcony window outside, you see kids and college students alike in their halloween costumes visiting homes for treats and bars for booze, respectively. tonight was a night you were supposed to get dicked down by your boyfriend in the bathroom of a frat, but you’re stuck instead with a last minute call to babysit yuji because he’s sick. 

you love the kid too much, like he’s your own baby. which is why you couldn’t refuse playing babysitter, even if that meant forgoing pictures for your instagram with the slutty angel costume you had bought a month who in anticipation of halloweekend. instead, you’re tucked in and cozy, watching scream for the nth time just to fangirl over how hot ghostface is. 

so you’re in your tank top and boy shorts, relaxing and chilling (that is, as much as you can while locked in on your movie). and, as if on cue, the moment the phone rings in the movie, the itadori household’s phone number gets a call.

you jump at the noise, a bit on edge because of the movie and definitely regretting the idea of setting the living room pitch back in spirit of mood lighting. groaning (albeit a bit freaked out), you get up to answer the call, as yuji babysitting protocol required that you answer any call in case it may be an emergency.  

picking up—but a bit on edge—you drone, “itadori household, how can i help you?”

there’s heavy breathing on the other end and you hate your scaredy cat tendencies because your heart is picking up at the distorted and low pants. “h—hello?”

“hey.” the voice is low, just like the breathing, and for a moment, you hate your brain for immediately recalling the nsfw audios you watch to masturbate because the guy on the phone sounds exactly like them. it’s a little freaky that you’re getting such a weird fuckin call at this time, but regardless you persist, in case this was relevant. you kind of need this job.

feigning cheerfulness, you ask, "what can i get ya?" as your fingers absently toy with the thin strap of your tank top. the cool air from the nearby vent sends a shiver across your skin, but the silence on the other end of the line is more unnerving. you're met with nothing but heavy breathing, and each exhale seems to scrape against your eardrums.

shifting uncomfortably, you feel the sweat beading at the nape of your neck as impatience builds. your fingers tighten around the receiver. "are you gonna talk or should i hang up?" you finally snap, agitation bleeding into your voice.

but before you can slam the phone down, he speaks.

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

a groan escapes you, the kind that rises from deep in your chest, exasperation overtaking any lingering nervousness. "look, buddy, this is soooo corny. like, i was literally just watching scream, so you’re not doing shit. if you wanna prank call a girl, try somewhere else because—"

“you got a boyfriend?”

“i do,” you quip back quickly, a hand on your hip as you stand straighter, eyes flicking to the doorway of the kitchen. shadows dance in the dim light, your heartbeat subtly picking up pace. you move to hang up the phone, more irritated than frightened now. “so you better not try anything funny and waste more of your time, you fu—”

“but he’s not sleeping upstairs with the kid?”

the world freezes. you pause, the phone hovering mid-air. what did he just say? your pulse quickens, each thud louder than the last as dread claws at your chest. "what?"

a laugh, deep and guttural, slithers through the receiver. it’s the kind of laugh that makes your stomach drop and your legs feel weak. his voice is smooth, velvety even, and it curls around your ear like smoke. despite the creeping fear, something primal makes your thighs clench involuntarily. “okay, now that i’ve finally got your attention, let’s try this again. what’s your name, baby?”

that word—baby—the way he drags it out, rich and slow, makes your heart stutter, even as fear wraps tighter around your ribs. you grip the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cool surface. “why do you wanna know?”

“so i know who i’m looking at.”

the room spins. your breath falters, shallow, barely there. it’s like the walls are closing in, and your throat feels thick with fear. you lick your dry lips, throat tightening painfully. “wha—what do you mean?”

a soft coo hums through the phone, mockingly sweet. “no need to be afraid, pretty baby. you don’t want the kid upstairs to die, do you?”

your blood turns to ice. the words don’t make sense at first, but when they do, it feels like the floor’s been yanked out from beneath you. your mind races, every nerve in your body screaming. “what the fuck? is this some kind of prank call? this isn’t funny.”

but the man just continues, as if he didn’t just say something so horrifying that your stomach churns. his voice remains steady, eerily calm. “the kid, how old is he? five, six? he’s dozin’ off in those stupid iron man pj’s of his.” you swear you can hear his smile through the phone, a wicked curl of satisfaction. “and i love those shorts on you. parading your ass around like the slut you are. how’d your boyfriend leave you alone tonight?”

the walls feel like they’re closing in. a cold sweat breaks out across your skin, and suddenly the room feels too small. your eyes dart toward the darkened stairs. every creak of the house becomes louder, sharper. the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you swallow, mouth dry as cotton. it feels like someone is watching—someone who shouldn’t be there.

for a second, you digest the information he’d bestowed upon you—information about yourself. not-so-subtly freaking out, you get out a “please, please don’t do this.” 

 “then gimme a show. follow what i say.”

“o—okay. what do you want me to do?” you’re trembling, your realize, in your fear. or was it arousal?

“come closer to the window,” the voice purrs. you tentatively walk up to the balcony window facing the itadori garden, awaiting instructions as you stand shivering with the chill of the air.

“now,” the voice instructs, “take your top off. gimme a show, alright? better see that fucking back arch when you’re talking it off like filthy stripper slut you are.”

you whimper in humiliation but follow his instructions anyways, slowly becoming more and more of a slave to your arousal, caused by his assured and suave voice. when you take your tank top off, back arched just like he asked, the man groans and you hear distant squelches on the other side of the line.

“good girl. now when you take that bra off, pull up your cups, but don’t take it off, leave it bunched. those tits better bounce for me.” pulling up the cups of your bra, your tits recoil and bounce and the squelching gets even louder as you feel eyes rove over your tits. “fuck, i love those tits. get on your knees and bounce em for me like you’re riding cock.” 

you clench so hard as you move to do as he says. part of you is soooo aroused to be forced around like this, so you’re easily giving him the show that he wants, getting on your knees and moving your chest so that they start rhythmically bouncing, synced up with the squelches you hear in the other side of the phone.

“stick your tongue out. drool on your tits.” you moan, your tongue lolling out as a glob of spit starts trailing down your body.

 “fuck!” he exclaims, aroused by the sight. “you like being bossed around this baby? like my little bitch?”

“no!” you sob, tears springing out at the utter humiliation you were experiencing. “please let me go, please don’t do anything to yuji!” 

the voice chuckles. “really? i think you’re lying, baby. i know that pussy is wet while you’re giving me a show. matter of fact, why don’t you show me? make sure i get a really good look at that cunt, okay?”

slipping your shorts off, you turn so that your backside is facing the lawn and uncover your traitorous pussy—glistening wet—to him. taking a few steps back, you breathe heavily—like the person on the other side of the phone—as you press your pussy against the glass, the heat and humidity originating from your inner walls fogging the area on the glass. you hear a snap! on the other side, indicated that he had taken a photo. eyes widening in panic, you ask, “what are you doing? please, i’m doing whatever you wa—”

“i can’t let everyone think you’re some innocent virgin, can i? parading your ass and pussy for me, when anyone in the neighborhood can see? matter of fact,” and you start panicking at his next words, “i’ll post this online if you don’t grind that ass back for me.”

you swallow and start to do as he says. the glass is cool as you rub your folds along it, your slick dirtying the glass as you move your folds on the glass door. of course, the glide isn’t smooth—your clit keeps catching on the glass, but the fact that you’re bare to the world, any stray eyes being able to see you on display arouses you to no extent. you’re ashamed of being aroused at having to perform for a stranger, but you continue regardless and clutch the phone in your hand as he speaks to you again.

“the fuck you so wet for?” the voice mocks you. “you get off on this shit?”

“fuck you,” you moan, continuing to rub yourself. “i hate you.” 

the man laughs meanly. “for someone you hate, you’re getting pretty wet for me, baby.” the sounds of him stroking his dick are even louder as you grind against the door at the same tempo that he moves his hand at, grunting as you continue moaning into the mic. “look at how you’re clenching—good girl. want me to come in and make you cum?”

“real fucking cocky,” you hiss into the phone, “really fuckin cocky of you to think you can make me cum. with the way you had to threaten me, i just know you have a micro.”

as soon as you say that, the call hangs up and you look at your screen in confusion. that is, until you feel hands on your bare hips, knees–covered in black fabric—pressing against the junction between your thighs. “say that again,” the voice whispers.

you turn, eyes wide and heart speeding up as you turn to see the very figure that showed up in your movie. reminiscent of the killer, a tall man in a mask is hunched over you, now moving his hands to grip at your hands. “let’s take this to the bed, shall we?”

“oh shit,” ghostface curses, continuously snapping photos of your lips, the flash going off in the dark room. “look at this,” and he brings the camera closer and closer to your pussy, using his other hand to spread your lips as you helplessly lie on the bed, forced to spread your legs for him. “this pussy clenches everytime the flash goes off!” and he’s laughing, mocking you as slick leaves your hole in drops as the utter way you’re being humiliated. he grabs your cheeks roughly with the hand that was spreading your nether regions, squeezing them together and focusing the camera on your face. “this is the slut i’m going to fuck. gonna suck my cock, right?”

“mhm,” you whimper, resigned to your fate. making quick work of his robe, he takes them off completely, still leaving his mask in place. as he uncovers his pelvis, your eyes immediately rove over the hardened muscles on his abdomen. there’s a pink happy trail leading down to his dick, which is furiously red and standing. he grabs it, pumping the length as he moves closer and closer to your face until his precum is smearing against your face.

 “fuck,” he curses, as he takes in the sight of your teary eyes looking up at him dumbly, lips puckered as he slaps his cock against your cheeks until your cheeks are turning red. you’re giving kitten licks to his tip every time he alternates between slapping your two cheeks, not knowing what do to with yourself except focus on your oral fixation telling you instinctively to suck his cock. he then uses his fingers to pull your mouth open and slowly feeds his cock inside, eyes rolling back as soon as he feels your warm breath and hot tongue encompass him. 

you’re sucking at his tip and alternating between licking the rest of his dick, and he’s lost in the tight, wet heat of your mouth hollowing around him. you then prop yourself on your knees, using your hands to grab and play with his balls, stimulating him even more and causing him to rip out of your mouth and growls, “on your hands and knees. now.”

he doesn’t give you sufficient time to turn around and fully adjust in your position as he’s slamming into your roughly, the wet plush of your pussy too enticing. because you didn’t see it coming, your face is smushed against the pillow, and he grabs at your hands, using his free hand to hold them together at the small of your back. 

“you like my cock, baby?”  he pants, sweat beginning to run down his torso. when you don’t respond, he lets go of your hands to smack you consecutive times on your ass. “answer me.”

“i love it sooo much,” you babble, too lost in the pleasure to form more coherent thoughts as you ramble. “it’s splitting me—oh my god.” your eyes roll back—in pain or pleasure, you can’t decide—as his cock kisses your cervix. the masked man keeps thrusting in you, the sounds of his hips smacking into yours echoing throughout your room in a series of plap plap plap’s. 

“yea? fuck, i’m so close. you wanna live baby?” he grabs your hair and pulls, giving you a sloppy wet kiss on your cheek. “let me come inside. you’ll let me dump my cum in you, right?”

you only clenched tighter at his words. “please,” you sobbed. “please come inside. please paint my walls. i want your cum so bad.” 

you were so close, staving off your orgasm until he filled you up. at your words, the intruder laughed mockingly and kept thrusting into you, but the telltale sloppiness of his hips indicated that he was close. “god, what a slut—” he was interrupted by his own climax, and as soon as the thick ropes of cum filled you, you came with a squeal, your back arching impossibly further as your thrashed on his dick because of the intensity of your orgasm. both of you rid it together, panting as you came down. 

he pulls out of you, and before you can catch your breath, the man flops his entire weight on top of you, making you laugh as you let out a startled exclamation, “ryo!”

you squirm beneath him, trying to push him off, but it’s futile. he’s far too big and heavy, and he knows it. with a low, lazy chuckle, your boyfriend, sukuna ryomen, removes his mask—tossing it carelessly onto the floor—before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. his breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the heat radiating off him as his chest rises and falls in rhythm with your own.

“did you enjoy that stupid thing you wanted, brat?” he mumbles, slightly panting in exhaustion.

his words are snarky, but you can hear the affection laced beneath them. your heart swells with a sudden rush of warmth, the fondness you feel for him almost overwhelming. it’s moments like this—where he does something ridiculous just because you asked, despite all his grumbling—that remind you why you love him so much.

you wrap your arms around his broad back, fingers trailing lazily up and down his spine as you press a soft kiss to the top of his head. “you didn’t have to go all out, you know,” you whisper, smiling into his hair. “but i really appreciate it. you’re kind of the best, even when you pretend you’re not.”

ryomen grunts, but there’s no bite to it. he tightens his hold around you, his large frame practically cocooning you in warmth. you feel his lips brush softly against the skin of your neck, a tender gesture that contrasts with his usual roughness.

“yeah, well... you’re lucky i love you, freak,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. despite his usual bravado, there’s something undeniably soft in the way he says it, as if the words are meant just for you.

you hum contentedly, feeling the weight of his body press you into the mattress. it’s comforting, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. you trace circles on his back with your fingertips, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, where it’s just you and him—no roleplay, no teasing—just the quiet aftermath of love.

“lucky, huh?” you tease back softly. “i’d say we’re both pretty lucky.”

ryomen huffs a quiet laugh against your skin before lifting his head slightly to look at you, his dark eyes soft in the dim light. then, he gets up and makes a move to walk out the door. at first, you thought he was heading towards the bathroom door to give you a towel to clean you up, but he’s heading towards the door—soft cock swinging, butt naked—and you’re only left in confusion as to what he’s doing.

“ryo, where are you going?”

“fixin myself a sandwich, i’m hungry,” he grumbles over his shoulder, leaving you dumbfounded. you’re left sitting on the bed as he continues the trek down the stairs to satiate his post sex hungries. 

“hey!” you shriek, “your balls are out! what if yuji sees?” 

later, when yuji walks deliriously into the kitchen to see his uncle’s cock and balls, he almost wishes he could fully succumb to his fever.

next. week two

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n hehe i love fluffy sukuna. consider joining my kinktober taglist if you'd like!

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