#if the world wants it that way then there’s nothing I can do about it

[reignpage]

♛ Sukuna in Wonderland ♛

"W e ' r e a l l m a d h e r e"

Synopsis: a quest to search for a cursed item in a new world isn't all sunshine and rainbows — you're learning that the hard way. you just want to find what you need to find and get out of here asap. but the mystical universe must hate you because you've been paired with the biggest pain your ass: the one person that can show you up on a test or experiment. well, you won't let him get his way this time. But one question...why is everything in this place freaky? Warnings: 18+ porn with plot, fantasy au, Hogwarts-esque magic system, academic rival!sukuna, mixed with some comedy (there's a lot of self-awareness here), forced proximity, hate sex, exhibitionism, degradation, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, 69, pussy inspection, personification of the puss puss, dumbification, unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation, voyeurism, sex whilst inebriated - dubcon, doggy, cockwarming, slight food play, anal sex, barely proofread Word Count: 17.2k

“Walk faster,” he spits. 

You roll your eyes.

There is nothing worse than being stuck with Ryomen Sukuna for an inter-dimensional quest. Truly. 

When Professor Yaga had breached the news to you, in his office, your jaw dropped. There was absolutely no conceivable way your Intro to Exploration partner is Sukuna. The man is a monster. Truly. He stole your position on Advanced Illusions by burning your application paper, he tripped you up on the Grand Foyer, humiliating you in front of all your peers, and he calls you ‘princess’ in lieu of your actual name. 

He’s the worst. 

“Y/n, he’s your partner and that’s that,” the Professor said. 

Spluttering, you tried to reason with him. “B-but sir! I’ve been looking forward to this trip the whole year — no, all my life! I worked so hard to accumulate enough points on my Exploration licence. I need someone I can trust. Someone who won’t get in the way.”

Your pleadings were falling into deaf ears. The Professor merely sighed and conjured a journal. It fell onto the wooden desk with a mocking thump. 

“Your petty rivalry ceases here.” Leaning forward on his elbows, he fixed you a steady glare. It was so serious, so insistent, you zipped your lips tight. 

“Underland is a Grade A dimension. A place unlike any other. Everything works differently there, and you will indubitably face tasks so dangerous you will either give up your hopes of studying Exploration altogether or you will emerge as the greatest Exploration pupil I have ever had the pleasure of teaching. But all of that depends on whether you can rise to the occasion with the most difficult of partners.”

“B-but…”

That was nice to hear and all. However, you weren’t convinced. Sure, you had been sure to earn enough points to take on the advanced quests because they looked great on applications, but the ‘Underland’ place didn’t sound like anything special. In fact, when you and the others in your class had been briefed by the students in the year above who had gone through the same trial, you didn’t hear any talks about Underland.

You were worried that the dimension you’ve been assigned to was a dud. Just great. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna to your left was more interested in messing with some first year he had spotted, through the window, crossing the meadow. He was using a basic incantation to make the papers fly out of his satchel and scattering it all over the grass. 

Typical. 

When he sensed your judgmental gaze, he leisurely looked back at you, hooded eyes unimpressed even as he flicks his finger around, ensuring those papers continue to flutter in the air and out of the grasp of that poor first year. And then he raised his brow in challenge and drawled, “See something you like, princess?”

You didn’t dare look at him the whole two hours you were there. 

“As you know very well, much is riding on you providing a great performance and returning with the enchanted item. If you want to do a master’s on Exploration and then go on to become an Explorer of the Great Beyond, you will do your best to put aside your petty grievances with Mr. Ryomen, yes?”

Dejected, you nodded reluctantly. 

“Now, please, exert your energy on seeing through this quest. As you know, grades are awarded based on speed and efficiency, among other things. So do be sure to spend less time arguing with your partner and more time seeking out your assigned item. What was it again?”

In a sullen tone, you answered, “A cursed finger.”

“Ah, yes. An ancient and powerful relic. That was my assigned item many, many years ago now. And the faculty have, once again, gone through great lengths to ensure it’s been carefully hidden in Underland to really challenge our top students, so you’ll have your work cut out for you,” he remarked humorously. 

“Great.”

Seemingly pleased enough, the journal flew into the air, whizzing across the room and out the door. Your time was up, and your fate was decided. 

Halfway out of the door, Professor Yaga gave one last musing. “As wonderful as it is to follow instructions to the letter, I do hope Mr. Ryomen’s innovative thinking will rub off on you, just as your discipline will rub off on him. Let it not be wishful thinking, y/n.”

And now here you are. 

Walking through some forest in a new world, wondering where the hell the portal had placed you. From the description the Student Advisors had given you, Underland was much more colourful and interesting than this. Where are the talking animals and the sentient inanimate objects?

“Are we in the right place?” You ask. 

It’s been quite some time now and you’re ashamed to admit that your calves are burning ever so slightly; you ought to exercise more. On the other hand, Sukuna walks ahead of you, hands shoved in his pockets, and not looking the least bit exhausted. It’s as if you’re on two different journeys — you’re trekking somewhere dangerous, mysterious, a place that’s pushing your body to its limits (more or less), and the arrogant dick is taking a lovely stroll down Genesis Park. 

He doesn’t answer your question. Of course not. Because why would he, the great king that he is, bother talking to you?

Prick. 

“Oh!”

Something furry brushes up against your calf. Two sets of eyes follow it. 

“Is that a fucking rat?”

Giving him a deadpan look, you shove him to the side to run after the strange creature, suddenly invigorated. “You’re such an annoying asshole. Hurry up. It might lead us to Underland.”

It is certainly unlike any animal you’ve seen back home. But, having studied all the known forms animals can take across the expansive universe, you aren’t distressed in the slightest to come across such a well-dressed little fella. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

Jogging beside you, your partner scoffs. “‘Excuse me, sir?’ Seriously?”

Merlin, why did it have to be him? 

The rabbit doesn’t slow down. Even as the two of you have caught up right behind him, weaving and meandering around trees and dodging logs and fallen branches. Instead, the little thing continues ahead, peering occasionally at a pocket-watch and muttering, ‘Oh, dear. Oh, dear,’ repeatedly under its breath. 

“Damn. That is one stressed out rat.”

Rolling your eyes once more, you hiss, “It’s a rabbit, Sukuna. Stop fucking around. Try to catch its attention so we can ask it for directions.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re faster.” To punctuate your point, you pant. It’s a little embarrassing to be out of breath already, but in your defence, you’ve never had the time to join athletic clubs. 

Throwing you a look of judgement, likely because of your sweaty state, he jogs a little faster and manages to pick up the rabbit by its waistcoat. It dangles in the air making a face of complete alarm, and dare you say, insult. Sukuna only returns a look of revulsion. Clearly not a fan of animals. Great. 

“How dare you! Put me down at once.”

Snorting, your partner shakes him around. “Nah. Not until you tell us how to get to Underland.”

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” the rat— the rabbit mutters. It continues to check its watch in between looking around frantically and attempting to wriggle out of its captor’s grip with no such luck. “Let me go. I cannot be late! The Duchess needs her gloves! Oh! And her fan. Oh, dear. Oh, dear!”

Sukuna fixes you a stare of amusement and says with a smirk, “You didn’t happen to bring dried serenitea powder, did you? ‘Cause this guy could really use some.”

With your lungs full of air once more, you attempt to get somewhere with the local. It’s important that you don’t disrupt the system in any of the places you visit. That’s Section two, Article A of the Harmonious Entry Act. Of course, interacting with the world is permitted but explorers must be respectful at all times. The pink haired guy clearly didn’t get the memo. 

“Hi, I’m Y/n. We’re truly sorry to trouble you. But we really do need directions to Underland so if you could point the way, then we can all go our separate ways.”

The rabbit seems to like you better because he stops wriggling and says, “Oh! I suspect we are heading to the same place. Although we don’t really call it Underland— Oh, never mind. I don’t have time to discuss this any longer. Please put me down and follow me. We must go at once!”

And so, you and your quest partner run with your new friend through the forest and to a large tree. He doesn’t say anything else to you, he simply tumbles faster and adjusts his waistcoat sporadically, long ears twitching in an adorable way. At the tree, there’s a hole. And before you can process what was happening, he’s running inside without so much as a look back. 

“Hey! Wait!”

He doesn’t.

And he’s gone.

The hole is quite big. It’s just about big enough for Sukuna to fit through if he crawls but judging by the look on his face, he’s not exactly eager to get his clothes dirty so soon into the trip. You’re both wearing your uniforms — he wears a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, of course, with a tie and under a lilac jumper, with the deep purple St. Eden blazer hanging off his shoulders. You wear the same on top but with a purple, pink and cream tartan skirt whereas he has on plain cream trousers. 

Being of standard practice, it’s always been important to proudly represent St. Eden on every school sanctioned trip out of its grounds. Sure, it might be wasted on people from worlds that don’t know of St. Eden’s existence, or of any planes of reality beyond their own, but the sentiment is still quite nice. 

You are a student of the finest academy of mystical arts there ever was and there ever will be. The uniform reflects that, which is why you’re just as unenthusiastic about dirtying your clothes as Sukuna is, but you know quite a few enchantments you can use to rid yourself of the inevitable mess; returning to Genesis all filthy would be sufficiently humiliating, after all. 

“Ladies first.” Gulping, you ignore his challenging look, and steel yourself. This is what it means to be an explorer: being dauntless. Anything for the quest, for your dreams and ambitions. 

“Just don’t look up my skirt,” you mutter. 

He scoffs. “Get over yourself. Actually, I’ll go first. Your arrogance is so confounding, I’m irritated.”

If there’s danger in the hole, better he faces it first, you think. So, you don’t fight him on that.

Inside, it’s just as you suspected: a long, hollow tunnel, all dark and seemingly endless. Hearing Sukuna grumble under his breath is quite entertaining, you have to admit. The man was always angry. Even when he was with his friends walking down the hallways, eating in the dining hall, or loitering in the meadows, he was always frowning as if the world had done him some great injustice. 

The only times you ever saw him smile were when he was tormenting someone, whether it be a student, a teacher, or you. 

“Hey, there’s a fucking hole in a hole, watch—“

Shit. 

You bumped your head against his ass. He disappears down a sudden dip in the tunnel. A hole within a hole, just as he said. You grimace, waiting for that telltale thud to echo. It doesn’t. Actually, the only thing you hear is an elongated, ‘you fucking cunt.’

Whoops. 

Trying to stifle your laughter, you fall in headfirst, muttering an enchantment to cushion your fall. Hopefully — or not, either is fine — Sukuna remembered to do the same. 

Oddly, you realise, either this well of sorts is very deep or you’re falling very slowly. Because you find plenty of time to look around your surroundings even with your clothes flying around and you have to hold your skirt down, praying he’s too far down to look up and see something he shouldn’t. The sides of the well are filled with cupboards and bookshelves, there are maps and pictures hung upon pegs. You swear you even see a jar labelled ‘ORANGE MARMALADE’ but it’s empty. 

What is going on?

Who could have possibly hung those up? And why? Was there a larger purpose to it all? It surely can’t be for tourists if none of the displayed items are for sale. There’s no dust you can see so this passage must be used often, just as those books are. 

How big is this planet? Is it small enough to fall right through and end up in an infinite void? No, surely, it’ll get hotter as you near the core, right? You can always drink a protection tonic from your enchanted satchel to be sure, but you don’t want to waste resources. 

You couldn’t find anything about this place in the textbooks. No history, no accounts from other explorers, and certainly nothing about how to actually get into Underland.

Or maybe this isn’t a way in at all!

Maybe the rabbit was so peeved about the indignation he suffered at the hands of Sukuna that he tricked you both. Are people of this land so petty? 

You’ve heard of places where people didn’t lie or harm each other. Why couldn’t Underland be such a place?

Down, down, down you go. There’s nothing else to do but ponder all possibilities. It’s likely you’ve failed the task already. You were rude to a local and now you’re being punished. It’s his fault. It’s always his fault. He takes everything from you. He’s even taken this from you. 

“Oh!”

You fall on a huge heap of sticks and dry leaves. The fall is over. Thankfully the enchantment worked well, and you aren’t the least bit hurt. Sukuna stands above you, brushing leaves from his clothes, even more pissed than before. He glares at you. 

“Thanks for literally kissing my ass. Had a great time falling, by the way.” 

Ignoring him, you look around the place. The rabbit’s no longer anywhere to be seen. And you’ve found yourself in a low hall, lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the ceiling. It reminds you somewhat of the halls of St. Eden. There are doors all-round the hall and when you begin muttering a door-opening spell, you’re interrupted by a scoff. 

“Don’t bother. I already checked. They’re all locked.”

“Did you check that, though?”

He follows your pointing finger to a three-legged table at the end of the hallway. Upon closer inspection, you see it’s made of solid glass and there’s nothing on it except a tiny, golden key. Flicking a finger, you lift the key up and attempt to slot it into every lock but to no avail. They were either too large or too small.

“That wasn’t there before” Sukuna asserts, still slightly annoyed. “Neither was that.”

There, a couple metres away, is a curtain, which you agree, wasn’t there before. You know by the tilt of his head that he thinks this place is weird. You’re inclined to agree. Behind the curtain is a door and the key slots in perfectly. You share a smile with him, which drops barely even a second later. He clears his throat. 

Kneeling on the floor, you look through that small door and see a garden. It’s lovely with beds of bright flowers and fountains. It’s not as great as any green space in Genesis but it’s better than this miserable dark hall. 

Sighing, you stand up. “We can’t fit through that. Do you remember any enlargement spells? I didn’t bring a biggening tonic ‘cause the Student Advisors didn’t say to.”

He fixes you a blank stare. Oh, right. He’s not even carrying anything with him. Classic. 

What was he even thinking venturing to a foreign place without any of the recommended items? Not a vial of invisibility, a language-adapting elixir, Grimoire of Spells All Travellers Need Volume I to VI, not even a bottle of water. He’s useless. And to think Professor Yaga genuinely believed he has something to teach you. Please. 

“Quit judging me, prissy princess. I don’t need textbooks. Everything I need is in my head. And in any case, look. There’s something on the table. And it wasn’t there before. What kind of fucked up magic system do they have here? Shit’s just appearing out of nowhere for no goddamn reason.” 

You pay his grumbling no mind.

On the table, is a little bottle. Around its neck is a paper label with the words ‘DRINK ME’ written quite beautifully. And on the back, in small writing, appears to be instructions. “It says, ‘To get out, drink this. Share with your companion.’”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening. If I get food poisoning, I’m gonna kill everyone here.”

Hissing, you argue, “That’s not funny, Sukuna. We have no choice since you didn’t bring anything.”

“Well, then, by all means, go fucking ahead.”

The Explorer’s Guide to Otherworldly Travel advises against consuming food from unfamiliar places. One, they may not sit well in your stomachs, and two, they could be poisoned; not all places deal well with foreign interference. 

Well, anyways, down the hatch it goes.

“Woah, don’t actually drink it, idiot,” he chastises you, but it’s too late. In one pour, it’s in your mouth. All of it. Your eyes are wide. You hadn’t meant to drink the whole thing. Thank Merlin you didn’t swallow immediately. “Good going, idiot. Now what?”

Muffled, you make sounds of panic and attempt to say through a mouthful of the mysterious drink, “Quick. Do something.”

All you see is an eye roll and a frustrated brush of his hair before he smashes his face to yours. You’re taken aback by the feel of his firm hand gripping the back of your head, keeping you still, and even more shocked by the softness of his lips. That softness disappears instantly, however, when his tongue plunges inside your mouth and the drink pools from yours to his. 

He pulls away, swallowing, and sees the wideness of your eyes. Grunting, he mutters something to himself before you feel his tongue lick up the errant drop of juice on your chin. 

Your lips tingle. And then they stop when he hastily wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his blazer. 

The drink doesn’t burn and you’re not feeling odd. It tastes quite nice, actually. Like a mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast. Oddly, you want more. 

“Fuck.”

You look up at Sukuna. And you blink. The hall had grown. The table is metres tall and the door to the garden is suddenly big enough to get through. No, wait. You’re smaller. So is he. 

You’ve shrunk. 

“This is weird as hell.”

Sukuna suddenly laughs. And it’s a sound you’re completely repulsed by. You’ve only ever heard him laugh like that when he was making someone’s life miserable, and so to hear it in any other context is off-putting. Especially as your lips continue to tingle.

Silently, you make a note to yourself — drinks in Underland can resemble potions in Genesis, where they have the ability to transform the body into something else. You do wonder, however, how things appear out of nowhere with seemingly no conjurer in sight. Energy is transferred and controlled; it doesn’t have a mind of its own. This place is growing curiouser and curiouser by the minute.

Now, just to get out of this place. 

“Shit. The key.”

Shooting you a mocking look, your quest partner walks ahead to the door and fishes out something from his pocket. “Relax. Wasn’t dumb enough not to hold onto it. Come on. We gotta find that damn finger. And the faster the better. I’m already growing tired of this damn place.”

And out of the darkness you left. 

——————

“We’re lost.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding. This place’s all turned around.”

For the past hour, you two had been wandering around yet another forest searching for —well, anything. And nothing is what you’ve stumbled upon. As interesting as the different coloured leaves are, you can’t spend your time appreciating the forage. 

With every passing moment you sense Sukuna getting more and more irritated. He walks a brisk pace ahead of you, and all your attempts to catch up and stroll beside him are ignored in favour of walking faster. You knew the guy couldn’t stand you, but this is just another level. Everything about him is so unprofessional. For one, his shirt is untucked, and his hair is all roughed up and messy. Two, he curses far too often by anyone’s standards. And three, he can’t even pretend to get along with you for the sake of this quest. 

There’s no way you’re going to maintain your perfect record of A’s and it’ll all be because of the arrogant prick. The one consolation you have is that he’s coming down with you on your fall. 

“I can’t sense the finger’s cursed energy at all,” you mutter, slightly anxious. 

He side-eyes you and then shoves his hands in his trousers. “Relax. Quests, on average, take a week to complete. Of course, if we could complete it in much less, that’d be ideal but we’re not in a rush right now.”

“I know that. Don’t mansplain this to me.”

The eye roll he gives you is especially scathing. Typical. You two only ever seemed to look at each other just to exercise your eyes a little. Even when your gazes meet across a lecture hall one would make a face and the other scowls. It’s routine. You’ve long since convinced yourself to not let it bother you, but you won’t lie, many nights have been spent scouring the archives for a spell on how to swap someone’s asshole for their mouth. 

In the distance, there’s a clearing and a house. 

You smack him in the chest. He groans. “I fucking saw it. You didn’t need to hit me, idiot.”

On the door of the neat little house is a bright brass plate with the name “W. Rabbit,” engraved upon it. Sharing a look, you know you’ve both come to the same conclusion: you might just run into a familiar face.

Raising a hand to knock, you hear a scoff before the door’s being spelled open and Sukuna pushes past you. Even in a different dimension, he’s still a bitch. You don’t even bother to tell him off for trespassing, it seems he’d been looking forward to terrorising the inhabitants of this world long before he stepped foot here. 

“You don’t think the professors hid the finger here, do you?”

He doesn’t look at you when he casually replies, “Nah. Too easy. This is a Grade S plane and we’re advanced students. It would never be this straightforward. I reckon they’re trying to lead us around, encouraging us to become one with nature or some shit.”

Can’t argue with that. 

“So why are we here? It’s not like the rabbit’s home; we can’t ask him if he’s noticed anything out of the ordinary recently.”

Admiring the paintings on the wall, Sukuna’s response comes out a little distracted when he says, “We need a map, idiot. We can’t just keep walking everywhere hoping for the best.”

Flustered over him one-upping you, you don’t entertain his callous tone and instead you walk around. The little house is nice. It’s cozy and homely. Somewhat messy and untidy but you aren’t really surprised considered how neurotic the rabbit appeared upon first meeting, the poor thing. 

You find yourself in a tidy little room with a table in the window, and on it a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid gloves. This must have been what the rabbit was looking for but if they’re still here that means you beat him to it. Where had he gone that two outsiders would stumble upon his home faster than he would himself?

“What’s this?”

There, near a looking-glass, is a bottle. It’s similar to the one in the hallway with all the doors but this one doesn’t have a label with the words ‘DRINK ME’ and instructions. Guess this one isn’t for drinking. Or maybe it is?

Maybe this is a trick. 

What if the professors had placed these odd concoctions here? It can’t possibly be a coincidence that two drinks would appear all perfectly bottled after all, right?

Biting your lip, you contemplate what to do with it. It’s a terrible risk to take but it could pay off. It’d be great if you could get a leg up over Sukuna, even if you succeed together as partners, if he somehow found the cursed finger before you, you’d never be able to live with yourself. You just can’t let him have any more justifications for his arrogance. 

Fuck it.

Uncorking it, you put the rim to your lips and smell. There’s no immediate suspicious scent, like the bitter smell of poison. That’s a good sign. You know something interesting is sure to happen whenever you drink anything here, so you’ll just have to see what this bottle does. You hope it’ll make you large again, because even though you’ve only just adjusted to the world here, you’re quite tired of being such a tiny little thing. 

Maybe you can even step on Sukuna and pass it off as an accident. 

The thought makes you smile. And without even thinking, you’ve already drunk half the bottle. 

Watching your limbs, you wait for a change to occur. Nothing happens. You haven’t grown taller or shorter. Slightly disappointed, you place the bottle back down and stagger to a window. 

“It’s hot in here,” you mutter. 

You’re a little dizzy and out of breath. It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room and when you push the panes out, you take desperate gulps of air. 

“Fuck are you up to?” Unsurprised by his sudden appearance, you don’t turn. Instead, you continue to pant. You feel itchy everywhere. “Oi, don’t ignore me.”

Quiet mumblings come out of your mouth.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you? You’re panting like a damn dog.”

Prick. 

“Shit, did you drink that? You’re a fucking idiot. What kind of logic are you operating under? Are you trying to sabotage us? No, wait, ha! You were trying to sniff out a clue, weren’t you? What’d you think was gonna happen? You’d find the finger all by yourself and then ditch me? Nice fucking try.”

He never shuts up, but you can’t tell him to shove his accusations, accurate as they are, up his ass. Head thumping against the wood, you grip the windowpane tight, fearful you’ll fall over. You’re not yourself right now. The drink did something to you. 

A hand presses itself to your forehead. It’s hot and your lashes flutter. “Fuck. Talk to me.”

“Mary Ann! Mary Ann! Fetch me my gloves this moment!” Light pattering of feet can be heard on the stairs. Through the haze of your sudden light-headedness, you know it to be the rabbit, though you know not who this ‘Mary Ann’ is. You tremble. 

The pattering is inside the room and an aghast sound reaches your ears. Sukuna gathers you up in his arms, grunting when your head lolls to his chest. He smells like sin, and you hate it. 

“W-what are you doing here? Goodness, this is my home! I say, get out this instant.”

Darkly, your partner asserts, “Not happening until you tell me what the fuck that drink was and why she’s like this.”

“You drank that? Oh, dear. W-well, that is not my concern. You wandered in here and did as you please. It is your fault. Now leave. Please, old fellow.”

Dropping even lower, you barely recognise Sukuna’s voice. “You didn’t hear me? If you don’t fix her, I’ll roast you on a spit and chew you up.”

What is he even saying? He can’t do that. It’s illegal. He’d be shunned from St. Eden and by the whole of Genesis. Oh, right. He’s bluffing. You laugh against his jumper. He sure does sound convincing. 

“My! You must withhold your threats. You needn’t be so angry. Your friend, Y/n, if I remember correctly, will be just fine…eventually.”

“How long is eventually?”

The rabbit makes some noise you can’t decipher, and he coyly answers, “Two weeks or so.” And then he splutters, gasps and coughs. “Put me down! Ah! No, good fellow, you must calm down! She can be cured faster!”

You sure do hope Sukuna isn’t misusing his abilities to literally shake out the information he wants out of the poor thing, but you know, without looking, that’s exactly what he’s doing. This can’t possibly be what Professor Yaga meant by ‘innovative thinking.’ Or if it was, then you seriously need to consider idolising another teacher.

Without needing further prompting, the rabbit mumbles the secret. You don’t hear it, but you do hear the door click shut and an abrupt swear word hiss out of Sukuna’s mouth. He throws you down on an armchair and kneels down.

“What’re you doing?” You slur.

A muscle in his jaw ticks and he reluctantly makes eye contact with you. “The rat said the effects wear off once your limbs tense up and you shake out the numbness in your body. Shit doesn’t fucking make sense but nothing in this goddamn place does so, do you consent or what?”

Firm hand gripping your knee, he parts your thighs. Heat rises up your face and you can’t argue with him — you don’t even have the energy to kick him in the face for alluding something so ridiculous. There’s no way he’s suggesting the cure is an orgasm, is he?

“N-no,” you breathe out, “we can’t.”

Grunting, he reminds you, “We have to. We can’t wait two weeks. That’ll be way too late, and we’ll fail the fucking quest. And that’s if your body is anything like theirs. It could take longer and I’m not staying here longer than I have to. So, you gonna let me make you cum or you just gonna fuck up our grades?”

This is crazy. 

“I’ll do it myself. Get out.”

Sukuna blows frustrated air out of his nose and brushes his hair back. He’s growing impatient. Snatching an arm up, he waves the limp limb in front of your face. It flails embarrassingly. 

“You can’t do shit in this state. Don’t be difficult. Let’s just get this over with.”

“F-fine,” you acquiesce and then hurriedly add, “but just your hand, okay?”

And that is all he needs. 

Through the haze, you feel cold air blow over your core when your panties are pulled off your legs. There isn’t even any time for embarrassment before long fingers are pushing your slit apart and a thumb is circling your clit with expert navigation. 

“Talk me through it. Tell me how you like your pussy played with.”

Why does he sound like that? 

Raspy and with a chocolatey smooth timbre, you can’t focus on your breathing when you can feel the vibrations of his words on your skin. Everything is constrained — your clothes feel suffocating, your body is heavy, and his spare hand is keeping your legs wide open. He can see everything and there isn’t a hint of shame on his face when he leans in closer and presses down harder on your clit. 

You moan. 

“Like that. I like it like that.”

“Yeah?”

Humming, you watch him watch you. 

His heated gaze slides from between your legs to your eyes, searching for any sign that this is working, that the extra gravity on your body will go away and you’ll go back to normal. And you can feel it working too. Can feel your fingers twitch, aching to grip his wrist and urge him away or to go faster, you can’t tell anymore.

A grunt leaves his lips. “You’re fucking soaked. You think you ready to take my fingers?”

No answer comes from you, only a whimper. And that is good enough for him, so he shoves two fingers inside, to the hilt, and wastes no time in curling them against that soft spot inside you.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, ‘fuck’ is right.” He laughs, breathlessly. “You’re crazy tight. You always like this or is that the damn drink?”

In and out and in and out. Sukuna is pumping his fingers inside of you, feeling your ridges and thumbing your clit. They feel great, even when you wish they didn’t. They’re long and nimble, but thick and filling. Manoeuvring inside your pussy as if they’ve been there before, as if it’s their second home, moans are being wrenched out of you.

“Watch the nails, idiot.”

Your eyes open — you didn’t even realise they had shut— and you notice your hand has loosened enough to clutch his wrist, digging into his skin, and pulling him closer. So so so close. Just a little more. Just one more push and you’ll be rid of the adverse effects of the stupid drink. 

“You’re much more tolerable with your pretty pussy plugged than when you’re free to nag my ear off,” he mutters.

And you cum. 

——————

“Those are some fuck ass mushrooms.”

They are, indeed. But you don’t voice your agreement. In fact, since walking away from that little house and that very angry rabbit, you haven’t said a word to him at all. You don’t even look at him. 

You can’t.

What transpired in that house was wrong. Completely wrong. It was unprofessional, unethical, and shameful. To think, you had been so competitive that you drank some unknown drink just to get ahead was one thing. To have made your expedition partner finger you to completion?

Yeah, there’s no coming back from that.

Not that Sukuna seems to mind — he’s acting like normal. He snarked about how weird this world was, how the sandwiches you packed are shit and he misses the canteen food on campus (he still ate it all), and he made fun of you when you tripped over a rock. You’re a little hurt, but you don’t dare dwell on that for too long. 

Now, you two are staring at large mushrooms, about the same height as you are, all different, with wacky colours and more importantly, you’re staring at a gigantic caterpillar by your world’s standards, and you have to remind yourself it isn’t that the creatures here are big but rather that you have grown small. 

The caterpillar, oddly, is sitting on top of a mushroom, a pair of arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and not taking the faintest notice of either of you or of anything else. 

“Is that a chain-smoking worm? Fushiguro owes me money, ha.” Sukuna sounds quite pleased.

Then, when its eyes met yours, it took the hookah out of its mouth and addresses you in a languid, sleepy voice. “Who are you?”

“Hi, sir,” You begin nervously, “we’re travellers from another world, you see.”

“No, I don’t see,” says the caterpillar. 

You meet Sukuna’s amused stare. He’s content to let you take the reins on this one, clearly. Merlin, he’s useless. “I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly, especially not when we’ve had quite the day; it’s all been so very confusing.”

“It isn’t.”

Frowning, you try again. “I assure you; it has been. But that is neither here nor there. We’d just like to ask if you’ve noticed anything strange. Maybe other travellers like us? Or an odd energy about the place? A finger more specifically.”

“A finger? I have many. We all have fingers.”

Sukuna snorts. You feel heat rise to your face. And he finally steps in. 

“Listen, forget whatever she just said. Tell us how to get bigger. Being like three inches tall is a pain.”

The caterpillar rears itself upright and says angrily, “Three inches is a very good height to be!”

Okay, so clearly, you’re not going to get anywhere with the worm— caterpillar. At least not with those two being argumentative creatures. So, stepping in between them, you ask, being sure to sound extra polite, “Are these mushrooms edible? They wouldn’t, by any chance, help in making us grow taller, would they?”

Calming down, the thing takes the hookah out of its mouth, yawns once or twice, and shook itself. It comes down from the mushroom and crawls away in the grass, remarking merely as it goes, “Eat. And eat from each other. You will grow. Or don’t and you won’t.”

But before you can ask what the hell he meant, it’s already out of sight. 

“Don’t fucking think about it,” Sukuna growls. “Eating shit clearly isn’t a good idea so don’t go chomping on mushrooms.”

“But we have to grow taller. You really think we can return to Genesis at this height?”

He shoves a hand through his hair. “You gonna trust a worm? Knew you weren’t all right in the head when you substituted silver-beetle for the bronze one in first year, but this is just another level of idiocy, seriously.”

“Merlin, shut up! I was trying something new. The textbook said it ‘recommends’ you use silver-beetle, but it never said to only use silver-beetle. I was trying to be innovative.”

You get an eyeroll. “That’s not your fucking style, is it? You’re a rule-follower, a goody-two-shoes. You don’t trial new things.”

“Yeah, not since then. When it quite literally blew up in my face and I was made the laughingstock of our potions class. But I was just…”

Regretting letting your emotions get the best of you before you say something undeservedly vulnerable, you shut your mouth. But your partner isn’t blind or stupid. He saw that. He heard it. And the guy is a pest. 

“Finish your sentence.” You press your lips tighter together. He steps into your space and when you don’t look at him, he grabs your face and smooshes your cheeks, glaring down at you. “You were just what?”

Words muffled, you reluctantly, and with a lot of shame and embarrassment, admit, “I just wanted to be more like you. You always try new things. Even back then. You did something different the week before. Using moonflower oil instead of nightbane and you were applauded for your so-called ‘genius.’ No one’s ever done that for me.”

Sukuna stays silent for a minute and then he groans. His hand, and his heat, leaves for just a second and then the next, something is being shoved in your mouth and once again, you’re ingesting something you really shouldn’t but there doesn’t seem to be any other choice. 

The mushroom doesn’t really taste of much and there aren’t any sudden changes. You watch him chew, observing his body for anything out of the ordinary and nothing. 

“If you feel off, even just a little, say something, alright?”

You nod. 

“I don’t feel different at all. Was he just messing with us? You don’t think he took actual offence to the height comment, do you?” 

Time is passing and you don’t have a clue whether Underland’s time and Genesis’ are compatible. What if a month and passed within a day here? 

Getting this quest done in a week gets you a C, getting it done within two days is an A, but finishing in a month or longer would be a fail. No, it’d be worse than a fail. You’ll be humiliated. All your chances of pursuing this as a career will be over before you could even really try. 

“Now what?”

Sukuna throws a glance at you and then he shrugs. “Guess we gotta keep moving. Can’t sense the finger here so we shouldn’t stick around too long. I’d ascend and scan the area for the direction but since I’m the size of a fucking pinkie, I’d use up more energy than I can afford.”

“Wait. The caterpillar said something about eating from each other, didn’t he?”

“Dunno. Wasn’t really listening.”

Ignoring that, you continue, “What’d you think he meant by that?”

“Cannibalism?” 

You shoot him an unimpressed look. That couldn’t have possibly been what he meant, and even if it was, the casual way in which he said that puts you on edge. Cannibalism is not a standard practice, it’s not a practice at all, except for maybe a few groups of people in the far reaches of the worl— No. Stop. Don’t entertain his ridiculous ideas. 

Think. 

The drink that made you small. The instructions had been similar. ‘Share with your companion.’ At first, you thought you made the mistake of taking too big a gulp, but you were sure you didn’t. You’d never be so stupid. And that led him to kiss you. You quite literally shared with your companion. And then the drink from the rabbit’s house. That slowly paralysed your body, and the cure was to push your muscles to its limits. 

No. It really was an orgasm. It wasn’t just one way to make your muscles tense, it was the way, that’s why the rabbit knew to leave and give you two space. 

In a world where things appear and disappear conveniently, things out of order actually do have purpose. None of it was a coincidence. 

“Sukuna.”

He kicks a mushroom absentmindedly and assesses the height from where he stands and all the way up to where he needs to be to get a clear picture of the land. “What?”

“You need to eat me out.”

There’s a pause. A palpable silence so thick it could be cut with a knife. If you listen closely enough, you’re sure you can hear the creaking of his neck as he slowly turns his head back towards you. There’s a look on his face you can’t quite decipher but you imagine it’s something similar to confusion, disbelief and a ‘you’re fucking kidding.’

“If you’re horny,” he begins, exasperation lacing his words like he’s talking to a child, “go deal with it yourself. I’m not your walking rattletoy.”

Shuffling on your feet, you reassert, “No, I’m serious. I think that’s what the caterpillar meant. He said we need to eat the mushrooms and then we need to eat from one another. Through some weird logic, I can only guess he means that to activate the enlargement effect of the mushrooms it must be ingested from bodily fluids.”

“No fucking way. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Nothing in this world does!” You yell.

It isn’t like you want this to happen. This is humiliating beyond speech. When your friends ask how your first quest went down, you’re never going to be able to tell them the full truth. This will be a secret you take to your grave. And if you have to kill him once you get the finger to keep this shame a secret, you’ll do it without a moment’s thought.

Pinching his nose bridge, Sukuna growls out, “If I eat you out, I’ll grow faster and you won’t even be able to reach my fucking dick so you’ll stay that height. And I’m not gonna carry you around in my pocket whilst I do all the work.”

An idea comes to you. 

You grimace. “Well…”

“No. Absolutely fucking not.” He sees you inch closer to him, eyeing his belt and he steps back. “This is insane. Get the fuck away from my crotch.”

Once in his face, his body backed up against a mushroom leaving him nowhere to run, you whisper, embarrassed, “We have to try. We’ll be able to cover more ground when we’re bigger and we can’t afford to waste time. We have absolutely no clue where that cursed finger is and we’re at a loss, Sukuna. I need to complete this quest. So do you…please?”

“Ah, fuck.”

That’s all he says before you’re being pulled to the ground and flipped around. Facing the crotch you’d been eyeing before, you take this as a sign to unbuckle his belt, zip down his fly, and fish his cock out of his boxers. He’s big. Huge. It’s scary. 

Veins scale up his long length, leading you to his angry-red tip. And the carpet does not match the drapes. How interesting. But more than that…his cock is delicious looking. Something about it looks like it’d devour you whole instead of the other way around, and you lick your lips at the challenge.

A finger feels your slit through the gusset of your panties and a warm breath fan over it. You shiver. 

“Didn’t think I’d see her again,” he mutters.

Somewhat uncomfortable by this entire thing, you get to work. Licking a stripe from base to tip, you familiarise yourself with the smell, feel, and taste of him. He’s very musky in the best way. Like salt and danger. He’s rock-hard, hot and you need to lick him again. 

Not one to be shown up, Sukuna palms the globes of your ass from under your skirt and then flips it over. He wastes no time in diving forward just as those firm, calloused hands pull you down onto his face. Merciless lips suck at your clit through your soaked panties, making slurping sounds that you really do not want to be hearing. 

When you suckle on his tip, he hisses. “Go gently at first, idiot. Not a fucking lollipop. And put those hands to good use. Jerk me off and play with my balls.”

So fucking bossy. You have half a mind to tell him to get over himself but you need him to cum faster so you can get this over and done with. So, you fondle his heavy balls, venturing up and down his length with your hand as you hollow your cheeks and take as much of him as you can. 

“Fuck yeah. Always been a good student, haven’t you?”

As if to reward you, he pushes your panties to the side and feasts on your dripping cunt with no reservations. You can hear the shameless squelches he’s making, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, to embarrass you, to rub it in your face how wet you’ve gotten for him, for someone you supposedly hate.

“Look how sloppy you are. Ha!” He spreads your lips apart, blowing cool air right into your pulsing hole. “She wants my -hngh yeah keep going- fingers. Almost feel bad to tell her -ha- she can’t have it. N-need her to leak all her juices out so I can drink it up. Be a good girl and feed me good, yeah?”

Your legs lock around his head, shaky and sweaty. Sukuna is sucking your clit like a vacuum, using two fingers to spread your wetness around your inner thighs, painting them. And the way his big hands are digging into your flesh, claiming you, is driving you crazy. Your hips begin shaking, grinding itself on his mouth just as you bob your head up and down his cock, eager to make a mess of him too. 

“Sukuna! You’re being too -ngh!- rough” 

He snickers and the vibrations make your eyes roll back. “She likes it. Hear how wet she is?”

Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!

“Pussy tastes so good. So fucking sweet can’t believe it’s yours. Maybe you should be as nice as your cunt is to me. We’d get along much better.”

If you thought he was the worst before, now you think he’s a completely irredeemable bastard. He’s no gentleman. He doesn’t treat you with respect or care, he’s just using you as his personal entertainment. As if he can hear your thoughts and wants to prove you right, he braces himself and begins to fuck your throat just as his fingers thrust inside your wet canal. 

You’re being jostled around by his monstrous whims and there’s nothing you can do but hold on tight as you feel that tsunami of pleasure rising and rising. 

“Y’know,” he mutters, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, “no one -ha- applauds you for your -shit that’s good- g-genius ‘cause they just expect it from you, right? Don’t gotta have a -oh fuck your mouth’s tight- a-a complex over it. Don’t need to prove a thing. Just gotta cum. Can you do that? Can you be a good little princess and cum for me?”

Everyone knows you’re good at following instructions. 

Mere seconds apart, you both cum. Hot, salty cum laced with his magical essence floods your mouth. It burns its way down your bruised and battered throat until all you can see and hear is how good he sounds when he groans your name out. 

“Oh fuck! Sukuna!” He won’t stop lapping up your juices, thumbing your clit and shoving his fingers inside. Even through his orgasm, he’s dragging yours out, pulling waves and waves of pleasure from your body like he can’t get enough. “S-stop! No more!”

Overstimulated from his relentless sucking and licking, you climb off of him and fall down on the grass, cupping your poor pussy, still soaked and spasming. 

There, you both catch your breath. 

So delirious, you don’t even notice you’ve grown much taller, towering over the mushrooms and you’re back to your original size. That wasn’t supposed to be as good as it was. It wasn’t supposed to feel mind-blowing. And you really shouldn’t be wanting more. 

“Did you mean what you said? About me being smart?”

He’s the first to get up. “I may be a lot of things, all negative in your eyes I’m sure, but I’m not a liar. Meant it when I said you’re smart and you shouldn’t try so hard.”

You meet his gaze and something in your eyes must strike him deep because he scoffs and mumbles an enchantment, conjuring a handkerchief that gets to work between your legs. 

“Also meant it when I said your pussy’s sweet. You get an A from me. Should stop by my dorm whenever you’re bored.”

Aaaaaand he’s back.

You throw his handkerchief, all wet from your juices, in his face. Irritated by his arrogance, you fix your skirt and wipe the sweat from your forehead on your sleeve and then you fly yourself up, searching for the next place to go where the finger might be. 

This isn’t personal. This is just for the quest. He knows that and so do too.

——————

“I’m gonna rip your stupid fucking head off.”

Having seen a path along to a castle, you led your partner to where the gravel began and followed it up. It was on that very path that you ran into an odd creature. A cat with a grin so wide you were immediately put off. No words were exchanged but with just one look at each other, you knew better than to engage any further with the odd inhabitants of this curiouser and curiouser Underland. 

It would have been a great plan, meander and keep an eye out for anything odd, any sign that your teachers had been here, looking for an appropriate place to hide the finger, except…

The damn cat kept following you. 

Sukuna blew a gust of wind at it, but it disappeared before it could hit a tree. And then it reappeared with the same shit-eating grin. Then, sensing that he was going get even more aggressive, you attempted to converse with your new companion against your better judgement. 

“Hi. We’re travellers in search of….an item our teachers have hidden here. You wouldn’t have happened to see something odd recently, have you? Maybe other travellers or a strange glow?”

Purring, it blinked and grinned wider. “Why, yes, I have.”

“Oh, great. Would you tell us please which way we ought to go from here?”

The cat said, “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.”

And Sukuna piped up. “We don’t have a destination in mind—“

“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”

“—as long as we get to wherever the finger is.”

“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long enough.”

Sukuna snatched your hand and dragged you away, very clearly fed up. Neither of you mentioned the cat that kept popping up along the trail, grinning and occasionally humming, nor the fact that your hand was still firmly held in your partner’s grip. 

You made the mistake of looking at the cat and saw that its mischievous eyes were on your intertwined hands and then the shyness in your face. Its grin grew wider. 

Eventually, a dreaded scene appeared: a fork in the road. Of course, neither of you knew where to go and asking the cat was out of the question for, he surely would have toyed with you back and forth, up and down, and side to side until you either grew too dizzy to string logical thoughts or you grew so frustrated you march ahead, leaving it up to chance. 

Tapping his foot, Sukuna seemed to be weighing his options, and it was somewhat endearing, especially when he subconsciously brushes his thumb against your knuckles whilst deep in thought.

The cat said, “I could point you in the right direction. For a price.”

“No fucking way,” your partner growled. “Knowing this fucked up place, it’s gonna be something sick and perverted.”

“Let’s just hear him out.” Turning to the innocently smiling cat, you asked, “What’s the price?”

POOF!

It appeared right in front of you, suspended in the air. As if walking on a platform, it trots around your heads, tail slithering across your necks, and whispers, “A Hatter lives in one direction and a March Hare in another. To find out which is the right direction, you’ll have to put on a show, just for me.”

“Fat fucking chance. We’ll try our luck, dumb cat.”

Pulling on his hand, you argued, “This is our first real lead, Sukuna. We can’t pass it up.”

His nostrils flared. He wasn’t happy but he knew you had a point. 

“Fuck, alright. Oi, cat. How do we know you even saw shit? You could just be making it up.”

“Oh, well, I saw two people wearing your clothes —ugly things by the way— carrying a glass box with a finger. They spoke of a quest and tests and marks. Very tedious, I thought. But they sounded curious and so I followed them down one of these paths.”

Well fuck, you thought.

So, he was telling the truth. Sukuna understood the implications, but he looked conflicted. Maybe he wasn’t keen on the possibility of having to do more perverse things with you, and you have to admit, you couldn’t blame him. Despite his horrible attitude, he had still gone above and beyond to help you. If your partner had been anyone else, you would have been stuck here for weeks. 

“Sukuna.” You tugged your hand out of his grip and bit your lip. “We should split up, that way we can cover more grou—“

His glare cut you off. “No. Splitting up is dumb, idiot. Who knows what kinda dangers lurk around this place? And in any case, we need to return at the same time to complete the quest. So, cat, name your price and stay true to your fucking words, or else I’ll kill you and wear your tail as a tie.”

Spinning in the air, the cat grinned. 

“Wonderful!”

And then it poofed onto a tree branch, getting itself all nice and cozy before it languidly blinked and demanded, “Show the pretty lady how you like to feel good.”

That it brings us to now when Sukuna snarls, “I’m gonna rip your stupid fucking head off.”

“Yeah, I actually agree with him. We can’t do that!”

The cat makes a gesture a lot like a shrug and began to disappear before the man beside you curses under his breath and rakes a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. How long do I have to keep going for?”

“Why, until the very end, of course.”

You’re gobsmacked. Truly. Your jaw is slack, and it falls down even further when for the second time today, Sukuna throws his blazer and jumper to the side, leaving him in a wrinkled white button-up, the sleeves of which he rolls up, and then finally, he unbuckles his belt. The sound of metal clinking makes you flinch. His semi-hard cock comes out. Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still packing something significant. It’s yet another thing you hate him for. 

His eyes meet yours before he sighs and throws his head back, muttering some kind of mantra to himself. It’s bad enough that you’re watching but a mean cat is here too — you can’t even imagine how uncomfortable your partner must be. 

“This place is fucked. Why do the Supremes even allow it to exist? Merlin be warned, I’m snitching about the depravities of this forsaken place as soon as we get back.”

Yet, his huge hand wraps around the base and he gives himself a couple pumps before he spits into his palm and rubs the head. You can’t look away, not even because you’re not allowed to but because fuck, he looks good. With one hand, he loosens his tie, showing off the well-defined veins in his muscular arm.

“The fucking cat better not be lying or I’ll burn it alive.”

Up, down, up, down and up, around the head, thumbing the slit, and then down again. He starts off slow, heavy breaths pushed out of his lungs, gradually increasing his pace and you swear you can feel each pump into your pussy.

“I hate this fucking place,” he growls out.

Growing frustrated with the white shirt getting in the way, he curses under his breath and lifts up the hem to bite on it, exposing his toned torso. The muscles there tense with his exertion and despite his age, you sense the strength that courses through his veins, imbuing his body with terrifying prowess. 

You’ve seen that very body bulldoze students in the hallway, wrangle beasts from all corners of reality, and have felt it grip you today. “Fuck, quit staring so hard.” 

You mutter an apology but he’s not listening, he’s focused on the way your eyes can’t stick to one place to look at and that spurns him on, thumb pressing into his slit with a hiss and spreading the pre cum down his length.  

Even the way he treats his own dick is unforgiving. His pace is rhythmic and elegant but also just plain mean. When your eyes flutter at the intensity in his, roving over your features, dropping for just a second down to the hem of your skirt where your skin is exposed before rising to your face again. Red tints the tips of his ears and he curses again like he had been caught. 

An hour passes, or maybe mere seconds, but you forget all about the cat and the quest and the fact that you’re supposed to hate him. Though, you can always count on Sukuna to remind you — with practically no shame, he fishes out something from his pocket. It’s the handkerchief he used to clean you earlier. 

Not having to spend a single moment wondering why he’s got it or what he’s going to do with it, the man presses it up to his nose and inhales deeply. So deeply, in fact, you see his eyes roll back.

“You sure love to stare at me, don’t ya? You -ngh- do it all the time during lectures and even across the meadows. Just can’t help yourself, can you? Always so damn inquisitive.”

Managing to find the will, you fire back, “T-that inquisitiveness helped me beat you in Professor Miya’s class last year, don’t forget.”

His pace increases. “Merlin, your voice is fucking annoying.”

Panties soaked, you resist the urge to press a hand to your pussy to alleviate the growing need there, settling instead for pressing your thighs together.

“S-seriously. You’ve -ha- seen my dick before. Quit fucking staring. You’re acting like you think it’s pretty.” His tone is unnecessarily sarcastic and aggressive, but you let him have this one. 

Just as breathless, you reply, “Yeah. It’s pretty.”

“Fuck!”

Spurts of white cum spew out, landing on the ground between you two. They haven’t touched you and yet you feel their heat. Or maybe it’s coming from his body which glistens ever so slightly with sweat. Maybe it’s even coming from the way he glares at you — eyes dark and blaming, he accuses you of pushing him to release early. 

You hadn’t meant to; you could have watched forever. 

Sukuna packs his softening cock back in, clean hand running through his hair. Awkwardly, you clear your throat and conjure a handkerchief. You offer it to him, but he stretches his hand out. Biting your tongue, you allow him that one thing too since that couldn’t have possibly been easy and you consider the favour repaid.

Diligently wiping his spend away, muttering an enchantment to thoroughly clean him up, you flinch when his clean fingers skim your cheek, pushing a strand of hair back. 

The cat spins in the air. “You put up a great performance. It was very…revealing.”

“Spare me your bullshit. Hold up your end of the deal, cat.”

It begins disappearing, starting from the end of its tails and ending with the grin, which remains. Widening, it finally reveals before leaving, “Go right. To the Mad Hatter.”

A rock flies through the air and thuds against a tree. When it falls, a huge dent is left in the trunk. Sukuna had just tried to kill the cat. This quest is dead. 

Worried, you muse, “I’m not sure how I feel about a ‘mad’ hatter. Everyone here seems pretty mad to me so by their standards, he must be truly insane.”

A mischievous whisper grazes your ear. “You’re right. We’re all mad here.”

And then it’s gone again, but not without another rock flying near your head, whizzing past just a second too late. You give Sukuna an unimpressed look but he’s already picking his clothes up, dusting them off, and marching ahead without looking back. 

——————

There’s a table set out under a tree in front of a house. The ‘March Hare,’ you guess, and Hatter are having tea at it with a mouse sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two are using as it as a cushion, resting their elbows on the mouse and talking over its head. You fear it’d be very uncomfortable for the mouse, but it doesn’t seem to mind as it snoozes. 

“That cat lied to us. They were both here all along. That bitch.”

Again, can’t argue with that.

The table may be large, but the three are all crowded in one corner of the table and when they spot you two approaching, they cry out, “No room! No room!”

“Fuck are you talking about? There’s plenty of room. Move over,” Sukuna snarls. You elbow him and he rolls his eyes.

Two chairs pull out and you feel the crackle of his magic in the air. You take the seat and are offered wine by the March Hare. 

“I don’t see any wine,” you remark. 

The March Hare says, “There isn’t any.”

“Then why the fuck would you offer?”

The March hare says, “Why would you sit down without being invited?”

Fair enough. 

“Your hair wants cutting,” says the Hatter. He’s been looking at you for some time with great curiosity. Dressed in a patchwork of many different cloths of various colours and textures, he is an oddity. You both study each other

“You should learn not to make personal fucking remarks,” Sukuna snarls with some severity; “it’s fucking rude.”

The Hatter opens his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he replies is, “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”

Somewhat eager to ease the sudden tense atmosphere, you force an enthusiastic tone. “I love riddles. I believe I can guess that.”

“Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?” Asks the March Hare. You nod. “Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare goes on.

“I do,” you hastily respond; “I mean what I say—that’s the same thing, you know.”

“Not the same thing a bit!” Shouts the Hatter. “You might just as well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I see’!”

“You might just as well say,” adds the March Hare, “that ‘I like what I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!”

“You might just as well say,” mumbles the mouse, who seems to be talking in his sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same thing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!”

THUD!

All eyes fall on Sukuna who’s hit the table with a fist, seemingly innocently as he reclines in his seat the way he does in lectures and classes. You sigh. This whole thing is a mess. It’s impossible to get through any of these people and you’ve got no real clue where the hell the cursed item is. 

“We were directed here by a cat. A grinning cat. He said you might know something about this thing we’re looking for. It might sound odd but it’s a finger. It should feel weird, not at all a good feeling.”

The mouse mumbles, “Finger…we saw…it’s taken.”

You both sit up. “Taken? Where?”

“Tea!” The Hatter exclaims. “Since the Queen screamed that I was murdering time at her concert, it’s always been six o’clock here. So, we must have tea!”

Two cups find their way in front of you and your partner. A thick sense of dread fills you; you already know where this is going. What will it be this time? Lick each other’s toes? Spank each other on the ass?

“We’re not drinking this.”

“Oh, but you must. Tea is a great drink! It’s the best drink. This one offers clarity of mind. Perhaps it will lead you to where you’d like to go.”

Great. 

The day’s almost over and you’d really hate to spend a night here. Again, who knows how much time has passed in Genesis. You really can’t afford to dilly-daddle anymore. When you share a look with Sukuna, you know he’s thinking the same thing, albeit begrudgingly.

And so down it goes without much further argument.

Just as you had suspected, the tea is no ordinary tea — you feel its effects immediately. Your head is growing heavy, and your sight is blurring, but you feel alive. Your body is far more sensitive than it was before. Every breeze sets goosebumps on your arms and heat rises to your cheeks at the sensation of clothes brushing against your skin. 

“Shit. I t-thought you said this gives clarity of mind,” Sukuna spews out accusingly. 

They all laugh. Or maybe none of them do. 

“Let’s have some fun! The Dormouse will tell a story, and you must make it till the end.”

“The catch,” you croak out. “What’s the catch?”

The March Hare remarks, “Clever! Well, you two must be in embrace. It is simply how things are done here. Otherwise, how else will we know if a story is good?”

Flexing his hand like he’s worried he’s losing control over it, your partner presses, “You want us to hug? How does that make sense?”

“No, of course not. She must hug you. The most intimate of hugs!”

“The warmest.”

“The tightest!”

Oh fuck.

“Oh fuck,” Sukuna groans at the same time the thought occurs to you. “There’s always something with this fucking place. I’m losing my mind. Hey, let’s just quit this entire thing.”

“What!”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so horrified. Does this shit mean that much to you? Everything we’ve done here is unethical as fuck. If we return and explain, they can’t fail us. We’ve already gone above and beyond.”

“B-but what if they don’t go easy on us? I can’t get a bad grade, Sukuna. I just can’t.”

“Grow the fuck up! This is too fucking far. What they’re suggesting… it’s insane and you know it. We’re both top students, they wouldn’t dare kick us out of the course or the fucking school, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

The chair is pushed back and he’s leaving, shrugging his blazer on and tightening his tie. He’s ready to throw in the towel. You’re not. Heart beating out of your chest, your hands shake as you stand, lunging for him. “N-no! Sukuna, we’ve come so far already. We’re close. I can feel it. Please. It won’t mean anything, we can just get it over and done with.”

Darkness clouds his eyes and the heaviness in his body from the tea makes sweat bead down his neck. Rolling his head around, he tries to calm himself, collecting his mind and resisting the warming effects of the tea. 

“Stop talking. We’re going back. Hate me all you want but I refuse to take a part in this farce any longer. This whole thing was fucked from the beginning.”

He’s reaching in his inside pocket, searching for that one thing that would end this. You’ve looked forward to this all your life, you can’t just let this go without having given it your all. 

“Sukuna!”

Something about your tone stops him in his tracks and his unfocused eyes find yours. 

“My dad…H-he was an explorer.” You blame the tea on the tears welling up and threatening to humiliate you further. “He gave his life to the cause. It was everything to him. A-and this is the only part of him I can keep alive so please one more chance and then I’ll do everything you want. I’ll do your homework, I’ll give up job opportunities for you, I’ll rescind the complaint I made about you where I complained about your bad breath.”

“I don’t have bad breath.”

“Yeah, I know! I just wanted to be petty, fuck. Please?”

Combing his hair with his hand, a tick in his jaw jumps and you think maybe he’ll kill you, strangle you finally after years of…whatever the fuck you two have been doing. Instead, he says…

“Take off your fucking panties and let’s fucking hope the hamster is a good orator.”

And so, you find yourself sitting on Sukuna’s thick thighs, panty-less, and stuffed full. Easing him in is difficult beyond belief — you’re already wet, or had remained wet, the details are unclear, and he’s hard, which is the problem. His huge cock doesn’t make the easiest of entrances. 

“Loosen up, princess. You’re gonna cut the circulation off my damn dick,” he hisses in your ear. It sends shivers down your back and when you tighten up in response, his fingers dig into your hips as punishment. 

“Once upon a time there were three little sisters,” the Dormouse begins in no hurry; “and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well—”

“What did they live on?” Asks the Hatter. 

Sukuna doesn’t feel anywhere near close to being buried to the hilt inside your pussy and he’s pushing his way through your gummy walls, fingers rubbing your clit to encourage you to loosen up. You’re already sweaty and well out of breath. To maintain some dignity, you decide to blame it on the tea. 

“They lived on treacle,” says the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.

“They couldn’t have done that, you know,” you gently remark, attempting to distract yourself from the fact that they’re watching you ease yourself down on the pink-haired man’s throbbing length; “they’d have been ill.”

“So they were,” says the Dormouse; “very ill.”

“But why did they live at the bottom of a we—Ah, fuck! Sukuna!”

He’d grabbed you by the hips and shoved you down, forcing your walls to stretch impossibly quickly. A dull pain vibrates inside, it causes you to tear up. Shushing you, a hand reaches up underneath your jumper, it rips your shirt open, buttons falling down. That hand, calloused and scalding, weighs up your breast. Your head falls back on his shoulder when he pinches a nipple.

“Don’t fucking interrupt him, dumbass.”

The Dormouse again takes a minute or two to think about it, and then confirms, “It was a treacle-well. And so, these three little sisters—they were learning to draw, you know—”

“What did they draw?” You wonder, forgetting yourself. Sukuna thrusts inside you. 

Pooling under, your wetness coats his cock, dribbling down his balls. He’s so much bigger inside you than outside and by the Heavens, it’s like he’s in your lungs. Every ridge, every vein, every throb — you feel it all. Sukuna’s lips skim your neck. “Are you interrupting the fucking thing ‘cause you want to elongate this? Huh, you irritating -hngh- p-pain in my ass? So quiet now that you’ve got a cock plugging you up, aren’t you? Maybe that’s all you -ha- needed from the very beginning, you dirty little thing.”

A moan leaks out just as he flicks your nipple again and again. 

“Treacle,” says the Dormouse, with a little amusement in his words. 

You can’t even remark about how ridiculous this whole thing is anymore because now it’s your fault. You had an out and you didn’t take it when offered. Now you’re practically drooling against Sukuna’s neck as he holds back from thrusting into your wet heat. 

“Did you ever think that w-we’d -ha- end up like this? When you shoved me out of your way years ago, unprovoked, did you know I’d be balls deep inside this pretty fucking pussy, hmm? Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Is it turning you on to be watched? Do you like how e-everyone’s listening to your -ngh fuck don’t clench down on me- y-your moans, watching you grind on my dick? What would your s-snooty friends think?”

“They were learning to draw,” the Dormouse goes on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it’s getting very sleepy; “and they drew all manner of things—everything that begins with an M—”

“Why with an M?” Enquires the Hatter.

 The March Hare asks, “Why not?”

You’re silent, or as silent as you can be with the way you feel him pulsing inside of you. His clutch on you is much sweeter than you’d like it to be, so are the words of praise he’s whispering in your ears. Sukuna’s being unfair. Your knees are shaking from the pressure building up inside you and you really have to fight back the whimpers that claw their up your throat, reminding you how he filled it mere hours ago. 

“Just filled your sloppy cunt with my cock and you’re -mhm- already fucked dumb? Always wondered how long it’d take to wipe that pretentious smirk of your face, you self-righteous brat. Now look at you.”

“You’ve been -hgnh!- thinking about f-fucking me?”

He laughs and you feel it rumble behind you. “More times than I’ll ever admit. And only ever when you pissed me off. You’re always glaring at me when I talk in lectures, walking fast so you won’t h-have to breathe the same fucking air as me, and worse of all, when you wear these short fucking skirts and if I looked hard enough or conjured a breeze, I could see your prissy little panties. Always with frills and always with bows.”

“S-shut up, Sukuna. Your crazy talk’s scaring me.”

Sharp teeth cling onto your neck, digging just a little to draw out a sudden moan. Satisfied, he licks up the mark. “Didn’t you learn anything from Professor Hinata’s class on spiritual attachments? Love is fear. Y-you falling -ah fuck, I won’t last- falling for me, prissy little princess?”

“No, he said, people f-feel a different sense of -ooh fuck so full ha- fear when in love.”

“Same fucking difference.”

The Dormouse closes its eyes by this time, and is going off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it wakes up again with a little shriek, and goes on: “—that begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you say things are ‘much of a muchness’—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?”

“How much longer?” You all but scream out at the three other people. 

Looking startled, they laugh. The Hatter confesses. “The story was over before it began.”

The March Hare adds, “Or there was no story to tell to begin with.”

“The finger! Where’s the finger?”

“The Queen has it. Took it away.”

Your orgasm hits you like a shooting star, piercing you from inside. Back arching, head thrown back, eyes rolling, you tense all over. Sukuna’s grip on you tightens impossibly and triggers his own orgasm. Together, you both moan and groan, shaky knees hitting the table. It rattles. “Fuck, Sukuna! So b-big! I c-can’t. So good, so so so good.”

“That’s it, baby. Ride my dick, that’s it. Ah, fuck, you’re so damn good at that. Better than I coulda ever dreamed. Smell and taste better too, ha! Shit!”

The world fades away. All you can hear, feel, see, and hear is Sukuna. Pink hair, steel muscles, piercing sword buried to the hilt, and careful hand wiping an errant tear from your cheek. Hot ropes of cum paint your insides, driven by an intense throbbing. It’s the fullest you’ve ever been — the most satisfied too but you can’t dwell on that for too long.

You slump against him, completely spent and drenched. 

His chin rests against your shoulder and sometime later, with the three Underlanders talking among themselves, bored of you two now, he whispers, “Didn’t pull you down too hard, did I?”

“A little…but it was good.”

“Yeah?”

You hum. 

Standing, you wince when cool air kisses your swollen lips. There’s a gaping Sukuna-sized hole inside you and it’s leaking cum, which trails down your thighs before the man responsible kneels down and wipes it up with a new handkerchief — man you two are going through handkerchiefs like it’s nothing and well, you suppose it is considering they’re so light, they can be easily conjured with little to no effort. 

Once clean, he helps you slip into the panties you had discarded, what feels like, a millennia ago. And then, with a distracted instruction from the Mad Hatter, you two leave the tea-drinkers in search of the so-called, ‘Queen of Hearts.’

Neither of you mention the fact that your hands are interlinked the whole way.

——————

A large rose-tree stands near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it are white, but there are three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. From your hiding spot behind a hedge, you hear one shout, “Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me like that!”

“I couldn’t help it,” says Five, in a sulky tone; “Seven jogged my elbow.”

On which Seven looks up and sarcastically agrees, “That’s right, Five! Always lay the blame on others!”

“You’d better not talk!” Demands Five. “I heard the Queen say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded!”

“What for?” Asks the one who had spoken first.

“That’s none of your business, Two!” Says Seven.

“Yes, it is his business!” Five says, “and I’ll tell him—it was for bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.”

Sukuna snorts, “Fuck’s their problem?”

“It looks like they’re painting the roses red. Why?”

At this moment Five, who’s been anxiously looking across the garden, calls out, “The Queen! The Queen!” and the three gardeners instantly throw themselves flat upon their faces. There’s a sound of many footsteps, and you look around, eager to see this woman.

First comes ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like the three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their hands and feet at the corners: next the ten courtiers; these are ornamented all over with diamonds, and walks two and two, as the soldiers did. After these come the royal children; there are a ten of them, and the little dears come jumping merrily along hand in hand, in couples: they’re all ornamented with hearts. Then the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among them you recognise the White Rabbit: it’s talking in a hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that’s said, and goes by without noticing you two. Then follows the Knave of Hearts, carrying something on a velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand procession, comes the King and Queen of Hearts.

“And who are these?” Asks the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners who are lying round the rose-tree; they’re lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs are the same as the rest of the pack, so she can’t tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children. Then, sensing they won’t want to out themselves, she screams, “Off with their heads!”

“What a bitch,” you mutter.

Beside you, Sukuna shrugs. “Nah, she’s valid.”

Ignoring him, you point to the cushion. “Do you feel that?”

He nods. There’s an intense energy coming from the velvet cushion. You already know it’s the finger encased in a glass box. The box itself would have been crafted with keeping most of the cursed energy contained in mind, so you know its malevolent effects are limited, but the sooner you can retrieve and return to school grounds, the better. You’ve overstayed your welcome, the proof of that is still pooling in your panties. 

“Let’s grab it and get the fuck outta here.”

Grabbing your bag, you search for something you’ve been saving for this very moment: a vial of blue liquid swirls in your hand. You uncork it and with a nod to Sukuna, you take a gulp. Hand outstretched to offer the rest to him, you’re somehow not surprised to feel hands on your head and lips on your own. 

The liquid sloshes into his mouth. You both gulp. 

“Prick.”

“Princess.”

And then you’re invisible. 

Creeping through the shrubbery, you wander into a curious game. 

“Get to your places!” Screams the Queen in a voice of thunder, and people begin running about in all directions, tumbling up against each other; however, they get settled down in a minute or two, and the game begins. You’ve never seen such a curious croquet-ground in her life; it’s all ridges and furrows; the balls are live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingos, and the soldiers have to double themselves up and to stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches.

The players all play at once without waiting for turns, quarrelling all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a very short time the Queen’s in a furious passion, and stomps around, shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her head!” about once in a minute.

If there was anyone to avoid pissing off in here, it’s surely her. So, you two make your way around, avoiding soldiers, children, hedgehogs, kings and queens and flamingos. 

Upon reaching the Knave, you pluck the box in your hands and feel immense energy coursing through your veins, sparking your hair up. Something fizzles and splutters. 

Gasps stagger around. 

“W-who is this interloper with dreadful clothes?” The Queen screams. “She’s taking my finger! It’s mine. I found it!”

The cursed item must have off-set the effects of the potion. This thing is strong, there’s no doubt about it. Everyone’s looking at you, some in curiosity, inching closer, and others in horror, lunging back when your eyes meet theirs. 

“Off with her head! Off with her head! Off with her head!” The bitch repeats on a loop, growing red in the face as she stomps about the place. 

Just as guards reach for you, you’re grabbed back by a pair of strong arms. Sukuna’s still invisible but you know it’s him when a calloused hand brushes your hair back and fixes up your uniform in quick succession. Something soft and warm brushes your forehead and then a purple coin is flipped in the air. 

Bright lights blind, encircling you in a cool and refreshing hug, before your body is vanishing in spots. 

Blink. 

You’re standing on solid ground. 

A hall of uniformed scholars and students alike are waiting. They beam at you; deafening rounds of applause meets your ears, and you stumble back into a hard body. Sukuna’s visible again, thanks to the effects of the portal. Gone are the angry kings and queens, the oddly shaped soldiers, and talking animals. Instead, you’re face with academics who express impressed respect.

“Congratulations!” Professor Yaga smiles. He shakes your hand and then your partner’s. “You’re the first students to return — as expected of my best students. Come, drink some water, replenish yourselves, and then I’d like to introduce you to recruiters.”

And so that’s how your return proceeds.

You meet so many people, most you’ve already forgotten, that your head actually hurts by the time you’re able to slip away into your dorm-room. Showered and fed, you lay in bed trying desperately to grasp the events of the day. The professor had revealed that you made it back in record time, which of course will look great on your application, so that’s one chip off your shoulder. 

Still, everything feels unreal. You had travelled, unchaperoned, to a world unknown to you. You explored and discovered and stumbled and learnt — most of which you’d never feel comfortable sharing with anyone else, try as they did in the reception. 

In hindsight, there were things you could have done differently, should have done differently. None of that seems to matter now though. You’ve done it. You’ve succeeded. Passed with flying colours. An A-grade dimension on your first go, too. You should pat yourself on the back. 

For some reason, however, you don’t feel like celebrating. The friends that hugged and pressed you for information didn’t really understand that numbness in your chest. This is all you’ve ever wanted and now that you have it, you feel empty. Is it because now you have nothing? 

Is it guilt? Shame?

You don’t know. 

Your feet meet the cold, wooden floors. Slipping into slippers and tying a robe around you, you sneak out into the hallways, this time not to study, but rather to do the opposite. There’s one thing you need to know. One thing that might set your mind and soul at ease. Facing a high likelihood that that something would not take kindly to being disturbed late at night, you brave the hardest journey so far, and come upon a door, this time, at a good height. 

You knock. 

Every second that passes drives away that confidence but when that door opens and you see a startled Sukuna, shirtless and glistening from a recent shower, it seems, you feel assured again. It’s just him. There’s no reason to be nervous. You’ve seen and felt him, just as he had done with you. Despite the years of petty rivalry, you’ve learned, he’s not that bad actually. 

“Fuck do you want?”

Nevermind. 

Rolling your eyes, you begin walking away. A solid grip wraps itself around your arm and you’re yanked back. Your hand grabs purchase on his torso —hard, hot and wet, images are conjured in your mind that you shouldn’t be thinking about. 

“Don’t get all prissy. Was just asking.”

One or two students pass by, sparing a glance but mostly at Sukuna’s impressive bod. Neither of you care that gossip will pass around; you’ve done a lot of being watched. It no longer bothers you. He leans against the door, arms crossed and raising a brow at you. 

“I just wanted to talk, or something. Like, we didn’t really get to when we got back because it all got so crazy, y’know?”

He grunts. “That’s an understatement. Those stuffy old goats were somehow more annoying than the freaks in Underland.”

You smile. 

“Can’t believe we actually survived. It seemed so impossible at so many points, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did. But we did good.”

“Yeah, we did...”

The conversation’s dwindling. You thought you would have so much to say, and well, you do, but none of it is coming out. What do you say to someone’s who’s been inside you?

‘Hey, thanks!’ Or ‘Nice?’

In a flash, he tugs you by the fuzzy belt of your robe. You’re in his arms and he growls out some insult to a passing student who had almost bumped into you. Just as quickly, he spins you two around, closes the door and you’re inside his room. Both leaning against his door now, he doesn’t let you go, and you don’t shuffle out of his embrace. 

Gaze softening, he pinches your chin and tilts your head back so you can meet his eyes. “That story about your father…”

“Didn’t happen,” you confess. 

He laughs. “Fucking knew it. You can be such a nerd, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, grades are important, Sukuna. If you knew that, then you wouldn’t be five points behind me.” 

“Fuck you.” He walks forward, pushing you back until you fall on the bed. He follows, drops of water splattering on your face and the sheets. “I was seven points ahead before. I’ll get you back soon.”

You’ve never thought him foul-smelling, even when you searched the deepest darkest parts of yourself to find the most creative insults you could gather to satisfy your need for vindication. But now, his scent fills your nose in an overwhelming, almost suffocating way. 

Clean and mature, you’re suddenly aware of the stubble on his chin when his face skims past yours to smell you. “Hmm, don’t change your shampoo.”

“Do you conjure a breeze to get a whiff of my hair too?” You tease and just as the last word comes out, a ‘yes’ reaches your ears. He’s being painfully transparent and vulnerable and you don’t know how to feel or what to say, so you settle on nothing but silence. 

Truthfully, you don’t know what you had expected to happen when you come here, but this sudden change in your dynamic isn’t terrible.

There, in his bed and in his arms, you rest. Neither of you are asleep, you’re both much too aware of each other to do so, but the quietude’s nice. Just the day before, if you had been told you’d end up like this with him you’d have laughed and levitated a book into their head. It would have been worse than impossible — if it had happened, the world, all the dimensions and planes of existence that fills it, would have folded into itself, swallowed into nothing. 

But it hasn’t and it won’t. 

“Your heart’s beating quite fast,” he murmurs against your neck. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

The question is loaded, and you can’t help yourself when you fire back, “Are you afraid of me, Ryomen?”

“Terrified.”

His face is all you see when he leans on his forearms, then slowly, he leans back down, skimming his sharp nose against your jaw and all the way up to your ear where his lips just barely touch the shell. 

“So afraid I was actually getting dressed to go to your room…but you just had to one-up me, didn’t you? My little overachiever.”

Sukuna doesn’t stop there. 

He kisses you on your temple and then pushes the robe open, revealing an oversized shirt which he pulls up. He presses a kiss onto your clavicle, then your stomach, and the hem of your shorts. He looks up at you. “So afraid that I enjoyed every single fucked up thing we did today, and I’d do it all over again, cursed finger be damned.”

Those shorts are ripped away and, once again, you’re laid all open for him. You should be embarrassed, or feeling shy at the very least, but you aren’t. Because Sukuna isn’t looking at you like he used to — with disdain. No, he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and might ever see even if he explored all the corners of the universe. 

“I was terrified when you yelled at me for burning your application paper for Ad-Ill.”

You smack him on the head. “You were such a prick for that, by the way.”

Big hands push your thighs open, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs, keeping you nice and spread for him. “It was an accident.”

“The hell it was.”

He licks a stripe up your slit, and you moan. Just that one taste had him feral — he dives in like he had done before. Practically making out with your pussy, he laps up the essence steadily building out of your slightly sore hole. “It was. I didn’t know you were -mm- applying too until you came to hand in your paper. Thought it’d be fun to have someone who actually -fuck you tastes so good- knows a thing or two in class so I tried to set alight someone else’s paper, but some loser bumped into me. Made me miss and shit.”

There are so many more incidents you want to bring up, but when he’s suckling on your clit so diligently — far more than diligent than you’d ever seen him be — you can’t do anything but tug at his hair and writhe beneath his hands. 

“Quit fucking moving.” Sukuna smacks the bundle of nerves, and you cream onto his tongue, which earns you soothing caresses on your clammy thighs. “You’re taking the tonic, aren’t you?”

You nod, distracted. 

“Good, because I’m not fucking you with a barrier. Can’t possibly downgrade when I’ve had the real thing, can I?”

That sinful tongue is forcing moans and moans out from you, noises you’ve never heard yourself make. Your eyes fly open when it begins venturing lower, tracing a hole you’ve never touched. “S-sukuna, don’t.”

Of course, he doesn’t listen. It presses in and you feel stretched in a way so different than you’ve ever been stretched before. The sensation isn’t bad. No, not at all but it’s an addictive feeling you’re not sure you can stomach. 

With fingers pistoning inside you and a tongue exploring you in that hole, it’s no surprise to either of you when you squirt all over his face. You screech, back arched painfully and tearing at the sheets beneath you. 

He doesn’t give you a second to breathe before you’re being spun around and positioned onto your knees. Arms pulled back, he thrusts into your sloppy pussy with a long squeeelch. 

“Ah, fuck! Sukuna!”

“God, do you ever loosen up?” He growls. 

Powerful hips make quick work of you, pushing in and out, cock head massaging that gooey spot inside your gummy walls. His balls are swinging with the force of his thrusts, and they kiss your clit. You’re being stimulated inside and out, especially when every time he smacks into you, you’re shoved forward, shirt around your neck, and your tits graze deliciously against the silky sheets. 

“T-too rough…you’re being too rough!”

Sukuna makes a noise of amusement. “You like it rough, though. Can fucking feel -ngh- h-how much you like it. No use in lying to me, baby.”

“Fine!” You huff a laugh. “Fuck me harder then, Ryomen.” He pulls out till only the tip is in your cunt and then he shoves it all back in. “Fuck!”

His groans are making you delirious: “How do you feel so damn good? Seriously. It’s like you were -ah shit- created just to spite me, ha.”

You’re being fucked stupid, and no one can help you. You just have to take his relentless pummelling over and over again. And thank the Heavens you’re not the type to back away from a challenge because he’s fucking you better than anyone else has before, and this kind of euphoria is a crime to miss in anyone’s lifetime.

“Eat.” Through the blurriness of the tears in your eyes, you see a cake hovering in front of you. “Swiped it from Underland. Had it tested so I know exactly what it does. Go on. Be a good girl and open wide.”

Despite better wisdom, you lick up the frosting. He pulls you upright, still ramming his huge cock inside your sopping pussy. A hand grabs your head back, his tongue shoves into your mouth and you share the cream. Through the sweetness, you can taste him, and you just can’t help but lick up the dribble down his chin and meet his lips again for a kiss. 

“Ow! Suku—Ah! Fuck! Right there! Yes, yes, yes!”

Sukuna had bitten your bottom lip. Blood pools in your mouth but he sucks away the iron and distracts you with the flicking of your nipples. Just as he’s had his momentary fill, you’re shoved back down onto the bed, a hand on your head keeping you down as he bulldozes into you with little care. 

“Even your blood tastes sweet ha. God, I can’t get enough of you. I don’t care what you -ngh fuck- have to say. I’m keeping you.”

You explode all over his cock, cream pooling out of your pussy and soaking the sheets underneath. The soreness in your back is barely felt over the maddening pleasure radiating all over your body. “Yes, fuck! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Body limp, you let him keep pummelling you until he pauses suddenly. You look back.

Two cocks meet your stare. 

Bewildered and literally afraid, you attempt to inch away but he grips your ankle in one hand whilst the other strokes the new one. There’s a sadistic smile on his lips and that’s far more horrifying than anything else. It’s the kind of smile that promises pleasure and pain on levels you can only ever achieve with him. 

“You like, baby? Don’t worry your dumb little head -ha- only men grow this. Aren’t we lucky? The women, on the other hand…”

Before you can even think of a reply, he’s spitting onto your second hole and prodding the head of his temporary —at least you hope it is — cock there. You brace yourself for pain, hands flying to try and push him away, but when he pushes in, you’re surprised to find your hole stretching accommodatingly. It wraps around him just as your pussy does when he pushes his original cock in at the same time. 

Thoroughly filled, you’re breathless. Truly. All you can think about is Sukuna. Nothing about your shared history or the insane events of the day. Just Sukuna. You were already being driven crazy by one of him and now there’s two monsters fucking you from behind, rubbing against parts you didn’t know could feel so good. 

“Oh, God, Sukuna. It’s all too much, I can’t.”

He laughs and it’s an incredibly cruel sound. It’s also incredibly hot. “You’ve said that -ngh- before and you’ve been doing j-just fine. Can’t believe we waited so long to do this.”

You’re yanked back by your hair. Your eyes roll back. 

“Don’t make me wait again.”

“Let me do -oh Sukuna!- b-better than you in the next test and I’ll let you fuuuuck! fuck me whenever.”

Body towering over you, he leans forward, driving deeper inside of you at an angle that makes you see dancing gryphons. His jaw clamps down onto your shoulder, leaving, you’re sure, indents that you’ll curse him out for tomorrow. “Yeah? How about you try your damn best to beat me, and I fuck you whenever and wherever I want? I can be quite good with words, after all.”

“Bullshit.”

So many noises echo in the room. The neighbouring students will surely complain to the Head of Student Housing, but you don’t care. The bed is creaking as it slams into the wall with loud thuds. Your moans and his low groans and hisses are making your clit pulse. Squelch! Squelch! Squelch! And smack! Smack! Smack!

It’s like Sukuna’s purposefully being as loud as possible to drive you more and more insane. And it’s fucking working.

“Yeah? You don’t believe me?” He licks a stripe up your spine, laying a firm slap against the glove of your ass just to watch it ripple. “Try this one.”

Steeling yourself, you brace for the impact of whatever lie spews out of his mouth. You don’t want to let him get the best of you; you need to remind him of who’s better out of the two of you. Whether it’s in the examination hall, in a quest, or on the damn bed — you have to come out victorious. 

He kisses your nape before he whispers against the skin there. “I was so fearful of you I convinced Professor Yaga to pair me up with you.”

You cum. 

Stars explode in your vision, and you’re stunned. Your vision must have disappeared. Or maybe your mind has vaporised. Whatever the case, pleasure erupts in both your pussy and your ass, and the feeling is so overwhelming you’re screaming bloody murder into his pillow, drenching it in your drool. 

“Ah, fuck! You’re fucking choking my cocks.” 

With a hiss, Sukuna unloads his cum inside of you. There’s so much of it. It’s overfilling, flowing out of your holes even as he’s still got you stuffed full. You can feel phantom cum pool in your mouth and the taste of him, the branding sear of his body on and in you, relieve you of tension you didn’t realise you had. 

Knowing he’s suffocating you; he rolls you two over so you’re lying on him. His skin is sweaty, as is yours. Through his curtains, you see rays of light peek in — you hadn’t realised you’ve been at it for hours, though you’re sure to feel it later. 

A stillness hangs in the air. For the next couple of weeks, you’ll be busy. Recruiters will conduct interviews, you’ll write reports, and answer questions for local papers and even lead classes on what you’ve learnt. You’ll indubitably meet many more people and go through a different kind of hell. For reasons beyond you, however, you don’t feel any kind of dread. 

“Did you mean what you said? Any of it?”

He snorts and then pecks your forehead, pulling up the blanket over the two of you. “Every damn word, unfortunately.”

“So now what?”

Eyes closed and body shuffling to get comfortable, you can do nothing but be compelled by the sudden call for sleep luring you two away from consciousness. “Whatever you want.”

Somehow, ‘whatever’ is the perfect answer. 

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, fulfilled and satisfied on levels you hadn’t expected to be when you set off that morning. Wherever this goes, neither of you know, but the fact that you’re both willing to see it through, means everything to you. 

That morning, your dreams are filled with visions of delicious drinks, animated animals, and a malevolent monarch who cradles your head close to his heart.

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

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

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[redwinelew]

FAVOURITE ROOKIE

type written fic (no part 2 requests pls)

pairing lewis hamilton x female afab driver!reader

summary colapinto, hadjar.... they all can try to win lewis hamilton over but behind closed doors, you and him know that his favourite rookie will always be you, in more ways than one, even if he refuses to admit it publicly. (set right after aus 2025)

warnings 18+. smut. fingering. come swallowing, implied oral m receiving in the end (is that even a thing? idk), not mentioned but implied HUGE AGE GAP (reader is in her early 20s bcs she's a rookie yk). english is not my first language.

author's note in honor of lewis winning the sprint in china 2025 🙏🏽 NO HATE TO FRANCO OR ISACK OR ANY OF THE ROOKIES! THIS IS PURELY FICTION. this came to me at 5am after having a dream about lewis. that's it that's all i'm gonna say lmfao

masterlist | gif credit | divider credit

you are not the jealous type. and in this case, you don't even have the right to be.

but you are no liar either so to pretend like you were fine with lewis giving out compliments and lifting up these rookies since last year for doing absolutely nothing were not getting to you would be the lie of the century.

the way lewis vouches for franco colapinto saying that he’ll be doing everything in his power to make sure the argentinian has a seat this year to how instantly isack hadjar have earned the love and approval from not only formula 1 fans around the world but from lewis' father himself.

while lewis never even acknowledges you publicly, as if you never existed. in a world where everbody seems to be willing to kiss his feet for only a split second of him glancing at their way, you were the opposite. at least publicly. the one rookie who always goes toe to toe with him on track since your debut in 2024. always calling him out in his bullshit. on the nice guy persona he puts on in front of the media, knowing he's anything but, whether in public or in bed.

like right now.

it's merciless, the way he has been depriving you from your release for the past 15 minutes. two calloused fingers, decorated by his expensive rings, deep inside you more than anyone has even been. his other hand holding you by your stomach from behind, your back plastered against his inked chest. legs spread open for him on his thick thighs, his pulsing length pressing against your back. his hot breath blowing against your neck from behind, murmuring dirty whispers that you're unable to properly digest, as digits continue to tease you.

"told you i'll give you what you need. you just have to be patient. but you just had to be a brat, didn't you?"

"i have been patient." you bite back with an attitude, your sentence carries a double entendre. though he can tell how your voice was wavering more and more with every second that passed.

"really? you want me to believe you're a good driver, for me to praise you in front of those journalists and yet you've done nothing to earn it. just like how you've nothing to deserve to come."

his fingers pick up the pace, the pad of his thumb flicking lazily over your already sensitive clit. you mewl, your body melting under his touch.

"i.... i won. i b-beat you. isn't that worthy of some kind of praise? p4 in a williams, against p10 in a ferrari." you try to argue back, but as his fingers fasten its speed, you find it harder and harder to form words.

lewis chuckles, a deep vibration from his chest that leaves his lips near your ear sending chills down your back.

"sweetheart, you had a lucky day. you won't be having one again."

you ruined australia for him, just like you have always did in almost every race since last year. but 2025 is different. melbourne was his first race in red. he had come to the city with a firm determination that nothing and no one can ruin his chance of becoming the most feared driver on the grid anymore. he will make the 8th championship dream a reality. no more mercedes, no more of those pieces of crap they called a car. he will be having a good time with ferrari.

but you.... you and your bitchy attitude thinking you own the track, that you are better than everyone else. always getting in his way. he could have stood on the podium, scoring at least a p3 if you didn't ruin it for him.

he knows why you're doing this though. you are a good driver, he knows that. but everybody knows from the get go that you won't have a future with a team like haas if you stay with them in 2025. and it would be a damn shame to waste this kind of talent on another lower tier team. you needed a boost. a lift from a figure influential enough within formula 1 to help the other teams see your potential.

that's what you've been trying to do. to earn lewis' approval publicly, as colapinto has done. yes, he still ends up as alpine reserve driver but it's not only about that. he took every chance he's got to be around lewis, talk to him, leaving a lasting impression on the brit.

how were you ever able to do that when colapinto has already taken those chances?

that's the thing about you. despite your bratty attitude and cocky nature, you still desperately want approval from him. from him and only him. from the greatest of all formula 1. the man whose name is bigger than the sport itself.

you didn't have a choice. maybe by doing this the hard way, you'll get to make lewis see you, acknowledging you. and the hard way in question is on track, sometimes crashing against him and in bedroom, literally getting him hard for you.

you don't even remember how it started. first you were banging on his hotel room, the next you were spread out on his lap, him shutting you up with his fingers so far up your guts.

like right now.

you want to tell him that he's wrong. that you've proven yourself worthy of praise more than once. you were on the podium last year only a few races in your rookie year, driving a goddamn haas. but then he curls his long, nimble fingers inside you and you forget everything you were thinking about and all you can think about is how you're craving for more.

it's frustrating the effect that he has on you. his british accent. that deep, velvety voice that you fantasized about whispering the filthiest things that you wish he'd do to you in your dreams. that million dollar, ego-filled smirk decorating his thick lips as he keeps you on the edge.

"i'm- f-fuck, i'm a lot better than you think i am."

"yeah? and you could be better, even in a williams. if you just lower your goddamn ego for a minute, i'll be more than happy to teach you, take you under my wing, give you what you want, as long as you know your place."

and that's the thing about him. he's well aware of the impact he has on you. on everybody. he knows how the only approval you strive for is his, desperate for it even. he knows with one good comment, all the attention from the top tier teams would shift on you. they would have eyes, watching your performances. because when lewis hamilton, the seven times world champion says that you're good, a lot of people would be curious to see if he's right.

and it's not only praises about your performances on track that you've been desperate to get an approval of, it's in bed as well. he found it amusing at first, how you're so easy to read. how easy it is to reduce you to nothing but a whimpering mess without having to do much. how deep down you're desperate for his attention, to be a good girl for him.

"i d-dont need you to be my teacher, i don't need your charity." you say, stubborn as ever but just as quickly, he curls his fingers against that spongy spot inside you and you whimper.

"yeah? and who, since their first race practically followed me around the paddock like a puppy, chasing for my attention, hmm? you say you don't want my charity and yet you let me fuck you stupid every week after practice hoping i'll talk about you during press. and i haven't. and you still let me come inside you."

fuck. how the hell does he always know what to say to rile you up? he's always be spawning these facts that you couldn't even deny because they are true. not to mention, the number of times you came to his hotel room just to try to get him to say something. anything that might imply that you're at the very least, a good driver. and the number of times you were on your hands and knees in order to make it happen, letting him play with you however he pleases, only to be lead to disappointment before qualification and race day, receiving absolutely nothing as reward from him.

and you hate yourself for always coming back to him, keeping the cycle alive, and let yourself getting your hopes up for something that you knew would take miracle to happen.

worse, you hate yourself for getting addicted to him now.

"i hate you." you tell him through gritted teeth but it sounds so weak even you don't believe what you were saying.

"yeah? and do you usually let the people you hate touch you like this?" he replies smartly with a chuckle before withdrawing his fingers, much to your dismay. the empty feeling only makes you even more needy, silently begging to be filled again but before you can complain, he's shifting you, placing you down flat on the bed, your back on the sheets and he's between your legs in a matter of seconds.

"you hate that you need me so damn much, isn't that right? you just couldn't get enough anymore." he teases. you glare at him while simultaneously letting out a whine.

none of what he just said was wrong.

"i don't need you." you deny stubbornly, telling him the exact opposite of what you were just thinking about.

"yeah? and if i ask you to spread your legs for me, you'd do it, wouldn't you? anything for my attention, to please me."

you want to hate him. you want to fucking kill him. to punch him in the face. make him bleed. make him regret for toying with you like this. you want to deny him. you want to push him off and make him see that he really doesn't have any power over you. but then, he sucks a hickey on that sweet spot on your neck and whispers in your ear....

"please?"

fuck.

your mind goes blank.

you couldn't stop the whimper from leaving your lips. his plea is what did it to you. the way his voice goes from firm and commanding to soft and pleading and the way you're unable to deny him anything when he's like this. or ever. a pair of big brown eyes fluttering slightly, his voice barely above a breath before whispering so sweetly into your ear with that accent of his.

how were you supposed to say no?

so you find yourself spreading your legs for him. just like he asked you to.

lewis chuckles in amusement, and you swallow thickly at how easily he switches back to his dominating persona.

lewis doesn't waste any more time lining up his hard cock to your entrance, cursing silently after seeing how just soaked you are for him.

"good girl. now this is exactly why you're my favorite."

you just won in china. and with lewis winning the sprint race a day earlier while also scoring p2, you and him sit in the press conference room. not wanting to sit so close to him, you purposely ask lando who gets p3 to sit in the middle. it's an odd order, but he didn't question it and neither did the journalists. they're all well aware of the little rivalry that you and lewis have going on. even when rumours have start circulating about the white flags you two have raised.

one journalist raises her hand. last question of the day before you are free from the press responsibility and free to celebrate with your team and friends.

and maybe spend some time in a hotel room with a certain someone.

"you and lewis started off on the wrong foot last year but it has been noted that even before you two shared the podium today, you and lewis were hanging out in the paddock, having lunch and just basically spending time together before the race starts. would you say that you and him are now on a better terms with each other?"

you swallow, scratching the back of your neck. you manage to steal a glance at lewis and sees him lowering his gaze slightly with the nonchalant look on his face.

"fuck, you always take me so well, don't you? this tiny pussy just made for my cock."

"such a good girl for me, baby."

"swallow it. every last drop."

you blink, trying to push aside the memory from after the race in australia, the last time you and lewis were together intimately. you clear your throat when is suddenly feels dry, before locking eyes with the journalist.

"umm, yeah. we uh.... we managed to sort it out. umm.... yeah, it's like you said. me and lewis started out on the wrong foot. it took us a while to uhh.... get here. but we're okay now. that's all that matters."

"lewis? anything to add?" the journalist asks for his input next.

lewis simply shakes his head. "she took the words right out of my mouth."

your breath hitches in your throat again. fucking double meaning.

the journalist nods, satisfied with both your answers.

"you're alright, mate?" lando asks out of the sudden, placing his hand in your shoulder gently with his head leaning sideways toward you. there's a hint of concern in his voice.

"hmm?" you frown.

"your voice is kind of hoarse. you're alright?"

in the corner of your eyes, you could see lewis smirking. he doesn't even try to hide it as he glances at you. it was only for a split second but it brings back the memory from today, right before the race.

"fuck, i miss your mouth so much, baby."

"you look so pretty like this with your mouth full of my cock."

"better make me come soon, yeah? don't want anyone from your team finding you on your knees like this for me, do you?"

shivers run down your spine before you smile awkwardly at lando, rubbing his knuckles on your shoulder, hoping that him and everybody in the room couldn't see right through your bullshit.

"yeah 'm fine, mate. just.... dehydrated."

[littlelamy]

title: birthday sex with your husband

warnings: 18+, smut

notes୧: alexa play 'in da club'

paris still clings to you—on your skin, in your hair, in the way your body feels weightless from champagne and indulgence, like you’ve been sculpted from something finer, softer, made only for pleasure. rafe made sure of that. from the moment you woke up wrapped in silk sheets to the second he dragged you off the private jet, he’s given you everything.

and now, in the sprawling presidential suite, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city, he’s about to give you more.

“birthday girl looks so fucking pretty,” rafe murmurs, voice thick, low, vibrating against your skin as he presses you into the massive bed. the air still smells like roses and sex, like the bottle of wine he ordered before he pulled you onto his lap, lips trailing down your neck while he fed you strawberries, one by one. “been spoiling you all day. hm think i gonna ruin you now.”

his fingers trace your thigh, slow, teasing, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pushes your legs apart. he doesn’t rush—no, he never rushes, not when he has you like this, spread out for him, waiting, wanting.

“what do you think, birthday girl?” he murmurs, teeth grazing your collarbone, lips soothing the bite with a kiss. “you want me to take my time? or you want it rough?”

you whimper, hips rolling up to meet the teasing stroke of his fingers, already slick, already aching. “rough,” you whisper, breathless.

rafe pulls back just enough to look at you, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “yeah?” his fingers press deeper, teasing, making you writhe. “not very lady-like, is it?” he taunts, smirking as your breath hitches. “but hey, it’s the birthday girl’s choice.”

his words send a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, and you don’t care how desperate you sound when you nod, whimpering, “please, rafe.”

he chuckles, and fuck, it’s sinful, the way he does it, full of dark promise. “gonna need more than that, sweetheart.” his thumb brushes over your clit, featherlight, teasing, making your breath hitch. “use your words.”

“want you,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, legs falling wider as he slides down, kissing a path between your thighs. “need you—need your mouth—”

“that’s my good girl.” his voice is pure sin, all honey and heat, before his tongue replaces his fingers, slow and languid, savoring every moan, every squirm, every desperate pull of his hair as he ruins you with his mouth.

he worships you, the way he always does, but tonight—tonight it’s different. tonight, almost like you’re his birthday gift, and he’s going to unwrap you slowly, thoroughly, until you’re trembling, begging, coming undone beneath him over and over until your body forgets how to do anything but take him.

when he finally slides inside you, stretching you open, filling you to the hilt, his name is the only thing you know how to say, the only thing you can cling to as he fucks you deep, slow at first—just to make you whine, just to hear you plead for more—before his grip tightens and he gives you exactly what you begged for.

hard. deep. devastating.

“mine,” he breathes against your lips, swallowing your moans, rolling his hips just right, hitting every spot that makes you shake. “all fucking mine.”

paris is beautiful, but nothing compares to the way rafe devours you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth celebrating.

edited: going to take a break from this account for a couple days...the last part of catching him cheating is queued for tomorrow around 12 pm! if you need anything ill be on @littlesoulshine <3 as i approach 4k followers i do want to thank every single one of you because i created this account because i was simply in love with rafe and obx and a lot of you have made this community so fun for me and can't thank you enough. i will create a 4k celebration, and on this break, i will finish my requests! OH and please continue to tag me in everything!!!!

tags (lmk if you want to be removed): @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows

[merrinla]

DATV - FINAL BATTLE CUT CONTENT

What changed during the fight with the final boss. The Archdemon was supposed to die from a cannon shot in the Archon's Palace. Bellara or Neve would boost the cannon with the red lyrium the Venatori had pumped into them. Or Emmrich would cast enchantments on it. Solas didn't turn into a wolf, he was holding back a portal of blight. The wolf was his beast, which was supposed to be a distraction. Rook meanwhile fought the demons, and then Elgar'nan, who took on different forms of Pride, Envy, and Rage. There were more banters during the fight. I wouldn't say these dialogues are very diverse. But if someone wants to read it, here it is.

Soals: Rook. Our only chance now is to work together! Rook: Really? While you drown the world in demons? Soals: If you recover the dagger, I will do what I can to stop Elgar'nan! Soals: I must hold back the blight! My wolf will distract Elgar'nan while you take the dragon!

Soals: Rook, I will hold the portal as best I can!

Elgar'nan: The Dread Wolf? Elgar'nan: You cannot stop me! You never could! Soals: No! Elgar'nan: Yes! The portal opens! Feel the true power of the blight, Fen'Harel! Soals: You will not bring your poison into this world!

Rook: Let's move. As long as any of us are still alive, nothing gets to Bellara/Neve! Emmrich: We'll protect Bellara, no matter the cost! Lucanis: We'll give Bellara/Neve the time she needs! Neve: For Bel. Whatever it takes! Taash: For Bellara/Neve! Bellara: We'll keep you safe, Neve! Emmrich: We'll shield Neve, come what may! Harding: We've got her back! Lucanis: Just give me something I can kill! (if romance with Neve)

After the fight with the demons

Bellara: The cannon is ready and targeting the Archdemon! The firing panel should be nearby. Neve: Cannon's ready, and the Archdemon's in sight! The firing panel should be close. Emmrich: The cannon is ready and aimed at the Archdemon! The activation panel should be nearby.

Bellara: The mechanism for firing the cannon must have gotten damaged in the fight! Davrin: The mechanism to fire the cannon broke during the fight! Harding: The firing mechanism was damaged in the fight! Lucanis: The cannon must have been damaged. Neve: The firing mechanism—it got damaged in the fight! Taash: The demons broke the thing that fires the cannon!

Rook: Bellara/Neve/Emmrich, the firing panel's damaged. Is there any other way to fire the cannon? Bellara: Let me see.... Yes, there's a manual firing mechanism, but it's all the way over on the Archon's throne! Neve: Damn it. Wait—there's a manual firing mechanism, but it's over on the Archon's throne! Emmrich: Let me—Yes! A manual firing mechanism, over on the Archon's throne!

Solas: Rook, I cannot reach the mechanism while keeping the portal closed, but I can make you a path! Rook: Appreciate it.

Rook: Crystal's down there. Let's move!

Elgar'nan: Bear witness, mortals, to the power of a god. Bellara: Still not a god! Davrin: I haven't been impressed so far! Emmrich: History will record your fall here! Lucanis: Do you ever shut up? Neve: (Laughs) You think a speech will impress me? Taash: You talk too much! And your dragon is ugly! Elgarnan: You cannot harm me. All you can do is flee. Davrin: I've got a few moves left! They all end with you dead! Emmrich: Your fellow god thought so as well! Harding: This is for the Titans! Isatunoll! Harding: It is no longer your time, it is ours! For the Titans! For the dwarves! Isatunoll! Lucanis: We'll see about that. Neve: I run toward disaster. Bad habit! Taash: Davrin/Harding wouldn't give up! Neither will I! Taash: Lace is gone because of you! (if romance with Harding) Elgarnan: You will fail. You will fall. And then you will submit. Bellara: The elves will never bow to you again! Davrin: Wardens don't know how to do that! We fight to the end Emmrich: Neither the living nor the dead shall ever bow to you again! Harding: I am the memory of my ancestors. I am the heart of the Titan. I will never submit! Harding: I am the child of the Titans, and it is you who will fall! Neve: Not my style! Taash: You're not even that tall! Lucanis: Say that again when my knife is in your back.

Lucanis' last line gives the vibes of his narrative sketches.

Elgar'nan: You cannot win! Elgar'nan: I am your god! Elgar'nan: This world is mine! Elgar'nan: While my dragon-thrall lives, I am invulnerable. Yet still you fight. Pathetic. (ingame line) Rook: We killed an Archdemon at Weisshaupt, and we saved the Dalish at Arlathan. Rook: I don't need thralls. I've got a team. Rook: That was enough to take down Ghilan'nain, and it's enough to take down you.

Elgar'nan turns into Pride

Elgar'nan: This is my moment of triumph. Nothing shall interfere with the dawn of my empire! Bellara: What is this? It's more than just a demon! Davrin: What is this thing? Has he got a demon impersonating him? Harding: What is this thing? Did he force his form onto a demon? Lucanis: What the—? Is a demon impersonating him? Neve: What is this thing? Not a demon impersonating him? Taash: What is this vashedan? Has he got a demon impersonating him? Lucanis: This is no demon. This is Elgar'nan's will. Bellara/Harding: It's not a demon. It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will! Neve: It's not a demon. It's Elgar'nan's will—a full manifestation of it! Taash: It's not a demon! It's his feelings or some crap! Emmrich: This is no spirit. It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will!

Rook: Keep him off Bellara/Neve!

Reaction to Pride v.0.1 Taash: This thing's tougher than a regular demon! Bellara: That demon's going to be tricky! Davrin: That's one tough demon! Lucanis: This demon is not going down easy. Harding: This one's a lot! Why isn't it down yet? Neve: This demon's a damn pain! Harding: It's not a normal demon! It's Elgar'nan's will, in physical form! Emmrich: This isn't a mere spirit of pride, but a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will! Taash: I don't think it's just a demon! It's Elgar'nan's feelings or something! Neve: It's not your typical demon! It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will! Lucanis: This is not just any pride. This is Elgar'nan's pride. Bellara: Not just a demon! It's a manifestation of Elgar'nan's will!

Rook: Bellara/Emmrich/Neve? Elgar'nan's taking a personal interest in the crystal. We might be a minute. Emmrich: I'll ready the cannon while you see them off! Neve: You get that handled. I'll get us a cannon! Bellara: You can do it. I'll get the cannon ready!

Elgar'nan turns into Envy

Rook: Right. We got him. Elgar'nan: I am rulership. I am authority unchecked over all the sun touches! None who live will oppose me! Rook: Here he comes again! Elgar'nan: All who serve me are extensions of my will. My power is manifest across this world... while you stand alone.

Elgar'nan tries to mindcontrol Rook

Elgar'nan: "Goodbye, Assan." The final words of the elf who sacrificed himself for your failure. (in this version, Assan survived) Elgar'nan: "Tell my ma I love her." The final words of the dwarf who sacrificed herself for your failure. Rook: Oh, you really wanna do this? Rook: "Elgar'nan. I had such plans." Ghilan'nain's never gonna finish those plans, is she? Rook: She died a failure, because Harding/Davrin chose to give her/his life like a damn hero. Rook: And you're not saying anything about Bellara/Neve, are you? Because we got her back.

Elgar'nan: Empty words from a mortal who was little more than the Dread Wolf's tool. Rook: Yeah, I got played. And then my friends were there to help. Rook: But you have no friends. All you can send against me are copies of yourself, because you have nobody. Rook: And when we're done with you, you're gonna die alone. Elgar'nan: (Roars in anger)

Elgar'nan: (Straining) You will kneel! Rook: (Straining) Not today, and not to you!

Rook back

Bellara/Davrin/Emmrich/Harding: Rook, you're back! Are you all right? Taash: Rook! You good? Neve: Rook—Trouble! Are you all right? (romance line) Neve: Rook—you're back! Everything good? Rook: Never better. Neve: I'm done with his mind games! We're ending this. Neve: You don't give up, do you? So let's finish this! (romance line) Neve: Good! Now let's kick him out of Minrathous—and the rest of Thedas, too! Bellara/Davrin/Harding: Then let's finish this! Taash: Good! Now let's kick his ass! Lucanis: Then let's finish this bastard. I have a contract to fulfill.

Bellara: How's it going down there? I can't finish with the cannon 'til you destroy that crystal! Neve: Rook? Hate to bother you, but I can't do much with the cannon until that crystal's destroyed. Emmrich: Are you all right, Rook? I can't do anything with the cannon until you've destroyed that crystal. Rook: Soon as we're done with Elgar'nan!

Elgar'nan turns into Rage

Elgar'nan: I am fire and darkness! If you will not bow, you will burn!

Bellara: This feels like a lot of manifestations of will for one person! God. Whatever. Davrin: Oh, come on—how many forms does this guy have? Harding: How many of these shapes does he have? Lucanis: Mierda. How many shapes does he have? Neve: Another side of Elgar'nan—well isn't he charming! Taash: How many damn different shapes does this asshole have?

Solas: Rook! I cannot hold the portal much longer! Rook: Hey! You wanted this fight! Don't you dare give up on me now!

Bellara: Now! Take him down! Davrin/Emmrich/Lucanis: Now! Finish him off! Harding: Now! Finish it! Neve: Now's your shot! Take it! Taash: There! Take that asshole down!

Rook: Solas! We've got the dagger, but we still need to kill the Archdemon!

Solas: Rook! Here! Solas: With my power, you can stand against him!

Post fight

Bellara: Okay! Destroy the crystal before Elgar'nan returns! Emmrich: Quickly! Destroy the crystal before Elgar'nan returns! Harding: Get the crystal before Elgar'nan can come back! Lucanis: Now! Smash the crystal before we get more trouble! Neve: Quick! Destroy the crystal before he comes back. Taash: Come on! Destroy that vashedan crystal before that vashedan elven god comes back!

Crystal broken

Rook: Crystal's shattered! Bellara: Perfect! I'm finishing with the cannon. Just give me a minute! Neve: Knew you had it covered! I've almost got it. One minute! Emmrich: Perfect! I've nearly aligned all the enchantments. One more minute!

Rook: Solas! It's time! Solas: Ready when you are, Rook!

Solas: Elgar'nan! Elgar'nan: Nothing is over. I am eternal. You are an insect. Solas: Surrender now, and this insect will let you live. Elgar'nan: You cannot kill me. You cannot even hurt me. And yet you expect me to yield. Solas: No. Solas: I expect you to gloat. Solas: I was just the distraction.

Bellara: (Grunts with effort) Come on... Neve: (Grunts with effort) Damn it! Come on... Bellara/Neve: Almost got it... Bellara/Neve: (Final scream of effort) Bellara/Neve: (Breathing hard) Rook, the cannon's ready! The firing control is on the Archon's throne! Rook: Got it! before the shot Bellara: The Dread Wolf won! Neve: It's the only shot. Neve: I'll set the dogs on you!

[strayingawayy]

how not to hard launch your partner...

... the one where there's dating rumours about felix and some actress and he's hellbent on putting them to an end

i think the anon that requested this wanted some angst but i would like to spread the live laugh love felix agenda and make you smile hopefully so here you go <3 (warning: a brief mention of suicide but not really suicide)

your first mistake was letting jisung have the aux.

the second mistake was assuming felix would handle this situation like a normal person.

because now, instead of calmly addressing the false dating rumours about him and some actress, you were sitting in the back of the car with the boys, watching in horror as felix prepared to commit social suicide.

"just let the rumours die," chan begged, as he gripped the steering wheel. "don’t do anything dumb, mate please."

felix, already opening his instagram, grinned. "define ‘dumb.’"

"oh my god," you screeched, lunging for him, but it was too late.

he had hit 'live.'

the car descended into chaos.

"turn it off!" seungmin, the typically calm and composed seungmin, yelled.

"we can still stop this!" hyunjin howled.

but felix, a menace to society, just grinned at the camera like a man unhinged.

"hello, stay," he announced over the screams of his bandmates. "quick q&a session t'night!"

you wanted to die.

the comments were already rolling in at lightning speed.

— oml lixie hiiiiiii

— what’s happening why does seungmin look like he wants to commit a crime

— Wait is it true you’re dating that actress???

felix’s eyes lit up. "oh, that rumour? funny story, actually-"

jisung dived across the van, trying to snatch his phone. felix dodged at the last second.

"felix don’t-"

felix absolutely did.

"that rumour is false," he said, smiling. "wanna know why?"

you shook your head violently. "no, no they don’t-"

felix grabbed your wrist and yanked you into frame.

the comments exploded.

— what

— who is that omg

— the way hannie just threw himself to stop this and failed lmaoooo

felix meanwhile , beamed. "meet my actual partner!"

the screaming in the car reached new heights and you could only thank god that chan was a good enough driver to survive this chaos.

"delete it delete it delete it," hyunjin continued howling.

"we're not even parked yet-" chan yelled.

jisung, now hanging off the van seat, wailed, "div1 is gonna kill us!"

meanwhile, you sat there, frozen in pure horror.

"say hi, baby!" felix chirped.

you turned to him, wide-eyed, unable to use speech as a method of self expression.

felix, still grinning, turned back to the camera. "they’re shy."

the live abruptly ended, because chan finally pried the phone out of his hands and threw it across the car.

there was nothing but silence for a few minutes.

everyone just… stared at you two.

then, jisung groaned, covering his face. "you idiots."

seungmin sighed. "well. at least the whole world knows now."

you turned to felix, who looked way too pleased with himself. "what is wrong with you?!"

felix simply kissed your cheek. "now you never have to worry about rumours again, my jealous lil' baby!"

hyunjin clutched his chest, dramatically,"i need to lie down."

[formulakracing]

i. now or never - t.w.

pairing -> student intern!reader x toto wolff

word count -> 1.7k

warnings -> cursing, age gap relationships, power imbalance, a little bit of toxicity, toto being sexy (as always), world-building, mentions of marijuana use, mentions of alcohol use, allusions to sexual fantasies, SLOW BURN (fr this time) yadayadayada (if i missed somethin’ lemme know)

a/n -> i apologize in advance if the internship i write about is nothing like an actual internship for mercedes LMFAO also, bear with me. i know it starts slow but it will pick up!

"oh, great. you're bringing up this fucking internship again. why are you always going on and on about this stupid program?"

swallowing thickly, you drum your fingers on the table, shrugging ever so slightly, "why not? i think it would be a great opportunity for not only grad school, but for career advancement. do you know how many doors that would open for me if i—"

"you'd be gone for an entire year. that's why i don't think it's a good idea."

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

inhaling sharply, you bite down on your tongue, suppressing a sharp retort.

why does it matter if i have to leave for a year? it's not like you care enough about my interests anyway.

he arches a brow, cocking his head, "why aren't you saying anything?"

"because it's not worth bickering about," fingers curling around the misty glass, you swirl it around, watching as the bubbles float to the surface, "you're right. i'd be gone for a year. it's such a competitive program. i don't even think i'm good enough to get in. they probably prioritize european students anyway. the deadline for the application is due in a week. there's no way i could get everything together in time. it's not worth all the hassle."

"good girl," he hums in approval, shoving a few fries in his mouth, "you know i support you throughout everything you do. i just don't want you to pour all of your energy into this one project just to be rejected. i know you. you'd be devastated. you wouldn't leave your apartment for weeks."

do you know me though? do you really?

the waitress slips by the table, sliding a receipt toward the middle of the table, "here's the bill, as requested. have a great night! be safe getting home!"

gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you wait until her back is turned. exhaling, you pick up the bill, "i'll get it."

"you sure?" he presses, "i'll cover the tip then."

"sounds good."

fishing your phone out of your pocket, you let it hover over the qr code. typing in your card information, you can't help but notice him fumbling with his pockets, searching for his wallet.

puckering your lips, it's your turn to tilt your head, "did you forget your wallet at home?"

"yeaaaaahhhh," his lower lips quivers, forming a pout, "would you mind? i can just venmo or cashapp you later."

"sure," clicking your tongue, you select the tip percentage on the screen, ensuring that the waitress receives a few more dollars than suggested, "okay, it's paid for. let's go."

he follows in suit as you slide out of the booth, shoving your arms in your jacket. pulling his phone out, his attention is fixated on the dim screen, fingers a flurry as he types away.

"hey, one of the boys is going through some shit. you mind if i catch an uber over to his place? i'll be home later."

"like how late?"

"i don't know," he shakes his head, gaze glued on whatever he was possibly reading, "it's matteo. his girlfriend cheated on him. it looks like he could use cheering up."

"i don't care," your eye twitches, yet you wave a hand, "as long as you don't wake me up when you get back."

"of course baby," he coos, placing a tender peck on your cheek, "get some safe, okay?"

"i will," you nod, "love you."

"love you too!" he beams, pulling you in for a quick embrace, "i'll be back before midnight."

"okay."

it's a quiet trek through the parking lot.

a breeze rolls through the cars, promising of frigid weather. tangerine rays filter through the trees, the sun making its descent toward the horizon. the sky is a blanket of a tranquil blue, with traces of lavender and magenta as dusk transitions to night.

clicking your key fob, your vehicle chirps, the engine roaring to life. opening the door, you nearly collapse into the seat, your vision blurred by tears. sniffling, you ensure your seat belt is on, shifting the gear into reverse.

as you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend as he clambers into the uber. you try to wave, to muster some sort of smile, but he is not paying any sort of attention as your car soars by.

at that, the tears erupt into sobs.

by no means was your boyfriend a terrible man. he was more than adequate, actually. however, the sheer disdain in his voice over the idea of your pursuing this internship left a sour taste in your mouth.

to be honest, it was more like an awful, putrid taste, bile rising up in the back of your throat as you wallow over the interaction, knuckles turning white as you grip the steering wheel.

the internship in question?

well, it was more like a job opening.

you left that part out, just so that your family and boyfriend would be more apt to the idea. after all, they did not need to know all of the particulars.

all they needed to know is that you were prepping for the opportunity of a lifetime.

an opportunity overseas to work with the mercedes amg petronas formula one team as a member of their media crew.

the internship spanned over the course of several months, following the team throughout the season. from what you could make out from the application, you would start just shy of the season opener in melbourne, around march third. the end date was unclear, but you figured it would end around the time the season was over in december. in all, you would be away from home for nine months.

and your internship duties? all you had to do was travel to luxurious cities, meet fans, promote the team across their social media platforms, and most importantly, film the races.

and the best part? it was a paid internship. mercedes would not only pay you for working with them, but they would also cover travel costs, food, and even software upgrades. additionally, you would receive a monthly stipend for your own personal spending, just so that you could "enjoy your time with us to the fullest."

it was everything you could have dreamed of and more.

so, what was holding you back?

well, there were a few things.

one, was your boyfriend. he was not keen on the idea of you leaving the country, even if it was only for a few months. he was very adamant that if you were to take this internship, then he would end your relationship.

according to him, nine months was too much for him to do long distance. although, the two of you had temporarily engaged in a long distance relationship before he transferred back home.

two, was your family. similar to your boyfriend, they were not happy about the idea of you leaving. they felt that formula one was too flashy. too extravagant. you would not fit in with all of the wealthy moguls and influencers.

you belonged here, in your mediocre college town where no one ever left. you would fare much better spending every weekend frequenting the same bars over and over again, running into the same people, making awkward, monotone small talk. besides, what if the internship was a scam? what if it wasn't everything you hoped it would be?

and the third reason?

well, it was a bit more complicated.

you had a bit of impostor syndrome, as you felt your skills were not good enough. your editing was too choppy. your transitions were not quite neat enough to fit the speed of the cars. since you were an amateur, your work was mainly posted across your instagram and tik tok accounts. your resume was nowhere near as elegant as the other potential applications.

so, why even try? why apply to something like this?

well, ever since you were a little girl, you dreamed of working in motorsports. you weren't quite sure of what you would do at the time, but you knew that it was your calling.

every time you watched a race or posted an edit, there was a shiver that ran down your spine, goosebumps appearing all over. there was a pull at your heart, nearly tugging away at you.

it was enticing, begging you to keep watching. to keep compiling clips together. to keep creating material that was crafted by you, and only you.

it called to push your creativity to the limits. to chase that dream.

to satisfy that hunger deep in your soul.

with graduation only if a few months, you were running out of time. it was now or never. make it or break it.

it was time to push yourself. it was time to break free from the clutches of your college town. it was time to take the leap, one that you had been putting off for so fucking long.

it was time to finally put yourself first.

to choose something that would bring you nothing but pure, immense joy.

and as you pulled into your driveway, you threw open your car door. scurrying inside, you made your way to your room, pushing the door open. tossing your bag on your bed, you hunker at your desk, locating that bookmarked tab.

everything was in order. you had the letters of recommendation. the personal statement was attached. the resume was completed. the portfolio was uploaded.

all you had to do was press that final square.

submit.

your index fingers hovers above the button, nearly trembling.

squeezing your eyes shut, you apply pressure, a clicking ringing in your ears.

within seconds, a new message appears across your screen.

thank you for your interest in this internship with the mercedes amg petronas formula one media team!

after receiving your application, our team will diligently look over your application and submit it for review.

a decision will be made in approximately six to eight weeks. once we have made our decision, you should receive an email in your inbox. make sure to check your spam, as it may be sent there.

we wish you the best of luck!

[consistantly-changing]

[Image transcripts in order: ...for defying restrictions on political ads.

My disagreements with Joel come to a head when he tells me to establish PACs in other countries. Political action committees, of course, are an American invention that pull together donors to give money to political candidates. There are PACs for every possible cause: to elect more women to office and to elect candidates who are friendly to Realtors, or beer wholesalers, or teachers' unions. Home Depot runs its own giant PAC, as does AT&T.

"We were so late in establishing Facebook's PAC in the US; I don't want to make that mistake in other countries," Joel says insistently. "We need to get moving to establish PACs outside the US. We should have done this a long time-"

"So, this is awkward," I cut in. Joel looks puzzled.

"That's illegal. Only US citizens can contribute to elections here. That's true everywhere. Nobody wants foreigners bankrolling their elections."

"Really?" Joel looks shocked.

"Definitely. That's why even though you regularly invite me to contribute to the Facebook PAC you founded, for me to do so would be illegal as I'm not a citizen."

"Well, I was actually meaning the other way," he says defensively. "Contributions to politicians in other countries. We need to get mov-ing on channeling money to our key allies offshore, you know, our most influential politicians in other countries."

"Ah, that would be considered bribery and corruption in most of the countries I'm responsible for," I say, careful to strike a neutral tone.]

[to solve them.

In short, Internet.org entrenches the digital divide between the haves and the have-nots, by delivering a crap version of the inter-net to two-thirds of the world. The two-thirds least digitally literate and able to cope with it. What Mark's running, in the digital rights groups' view, is a bait and switch. He's pretending in his lofty speeches that this is all about connectivity and handing people the tools they need to better their lives, when in fact he's delivering noth-ing even close. The whole thing, in their view, is a power play to sign up more people to Facebook.

When they lay this out, Chris feels personally attacked, outraged that they're questioning Facebook's good intentions. The way he sees it, Facebook choosing which websites can be accessed from Internet.org is just like Apple's App Store or the Google Play Store dictating what apps are available there. We're making an app and negotiating a deal so people can get it for free-what's so evil about that? By the end of the meeting he's red-faced and angry and telling the digital rights groups that "they're trying to dictate the content of Internet.org," which is exactly what they're accusing Facebook of.

The meeting rooms in Facebook's offices all have cutesy names (Guns 'n' Rosegarden in DC, I'll Be Bak Choy in Singapore), and our goal of convincing human rights groups of Facebook's good inten-tions is perhaps not helped by the fact that the name of the meeting room, Wicked Witch of the West, is displayed, without explanation, under Chris's talking head for the entire meeting. (I point this out to him afterward, and within days the name of the meeting room has been changed.)

I leave the meeting convinced that we're on the wrong side of]

I’m reading that new memoir about working at Facebook,”Careless People,” and it’s just fucking insane.

At one point Facebook wanted to be an international hub for organ donation. The “Lean In” lady asked why she couldn’t go down to Mexico and buy a kidney if her four year old needs one. This is literally on p.57. What the fuck else is going to be in this book if that is on page 57

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[no-144444]

kind man- o.piastri

summary: the aftermath of the australian grand prix...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

a/n: ... silence.

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Oscar was sure this was some kind of cruel lesson from the universe. He’d felt strong, ready, and competitive. He knew he could win it, he knew it could get himself up on that podium, to break that stupid fucking curse. 

And then the rain came. And the gravel. And the crowd all gasped. He could hear it all while he was desperately trying to get his stupid fucking McLaren off the grass. He genuinely wanted to scream. Andrea had told him one thing: If you win this, you’re number one. No more papaya rules. No more being Lando’s bitch. Oscar Piastri, Formula One World Champion 2025. 

And he’d pissed it away because of slick fucking tires, and a bad pit strategy. The headache that had been building in his head was throbbing now, he was exhausted, and he wanted- no, needed to be out of the car. 

But he still had a job to do, and he knew he had to at least make it into the points to make up for his mistake. 

He thought about every fan that had come up to him over the past few days, he thought about how his parents and family were watching, how his nation was watching him, and how he’d completely failed. He lost it in a gravel trap like a fucking rookie. 

The return lap was torture. He dutifully waved to the crowd before slotting in behind anyone who’d placed in front of him, and his head hung low as he exited his car. 

“I’m sorry mate,” Alex rushed up beside him. “Stellar drive though, congratulations,” he offered with a sympathetic smile that he returned as best he could. 

“Thanks,” he shrugged as he stood on the scales. He could feel the cameras on him, and the lump in his throat would just have to wait till later. He’d have to wait until he was safely in your arms, and then he could break down. You. 

Your first race, the first race you’d ever been to and he fucked it. 

He couldn’t even face you, or his family. This was so embarrassing. He was so ashamed. 

He looked up at the brightening sky and somehow, you were waiting at the barrier, a sympathetic look on your face. He picked up whatever strength he still had left and walked over. 

You didn’t ask. You didn’t pry. You simply pulled him into your arms and nuzzled into his neck the way he loved. You didn’t pity him. You didn’t need to. You knew his potential, and you knew he’d reach it. You’d always been that way, since the start, you were a steady supporter, never wavering, never confused at a result. Always there for him, through anything. 

“I was so worried,” you admitted. “I thought you were going to flip.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing was stopping me from finishing this race. I owe it to the home fans.”

You looked up at him and smiled. He could see that perfect glint in your eye, the kind that made him weak in the knees. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, yeah? I want you to be Oscar, not a racing robot.”

He chuckled. A real smile. Of course you pulled it out of him. “No promises.”

“Osc,” you whined, slapping his chest playfully. 

“Alright, alright,” he nodded. “I’ll be… nice.”

And of course you believed him, because he never really could lie to you. 

“Want to get out of here? Head home?” you offered. “I can argue with Zak?” 

He shook his head. “Lando won, and he deserves to be celebrated,” he shrugged. “I'll celebrate with the team for a bit and then I’ll head home with you guys.”

You stared at him, cupping his cheek. He had no idea what to expect next. Again, you just smiled and said. “You’re a kind man, Oscar. I hope you realise how wonderful that is.” 

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mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[cybermindz]

✸ contains. nsfw, smut : fem! reader, dom/sub dynamics, brat taming ♡, daddy + sir kínk (i’m embarrassed look away), manhandling, size difference, slight dumbification, tummy bulge!! ♡, usage of petnames (baby, doll, darling). wc : 900+

thinking about sir lewis hamilton who disciplines you when you’re being extra bratty by fucking you, not fast and rough—but slowly.

leisurely yet still firm enough at the end of each plunge of his heavy cock—to give you the right amount of friction against your gummy walls that would have your thighs tremble. so, so deliberately and tantalizing whilst staring into your eyes in amusement to witness all that sass wipe off your face into a more debauched, drooling mess.

this wasn't just some sweet and gentle love making. this was a lesson.

it’s more punishing this way, unable to do anything but claw at his tattooed arms from the intensity—completely at his mercy. it was agonizing, no—more like patronizing as he made you feel everything on his pulsing hard length. from every protruding vein to each inch, ample to make your brain melt into mush.

sitting back on his haunches, his grip on your hips was so damn tight, unyielding. you could bet pretty little bruises of his fingers would be marked onto your skin when morning comes. he’s tugging your lower body up and up and up until your ass is lifted and only your upper back rested against the sheets. like a rag doll, using your body as if you weighed a feather—almost like you were nothing but his cock-sleeve. he’d push you until his leaking tip nearly slips out only to pull you back against him repeatedly, meeting up with each drag of his throbbing cock.

you felt him dig deeper from this angle if even possible, constantly prodding at your cervix. thin veil of lining barely covering the sight of an imprint of himself on your tummy. there was absolutely no rush with the way he was moving—like he wasn’t just some busy man, with all the time in the world in his hands.

"bein' a brat like that, giving me attitude, talking all mouthy. you just can't listen to your daddy, darlin’?" lewis drawls out the words so lazily, his tone taking on a sharp edge. he punctuates the last word with a slow roll of his hips—his other mind on the way your weeping cunt was clenching sporadically around him.

"mnnngh—daddy! it’s ah- no stop!" you protested, hands pushing at his abdomen weakly, which his abs twitched underneath your calluses in response.

lewis zeros in on the strings of slick breaking as soon as they formed where the two of you connected, evidence that you were enjoying this much more than you let out. stubborn girl, he’s got you creaming on him, the intensity and rhythmic ‘plap!’ ‘plap!’ ‘plap!’ of skin on skin burns your ears. your objections all feeble, you weren’t fooling anybody—definitely overwhelmed and high on the onslaught of pleasure.

“move those fuckin’ hands babydoll.” there’s that authoritative tone again, just thick in the air, feeling like a weight on you. so much so that your body can’t help but instinctively follow, hands falling to wrinkle up the blankets in tight closed fists. “oh, so now you wanna be my good girl? nah i don’t think so.”

he lets your lower half fall back on the bed so he can lean forward and press his body flat onto you, his face dipping into the crook of your neck. he leaves little nips on your plush skin, just to make you squirm even more—gruff voice whispering into your ear, “ ‘m not stopping just yet," he purred. “not until i get it through your thick skull to not disobey me again.”

he lets a hand wander until it rests on your throat, not quite squeezing but the heaviness a sign of authority over you. lewis was being cruel. he knew it too, and he was reveling in it. he wanted you to make sure you’d think twice before opening that smart mouth of yours the way you did earlier.

"i-i can't, sir puh—ngh! please i’m sorry!" you felt a mixture of emotions but embarrassment took the cake, tears dribbled from the corner of your eyes and wetting your hair. at this point you’re not even sure if you were begging for him to stop anymore or to just get on with it and fuck you harder.

"don’t give me that, you’ll take everything i give you like you always do. and if you’re gonna apologize, give it to me all nice. do it right, baby," he murmurs, voice rough. his digits grips your chin now, forcing it so you're looking into his fierce eyes. he’s staring down at you with an intensity like he's taking you apart with his irises.

" ‘m sorry f-for haaah—“ you can't even utter a proper sentence without a whine rippling through your throat each time his tip hits your sweet spot, “dadddddy— ‘s too much."

you’re such a mess. seeing you in this state, all disheveled and whimpering, with a sweet little hiccup is exactly how he wanted you. lewis loved this, maybe a little too much. it was a high he'd never get tired of. he could see you losing that stubbornness you had before, his ministrations surely getting to you. your poor little brain going numb with only one thought—you’re close to coming.

his thumb brushes away the tears that wet your skin with a mocking satisfied grin. "silly girl, can’t even think,” he teases in a jeering coo. “c’mon, sweet baby you’re almost there. say it right, or we're gonna be at this allllll night.”

© 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works.

[siri-ike]

It was almost a relief, you know? Knowing that they were never really his friends. At least if he's alone, no one can leave him. Or betray him. This was for the best, really. Now, he can't fool himself into trusting again. Danny floated above Gotham observatory overlooking the city. Curled up as tight as he could be. Intangible and invisible, like he didn't even exist. If only.

He looked up at the smog. This city couldn't even give him that much. All it did was take. All anyone did was take, take, take until there was nothing left of him.

It was time he stood up for himself. It was time for him to hit back.

Danny uncurled at the decision. And during this dark Gotham night, a light appeared beneath the smog.

Why should he be the one to hide? Why should he be the one to veer out of harms way?

High above Gotham observatory floated a green glowing boy. As bright as any star. And like the brightest stars, he would burn fast.

Slowly, it descended. The temperature dropped along with him. Soon, he was hovering shortly above the roof of the observatory, and all of Gotham reached zero degrees Celsius.

From his perch, he watched as summer turned to winter.

If all they want is a dangerous monster. He may as well give it to them.

He hugged his legs to him and let out a long frozen breath. The blue tinted white cloud became bigger and bigger as it moved further towards the city. At its exact border, snow began to fall. It was probably the cleanest snow Gotham had seen in decades. If anything, he'd be doing the world a favor by getting rid of it.

The cold stung his cheeks and nose. The tears trickling down his face froze solid. It stung even more, but he didn't wipe them away. It should hurt. He wants to hurt.

In the distance, he hears a crash and screams as the first snowflakes reach the ground, and giant icicles burst out of the ground where they land.

He peeked up from behind his knees at the cries for help.

He doesn't help.

That's not who he is anymore.

A slight creaking sound behind him cought the Ghost Kings attention.

"It was easier, before," Phantom said slowly closed off. "I could keep the cold in, then." He turned to the sorce of the sound. "When someone was worth the warmth."

From just below the horizon of the metal dome, Nightwing climbed into sight. "You can still stop. We can call it even."

"Even?" He spoke in a whisper, but he wasn't quiet. "I'm not the one who needs to earn forgiveness."

Nightwing cringed at the accusation. Did they really go too far? Staying low, he creped closer. "I'm, I'm sorry. We should have trusted you."

"That's not true." Phantom paused and gestured to the chaos unfolding on the city. "That's clearly not true." He floated into a standing position. "I don't need your trust. I don't want your trust."

A chill went down Nightwings spine when their eyes met.

"I was wrong to give you mine." He let his foot touch the roof, and in an instant, a thick sheet of ice spread out from all around him. He looked up at Nightwing, frozen through, with a look of shock on his face.

Phantom slipped through the metal sheeting and into the observatory. He couldn't even turn tangable in there. The whole thing was covered and filled with ice. At least then, no one can disturb him.

Phantom spent hours wallowing at the star maps and research that would now be lost. He mourned the astronomer who was on shift that night. Alone. Just like him. He looked through the framed photos around her station. Unlike him, she had a family to come home to.

He had fully taken stock of his dome when the whole thing started shaking around him. He, of course, stayed was still.

Outside the Batmobile, treked through the ice and slush. This version looked more like a tank than the usual sleek design.

Through a pair of heat sensing binoculars, Red Robin spotted a figure inside the frozen observatory. It was so much colder than the ice around.

What stepped out wasn't Danny, the joke cracking ghost boy who could talk about space for literal hours on end. The gentle soul desperate for a community was gone. In his place was something else. His skin was almost as white as his hair, except his lips, nose, fingers, and toes had all turned dark gray from what had to be 3rd degree frostbite. Two streams of tears stuck frozen to his cheeks. He had dark circles around his eyes, which were only half open.

Paranoia eats the Phantom

DP x DC Prompt

I've always read stories where Danny and the Bats end up together in many ways, but one story caught my eye, 'A Heart Worth Breaking', one chapter in that work on a03 has Danny snapping at the Bats for looking into him when he hasn't done the same, and it inspired me to make a prompt similar to that chapter

Danny escaped the horrors of both the GIW and his parents. They cut him open, seen what makes him tick. They run tests on the 'samples' they collect from him. They put him in a room and see what is best to work on him to hurt him. They put him in different Ghost Containment devices that are modified to inflict harm on him. They... they killed those he 'manipulated' (Jazz, Sam and Tucker) in front of him... just to see if he would reveal his 'true colors'.

He escaped to Gotham when the Justice League began a raid on the GIW base he was being held in. None of the heroes had shown interest in the calls coming from Amity, so why now? He wouldn't find that answer, as he just wants to live. He wants to be a person and not a 'thing' to be studied or a hero. Gotham has enough ambient ectoplasm for him to live in, so he had Technus Forge him some identification papers on the digital plane to be "Daniel Jasper Folson".

He did his best to avoid the radar of the Bats and Birds, but he couldn't ignore his obsession. He went out at night as Phantom to try and discreetly help those in need. He failed at being discreet and was discovered by the Bats and Birds.

He wasn't expecting to be requested to help them during some big hits on Trafficking Rings or gathering Intel on the big name rogues that are obviously hiding something behind the scenes. Sure, he only has Nightwing, Red Hood, and occasionally Signal to hang out with, but he's slowly coming to trust the Bats and Birds of Gotham.

He should've known that it was too good to be true. During a quiet night, where he was hanging out with Wing and Hood on a roof, eating Batburgers together, he overheard Oracle and Red Robin tell one of the two with Danny about their progress on finding more information on him or trying to get through the GIW logs kn him.

This causes him to snap on Wing and Hood, saying that they didn't care for him as another being, treating him as a thing to be studied and contained. He stops himself from revealing too much and runs away. He runs away to be with the lesbian couple that both remind him of his sister and best friend in some ways and who have helped him on occasion when he ran into them on the streets, trying to build up enough money to get a home for himself.

He is at their front door, waiting for one of them to open it after he knocked on it, tears still streaming down his face and looking heartbroken. They do let him in and do their best to comfort him. He is just staring blankly at nothing in front of him as the couple trues to get him to talk to them. He vaguely hears Harley tell Pamela something about flowers, someone called B-man, and about himself.

Before he registers Pamela coming into the room with the flowers, he sees one of the Bats or Birds land by the window. It's only after the Bat or Bird almost knocks on the window to be let in when he registered the flowers that Pamela has offered to Danny. Blood Blossoms. His body hurts, and with the bouquet of Blood Blossoms so close to him, his body begins to melt in a grotesque way into a puddle of Ectoplasm, and then thay puddle evaporated into nothing.

But that wasn't Danny. That was a duplicate he sent to Pamela and Harley. He couldn't fully trust them, as they were known to be, on occasion, working with the Bats and Birds, but he wanted to be with people he knew he could trust. And now he thinks that trust is broken, as he connected the dots, seeing one of the Vigilantes go to them, figuring out that B-Man is Batman, and the Blood Blossoms that Pamela had.

Maybe it's time for him to use his Ghost King title to the fullest. He can't trust the heroes of the world because of that trust had been betrayed by the Bats and Birds of Gotham, and he's going to make an announcement to the world.

[kikidoul]

── A FAVOR.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 西村力 x fem! reader content ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content best friend! riki reader is a virgin riki is reader's first & reader asks riki to be her first unprotected sex (wow!) pussy eating fingering riki trying to hide his feelings (he kinda suck) there's plot here . . .!? 2278 — mlist. req

note. i combined uh two requests together (if u can call the other as a request since it was anon encouraging me to write this LMAO) im a sucker for these kinds of plots hehe taglist. @tfwbluu @hoonstqr @riqomi

You have been best friends with Nishimura Riki for as long as you could remember. You had seen him at his worst—him breaking down due to the amount of stress being piled on his shoulders. You were there for him—lending him your ears as he ranted about his problems, your shoulders for him to lean on while he broke down into tears, hiding his face from you as he was too ashamed for you to see him in such a vulnerable state. You have been best friends with Riki, which was why he was the first person you thought of when it came to this. 

“...I beg your pardon?” Riki stared at you in pure disbelief, eyes wide and mouth opened. The way he looked at you was as if you had spoken in a different language or you had asked for something unreasonable. Which to him, is unreasonable. 

You fiddled with your fingers, biting on your lip, blissfully unaware of how the other’s eyes were focused on your pretty, kissable lips. “I said, I want you to have sex with me.” 

Silence. 

“But why me?” He asks once he was able to regain his composure. 

You flashed him a look. “Because you’re my best friend and I trust you, Riki.” 

What you don't know is how his heart tightened at the specific two words ‘best friend’. He knows you don’t feel the same way as he does but how he longs to be able to be your boyfriend, to be able to be the one who gets to kiss, hug and hold your hands. How he wished to be able to do cute, stupid couple things with you. Riki pushed them aside, running a hand through his pitch-black hair and letting out a long sigh, shoulders dropping. 

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he grumbled, rising from his chair, moving toward his bed—where you were seated. You had to tilt your head up when he stopped before you, feeling small under his firm, unwavering gaze. 

None of you said a word, the silence in his bedroom growing thicker and thicker with something unspeakable as every second passed. It was by instinct, with Riki leaning down and you leaning back slightly, allowing him to capture your lips with his. There were no fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. No moments when your heart stopped beating for a second. But, your breath caught in your throat at how perfect his lips felt against yours. Riki’s lips moved, forcing you to part your lips as he slowly pushed you back, until you were fully laying on his bed, with him hovering over you, shielding you from the world. 

And oh, the way his tongue slid in, exploring every inch of your mouth—ensuring nothing was left untouched, does wonders to your mind. You let out a breathless mewl and to Riki, it was probably the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It felt sinful, considering how he was about to take your virginity and filled with the determination to hear more, his hands begin wandering along your body, touching you everywhere and leaving lingering flames behind. His large hands snaked themselves underneath your oversized hoodie, caressing the silhouette of your body while he pushed the hoodie up and up, revealing your plain, black bra. 

Riki had to break the kiss, a trail of saliva snapping into half as he leaned back. Your eyes were dazed, swollen lips parted as you tried to catch your breath. Heat shot straight down to his cock at your state, mind couldn’t help but wonder just how you would looked when he eats you out or fucks you later. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks, hand hovering against the hem of your pushed up hoodie bra. He didn’t move until you nodded, granting him permission. 

Your best friend wasted no time in tossing the offending clothes aside and his entire world stopped at how stunning you looked. Never in his wildest dreams he would have you underneath him. Feeling shy under his intense gaze, you squirmed, hands raising to cover your chest but Riki was faster. He grabbed them, smoothly intertwining your fingers and pushed them aside. 

“Don’t hide from me. You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice laced with genuine sincerity. It was enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

Your eyelids fluttered shut when Riki ducked his head, tracing butterfly kisses down your neck until he wrapped his lips around your left nipple. He gave a light suck, causing you to cry out, hips bucking upward and that was when you felt it. An evident bulge in his gray sweatpants. You shuddered, clenching down on air when you wondered just how he would feel inside you. A sharp nip to your neck shook you out of your thoughts, drawing a gasp from you and made you wonder since when he had moved up. You swore you felt him smiling into your skin. 

“What’s in that pretty head of yours?” He coos, voice low and raspy, enough to make your stomach stir in arousal. “You want me to touch you?” 

You mewled, “P-Please, touch me.” 

Riki hums, hands snaking down to tug your pants down, leaving them to pool around your ankles. “Where do you want me to touch you? Here?” He caressed your inner thighs, touching you everywhere but where you wanted him the most. 

You sniffled, digging your heels into the mattress. “N-Not there.” 

“Then where? Show me, princess,” he replies, the pet name making you whine. 

Without hesitation and newfound courage, you grabbed his hand and directly placed it on your throbbing, aching cunt. Riki was taken aback at your bold move, feeling smug when he felt just how soaked you were. And it was all because of him. He teasingly dragged his fingers over your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties, chuckling at how you pushed yourself against his fingers, desperate for more friction. With that, he finally pulled your panties down and you were completely at his mercy. 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, noting how you were practically dripping. His mouth waters, his cock twitched in the constraints of his sweatpants at how he was about to taste you. Riki glanced up, making eye contact with your teary, lust-filled gaze. 

“Can I?” He asks, not wanting to push you over your boundary. 

“Please, want you,” you pleaded oh so prettily and it was only right for Riki to obey. 

He leaned forward, hands grabbing your thighs and the moment he licked a long, fat stripe up your puffy folds, it was over for you. Your back arched off the bed, one hand blindly clutching onto Riki’s hair while the other gripped onto the pillow underneath you for dear life. He proceeds to give kitten licks with the tip of his tongue, swirling the wet muscle in a way that makes pleasure shot through your body. Your breathing grew ragged, breathless moans falling endlessly from your parted lips. 

That was when you felt the pressure building and gradually increasing with every skillful flick of his tongue. You weren’t even aware that you were grinding against his face, eyes rolling up at how his nose pressed against your cunt in just the right angle. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as you struggled to speak. 

“Hah, R-Riki—g-gonna—” You whimpered, wanting to pull him off but Riki refused, groaning into your cunt and the vibrations were enough to tip you over the edge. 

Your orgasm washed over you like tidal waves, toes curling and you felt like your mind had blanked out. Riki pushed you through your orgasm, only moving away once he was satisfied, revealing a rather filthy sight that you never thought you’d see. His lips and chin glistened underneath the ceiling light, covered in your slick. You watched, breathless as he licked his lips, wiping them away with the back of his hand. 

“I hope I did fine for your first time,” he rasped. 

You rolled your eyes, ignoring how your heart was pounding against your chest. “Shut up and get to it already.” 

“Jeez, for someone who asked me for this, you sure are bossy,” he muttered under his breath, reaching over to grab a wrapped condom. You frowned at the sight and he arched an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“...We don’t need the condom,” you pointed out. 

Riki’s eyes widened. “Huh? What are you saying?” 

Your face flushed red, eyes averted to the side. “I mean, I’m clean and obviously you’re clean too. So we can forgo the condom.” 

He paused, eyes flickering between the condom and your face. “Are you sure?” 

You let out an impatient groan. “Yes, Riki. I’m sure, just hurry up and fuck me already.” 

He scowled, tossing it aside and made quickwork of his sweatpants and boxers, leaving him in only his skintight, white tank top. You openly gawked at the size of his cock, which had turned an angry shade of red, due to it being neglected as it stood upright and proud. Your best friend snickered at your expression. 

“What’s wrong? Think you can’t take it?” He taunts, grabbing your chin, tilting it up slightly so you can make eye contact. 

You narrowed your eyes in response. “I can take it, try me.” 

“As you wish.” 

Riki spread your legs, placing another pillow underneath your hips as he made himself comfortable between your legs. You watched with bated breath, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of him aligning his cock with your entrance. He glanced at you, waiting for you to say something, anything, that you want to back out and that this was a terrible idea. Instead, you nodded and gave him the green light. 

You felt the head nudging at your wetness and you shivered in anticipation. Your mouth formed an ‘O’ shape as his cock slid through your folds. Riki gradually pushed in at a slow pace, inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt, bottoming out. He tightened his grip on your upper thighs, resisting the urge to just take you right there and then. His mind spins at how tight you felt against him, how your walls clung onto him, never wanting to let him go. 

“Fuck, so tight,” he cursed, already sounding wrecked as he looks at you through his bangs. 

You, on the other hand, felt like you were floating. You felt insanely full, his cock touching places you never thought it was possible. “R-Riki… move, please.” 

He almost pulls all the way out before pushing back in, the movement making you whine out loud—the sound bouncing off the four walls of Riki’s bedroom. The room was filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin as he thrusts into you, along with your mixture of sounds. Your eyes watered when his cock kept hitting the same spot, making you see stars in your vision. 

“Oh god, m-more, ngh,” you cried out, your head now bouncing against the pillow as he quickened his pace, gritting his teeth while pushing you further into the mattress. 

Riki leaned down, managing to capture your lips in a sloppy, messy kiss but it was hard for you to reciprocate the kiss, not when you were drowning in pleasure. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you continued mewling, moaning and chanting his name like a prayer. 

“Riki, Riki, Riki,” you moaned, unaware of how the other desperately wished you could see him in a new light. 

“Gonna cum,” he warns, lips grazing against yours. He made a move to pull out but you stopped him, wrapping your legs around his waist and locked him in place. “Princess-” 

“No, j-just.. cum in me, please,” you mewled, and Riki knew he was doomed. 

Cursing, he delivered one final, powerful thrust that leaves you two gasping for air. You whimpered as Riki spilled himself deep inside your cunt. The feeling of having something that belongs to Riki inside you made you reach your second climax, an imaginary rubber-band snapping into half as you reached your high. Your limbs were trembling like fallen leaves once it was over and you couldn’t muster any strength to raise a finger.

You winced once Riki pulled out, the sudden emptiness made you close your legs. None of you said a word. You laid on the bed while Riki went to grab some damp towels to clean the both of you up. He wears his boxers and sweatpants again, leaving the room, only for him to return a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. You accepted it, pushing yourself up to lean against the bed frame as you drinked from the glass.

When you were done, you placed it on the bedside table and Riki turned to you. “...Now what? What does this make us?” He asks in a soft voice, uncertainty evident in his tone. 

You looked at him and shook your head. “I…I don’t know, Riki. But, I hope we can still be friends.” 

You saw the way his face fell, something akin to disappointment flickered across his eyes but when you blinked, it was gone. He nodded, handing you a fresh set of clothes—his clothes, to be exact. 

“Sure, you can wear this for tonight. I’ve dumped your clothes in the washing machine. I’ll order us some food so you can come down when you’re done,” he said. 

“Thanks, Riki,” you smiled and he returned it on his own but it was forced and just like that, he left. 

What have I done? 

[littelovelunette]

whiny sub gp sev,, like "nmmghh- c-cant anymore." while still thrusting weakly into you after cumming 4 times, or "please let me cum." while rutting recklessly into you

Until I'm Satisfied

Contains suggestive themes, amab!Sevika, humiliation, dirty talk, cock slapping, ropes, praising, implications of chastity, blowjob, mommy kink, overstimulation.

She might act as if nothing bothered her in all of Zaun, but after she was done finishing up with Silco's work, you always had her in your bed with her legs spread and cock throbbing for you. Grunts and moans escaping her with no shame, you're the only person in all of the damn world who could do this to the "big, powerful Sevika" you taunted. Sevika denied all your claims but the way her thighs were trembling and every, even feather light, touch was enough to make her jerk to the side told a different story.

"Your mind is not in balance with your body." You uttered as you clinically cut away every little bit of dignity, her clothes, away. "We can get you new ones." You said when you heard her whine. Her dark short hair was down and face sweat dampened from the effort of not screaming in pleasure. She wasn't that broken— not yet. But even Sevika knew that it was only a matter of time considering how practised you were with your ministrations. Her dark-skinned cock, around a good eight and a half inch, stood tall and erect.

"What a dirty girl. See, your stupid little cock is so hard without me even doing anything. Imagine if I—" you grabbed the shaft of her cock, squeezing it hard but not enough to hurt, "—did something for real to you." Precum oozed out of the reddened tip, the vein at the underside of her cock twitching subtly as if in response to your words.

"Stop, please." Sevika said, looking away. Oh, she did not mean for you to stop. You saw the way her length twitched in your grasp. She was silently begging you to let her cum. It had been just about a good hour you palmed her through her clothes, exposed her to the cold air and watched as she slowly got harder and harder, letting her little brain wonder on about the horrible things you'd do to her.

Sevika loved feeling vulnerable. You gave her shaft another squeeze eliciting a low moan from her again, she shifted. "Haven't you had your fun already?" She asked, eyebrows furrowed and voice restrained. "I really need you badly." It was laughable, Sevika's deep voice speaking to you in that meek tone.

You slapped her cock, watching as it wobbled and got back to its original erect position. Sevika bit her bottom lip to suppress a whimper. "Lewd girl." You tutted. "Who do you think you are, speaking to mommy like that? I think you should be taught some proper manners so you don't act like a bitch in heat 24/7." Your thumb rubbed over the tip, her reddened and very wet slit, "Think I should lock this pretty little thing up, hm?"

Sevika's grey eyes widened, getting glossy just with the thought of being denied her relief for so long because of her impatience. "I'm sorry, mommy." She whispered. "Please." She looked up at you, bottom lip pouted out, "Please, don't do that. I promise, I'll behave."

"You will, huh? You promise?" You stroked a finger down her making her whimper. Sevika was such a submissive little slut for you, all she wanted to do was please you and you couldn't help finding that endearing. However, that didn't stop you from exploiting her submission to you.

You grabbed the ropes sitting on the bedside table, wrapping it around her legs to force them apart. "You know what to say when you want me to stop." Sevika nodded. "Words." You said with a warning tone glancing up at her.

"Yes, mommy." Sevika answered, "I know the safeword." You tightened the ropes and tied it around the wrist of her flesh arm pulling it up against the headboard, securing her. Finally, you brought the rope to her pathetic cock, tying it around the shaft and squeezing the rope around her. Sevika winced, eyes squeezing shut as she shuddered. "Mommy, please..."

You chuckled seeing more precum seeping out of her slit and bent to give it a small lick, tasting her. Sevika moaned softly feeling your tongue against her leaking cock. "Mommy, please, touch me." Sevika said, "Touch me and make me feel good, mommy. Please. Please..."

You sighed dramatically before bringing your pretty manicured hand upto her cock, giving it slow strokes. "You're so spoiled with all of mommy's mercy, huh?" Your fingers wrapped around the base, thumb teasing one of the veins that popped.

"Well, I guess, since you're begging so much, it's only mommy's responsibility to make you cum as many times as your little body desires." Sevika stared at you with slight confusion but then gasped and moaned feeling you sucking the tip of her cock, stroking it with your hand as you did. Your tongue rolled over her slit, collecting her juice and "Mm"ing at the taste of it.

Sevika's legs struggled against the ties as she trembled beneath your heavenly touch, when the warmth of your mouth completely engulfed her shaft, she let out the breathiest moan ever, "Cumming." She warned, her eyes closing. Goodness, she was so sensitive. Cumming from just a few minutes of stroking and licking.

Sevika now wished she patiently took all your teasing instead of begging you to touch her. It was overwhelming, the amount of pleasure she felt. But she still wanted more. Sevika was completely sex drunk, rutting her hips up desperately as she struggled to get you to touch her more.

"You still wanna cum?" You taunted making Sevika whine. She tensed when she felt your lips make contact with her shaft again, opening to let her in your mouth. "Gonna cum again for mommy?" You asked as your other hand played with her balls.

Sevika nodded desperately. "Yes, yes, please!" She moaned loudly as ropes of semen, albeit a bit weary, shot out of her cock. She was a trembling mess. But you didn't care. She wanted to cum, didn't she?

"Don't do that, I'm sensitive." Sevika whined feeling your hand continue stroking her even after she had come undone several times before. You only slapped her shaft again before squeezing it slightly. "You wanted to cum, now you'll keep cumming until I'm satisfied."

Taglist: @shaquilles-0atmeal @aprilshireath @pzx1el @starduters @theoreticalfreak @tojisbestslut @starcrossedluvr @cheeseborgorbord2 @refl-ction @hotpinkchopsticks @ryu-kkk @vvanillaflowerr @leeidk87

[dduane]

I wanted to thank you for your advice! I ended up clawing an old WIP from a half-finished 7500 word story to a rough but finished 29k word story. It's not good, and it's fanfic so it's nothing I can publish, but hey! This is the first time I have completed something longer than 10k words. So I'll get myself a victory cookie all the same (and then start thinking about something I could publish...).

You're more than welcome! This is what being writers here is for: to give each other a hand over the rough ground.

So: Don't be too quick to say "It's not good." Maybe it's not! We all excrete, well, excreta, from time to time. It's part of the drill. But you have to step back a bit and let it sit before you judge. It might be good after all. (And good or bad, you'll probably wind up rewriting it. All too often, This Is The Way.) :)

So go have that cookie. My guess is that when you reread this work (and I mean this seriously, let it the hell be for a month or so minimum), you'll find good things that you missed noticing when you finished, and godawful things that will make you scream "WTF WTF" and run for the red pen.

This is normal. The mode you're in when you're composing is not usually the mode best suited for examining fine detail. Now's the time to fix the busted things, smooth out the rough-edged things, and then decide what to do next.

And hey, congrats! (The urge to say "You've taken your first step into a larger world..." is way too strong.) :) ...It can be hard making the jump into longer work for the first time. Come back to it when you're ready and see what starts to pop out...

[neeeooon]

Hi :3 can i request reader having a fanfiction account about the bllk men and her fics are really famous and they find out and reader is hella embarrassed

(rin and kaiser and sae and anyone else u want:3)

omg i had an idea like this in my drafts so TY FOR REQUESTING 🩵

when they find your fan account

bf bllk x fem!reader. mainly crack n fluff. slight suggestive

itoshi rin

-> you’ve always liked writing and used to only create little stories for idols and celebrities you admired. when bltv took off, your sights shifted, and you kept your hidden online identity from your boyfriend for as long as possible

-> you’re in the middle of reading comments, giggling to yourself, when rin approaches with coffee and a confused grin. “what’s so funny?”

-> you instinctively move to hide your phone, causing his confusion to grow. when you realize how suspicious you look, you suck in a breath and show him the comments, praying he won’t realize they’re for you

-> unfortunately, you’re dumb (his words). “y/n, you used your full name in your bio. that’s dumb.” “i.. there are plenty of y/n’s in the world!” he isn’t listening anymore as he reads your most recent works, jaw dropping when the name that pops on top isn’t his

-> “you wrote about isagi?” “he was heavily requested! i had to give the fans what they want!” “you wound me. this is the deepest betrayal.” “you know, you’re much more dramatic in person than i give you credit for online.” “?!”

michael kaiser

-> you’re too immersed in your writing to hear your boyfriend approach, and kaiser‘s eyes drag across your screen for several moments before his scoff makes you jump out of your skin

-> “roses4kaiser?” he hums in curiosity, more amused by your entirely beet-red face than what’s on your phone screen. you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “i didn’t realize you had such a way with words, y/n.”

-> i am going to kms. “words? me? sorry, i have no clue what you’re—“ his smile is soft but so full of mischief that your lie dies on your lips. “um. i, uh… yeah, okay. you got me! i’m a terrible girlfriend.”

-> thankfully that gets him laughing. “for hiding your talent from me, maybe. scoot over, i wanna read what your fans think of me~” “you are such a narcissist..” “i’m not the one writing the fanfiction, love.”

itoshi sae

-> “y/n?” “yes?” “what is saeheartz?” you scramble off the couch over to your boyfriend, who is staring at your laptop, and slam it shut. “sorry, you left your screen open.” “it’s nothing! don’t even worry about it,” you tried to laugh but ended up coughing instead

-> but you can see his fingers moving to open the laptop again and scream. it startles him enough to look back at you with wide eyes. “why are you screaming?” “you’re trying to invade my privacy!” “i’m trying to do my taxes.” “… oh.”

-> you skillfully snatch the laptop from in front of him and close all your tabs. you log into his account and flip the device to face him once again. “there! all set.”

-> he hums a quick thanks and flashes you a brief smile before you catch the dark twinkle in his turquoise eyes. “when i finish, we can discuss all the things you write about doing to me, hm?” you think you might have passed out