#nudge techniques

[michellesanches]

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[thr-333]

hi 👋!!! I LOVE your Tmnt mm x 2012 crossover so far! Please continue it!! Your art is also so good! While I’m asking got any writing tips for fanfics?

Ahhh thank you! Actually posted the second chapter just now so I will be continuing. As for writing tips I’ve never been asked that, so this is gonna come out rambly and very much neurodivergent.

I’ll first establish I have aphantasia, meaning I don’t ‘picture’ things so much as I think in words(and in abstract concepts of movement). So when I write I don’t spend much time describing what things look like, I can’t picture it so why would I spend time explaining what it should look like? This means my writing is very dialogue heavy. It focuses on what character are saying and how they sound and what they do when they say it(because of how I think about movement)

So one of my best writing tips is when I get stuck or am slowing down with a scene I’ll start jotting down the dialogue. No actions in between, no they said this or that, no quotation marks they waste time, usually I won’t even note characters names and trust future me to know. Or trust I've written the charcters with strong enough individual voices that it's obvious at least to me. For example later in the fic is this scene:

We actually don't have a last name

Not until we had to go to school then we had to choose one

We didn’t really know what to pick so we settled on Stockman!

Stockman

Yep that’s our cousins last name and Baxter Stockman technically created us so that makes him our uncle-dad

I see, here Baxter Stockman is an associate of the shredder

… yeah we learnt that yesterday, but our Baxter stockman never did anything really bad!

Unless you count animal extermination as bad

Which we do

It’s still better than going with something like Smith

Writing it like this means the dialogue flows better. It also helps my brain out since I don’t have to constantly switch tracks meaning I can write faster. Also lets me move onto other scenes I have the itch to make. Often I won’t come back and fill in the gaps until I’m editing.

Another thing that helps me is using the fact fanfiction comes with prebuilt stories to work on top of. I like having an episode with premade plot points to build off of. My best example of this is another fic I wrote, The Bat Trap which was based on The Parent Trap(a movie I love). In it I had a bunch of one liners and situations from the movie that I wanted to include, so I would follow(and adapt) the plot to fit and follow. While in other places I could go off script so I wasn’t following it word by word. To this day it’s the only longform fic I’ve completed and that's entirely due to following a movie plot, so I had an endpoint I could work towards. Instead of an overeaching storyline I made myself with no end in sight.

And my best piece of advice! Give yourself a voice in your story. Especially if you’re doing something comedic. It’s all well and good to give your characters hilarious lines but ultimately only a fraction of your writing is going to be dialogue. Most of it is that connective tissue, what characters are thinking, where they are, what they’re doing. So think as the ‘narrator’ of these parts as a character equally capable of jokes. Such as my favourite technique the ‘smash cut’. My art for the first chapter is an example of that. 

“They will be fine”

“Mikey was not fine”

It’s a fun way to open a new perspective and I will use it at nauseum because it entertains me. Ultimately it’s fun! Have fun writing, undercut your serious scenes. You want to add something but it doesn't fit the tone? Screw that, write it anyway. It doesn't matter if people don’t like it, because you’re gonna spend a hell of a lot more time writing than they will reading. Eventually that becomes your writing style and people ask you for tips:P

[tonycries]

Jujutsu? Gnarly.

Synopsis. Control his jujutsu powers when he first puts it in? Impossible.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Kashimo x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, when it’s so good he loses control, ínnapropríate use of jujutsu, GOJO’S POWERS, rough s, matíng presses, Geto’s tentacIe curse, true form Sukuna, dp, cervíx kíssing, marathons, ratio technique, unlimited void, creampíes, cúmplay, chokíng, FÉRAL men, dúmbifícation, exhíbitíonism (Higuruma), pet names, swéaring.

A/N. KASHIMO MADE THE CUT YEAHHH-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - P*SSY KlLLER?!

“Please- ngh, Toji—” You can’t help but trill at the sloppy movements of Toji’s tongue, swipin’ and slurping it’s way carnally between your slick, dribbling folds. 

The slimy end of his muscle curves in just right past your entrance and you find yourself sobbing, gushing out the creamy remnants that Toji had pumped you oh-so-full with just mere minutes prior. And he’s parched. 

Smacking his scarred, puckered lips whilst they stick with his seed like a white gloss, watching you only grow wetter and he’s gasping—“Oh.”

Mossy eyes drooping, swollen length spent n’ still aching. 

Just about the only guttural noise he can make, the only thing he can even register before creeping two calloused hands underneath your boneless thighs. “A-again.” Toji pants out, hypnotized. Manhandling - barely even realizing the superhuman strength he’s using to pliably bend your knees up, up, up to your heaving chest.

“B-but Toji–” You’re nervously eying the poor, sagging bedframe. “You broke the bed-”

“And?”

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s stretching out your walls to the extreme with his red, hard cock, how many times he’ll be eagerly eating your dripping pussy out with all his cum - Toji Fushiguro will always want more. 

Will always feel the crowned tips of his digits twitching with need already, digging a few blossoming bruises along your cute inner thighs. Letting out a sultry breath of ‘fuck’ before in a split-second you’re reeling with the whiplash of being shoved down onto your hardwood floors.  

Off the bed, at his mercy. 

With Toji’s big, beefy biceps cushioning the impact to your body, he’s pinning your squirming hips down with his v-line and snarling- “Here-” The curvaceous tip of his shaft so scorching hot and wet where he’s rubbin’ straight down your slit in impatient gyrations, “Again. Right here.”

“O-on the hngh- floor–?”

“Bed’s broken, doll.” All the explanation that Toji’s granting you with, hovering so tall and proud between your legs. 

If he needed only half of his heavenly restriction to shatter your mahogany bed, then he didn’t even need a fraction of that to nudge your jittery legs apart. Coating your outer pussy with an opaque glaze of pre, Toji spanks the bulbous underside of his cockhead and grins at the puddle he’s smearing down your thighs. 

And just that first, squelching smooch from the top of his strawberry shaft to your teary orifice makes the hulking man shiver. Makes him pant. 

Makes him slouch until you were caged by his meaty chest, draaaagging his caramel-salted lips across your own, “But I’m not.”

And then he’s easing in. 

“Sh-shit.” Your numbing legs can’t even thrash, can’t even move with the full weight of him pressing into you. The stretch of his utterly fat, bulging cock was so much that your spine’s pushing you up against his every ridged ab, gripping onto Toji’s muscular back for dear life. 

Easing and easing- more like rummaging. Rough, forceful ruts of his bulging crown that’s swabbing right ‘round your hole. He’s so thick that even the softest, sweetest clench makes Toji throw his perspired head back and hiss with sensitivity. 

SLAM!

“Oh.” The surface beneath you thunders dangerously with the vibrato of his left hand striking down on the floor. Grunting, “Don’t tap out-”

Roaming one of his thick thumbs between your legs, Toji’s further prying apart your sappy folds with a drawn-out sluuuurp to stretch your cunt. Making sure you gulp down each single, barreling inch. “Don’t run.”

And that groaned warning was targeted at the way your jittery legs had started to plant down on the floor and push.

Unsure of whether to run or swerve your hips back for more, more, more. 

You’re sobbing, the prettiest hitch in your voice that makes his heavy cock jolt. Feeling a fresh few dewdrops of precum sprinkle all the way near your throat. “It’s just s-shooo big, Tooooji–”

Toji’s hooded eyes dilate until he’s looking feral, such a vulgar grin plastering across his lips once he’s giving you a wild buck at your cries. “Ohhhh– come- hah! come back here, mama.” 

Calloused, mean fingertips curl over your gulping throat to haaaul you all the way back down the floor. Swatting your ass against the messily tufted darkness of his happy trail, veins popping up down his arms. He looked so unfairly hot with pearls of sweat twinkling down his temple, greedy gaze half-hidden through his bangs. “No runnin’.”

You couldn’t run away even if you tried. 

He had you pushed into the sloppiest mating press, scooped up in his arms until all you could feel was his bullying, fattened cock. 

“Mmm— hngh! Toji, you’re in so d-deep!” And Toji’s giving a thorough push that has his puckered pink tip lodging all the way into your cervix, the texture of his zig-zagging veins making your knees weak. “S-so full.”

“Riiiight? Again- again.”

And it wasn’t just his full cock splitting your insides, you’re hiccuping after each syrupy splosh of his cum pooled within you. Slick strands of seed leaking out of your slit and gluing your thighs together like adhesive-

“Need it all inside.” Or, at least, it would’ve if it wasn’t for the way that Toji’s hand lifts briefly off of your throat to smear over that overspilling mess. Drenching the pads of his fingers with a frothing of white he shovels between your gasping maw– “Again. Need to…”

Dazed. He trails off, glassy green eyes drifting down to concentrate on your tummy - your womb. Like he could see something you didn’t.

Moaning, Toji’s rugged cadence shifts like lightning to precisely strike your quivering g-spot. Looking down at you with the most lecherous pussydrunken grin whilst you tremble, “-breed you, doll.”

Ah- there. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- think you already hngh- have–!” You’re whining, flinching at the sudden sizzling somewhere above your head. 

“Not enough.”

And it’s only then that you realize that Toji’s simply hoisted his other hand off of the wooden ground to reveal a burning handprint. A crater. “Heh- broke the ngh- floor, too.”

That very same powerful palm clinging on instantly to the side of your hips once Toji curves your gyratin’ tempo to directly match his. Lifting you nearly into midair, he’s using you like some cute, glorified doll to plant hit after hit on your bruising g-spot. 

Over n’ over, no one’s ever treated your pussy like this before - like his own personal dartboard, and he was hitting every bullseye. “Fuck- i-it’s so much–”

Slide-slide-sliiiiding the ridge of his mushroomy tip down that splotchy area you loved so much, “Not enough-” And you’re feeling a shockwave run down your spine at the way big, bad Toji Fushiguro sounded on the verge of tears. Breath hitched, tone octaves higher. “More need- more.”

“P-please-” You’re strangling out the same set of syllables again and again into his scorched red ear, tangling your fingers across the flexing knots of his deltoids-

And Toji, oh- Toji’s letting goosebumps line the middle of his broad back at the touch. Immediately snatching your hands with his sap-soaked one, “Like haaa- feelin’ me, huh?” 

You could feel the power radiating underneath, could feel his rapid, rabbity heartbeat as he gropes your hands all over him. “F-feel me then. This body.” Punctuated with thrust by thrust, your eyes roll backwards as you feel his spherical circumference bruise deep against your womb. “This cock.”

From every strong tendon, to his tensed ladder-like abs, to the valley of his shuddering pecs— your mouth waters at the feeling of his muscles. 

Even more so when he lazily wraps your fingers around his throat- “Choke me, mama.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7:3 Fuck-nique

“R-rough…?”

And it takes everything in Nanami Kento’s strong, battle-worn body to keep his voice steady for you, feeling the raw swipe of his blushing tip past your pussylips and already hissing. 

Parched Adam’s apple bobbing with a few strangled coughs, “My wife wants it–” His half-lidded gaze locks on your face, your spit-glossed mouth already dropping into a pretty, cockdrunken ‘oh’ as you nod over your shoulder. “-rough.”

In lewd response, your soppy cunt only squelches out a few dollops of glazing slick. Slipping down the sides of Nanami’s swollen shaft and making his puffy veins glisten in the dim lighting, “You’re probably stressed after that hah- jujutsu mission today, Ken–” Your fingers start caressing a soft massage into his tense forearms, “You can take it out on- ngh…me.”

Oh.

If he hadn’t lost his sanity before then he sure has now. 

And Nanami’s thick, ravenous fingertips brush your thighs and twitch with primal strength. It only takes a split second - barely even a nanosecond - for him to pick your jittery limbs up and push push push down.

To fold you into the world’s meanest doggy style while you whine. “My pretty wife wants it rough…”

The only thing sweeter than his cooing, deep tone was the saccharine kiss he’s planting down on your entrance with his cherry-red tip. “-then you’re gonna get it-” The single nicest thing Nanami gifts before mercilessly pinning your hips down with his weight and siiiiinking in with a primal noise. “-rough, my love.”

“Fuck-” Your eyes roll back at the sudden stretch, the pryin’ intrusion of his barreling girth sticking against your walls like a second skin. Stretching n’ stretching. “Oh my– mmm, Kento!”

Nanami swears he’s trying to hold back, he swears he’s trying to keep himself under control when he first puts it in.

But the tiniest glide of his sensitive pink slit across your glossy insides and he’s gnawing down on the inside of his cheek, letting out a sharp gasp. “Oh.” Before shoving your arched spine down and rutting-

“Oh fuck-” You’re yelping, feeling the bullying push of his crowned tip brush near your fucking lungs. His bulging shaft swabbing every tiny crevice to mush, “You’re in so- you’re- hck! Kentoooo–!”

And the only thing you can say is Nanami’s damn name.

The only thing stringing together in the heaping mess of what used to be your brain as he reaches over with his towering frame. Thighs against shaky thighs, fat cock against your sloped pussy. 

Pushing and pushing with a few vulgar strokes until you hear faint pops! of your joints. Using his inhuman strength, your husband’s cradling your hips- the only thing holding you up whilst he hauls over one of his meaty thighs n’ presses down on your lower spine with his knee. 

Bending you, stretching you.

“Shit- shit, m’sorry, darling.” Puffs out his sweltering gust of a gasp against the back of your neck, Nanami’s grip on you bruising while he tries to steady himself. His sanity. 

You’re so soft n’ warm- it feels like heaven, and he’s trying to ease his bulbous tip back for your pussy to get used to. Spraying out a fountain of pre as he pulls out– and then gyrates down a slow, sensual thrust all the way from his reddened mushroom tip down to about halfway, sweetly. “Hate to knock you around- fuck. I can’t have you hurt, my love. Forget going rough, relax f’me and I’ll- I’ll…”

But you don’t relax.

You do the exact opposite - you clench.

And oh- oh, Nanami’s shattered. 

He can’t even think, can’t even remember to breathe before there’s a sudden surge of tightness in the heady air. Your irises blinking at the millisecond of flashing black and red light- before disappearing all the way into the depths of your skull once Nanami twitches. 

Like a madman, he’s bashing your poor g-spot dead-on - and the sheer force of it is so strong that you’re feeling your toes curl, vision blurring. 

His plump, puckered tip wedges right into that sweet spot in your walls, hard enough that it leaves your cunt stinging with a bruise the size of his fat circumference. Once. And then again, in a rough, ragged drill of his toned hips. 

A bullseye- thrice. A hatrick. 

“Oh- right- there- mmm–” You don’t even need to say it, because Nanami’s striking three direct hits each second, his cadence sloppy. Fast. Hard. 

“Look at thaaaat–” Croons out a scratchy bass from above, and it takes you a few blinks of your wet lashes to realize that the one talking was your husband. He’s never sounded this raspy, this ruined. “-you’ve got me a-all worked up n’ now…”

Comically, your pupils are swirlin’ in circles inside of your eyes with each whack! whack! whack! 

Spittle dangling out like he’d just opened a floodgate the moment there’s another flash, and then a sizzling drag of his split-ended crown weepily pressing on your g-spot, precisely.

Your bleary gaze adjusts to the flickering bedroom lights as Nanami carries out his sultry pace, gasping. “W-wait did you just- fuck!” And again, the air pressurizes against your skin as he’s drilling into you animalistically. Filthy half-thrusts that leave your g-spot aching, your ass scratched with his tawny happy trail. “Kento, did you just use- ngh- black flash?”

“Hmmm–?”

Mewling, “Thrice?”

“Oh.” He’s so damn pussydrunk he didn’t even realize, didn’t even register the cursed energy zapping from the ends of his fingers and down to your restless body. 

Dazed, Nanami experimentally creeps down his fingertips to give your perky clit a squeeze– and watches in awe once you’re writhing n’ singing out the cutest whines at the vibrations of jujutsu. 

Thrice, huh? Without even knowing - just using his powers to reach your most favorite spot like he knew you wanted. 

Your husband pushes up the drooping metal frames of his glasses and almost wishes he didn’t- the sultry sight of your pussy too much for him. All bulging and quivering to oh-so-desperately take his entire barreling size, he can’t help but give you a rewarding little smooch of his curvaceous cockhead. 

Letting the slick syrup of his pre dribble allll out of your folds at the sheer volume, “B-black flash…so I did, my love.” That ratio technique coming in way too fucking handy to measure out where your g-spot was, Nanami lays his knee down deeper at the base of your back n’ lets your boneless body sag. “And she liked it.”

Deep down into the mattress he was fucking you into, deep down into where he was letting his powers spark with another flash.

“Oh- I’m–” Your mouth gapes haplessly back n’ forth, no sound dragging out because Nanami’s pounding every ounce of breath from your lungs with a single more thrash into your tenderest area.

A fourth black flash - his record. 

The black and red light dotting behind your eyelids once his strawberry divot comes hammering against your g-spot and pushing - a slip n’ slide that drags his ridged, veiny shaft down your walls and hitting your spongy cervix with a thwack! 

Reeling you straight over the edge before you’ve even realized what’s happening.

Eyes clenched, body shiver, maw hanging open upon the torrents of spittle- You’re throwing your head back and sobbing in carnal bliss as Nanami shifts his body closer. 

Jujutsu crackling out of him in oodles, it twitches out of his touch and leaves your swollen lips stinging once Nanami cranes over to lap away your goblets of drool with his tongue. 

“F-four.” He grumbles, low. Almost in disbelief. Almost gone. Letting the slimy curve of his tip probe thoroughly into your exact bundle of nerves, “Let’s break my record, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Tentacular.

“Keh– so damn messy.” Geto whispers, feeling the soggy wetness of your cunt open ‘round his bulbous tip. That cherry pink curve piercing its way just past your clamping entrance, “This is what you wanted- right, gorgeous? This…”

And he doesn’t finish the tail end of his sentence - he doesn’t have to.

Because you’re feeling it, instead. That sudden, slimy tendril slipping over your slick-glossed inner thighs. Kissing just the puffy outer edge of your pussy as Geto sinks in-

“Oh- oh!” You’re gurgling back a moan at the reddish coil of your boyfriend’s tentacle curse, one he’d summoned hours ago and was teasing you with ever since. 

Letting the pointed tip of one tendril slip n’ slide playfully down your stuffed slit as he stays torturously still, edging you with flicks of pleasure that have you keening. Squirming endlessly, “Puh-please! Wan’ more- Suguru, more.”

“Ah ah, gorgeous–” And fuck- Geto Suguru has the audacity to bring the biggest, fattest one of the eight cursed tentacle meanly spanking down on your drivelling slope. Letting a wet thwack! sing out into the heady air while you sob out– “You can’t be heh- whining like that. Use your big girl words.”

“But- but-”

But you couldn’t - not when Geto was prying you open like this. 

Not only was his hard, reddened cock massively big, letting his plump girth roam around your glazed insides- he’d managed to slip in one of those cloyingly sticky tentacles, too.

Just the first few inches of its curly tress, spreadin’ your folds apart until Geto could let his girthy cock sink allll the way in. His size was just so damn staggering that you’re finding your head dizzy, the sheer stretch having you tumbling your sweaty scalp back into the futon-

“Manners manners.”

For only a split-second, before he’s crawling himself forwards, two of those dextrous tentacles following you to lift your head up. “Look at me when I ngh- put it in.” Hazed amethyst peripheries locked on you, “And tell me- haaaa- tell me what you want.”

Mewling each time his rock-hard length and a singular tendril bully inside to push the button of your g-spot. Rubbing it sensually, crowning it with a sleek frosting of buttery pre, “I— hck! Sugu, I– mmm, right there.”

“Awww, my poor girl can’t even speak.” Geto’s cooing down at you, tone ragged. It’s not like he was doing any better- fuck, he really wasn’t.

He was just shivering at the warm gushing of your wet cunt, so soft and blissful that he can’t even put it in at first without losing control of his powers. 

The tentacle curse was unplanned. You and that sweet pussy liking it was even more unplanned. 

And Geto lets his meaty thighs widen with an out-of-control pound that leaves your inner-thighs stinging, he’s holding back his hitched breath. Blinking away the lusty haze in his vision, swabbing your orifice with yet another rut after rut like a madman.

“Heh– and yer legs are s-sooo weak.” 

You’re flinching once two more tentacles coil in rings around both of your jittery legs and leave them hanging over Geto’s broad shoulders, one kissin’ your ankles in place to keep them tightly held. 

Lips gluing together with saccharine sweet spit, “Sh-shit you’re even deeper now.”

Groaning, “All you’re doing is ngh- drooling. How rude.” His raven lashes come fluttering down at the squelch! your slick cunt lets off once he skims a pale thumb down your middle. Flooding even there. 

Leaving your teary slit open allll for him to admire while he fucks you like he’s angry. Like he’s trying to make you slobber out even more. “C’mon- hah.” Geto’s big, buff body shudders with something visceral at the bolt of cursed energy running down his spine, “C’mon, let’s show her some of our…ngh- manners.”

And it takes you one-two-three thrashes of Geto’s scorching hot tip entering your hole, impaling your pussy n’ hitting right against your g-spot for you to realize that he wasn’t talking to you. 

Not at all. 

He was talking to the greedy coils of tentacles wrapping further n’ further around your body like you were the cutest lil’ gift. Two toying over the nubs of your nipples with their sultry suction, two more tying your ankles together over Geto’s shoulders. 

And, hell, Geto was even using one to curl around your pretty throat and help drag you past every recoil of his whacking hips. Just the slightest parting from your gummy cervix was way too much for him to handle, he needed you there to take it all - and he needed it now. Always. 

But your sobbing cunt? That was all for him- “Dirty giiiirl—” for now, that is. The softened end of one tendril sneaks past your saturated pussylips and squeezes- bullies a singular inch through your entrance. “You want me or that? Tell me- tell me.”

“I- ngh- I want.” The only thing you can do is blubber stupidly as that fat muscle slithers in deep- scouring your dewy wet walls easily for your sweetest spots. Each one.

Pinching and rubbing your pulsating clit, letting his cock dig into your tenderest depths.

So much that you’re almost starting to crawl away—

“Where’re we goin’, gorgeous?” Geto snickers, an innocent blush spreading all over his handsome face at the adorable sight of you being dragged back down by his tentacles when you start to run. 

He’s fucking you - with both. Hard, rough. And after bashing his ruby red tip against your g-spot, Geto’s heading straight for it again with his cursed technique. 

Choking, hauling, Geto pushes one in between your spit-slippery lips and makes you keen. “Theeeere we go. Open that mouth-” Whining, you’re letting off the most primal splat! of puddled saliva as he grins. Wrenching your unfastened jaw open when you could only babble, “What cute hngh- noises. Speak f’me now, smart girl. My biiig fucking cock, or…”

Though, you felt anything but with the fuzzy feeling of your cockdrunk brain right now. Stupidly letting your maw sag to the side as he fills you up doubly, “Both-”

Geto leans in mockingly close, one of his palms cupping his ear to listen for your sweet sounds. Drawling, “What’s thaaat?”

“B-both, Suguru–!”

Oh- both.

And for just a second you think that Geto has stilled - you think that he’s stopped fucking breathing. Just a low, strangled few pants wrenching from the back of his throat-

Before he snaps his hips and strikes you with an ambushing whack of his bulging crown, followed up by the sluuurping snake of one of his tentacles pushing and pushing. Stretching your pussylips so wiiide with the circumference that you swear you see cartoonish stars floating above his head.

Only to realize that it’s cursed energy, something oh-so-carnal as Geto flicks the slick tip of his tendril in tempo with his sloppy dick. Drilling you double, drilling you until you see double. 

“And now…” Geto coaxes you into a carnal embrace, sweetly pecking the top of your perspiration-covered head before he’s extending even longer. The thick veins decorating all over his shaft pressing into your sides, his cursed technique throbbing- just waiting. 

Waiting for that perfect moment to grow even bigger inside of you. And the best bit was he wasn’t even fully in control anymore - too pussydrunk to, just by feeling you.

Geto grins at that soft gasping ‘oh!’ you let out once you realize, leaning down to darkly murmur. “Let’s count how many hah- inches before I…get even bigger, gorgeous.”

♡ KASHIMO HAJIME - ROSE (TOY)

Kashimo didn’t think he’d be here - four hundred years in the modern day and held hostage by your sweet, sweet pussy.

Fuck- he feels himself claw a powerful hand down the side of your smoothly gyrating hips, gliding your swollen pussy further down his cock and he’s bucking-

Greedy. Desperate. 

His other hand trembles with the weight of your softly buzzing rose toy, lightning sparking between his fingers to make it vrrrrr louder between your legs. Electrified. 

This was dangerous. He’s already feeling the cursed energy rush, already making up his mind to gently jostle you off for the greater good- but instead, he’s swiping his cherry-red tip between your folds and pushing. 

“Fuck- fuck.” Words departing in seething hot pants, Kashimo can’t help but grit his teeth and reel his slender hips back. Only for the clamping wetness of your walls to make him dizzy, “You seriously feel like this?” Something high-pitched, in disbelief. “S’the hah! sweetest lil’ cunt in the world, blossom.”

“Ngh- nghhh fuck! Hajime…” You’re cutely mewling out, the feeling of his thick, bulging cock opening up your snug walls was so addictive. And that burning stretch already had your poor knees weakening along with your sultry bounces. 

Pap after pap after pap- Kashimo counts each slam of your sexily restless ass cheeks against his pelvis. 

Feeling his skin already start to redden, he’s grinning. Drinking up everything sloppy slurp ringing from below whenever he’s striking your dewy orifices, “Shhh sh sh, little one.” Boring down at you with half-lidded azure eyes so intense, “Let me hear- this fucking- pussy.”

And it’s the first time he’s feeling something like this, the first time he’s mazing his weepy cocktip to glue against the surface of your cervix and feel you squeeze. 

“Fuh-fuck!” He bucks, he pants. Eyes flickering with lightning-

And Kashimo doesn’t know what’s louder - the crack of your nearby bedroom lamp shattering into a zillion pieces, or the way your rose toy notches up until its vibrations are damn near deafening. 

His power out of control - all leveraged against you and that cute cunt. 

Whimpering, you back arches oh-so-sinfully once he’s dragging the lecherously suctioning tip just across your clit. Teasing you with the soft suckling of your toy, “H-how hck! I thought the battery would be ngh- dead by now.”

“Oh, it is—” He’s crooning from below you, beryl strands of his bangs plastering to his sweaty forehead as he looks up at you. Kashimo’s grin is just so satisfied once he toys with your perky clit until you’re whining n’ sniffling, “Such cute lil’ things you hah- have these days…”

And you’re watching on in confusion when Kashimo keeps giving your teary pussy one kiss from your vibrating rose toy. Another. And another, a sleazy grin spreading all over his face at the way it makes your dewy cervix twitch with each clench. 

Again n’ again.

“S’too bad that-” Before suddenly wrenching that hot pink toy away across your dampened sheets- immediately out of battery without his cursed energy. Unneeded now. And giving your awaiting cunt a good spank of his electrically buzzing fingerpads, “-I can do it even better.”

He’s right- fuck, he’s more than right. 

In only a split-second, Kashimo has his probin’ cockhead buried deeply between your damp folds and his fingers pinching your swollen clit. The light jujutsu power on them making your head throw back with a moan– “O-ohhh fuck! Tha’s cheating, Hajime-”

“Shush- what did I ngh- say? Not you-” Purposefully, he’s rudely swatting your cunt more to let the sparks of lightning zap down your spine all the way from your drooling cunt. “Though, I do like when you heh- scream, blossom. But I wanna hear fuuuuck– her.”

His fingers were like living, moving vibrators - just making your sensitive slit quiver all over with your arousal. 

You’re so wet that it’s formulating a cute puddle where you were riding him, thighs twitching when you’re slipping and sliding all down his hungry cock. Your stuffed hole repeatedly letting out the sexiest wet squelches- 

“Oh? Oho? How chatty.” Kashimo snickers from between his clenched snarl, pearly whites spread in such a wiiide grin hearing your pussy this way. Nodding as if he was in conversation, “S’that sooo–” 

You’re flinching once his sultry eyes target your own, flattening his feet on the ground to look right into your stare as he mazes his crowned mushroom tip along your walls. Hitting your cervix and making sure to leave a slightly bruised crater for you to feel afterwards, “Guess what this- hah! naughty fuckin’ girl just asked me, little one?”

“Wh-what?” You yelp, voice cracking once he twists his thumb on top of your sensitive nub to draw a tiny lightning bolt. 

“She wanted me…” Kashimo drawls out, trailing off as the side of his veiny shaft slaps your sweetest spots. Rendering you speechless and shivering at the lightning bolted texture, “-to go even harder.”

And oh, you knew that look on the incarnation’s face.

You knew it- that wild, wide-eyed look of absolute fucking madness before he lurched his hips off of the overworked bedsprings. Making your maw dangle with a shrilling gasp when he’s milking his swollen, red cock on your warm cunt. 

Kashimo snickers, “Can- can you even imagine?” The prominent cuts of his v-line massaging up into your lower tummy, over n’ over punctuating each syllable. Each breath. “G-going harder.”

“O-oh, fuck–” You’re squirming restlessly at the way his fingers only seem to buzz even harder with lightning cursed energy. The way it was seeping out of him now, making your overhead lights flicker, making the air turn static.

“Well- I can only- listen to every fucking word she says.”

And maybe it’s the way that the flicks of his cursed energy jolt down your slit even needier, maybe it’s the way he’s roaming his knobbled thumb even further between them to draw a sweet, sweet heart. Plump, pink-colored tip giving your g-spot one of his countless mean hits- this time sending white-hot sparks skittering down your walls. Either sheer brute force or jujutsu - you don’t even know before you’re throwing your head back and cumming. 

Eyes blearing with so many tears, voice wobbly as you call out– “I-inside.” Gazing down at Kashimo’s slightly wide-eyed, shocked pupils. “Cum inside, Hajime.”

And in all his over four hundred years of living, this might be the first time his powers had ever been so out of control. 

Every single light in your house shatters, the power shuts, Kashimo’s long lashes streak with miniscule flickers of purple lightning as he finally finishes off. In the most unsteady, heavy way.

“Oh shit- shit shit shit- this s’all your fault.” He’s filling you up with so many weighty ropes of cum, letting the lecherous knots slick down your pussy channel and stick to your cervix like an adhesive. “All your fault all your- ngh!” 

Swivellin’ over one of his slender fingertips where your hole was slobbering out in a milky sap, you yelp after each mindless rut of his body. Washboard abs massaging your front, thwacking each driveling ounce leaking out of him. 

“D-don’t even think I can cum anymore.” He trails off, finally realizing the darkness in the room. The way he’d just left every ward in Tokyo without electricity. 

Kashimo’s sapphire eyes glow as he pummels his sticky wads of seed deeper, buzzing fingers still twitching. Lips curling into a smile the more he toys, the more he makes a mess. Thrusting, “But that’s how losers think.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Blush blush blush

Choso was so good for you like this- he was so gone. 

Just the first, most innocent peck of his glittery wet cocktip swipin’ down your slit and he’d found himself cumming. Pretty eyes clenched tight, face burning, rosy lips sagging with awe—

“I’m ngh- s-sorry, baby–” He’s babbling, the cutest wobble shivering his wet-sheened lips. With one set of his slender fingers wrapped ‘round his fat hilt, he’s pushing to let the raw entrance of your cunt swallow up his creamy wads ravenously.

Choso tumbles his head back and moans at the sinful sight, his own dry Adam’s apple bobbing with an overeager swallow. “Sorry- made such a mess.” Stirring the entrance of your drenched pussy with the crowned tip of his cockhead, “Gonna clean it all up- d-don’t you worry about a thing, baby.”

You’re cooing, running your dominant hand through his sweat-polished locks. “Aww– s’okay, Cho. It’s your hah- first time, after all. We can stop now if you-”

“No.”

And that wasn’t just a plea - it was a beg.

Before you know it, Choso’s pulling your boneless legs over his shoulders. And he’s so strong, dazed eyes boring into yours whilst he effortlessly folds you in half into a mating press that had your ass cheeks lifting off the bed.

Rippling deltoids pushing forwards, his twitching hand angrily pumping his red-hot hilt. “Nonono- no.” Choso whispers wetly, his heated breaths fanning your face. “I can do it again- ngh- watch me-”

“But, baby, if you can’t-”

“I will.” And you’ve never seen your sweet boyfriend sound so ragged, it’s as if his gentle baritone was holed with rasps and something primal. Choso’s dazed, mindlessly creeping over one of his other clammy hands to squeeeeze your cheeks rudely together and make you watch. “M’gonna get h-hard again for my baby. I will.”

And it’s only then that you’re seeing - properly seeing.

The way that Choso’s sexily slashing tattoos grow deeper over his nosebridge, the way his entire body flexes with cursed energy- oh.

He’s using his powers. And your eyes immediately snap to the way his right hand curls snugger over his bulky base and buzzes with blood manipulation technique. 

Choso’s bulbous, red tip was so hard with every ounce of blood rushing between his legs that it’s twitching weepily. Slobbering ribbons of pre frothing over your pussylips and making your cunt gleam with sap. 

“S-see?” He utters out, guttural. Broad pecs glittering with beads of sweat after every feverish heave, he was working himself overtime. Working himself for you. Spank goes the way that he’s swatting your slit with his veiny shaft, “You want it like this? Haaaah- got m’self all ngh- needy for you again.”

Your hips buck up impatiently, making Choso’s bawling divot bump directly against your sloppy hole and watching him whimper. “Cho– want it inside.” Mouth watering, he was just so hot. “Every inch, promise?”

“P-promise.” Oh, Choso would kneel at your feet and vow an oath if you showed even the slightest inkling that you wanted him to. 

And his mouth saps over with a fresh bout of drool at the feeling of your dampened cunt letting him in, pushing past your dewy wet folds to give your walls a carnal scrape of his weepy orifice. 

“Promise- promise, oh- I promise-” He’s babbling away, chestnut eyes glazing over with tears of primal bliss as he’s rocking his hips into yours. The slimy abrasions of his veins leaving your back arching- Choso wasn’t even fully finished with using his blood manipulation, yet. 

Not even fully done- and yet, he’s just so addicted. Just so greedy with the notion of pounding your pretty pussy like it deserved. Still fisting the sensitive base of his cock, “Gonna m-make myself real hard. Gonna make you feel hngh- reeeeal good with my fucking cock, baby.”

“Cho- oh- fuck!” You’re mewling, your own salty tears hitting your lips at the sheer stretch. “Y-you’re so big.”

And really, Choso was just so big that his big, bulbous cockhead was pushing into your lungs. Making you feel every inch of his prolonged length inside your hidden nooks n’ crannies - and that lil’ power of his was only making him bigger. 

Harder. 

Oh-so-big that you were almost struggling to fit all of him-

Whining, “No- nonono it’ll fit, baby- promise it’ll fit.” 

Fuck- had you said all that out loud? Choso’s hooded gaze was frenzied with a low look of panic, the tough lines of his hipbones bashing your inner thighs with his fervor. His ruts. 

Gulping, “I need it to fit.” And yet, he was bulging and bulging so long and wide inside of you that every motion forwards made you shrill out. Blood manipulation going out of control, flaring his soaked slit up until he’s molding your soft walls to his each precise measurement. “Want it- need it a-aaaaaall the way up…”

Your mouth parches like the fucking Sahara as you watch Choso snakingly guide his free hand along your middle. Drawing a line straight up from the very top of your clit- up, up, up past your womb. Your tits, your collarbones, until he’s levelling his touch over the beginning of your throat. “-here.”

Chuckling to himself - oh, he was going to make that a reality.

And the sudden burst of cursed energy was telling you the same thing, “B-but you’re only getting even mmm– bigger, baby.”

“And you’re only getting s-soooo much fucking wetter.” 

Pushing and pushing. He was fucking you as if he would pass out - as if he would die - if he wasn’t all shoveled all the way between your plump, puckered pussylips. 

Choso’s touch was sizzling with power by now, every area of contact with your skin rubbing your flesh all raw and lewd. He didn’t even have to furiously jerk off his long shaft anymore, so engorged with lust that it almost hurt. 

Out of control.

But it hurt him more to not be all the way inside of you- he puffs out. “T-take a deep breath, baby–”

Still reeling from that probin’ girth of his, your tit heaving tantalizingly as you gasp. “I-it’s fitting, Cho-”

“It’s fitting-” He’s echoing in utter disbelief, the glittery flaps of his mouth sagging into a perfect oh! when he’s straining to hear that squelch-squelch-squelch of each bloated inch being bullied inside of you. Growing even bigger with delight- and his lecherous cursed energy, Choso lets out a shocked ‘fuck’ once his rounded ballsack spanks your cunt with a thwack!

Struggling to clamp your glossy walls around his thick circumference, the tightness makes him close his teary eyes with a whimper. Still growing bigger- “Baby- m’I getting ngh- pregnant tonight or are you?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - King of Doubles

“Fuck- fuck.” Sukuna shutters his devilish crimson eyes in an attempt to veer off that embarrassing set of heart-eyes taking over his gaze. 

Hell, he even shakes his head- he even grits his sharpened canines every time he’s hitting the roof of your pussy with every deep plunge. But it still didn’t work, and he’s feeling his mask of cursed energy start cracking, already reaching out and radiating off of him in waves. 

Rovering each globular end of his shaft along your tenderest, mushiest spots, he groans. “This is all your fault- and yours.”

“Wh-whose?” You’re blabbing out stupidly, taking a few seconds to actually follow the King’s line of sight down to where your cunt was greedily trying to gulp him up. Fuck- you’re realizing with a jolt, he was talking to your pussy. 

The first time you’re actually letting him lodge both massive, dual lengths inside and it’s driving you wild. Your legs thrash with each sunken inch, needing more– “Oh- mmm– s’too much, Kuna.”

“Too much- too much?” Sukuna mocks, octaves higher in a derisive tone that really doesn’t match yours. Breathes stuttered, tone thick. “I’ll show you too much, fucking brat.”

He was on the verge of losing it. 

And all it takes is a singular bat of your eyes - and suddenly you’re no longer sprawled out all prettily on Sukuna’s royal silk sheets. You’re being lifted cleanly into midair- legs dangling, gravity drooping, clinging onto his seven-foot frame and at his completely n’ utter mercy.

Two of his clawed hands creep downwards to grope a good handful of your ass cheeks, grinning as you gasp at the change in positions. “Look what yer doing- do you even hah- realize?”

He’s holding you up like it’s nothing, letting your cute human hands scrape all down his muscular back. Shit, those barely even feel like kitten scratches to him. 

“Ngh- o-oh my god, mm– s-so big, Kuna. Feel you so deep-”

“That’s it, easy there-” Sukuna feels the second cursed mouth smeared across his abs drool at the sopping wet squeeeelch your cunt lets off once he’s sinking even deeper. “Filthy fuckin’ pussy- sucking up both.” Letting gravity do its lecherous thing while he’s holding you up without a care in the world- acting as if he wasn’t absolutely shattering at the feeling of you taking both his bulging twin cocks for the first time. “Eeeeeeasy there, girl- s-stay still and take it.”

Holy shit, did you just make Ryomen Sukuna stutter?

Your head snaps up in shock, looking at him with the prettiest teary gaze. “D-did you just-”

“Shut up.” Gasping, fuck- he couldn’t lose face like this. And before you know it, the King’s pushin’ your gaping maw towards his cushy, shuddering pecs. 

Letting your mouth slobber a sloppy piling sheen of saliva, two of Sukuna’s arms nestle safely underneath your legs and push you up higher. Rummaging your pussy with a few vulgar strikes that have your pupils circlin’ your eyes-

Determined to fuck you dumb. 

“Shut up and take it a-all up to here now.”  Your throat bobs with a swallow once the pointed curve of one of his claws draws a horizontal line halfway across your tummy, nearer to your throat than not. “Otherwise your king will be hah- displeased, little human.”

“W-wan’ it all, Kuna–” You’re whining, the doughy heels of your feet latching around his broad waist. He was just so monstrously massive that you’re straining to even cling on, crawling up to caress his neck. “I want both- ngh!”

And it wasn’t just his aching, swabbing girths that were rummaging your insides uncontrollably- with just the slightest reach to the top of his frame, Sukuna’s second mouth is slithering its slimy tongue tip between your inner thighs. 

Making sure you feel the rough texture of his tastebuds when he’s swiping it between your teary pussylips and lapping up every inch of you from the outside. 

“Shit-” He’s moaning out over the sweaty crown of your head, the arched length of his spine shivering with zaps of electricity. Narrowing his gaze downwards, “Wh-who told you to…”

And he can’t even finish his damn sentence. 

Not when you’re rocking your hips back into the dampened gape of his cursed maw, letting Sukuna’s split-ended tongue toy the tiniest lecherous circles over the buttony nub of your clit. Spanking– he swears, “Nghh- and who told you to-” 

He couldn’t even control his damn second mouth anymore.

You taste so damn sweet that he can’t help but grow bigger, stretching your slippery walls out to the maximum. 

Panting, slouching, ears popping with the pressure of cursed technique so strong that the King of Curses himself is struggling to steady the tremble in his meaty thighs. “Keep those h-hands to yerself, brat, unless you nghhh- want me to-”

You gasp- Sukuna wasn’t just inflating from the protruding end of his double shafts, he was growing taller. More muscular. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his jujutsu energy let his true form rip through even more. No longer toning himself down for you, he’s struggling to fight against the powers making him well over eight feet, oh-so-large. 

“Y-you have…” You’re muttering, eyes widening as you trace your fingers over the sharp, pointed ends of the horns that’d just grown from his skull. 

Horns. He had horns now. 

More monster than man.

And Sukuna shivers just as soon as your doughy fingerpads scrape near the base, just as sensitive as if you were tickling his aching cocks. “O-ohhh– you’re ruining me, girl.” Peripherals darkened, trying to reel himself back in. Trying to wield his cursed energy. “You don’t know what you’re haaah- up against. You don’t know if you can even take it.”

Almost pleading- and yet, you’d never step down from that. 

It turns out that his horns were where Sukuna was the most intimately sensitive, “But I wan’ that, Kuna—” You’re whining, lower lip jutting with a pout as you grab onto both those long tusking projections. 

“O-oh.”

Using it - using him to roll your hips back in swivelling gyrations, bludgeoning the spheroid circumference straight into the gooey depths of your pussy. Slamming n’ slamming the thrashing fringe of his tip into your g-spot. 

Growling, “You asked for ngh- this, spoiled brat.” He couldn’t shift back even if he tried, Sukuna throws his head back with a shiver as his frame chisels further. 

Now damn nearing nine feet, he’s pushing his deeply barreling lengths into you until your cunts painting the tattoos on his hilts all translucent. “So you’re gonna- fuuuck- take it.”

Sukuna’s second mouth laps up the glittery sploshes of your arousal as you whine, and you can’t help but notice that his canines had grown so sharp. He was so much bigger, stronger, cursed energy stifling you to him until his fat, veiny cock was all you could think about. 

“And then-” 

“Th-then?”

So utterly dumb with his vicious pace, he’s planting a striking bash dug into the spongy wetness of your cervix that finally - finally - bottoms him out. Gasping, your eyes flap confusedly open at the feeling of something hot…and swollen kissin’ the base of your ass cheeks. 

What was…oh, fuck.

“Then…” Grinning toothily, Sukuna watches on as you’re swervin’ your cunt back to feel more more more of his aching knot. A knot— all to plug you up from the inside, fat n’ throbbing. He has to slouch nearly his entire body to whisper in your ear, “-you’re gonna squirt on my knots as thanks, spoiled lil’ human.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “Next.”

Gojo’s blindfold dangles haphazardly off of your clammy neck as you instantly gape- his rasping baritone sending shivers where it hits the top of your arched back. 

Scorching a light breeze down your spine where goosebumps pebble, the strongest lays one hand on the right of your ass cheek and pulls out with a squeeelch! That lewd noise making him twitch, making him gasp–

“Oh…” He’s grumbling out, plump n’ pink mouth sagging into a gaping oh! at the heaps of creamy white cum that dribble from between your pussylips. 

It’s making such a mess down his milky upper thighs, a syrupy ringed frothing falling from between your stuffed, driveling cunt. “Next.” Rounded tips of his fingers pushing and pushing it all back in where it belonged. Breath hitching, “Next.”

Fuck- you don’t know where it even began. 

One second your husband was off on one of his usual missions, and the next he’s teleporting back and kneeling at your feet to fuck your sweet, sweet pussy. Mouth already watered because of the sheer saccharine scent— “Fuck me.” 

Though, that was hours upon hours - rounds upon rounds ago.

He’d begged, and right now he was groaning at the plop! of wetness ringing out from your entrance. A free hand curling just around your gasping throat-

“Look.” Gojo utters, something primal seeping into his tone as he sinks in. “Look.”

He doesn’t even need to tug on your sweaty crown with tendrils of his cursed energy, Gojo’s choking your tender airway upwards. Making your fluttering, lust-filled eyes stare right into the mirror propped up at the end of your bed. 

And oh- oh.

The sight that greets you makes your heart race. 

Gojo Satoru - but not like you’ve ever known him.

This was the strongest that curses and sorcerers alike feared- half-opened eyes aglow, skin skittering with pale blue lightning, he looked like he’d just crawled from hell just to drag you down with him. And he was ravenous. 

The crescent nailmarks curve deeper into your skin, Gojo leaning his own smoky throat closer. “I want you to look at me while I breed you, sweetheart.”

“B-but Toru–” You’re whining, your teary pupils roaming ‘round the surface of the mirror. Catching on the way the unbolted pieces of furniture in your bedroom were floating at the sheer pressure of his jujutsu. “-the- ngh- your power-”

He was so out of control as he slipped just a few inches inside, letting that cute strawberry-pink tip of his get swallowed up by your entrance. You’re clenching and sparks of cursed energy burst–

“Satoru, the bed!”

Oh, the bed. 

Gojo was in so deep, losing himself to the soft n’ sweet clench of your cunt so much that even the damn mattress was starting to hover. 

At your cute shrilling yells, he’s looking around airily as if in a daze. You’re peering through the half-fogged reflection at the way that his hoarse larynx rips out a tiny, ‘oh’. Immediately snapping his fingers—

“Fuh-fuck!” It wasn’t just the flying furniture that topples - it’s you, too. 

Straight onto the soaked silken sheets of your shared bed- or, at least, you would have if it wasn’t for Gojo’s clasped hand trapping your throat. Holding your woozy head up whilst the rest of your hips sticks to the rickety bedsprings, the weight of him - the weight of his cursed technique - too much for you to handle. 

“Wh-what did you-” You’re letting out a softly whining gasp at the press of charged atoms near your slick outer pussy. 

Suddenly, it just felt like your walls stretched so much wider - yearned for his fat, plundering cock so much more. And Gojo can only look down at the mess he’s made with a dopey grin, “Unlimited void, huh?”

Posing it as a question- he didn’t even realize. 

“Didn’t mean to oh- mmm yeah—” Letting the dampened ends of his bangs tickle your neck, he’s rubbin’ his curvy cocktip against the gummy roof of your pussy back and forth back and forth back and forth. Deeper. Harder. “Ooooo– didn’t even mean to hah- do this, my girl.”

Whimpering, your hips buck back greedily in tempo with his once he dips just the tail ends of a free hand past your quivering folds. 

Eyes widening, breath stuttered- Gojo can’t help but hold back his ruined whimper and rut. “Oh, s’really unlimited void.” Sending a splosh of sap to hit the sides of your walls and pool at the very bottom of your womb. “Was an accident but…” 

It’s so noisy the way you’re dripping with creamy knots of his cum, all down between your thighs. Squeeelch goes your pretty pussy, and he’s finding himself greedily swallowing. 

Now he could fit all he wanted into you. 

Nodding along as if he was in conversation, “If you ngh- insist, sweetheart.”

“Toru- who are you–”

“Her, duh.” 

Rolling his hazy azure eyes- and if Gojo was talking sweetly to your pussy, it sure didn’t mean that he was pounding into you nicely. “Next” Repeating like a mantra. “Next.” Drilling away like he was crazed, like he couldn’t fight back the urge to reach underneath you and push down on the inflation of cum n’ dick outlining your pretty tummy. “Next next- next.”

Your teeth rattles with the splashing swat of each ribbon after ribbon of thin, wiry cum he’s milking out of himself. Dragging the zig-zagging veins of his shaft repeatedly into your gooey orifices until his overworked divot was sputtering out more seed. 

He needed this- needed you to be all full to the brim. 

Just to feel how wet you were with his icy white sap, Gojo pushes his v-line against your hips until you’re keening. Roughly lining the inside of your sweet spots with a precise glide, he’s feeling the insides of your flooded cunt and smiling. “Mmm– you’re about to cum.”

The Gojo Satoru above you was drooling- whimpering. 

Gaze locked. Cock ravaged. 

He was fucked out. 

And so were you- all it takes is one, two, three accurate hammers against the bulbous orb of your g-spot before you’re hitting your high. Whining drunkenly as you finish off, Gojo lets off a syrupy swing of his length to stir your insides before he himself cums. Dry. 

If you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed how the lights were now permanently off, how every glass object in your bedroom shatters. In practically every ward in Tokyo, actually. 

And somewhere in Gojo’s out-of-control, powerful senses he’s registering the sudden spike of cursed energy- surely, the alarm bells were going off for every sorcerer in the area. 

But ah, he’s the strongest. And the strongest was more focused on you right now. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” You jolt when you feel the burning stare of his Six Eyes– Gojo snickers. Pushing you down further to cream himself, reverse cursed technique seeps out of him like a second skin when he hears the faint pop! of joints. “It’s gonna be- hah…a girl.”

Blinking back the stupid circles your dilated eyes were traveling, you’re still twitching with the euphoric remnants of your high. “A-a girl?” 

“Mhm.” 

It doesn’t matter if it makes him shiver like no other- flickers of blue cursed energy shatter across his muscular body as Gojo plants another slurring thrust on your rummaged pussy. Feeling his fattened tip freeze just where his eyes saw your womb to be- “Let’s make it twins.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Jailhouse Fuck

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The thrice-repeated slamming of Higuruma’s gavel left you hostage to his rudely probin’ cock, locked in your husband’s domain and at his mercy ever since you’d decided it was time to put his work aside for a little…relaxation. 

He didn’t even mean to call on his jujustu- but fuck, if it didn’t feel like your pussy was even sweeter when your body’s being pressurized with charged atoms of energy. 

“O-oh, please, Hiromi–!” Calls out your hoarse throat, head tumbling back stupidly as you buck your hips on top of his toned ones. It just felt so filthy to be riding Higuruma right then n’ there in his office chair. “It f-feels so good-”

Tugging on the black velvet of his tie, he’s staring up at you through such heady half-lidded eyes. “S’that so?”

And fuck- you’re noticing the way that his courtroom domain seems to only radiate with even more waves of cursed energy. The way that split-ended circle at the end of his lengthy shaft was pouring out dewy sprinkles of precum, flooding your poor insides. 

Grunting, Higuruma plants his hand on the side of your ass to hold you still whilst he impales your cunt with a thorough thrust. Dead-on your g-spot- “Bullseye.” 

“Mmm– r-right there!”

“Can feel you hah- clenchin’ around me so much, sweet angel.” He’s puffing out as a sigh, circling his hips underneath yours to make his blushing red tip stiiir your insides sensually. “You’re not lasting long.”

Responding with the cutest pout- oh, how it makes his aching balls tighten even more. “Can’t help it–” 

And here, in his domain, Higuruma was even stronger. 

The coldness of his matching wedding ring sizzles against the clammy side of your hips, manhandling you with a mere fraction of his strength to ride his cock even sloppier. 

Higuruma wrestles you up n’ down his veiny shaft like he was trying to milk himself, like he was gliding the pointed end of his dick against your gummy walls with the aim to bruise. “Mhm- oh yes, you can’t ngh- help it, sugar.”

And though he’s nodding his head along n’ agreeing, there’s something dark seeping into Higuruma’s deep tone that makes you falter. 

Something he doesn’t have the patience for - something his thoroughly pussydrunken mind can’t even stand right now. 

“Ah ah-” With a soft spank near your right ass cheek, he claws down your clammy flesh and makes you slam your hips down. “So…” Stinging with the ridges of his sculptured pelvis, rubbed all raw with his black happy trail. Glancing somewhere over your shoulder, “Do you think she deserves to cum?”

And fuck- fuck, how could you have forgotten that lil’ part of Higuruma’s domain?

You two had a cursed audience - that massive shikigami your husband called ‘Judegman.’ Looming near the edge of the domain and closely watching as he ruined you on his lengthy cock. 

Feeling your heart race in embarrassment and something else. “H-Hiro, that’s ngh- fuck, you’re so mean-”

“Now now, don’t make me haaaa- hold you in contempt of the court, angel.” He’s cutting through your babbling mewls, and shit- you catch that dimple near the corner of his lips as Higuruma grins. “We have…exhibit evidence here.”

Once more speeding up his relentless cadence, he’s slamming against that goopy g-spot of yours and instantly making you see stars. Your maw falling open with a few glittered beads of saliva that hit his broad pecs with a splatter! 

Both you and the wooden chair sing out in croaky synchronization with each bucking swerve back where he was drilling up into you. Pummeling you with all his long inches, “Please- please let me cum–”

“Behave.”

And he wasn’t just silencing you - Higuruma was reaching for that sexily dangling tie still around his neck. Slipping the soft fabric over your mouth to wrench it cutely shut, he finds himself pulling back with a snicker at how pretty you looked with your whiny mouth all gagged. “Order in the court.”

Toying with the perked outer edge of your clit, he gives you a striking whack there right on time with a particularly harsh probe against your g-spot. “Hmm…I don’t think she deserves to ngh- cum.”

Watching as you muffle out a shriling plea-

He only swats your sensitive nub with a rapid spank, “How about it?” Further dumbifying you with the most lecherous drags of his cock- and despite riding him, it was allll on him now to ruin you. “Think she ngh- deserves it?”

You know the question’s not directed at you, but you’re still nodding. Lurching yourself closer to where grunts were spilling through Higuruma’s mouth after every push of his barreling thrusts.

So hot and soft inside you that- fuck, even he was weak to the way you’re gazing down at him with the most adorably dazed eyes. Occasionally criss-crossing when his plummy tip kisses your favorite spots, “Do you deserve it, angel?”

You were burning. You were being split apart. 

And the only thing you can do is give your wailing answer– strangled through the tie and yet still reaching your husband’s ears as a constant ‘yes yes yes yes!’

“S’that sooo–?” Gruffly, Higuruma lifts the edge of his frigid wedding band to glide down the slope of your pussy. Watching as your creamed pussy quivers and gushes. So sinful. So addictive. 

And he might be a damn good lawyer- but fuck, was he weak for his wife. And he languidly watches as the golden glint of his ring gets covered in all your translucent slick, “Well-” Looking right in your eyes when he’s bringing it up to his spit-glossed lips to suck. “-the verdict says…”

You barely even hear what his cursed shikigami says - barely even need to know, because in a split-second Higuruma’s face splits with a snarling, feral grin and he bucks. 

Smoochin’ your g-spot so hard that it propels you from your edged agony and straight into heaven. Oh- you’d been judged, and you’d been allowed to cum. 

And Higuruma was making sure that you’re riding it allll out to your heart’s content-

“Ride me. Use me.” He’s groaning, superhuman reflexes carrying your weight easily to swivel his slimy tip inside n’ drag out peak after peak. The driveling gloss of Higuruma’s precum collects all over your g-spot and makes you feel hot all over, your orgasm making your vision flash. 

Toes curling, your mouth unhinges so wide that that rude tie flops straight into your lap. 

Lips moving with those next few words of yours before you’re even registering them in your melty mess of a mind. “F-fill me up, please, Hiromi?”

“O-oh.” For perhaps the first time in your marriage, Higuruma opens his mouth and falters. Stoic bass cracking, huffed pants coming out heavy, you feel his domain crackle with a sudden surge of powerful energy– he’s never been more gone. “I don’t have any objection to that, sugar.”

A/N. Heheh first time writing for a four-hundred year old man kinda nervous.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lily-bisque]

✦ how they shut you up (ノ_<。) ﾉ eighteen plus

satoru gojo has a tendency to stuff his blindfold in your mouth when you’re becoming too whiney. all you can taste is the crisp, starch fabric of the dry cleaned bandage, laced with something undeniably him. this is only, of course, when the two of you are in public and can’t get caught. he’ll whisper things like “want everyone to know how good you sound when i’m fucking you?” yet, the guy himself can barely hold his babbles and mutters to himself about how you’ve been teasing him all day and he’s been waiting.

suguru geto this is only done with consent, of course, but he wraps his veiny, calloused hand around your neck and squeezes just hard enough for you to get the slightest bit dizzy. you can barely hear a word from him, other than moans mixed with “she’s fuckin’ gripping me,” while he pounds into you, sometimes even struggling to mask his own groans. as he gets closer and closer to his peak, his grip turns like a vice and your eyes start rolling into your skull, legs trembling as he continuously fucks you through orgasm after orgasm.

toji fushiguro he can be pretty mocking in bed, so he likes to hear how you choke on your heady moans of his name by ramming himself into your g spot over and over again. all while he does so, he sports a sadistic snarl, basking in your cock drunk state. “right there?” he sarcastically quizzes, his tip nudging just where it feels good, cocking his head with a pout as you stutter over your words. “or right here, doll?”

choso kamo this pretty boy can barely hold his own whimpers back when he’s plowing into you, so the best he can do is plant his lips against yours and pray that you both suck the life from one another to stay quiet. a shy flush covers his cheek whenever a whine escapes his lips as you practically milk him. teeth bumping and saliva swapping and babbles of “you’re always so good for me” and accidental confessions like “i think i’m in love with you.”

kento nanami he can be incredibly strict in bed, to say the least. rules of how many whines leave your lips result in how many spanks you’ll recieve right after he shoots his ribbon of seed into you. when you start getting too loud, he’ll say “i think you just want a pretty red handprint on your ass.” intense eye contact is held as he stuffs and splits you, his mouth curving into a scowl as he smashes into your womb, keeping every count of your punishment for later.

ryomen sukuna the guy is a monster. four arms gripping and tearing and reaching for anything and he somehow expects you to stay quiet. his favorite technique, however, is to put you in a headlock with one of his biceps while his other hand covers yours with a mouth on it, managing to make you dizzy from the pressure on your throat and the way the tongue on his hand explores the caverns of your mouth with no remorse. through grunts and huffs, he likes to call you a “brat” and sometimes his “cock sleeve” or “fuck toy” when he’s feeling extra mean, but when is he not?

[isubhamdas]

How to Effectively Apply Behavioral Economics for Consumer Engagement?

I never thought behavioral economics would revolutionize my marketing strategy.

But here I am, telling you how it changed everything.

It all started when our company's engagement rates plummeted. We were losing customers faster than we could acquire them.

That's when I stumbled upon behavioral economics.

I began by implementing subtle changes. We reframed our pricing strategy using the decoy effect.

Suddenly, our premium package became more attractive. Sales increased by 15% in the first month.

Next, we tapped into loss aversion. Our email campaigns highlighted what customers might miss out on. Open rates soared from 22% to 37%.

But the real game-changer was social proof. We showcased user testimonials prominently on our website. Conversion rates jumped by 28%.

As we delved deeper, we encountered challenges. Some team members worried about ethical implications.

Were we manipulating consumers?

We addressed this by prioritizing transparency.

Every nudge we implemented was designed to benefit both the customer and our business.

This approach not only eased internal concerns but also built trust with our audience.

The results spoke for themselves. Overall engagement increased by 45% within six months. Customer retention improved by 30%.

But it wasn't just about numbers. We were creating meaningful connections. Customers felt understood and valued.

Looking back, I realize behavioral economics isn't about tricks or gimmicks. It's about understanding human behavior and using that knowledge to create win-win situations.

So, how can you improve your consumer engagement using behavioral economics?

Start by observing your customers' behaviors. What motivates them? What holds them back?

Use these insights to craft strategies that resonate.

Remember, the goal is to guide, not manipulate.

How are you applying behavioral economics in your business?

Get Tips, Suggestions, & Workarounds, in 2-3 mins, on How to Effectively Apply Behavioral Economics for Consumer Engagement?

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈

Shut up, Mom!

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.

Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.

“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.

“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.

“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.

Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.

Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.

“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.

“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.

“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.

“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.

“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.

Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.

“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.

“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.

You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.

“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.

“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.

“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.

“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.

“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.

“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.

The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.

Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.

“Dad! She’s-“

“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”

“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”

Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”

Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.

Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”

“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TOJI

Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.

“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.

“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.

“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.

Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.

“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.

“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.

“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”

“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.

“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.

Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.

SUKUNA

“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.

Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.

There’s no response.

“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.

Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.

No response.

“Ryu!”

“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“

“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.

“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.

Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.

“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.

“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.

“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”

NANAMI

Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.

He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.

You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.

“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.

“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.

“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.

“I’m busy!”

“Hana!”

“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.

“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.

“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.

“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.

“It’s just a prank, Ken!”

“Dad, it’s a prank-!”

You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.

[starrdream]

Years

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Anakin sees you for the first time after a decade includes: SMUT, oral(f receiving), slight praise

Months turned into years-ones that seemed to last longer than they should, ones that stretched beyond time. He hadn't forgotten. No. He couldn't and he simply never will. That was something he made peace with long before it was over.

How could he? How does one forget something so pure, innocent and beautiful? How could he erase the happiest memories that could never be remade?

Every detail was crystal clear in his mind. Partially because he kept replaying various situations in his head every night, partially because he couldn't forget.

And even if he could, why would he? Why would he forget those eyes full of life? The laughter? The things he felt? No, he definitely didn't want to forget that.

Anakin Skywalker's life had been haunted by the past for the last 11 years. 11 years of melancholy, 11 years of longing, yearning...

So seeing you again was like a punch to the gut.

The small and rebellious Senator's daughter was no more. She was long gone, together with Anakin's memories. Instead she was replaced by something even more beautiful and dear.

You were the same age as him, yet so much more mature, more serious than him. He didn't want to acknowledge your beauty in fear of betraying what the Jedi had been teaching him for the last decade.

He never would've thought you'd be back but there you were, walking into the Jedi Temple with your father and a few guards on each side of you.

He was breathless, standing on one of the balconies as Snips talked his ear off.

"Ooo, who's that? She's pretty." She interrupts herself mid sentence, leaning against the railing and looks down at you.

"Yeah-I...I don't know." Anakin fumbled. "Let's go back to training."

"Whatever, you're so annoying." She rolls her eyes.

The next few hours are a blur-he was preoccupied but constantly thinking of you. His mind was a mess and he ended his lightsaber technique session with Ahsoka early.

The poor boy sat down in one of the many benches that filled the halls and leaned his head back against the cool tile walls. He takes a deep breath and relaxes further as the sun illuminates his face.

Seconds later, his peace is interrupted by a door opening and slamming shut. He cracks his eyes open, wincing slightly as they adjust to the sun.

His breath catches and he sits up straight because you come out the seemingly occupied room. His eyes widen in awe but you don't seem to notice him, not at first.

Just a few seconds later your eyes meet and he stands up before he could even think.

"Ani?" You whisper-shouted. "My goodness!" You smiled.

"Y/n.." He mumbled, smiling softly himself. "I missed you..."

The minute he's close to you, you hug him tight, burying your head in his shoulder as you practically knock the air out of his lungs.

"My, my..." He chuckles, hugging you back with a little less intensity, afraid he'll hurt you. "What're you here for?" He pulls away, keeping his shaky hands on your upper arms.

"My dad was called for some negotiations and decided to bring me along. Perfect opportunity to look at houses." You shrugged.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Sorry, houses?"

"We're probably gonna move back." You shrug happily.

His mouth drops open before he smiles so brightly and happily. "You're joking." Anakin shook his head. This was the moment he didn't even want to imagine in fear of waking up disappointed because it's not real.

"I'm serious!" You nudge him playfully. "I have to go now, but feel free to come by the guest rooms tonight if you wanna catch up."

And just like that you were pulling away like you did all those years ago, hurriedly walking off to wherever you were going.

"May the force be with you!" He called out to you.

"May the force be with you too!"

Anakin stood there stunned for a good minute before deciding to go back to his room and finish what he had left to do, all while grinning to himself like an idiot.

Each minute that passed until he could see you again felt like a minute closer to his prayers being answered. And in some ways, they were.

Because 4 hours after first seeing you, Anakin was kissing his way down your body. His hands grope your tits as he trails further south, kissing under your chest, your stomach, your hip and finally latching his mouth onto your center.

His hands find their way to your hips to keep you in place.

Slowly, he licks all the way up, nose is rubbing against your clit. Your hands immediately reach for his hair, gently wrapping your fingers around the soft curls.

"Anakin-" You breathe out, back arching. He gently lifts your thighs and carefully places them over his strong shoulders.

"Mmm..." He hums against you "You're doing so good baby..." He mumbles, the sound muffled.

Your hands tighten, pulling his hair in desperation for more.

"My favorite Senator.." He teased, chuckling against you and making you squirm.

"Ani.." You whined, pulling his head closer despite your protest seconds prior.

His hands are doing a great job at stimulating you further-rubbing your thighs and stomach. Gently, almost innocently, Anakin's thumb makes it's way to your clit-rubbing slow, yet firm circles in time with his tongue.

You squirm above him, walls clenching around his tongue. "A-ani..gonna cum.." You rasp out.

"Mhm.." He encouragess, tone pleased and pace not faltering for a second.

A moment later, your inner thighs are squeezing his head as you whimper repeatedly and desperately, coming undone on his tongue.

Anakin takes his sweet time in prolonging your pleasure, lazily suckling and kissing on you without a care in the world. And when he does pull away, he wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Then, he throws himself on top of you and kisses you sensless before falling asleep cuddled up on your chest

A/N: May the fourth be with everyone reading this!!! I’ve decided to take a break until June first because i REALLY need to lock in and study I have a bazillion tests coming up😭😭. I’ll try my best to make time and post at least a few works but no promises.

As for when I do get back, I have a new series coming up..👀

[erwinsvow]

night shift reader gets caught staring at jack’s arms four times in two hours (twice by nurses, once by shen, and once by a patient—an older lady who took a spill and doesn’t yell at you, just stares with you and asks is he yours? which makes your throat dry because it’s still kind of hard to believe he is, in fact, yours). the nurses giggle because young love, shen goes to yap about it with parker who then makes a comment to abbot about how he’s interfering with your education and needs to invest in a jacket if he wants you to learn anything. and jack is oblivious because he’s the one with a staring problem, though he prefers eye contact and you mostly prefer staring at his arms like you haven’t already done everything that’s possible to do to a boyfriend’s arms. and then another day you’re caught staring at the back of his head, admiring how the gray reflects the sun when you’re out in the trauma bay with him at seven thirty before sunset, how his curls get messy as it gets later. and then inside under fluorescent lights how his hair is getting a little long in the back, enough that you know it stays wet a little longer when you two curl up into bed together after showering and when you’re stroking his hair until he falls asleep. and then another day his hands, his fingers while he’s showing you a procedure—one you know already, just showing you a different technique he learned years ago that he prefers more, thinks you might prefer it too—except you haven’t retained a sentence as you stare at the freckles on the back of his hand and the dexterity of his fingers. the nurse coughs and nudges you because jack asked you a question two minutes ago that you didn’t answer, got stuck staring at his hands and then at his eyes. and then after you two get married, when people mention abbot’s got a staring problem, someone else asks which one?

[peascribbles]

𝑰𝒏 𝑨 𝑭𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘

Your dragon enjoys basking for hours at a time, sweetened by your company. Your meddlesome mortal needs interfere. He'll oblige them if it means you'll stay. dragon!sylus x gn!reader, suggestive themes, dragon tendencies, horn fondling (not a euphemism), using his wing as a parasol; 1.5k wc

When the sun climbs to its summit each day, he flees the shrouded depths of his lair to seek it out.

He lies motionless on his back, wings splayed out wide under him, on his favourite perch overlooking the plains beyond Tarus City. Blissful as he luxuriates in the searing noon heat. No visible movement of his chest nor any flickering behind his eyelids. Limbs inert.

Sunbathing is too mild a term for this pastime of his. Sunbathers hum and breathe and make idle chatter. Sunbathers must flip themselves every so often to not burn. What your dragon does has more resemblance to embracing scorching oblivion. Some incorrigible, archaic ritual where the intention is seemingly to absorb the sun itself, inanimate as a rock.

Which is quite the predicament for you, given you've been held captive on top of him for over an hour, his arms locked around your waist. The unforgiving light scalds your exposed back, nape, and legs. Any longer trapped here, and you'll be cooked alive.

Your attempts to squirm out of his grip make his arms constrict around you further, a python's suffocating coil. Pounding fists against his hard chest til they ache. No response. Irate hisses rising into whisper-shouts met with tomblike silence. Nothing rouses him out of his sunbaked catatonia.

You have no choice but to use your final resort.

Stretching your arms forward, you grip the base of the horns which crown his head and stroke them, twisting your wrists in circular motions. Lavishing particular attention on the pinkish, tender area where horn and scalp meet, hidden in the silken nest of his hair. His most sensitive spot.

No other soul has touched me here, he told you through a shaky breath when you first reached for his horns. Tentative yet curious.

Thank the stars for that, you thought, seeing how he unravelled for you despite your inexperience, the most pliant he'd ever been. Your movements were clumsy, unused to handling the unusual growths, and still he sighed with profound satisfaction. Ravenous when he took you that night.

Since those early days, you've had plenty of time to refine your technique. You work your way up the length of them, and back down, slow caresses with fingers which have learned every cragged knob, whorl, and ridge along the protrusions.

He awakens with a gutteral and sonorous growl, nearly a snarl, which rattles your bones.

Freeing one arm from around you, the tips of a clawed hand rake up your back, your sensitised nerves pricking in response. They come to rest around your nape, grooves forming on the delicate skin there. You're not sure if it's a warning or a promise.

"Speak," he demands, voice and slit eyes like smouldering coals.

Satisfied now that you've got his attention, you stop stroking him, and he does let out a vicious snarl at that. Claws digging in, nudging his horns back into your hand. You correct this grievous error posthaste, and talk only when he seems appeased.

"Need you to let me up, beloved."

The vice of his remaining arm around your waist tightens contrary to your request.

You can't find it in you to be surprised. It's in his nature to be possessive in his efforts to guard prized treasures, stow them close at hand; an instinct that turns on you when you're within reach. If it wasn't for this particular sensitivity of his, the prospect of prying yourself away would be no more feasible than a thief escaping with even a single golden coin from his hoard.

"Why should I?" he asks in a low rumble, suppressed thunder.

"If you don't, I'll turn into smoked meat." You run your hands back down his horns, smiling when an involuntary, pleased trill escapes him. "Remember, us humans don't have tough skin like you, nor scales to protect themselves from the harsh sun. We can't withstand it for very long."

He squints disbelievingly at you. Using the leverage of his claws on your neck, he moves your head around, up and down, left and right, studying you with a serious expression.

"You seem fine to me."

"It's not my face, but the rest of me that's suffering the most damage." Once you reach the base of his horns again, you let go of them and slide your hands down to cup his face, tamping the protest that boils in him. Your steady gaze sinking into those molten pools of his.

"Trust me in this, my dragon. I know my body best." You follow the hard planes of his jaw up to scratch behind his ears, and he leans into your touch. An encouraging sign. One more push. "I'm not plotting to leave you. I only want to get out of the sun for a moment."

For a few beats, he simply keeps you affixed on top of him. Half lidded eyes regarding you with an intensity that stokes hot embers in your belly, licking up your spine.

He mulls the verity of your words, flexing and easing his grip on your neck, caught in indecision. Should he let the thief run away with his precious coin? Keep you bound to him, or release you?

You see his decision is made when his pupils distort into narrow slits, a triumphant upward slant to his lips.

"Neither of those will do," he murmurs.

His claws unfurl from your nape, undoubtedly leaving marks that will linger there. The unyielding arm around your waist stays. He doesn't set you free; instead, he rolls to his side, cushioning your head from the ground with the crook of his elbow. The rest of you lands onto the dirt.

This makeshift pillow is rigid. Rather than soft flesh, hard black scales cover his forearms. An ache in your neck looms in the near future. Still, you cannot budge. In this new position you're pulled even closer, face-first into his chest, staring at your bewildered reflection in the heart-gem embedded there.

You glance skyward in time to see a broad wing stretch out above you. Obscures the clouds, casting a great shadow. The strangest canopy.

"There. You're away from the sun. Needy mortal." He chuffs and clicks his tongue. Settles into a comfortable position. "Don't interrupt me again."

As quickly as he'd sprung back to life, he closes his eyes to bask again, returning to some other realm your human sensibilities can't reach.

His brusque manner sparks a flicker of irritation in you. You hadn't been given an opportunity to say a word. Determined to rouse him again, if only to have your grievances heard, you resume the delicate attack on his horns—but aside from a subtle twitch, you garner no response. A clear enough message: he won't be disturbed.

"Insufferable lizard," you mutter.

To your mild annoyance, this impromptu arrangement of his making succeeds in cooling your ailing body down, restoring your energy little by little. There's nothing to do but lie here, ensnared in his arms. Time slows into treacle.

In this quiet refuge, now that your scaleless, vulnerable body is no longer in peril, the sublime begins to unfurl, petal by petal.

You examine the membrane of his wing shielding you, a living canvas hung over the sturdy frame of his bones. Once dark as his polished obsidian scales, the expanse of skin is translucent, incandescent in the sun, unveiling an intricate web of blood vessels beneath it. As if you're sitting inside an exquisite tapestry, diffused with muted sunset.

It takes an hour to trace every branching vein in his wing to its end.

His face is the next muse for your wandering eyes. You turn to face him. Other than enduring warmth, there are no signs of life next to you. He might as well be a marble statue—a magnum opus, to be sure, sculpted by a master's hands. A study in stillness. Peace looks breathtaking on him. The space between his brows unmarred. Fine, silverspun lashes fanning over his cheek. Sunlight kissing his features with the reverence of an old lover.

You want to kiss him too. But you won't, not until he's with you again.

While you wait, you take in lungfuls of the air he isn't using. His scent fills you. He smells of the earth. Not fresh soil, yet to be tilled, but of broken land; blood-drenched, soaked in rusting blades. You burrow your nose against his neck to take in more of it. Closer now, hidden undertones, of the first dew-sweet sprout that pushes through the gaps in cobblestones, of wild weeds that snake over crumbling spires. Life baptised in fire.

His heart begins to stir underneath your palm. Listen close. Feel how it beats for you. Know that this is what it means to love an untamed creature such as him, a being made for sun and wind and cloying heat.

Your body smeared with dirt. Suspended in amber glow. Heaven, in the shade of a dragon's wing.

[applecaviar]

How the lads men eat your 🐱.

Zayne/Sylus/Caleb/Xavier/Rafayel

TW:SMUT

Xavier🌟

Xavier would eat your pussy in the missionary position, with you lying on your back and him positioned between your spread legs, head propped up slightly on pillows so you're not completely flat but can still see him between your spread thighs. This way, he can watch your expressions, your mouth falling open in soft gasps and moans, your cheeks flushing pink as he pleases you.

He'd take his time, starting with slow, teasing licks along your slit before focusing on your clit, circling and flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. His large hands would grip your thighs, pushing them further apart as he dives in, burying his face in your cunt and feasting on you like a starving man at a banquet. He'd alternate between long, slow licks and quick, hard sucks on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge before pulling back to start all over again, determined to make you cum on his tongue.

Throughout it all, his deep blue eyes would be locked with yours, watching your every reaction as he takes you apart with his mouth.

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Sylus would eat your pussy from behind, your hips tilted up and your lower half bared to him. He'd press your upper body flat against the bed, one large hand splaying between your shoulder blades to hold you down while the other grips your ass tightly, kneading and parting your cheeks.

He'd start by trailing teasing kisses along the back of your thigh, slowly working his way up until he reaches the crease where your leg meets your ass. His breath would be hot against your skin as he inhales your scent, a low groan rumbling in his chest. Then, without warning, he'd bury his face between your legs, his tongue delving directly into your dripping folds.

He'd eat your pussy with a hunger bordering on feral, his mouth and chin glistening with your juices as he licks and suckles your most intimate places. His tongue would plunge deep, fucking into your entrance, before dragging slowly upward to circle and flick against your clit. He'd alternate between long, broad strokes and targeted flicks, each movement sending jolts of pleasure shooting through you.

His fingers would dig into the flesh of your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth, grinding your cunt against his face as he devours you. He'd be relentless, determined to make you fall apart on his tongue, to feel you gush and quiver against his lips. He'd only stop when he's wrung every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, leaving you boneless and spent. Throughout it all, he'd hold you in place, claiming you, possessing you utterly.

RAFAYEL 🐡

Rafayel would eat your pussy in a position that lets him get creative and playful, his artistic nature shining through. He might have you sit on the edge of a table or dresser, your legs spread wide and your feet resting on the edge.

As you sit there, he'd look at you with a mischievous grin, dark purple-pink eyes roaming hungrily over your exposed flesh. His hands would grip your thighs, thumbs rubbing teasing circles on your skin as he leans in. He'd start by just breathing in your scent, eyes fluttering shut in bliss before he's even begun.

Then, without warning, he'd bury his face between your legs, his lips and tongue immediately finding your clit and suckling greedily. His technique would be enthusiastic and passionate, almost messy in its intensity. He'd alternate between flat-tongued strokes and rapid flicks, occasionally dipping down to thrust his tongue deep into your entrance before returning to lavish attention on your aching clit.

His nose would nudge your clit as he licks, the sensation foreign yet incredibly pleasurable. Occasionally he'd pull back to blow cool air across your dripping folds before diving back in, his chin and cheeks slick with your juices. Throughout it all, he'd make appreciative noises, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation.

He'd be playful too, occasionally pulling away to admire his work, seeing how wet and swollen and desperate you look before diving back in to continue his feast. His goal would be to bring you to a messy, shaking, shouting climax, reveling in the knowledge that he did that to you.

ZAYNE 🥼

Zayne would have you straddle his face. He'd be reclined against a mound of pillows, head tilted back, hazel eyes dark with desire as he looks up at you. His large hands would grip your hips firmly but gently, guiding your movements as you position yourself over his face.

He'd start by simply inhaling deeply, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. Then, without warning, he'd lean forward and drag the flat of his tongue along your dripping slit in one long, slow lick. He'd take his time, savoring your taste, before focusing his attention on your clit. His tongue would circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasingly at first, then with increasing pressure and speed.

Zayne would use his lips too, suckling your clit as his tongue flicked and circled. Occasionally he'd dip down to thrust his tongue deep into your entrance, fucking you with it, before returning to your clit. His hands would squeeze your hips, encouraging you to grind down against his face.

He'd be relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure, determined to make you come undone. He'd feel your body start to tremble and tense, your grip tightening on his hair. That's when he'd double his efforts, tongue and lips and even the occasional gentle nip pushing you over the edge.

As you come, he'd hold you in place, refusing to let you pull away, forcing you to ride out the waves of your climax on his face. He'd lap at you through it, gradually gentling his touch as you come down. Finally, he'd release you from his grip, a smug smile on his face as he gazes up at your blissed-out expression.

CALEB 🪐

Caleb would eat pussy in a 69 position he'd be on his back urging your thighs to straddle his face, your dripping sex hovering just above his eager mouth.

His hands would grip your ass tightly, fingers sinking into the flesh as he pulls you down, the first intimate contact of your slick folds with his lips and tongue. He'd groan into your pussy, the sound muffled but still audible, sending delicious vibrations through your core. His nose would press against your clit as he inhales your scent, a shudder running through his long body.

He'd start by licking broad, slow strokes along your slit, from your entrance up to your clit, his long tongue delving between your folds to taste your essence. His technique would be sensual and almost lazy at first, savoring every inch of your most intimate area. Occasionally he'd dip the tip of his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you shallowly, teasingly.

His hands would knead and squeeze your ass, occasionally pulling you harder against his face, grinding your pussy against his mouth as he suckles and licks.

He'd set a steady rhythm, thrusting his hips up to meet your bobbing head as he pleasures you. He'd be lost in the dual sensations of your hot mouth around his cock and his own mouth buried in your dripping sex. The combined stimulation would be intense for you both, the pleasure building rapidly.

He'd occasionally bury himself deep in your throat as he grinds his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent and moaning deeply, the vibrations adding to your growing ecstasy.

When he feels you are close, he would start sucking your clit hard as he thrusts his tongue deep into your spasming channel. His fingers would dig into the flesh of your ass, pulling you impossibly hard against his mouth, grinding your gushing pussy against his face as he devours you.

At the same time, he'd bury himself balls-deep in your throat, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he hits the back of your throat. With a guttural, muffled moan that you feel vibrating through every cell of your being, he'd explode, his hot seed shooting down your throat in thick, creamy ropes.

He'd continue sucking and licking as he climaxes, his hips jerking erratically as spurt after spurt of his release fills your mouth and throat. His grip on your ass would be almost painful as he holds you in place, not letting you pull away as he rides out the intense waves of his orgasm.

Finally, with a last shudder and a sigh, he'd relax his grip, his softening cock slipping from your lips as he gently eases you off him. But he'd keep your hips nestled against his face, his tongue lazing slow and lazy strokes along your slit, cleaning up every last drop of your release as you both float down from the incredible high of your shared climax.

[edensrose]

˖ 𑣲 𝓜 y girl

˚₊‧꒰ა satoru gojo ﾉ sweetheart.ᐟ reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ as a special grade, the higher-ups expect you to be early to meetings. alas, you have a certain white-haired guard dog that keeps them from questioning you too much. especially when he's all over you ꒰ ᡣ𐭩 ꒱ whipped toru ˖ fluff ˖ protective toru ˖ 0.6k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ squealed writing all of this ⌇ requested

Dimmed lights, bowed heads, stiff silence and . . .

Pink, charmed nails?

"You are late, Second."

The sneer around your title barely earned your flinch. The entrance parted and light swept in. From the outside world or from you? To a certain sorcerer stood comfortably in his meeting position, it seemed like the latter.

Satoru's grin finally returned. A little brighter, all the more sharper as you trotted on in with heels longer than half the dicks in this room and wearing a smile like a cursed technique.

"Still got here, didn't I?" Sunglasses pushed into your hair, a designer purse on your arm. With you came a floral scent into this dingy meeting room the higher-ups swore up and down on.

Oh you weren't trotting. You strutted. As if the world owed you something and rolled your eyes like whatever it gave wasn't enough. Gracefully making your way towards him. A storm wrapped in a pretty pink chiffon dress and dolled from the head down. Your hair? Not a strand out of place. Your make-up? That eyeliner could cut through every sheen these old geezers hid behind.

"And where," one in particular grunted. "Pray tell, have you been? You were informed of this meeting's gravity."

"I had a nail appointment."

The room fell silent. Their fifth special grade. Regarded as the Second Strongest, bested by only Gojo Satoru whom you nestled beside easily. The woman who clawed her way to the top in a feat they'd never seen before. . .

Was late because those same nails she clawed with needed prettying?

"You have no urgency!" Another snapped. Then came several. To your ears it was nothing but fodder. The same bullshit day-in and day-out. You rather occupied yourself with the sorcerer stood beside you.

"Late cause of your pretty nails, sweetheart?" Satoru crooned, barely paying mind to the higher-ups throwing a fit. He stood with a lazy air and arms folded.

"Mhhm." Five fingers splayed before you and nudged to him. Decorative charms shimmered in the dim light. Each nail finely kept, shaped and painted in a style so testament to the rest of you. Elegant, beautiful. "What do you think?"

Delicate is what your hand looked compared to his. Cupped below yours and raising it a bit higher to his vision. Even with his shades, you knew his eyes scanned intensely. White brows raised and grin settling into a tease of a smirk.

"Well, lookie there."

"Do you have any idea of your position!" Another screech that neither of you paid attention to. The higher-ups could threaten and argue all they wanted.

What would they do? They couldn't fight you. And the only one that could?

"Told you blue would look good on you."

. . . was currently kissing over your fingers.

Satoru barely batted an eye, too preoccupied with the azure hue you styled at the tips of your nails. Every voice fell silent as he laid kisses over each of your knuckles like they were the secret to infinity.

You crooked your head to one of the shoji, where the first apprehending official sat. Still as every other breath in the room. And despite your eyes smouldering hot coals,

You smiled.

"Now, can we continue this meeting?"

A voice readied to shame you for your audacity and attitude. But all stilled at once when icy blue peered over a dark rim. Pale lips still flushed to your knuckle. They needn't coil into the frown his glare shone.

"I . . . whatever."

Satoru hummed and released your hand in favour of a strong arm looped around your waist. You're pulled into his side with his watchful gaze still ahead.

"Then let's get on with it, yeah?" He squeezed your hip. Shot you a little smile. Stole one more kiss.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[tonycries]

FEVERRR?!

Synopsis. Oh no! Getting hit with a séx technique gave him a fever - babyféver.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, séx cursed technique (he’s affected), PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, bréeding, cúmplay, matíng presses, clan leader!Gojo, ínnapropríate use of jujutsu, manhandIing, marathons, maIe squírting, overstím, dúmbifícation, best friend!Choso, proposals, marking, phéromones, HÉATS, true form Sukuna, Sukuna’s second mouth, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Skibidi alpha Tony is baaaack (and ovuIating.)

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - No running!

That pesky, low-grade curse he happened to encounter on a gig today? Tch, Toji Fushiguro didn’t even break a sweat before finishing it off. Didn’t even flinch at its weak cursed technique, didn’t- didn’t even…

-didn’t even make it to your bedroom.

“You’re lucky.” A pained wheeze spits from Toji’s clenched canines as soon as his hips bully your own into the soft carpet of your doorway. And his clammy core sticks feverishly against your back - burning hot, desperate. He’s inhaling your honeyed fragrance and stuttering- “Y-you’re lucky you’re lucky you’re lucky I didn’t- oh.”

Your husband jolts once he’s catching the hazy sight of you mindlessly crawling away, a rugged snicker leaving him as he claws a massive palm on top of your scalp to draaaag you right back down.

Slurp! goes the way his round, cherry-red circumference circles your sloppy entrance, and you’re whining over your shoulder. “T-Toooji–! What’s gotten into you t-today?”

“Y-you’re about to find out, ma.”

“What do you…” 

That question on the tip of your dampened tongue didn’t even have a chance to formulate, before you’re gathering up every ounce of strength in your body to meet Toji’s jaded stare and- oh.

Oh, it hits you.

You were fucked. 

Oh-so-very vulgarly fucked, he’s ramming his painfully aching length just mere sultry inches past your saturated folds and it’s enough to leave you dizzy. The swollen spheroid of his crownhead scraping your walls rawly open, Toji’s shivering above you.

Sharp jaw bitten at the tight resistance of your elastic hole. Sounding fucked out of his mind– “Feel that?” You’re gasping when one of his palms travel halfway down your tummy, searching for that familiar nudge of his stout cockhead. “Yeah- feel me all inside? You’re luck- ngh- you’re lucky. Sooooo fucking lucky-” 

Was…you could feel your slobbering pussylips grow ever-wetter, glossing out a slick coating that glues to his sagging hilt in a ring. Was the Toji Fushiguro pussydrunk right now? Already? 

With the calloused ends of his fat digits clasping ‘round your throat, he’s reeling you to him like some cute toy. Drinking in your every piping shrill, kissing, gnawing- “L-lucky I didn’t catch ya right then and there, doll.”

And maybe Toji was just so big that it rendered you stupid.

Because with your spine bowed up against the ridges of his abs, you’re huffing n’ puffing with every glissade of his beefed-up muscles. “Wh-why–?”

“Why? Why?” His baritone comes out broken, octaves higher. He slouches over to breathe in a heavy gulp of your sweetened scent and almost sobs in disbelief, “‘Why’ m-my wife asks- why-” And before you know it, Toji’s holding tightly onto your cute throat n’ siiiinking his fat shaft deeper inside. Shoving and shoving his toned v-line into you with every snug resistance from your cunt, “Ohhh fuck- fuck! I can’t even- you don’t even know- because m’gonna break ya, doll.”

“Gonna break- ngh- gonna– fuuuck, why are you so big?” You’re so fucking full that you can feel his steaming dollops of pre fill you up to your lungs, damn near splitting you in half. 

Grinning savagely, “N’ yet she’s still begging for more. She wants me- needs me-” With a coo, Toji hikes up one of his meaty thighs to plant down on your sweaty skull and make you arch. “-and I thought I’d die without this p-pretty pussy.”

“Hck! Inside- w-want every inch, Toji–” The wooden floorboards underneath creakily sing with every rummaging drill. 

He was fucking you like a madman. “That damn curse- fuck, wanted to fuck you right there. Right in public- right in front of e-everyone.” Truly, he was burning every nanosecond he wasn’t jackhammering you silly. 

That cursed technique working overtime to make him tense his front and slap sloppily into the mounds of your ass. Over and over in jagged, animalistic ruts just trying to fit himself in. 

More more more more - and yet, it still wasn’t enough.

“Take it all- gonna break-” The rotund curve of his left thumb roams down, curling past your soppy crevice to smear open your droopy folds. Wiiidely agape to push his squelching cock further, the snagging stretch felt feral. “-gonna break me.”

A fat line of saliva escapes from one end of Toji’s unfastened maw once you clench, dripping down to target your leaking hole with a loud splat! splat! splat! The impact so sudden and scalding hot that it has you flinching-

“O-oi–” And has Toji immediately digging the fringes of his fingerpads deeper upon either side of your throat and tugging- you weren’t even creeping away this time, and yet he was letting off a pained grunt as if you were. 

Couldn’t even bear the mere thought-

“No no no no no, don’t run-” He’s gritting his teeth, precisely skidding his vein-decorated length until Toji’s pointed mushroom smooches your most sensitive spot. A direct strike, “Don’t run from me, mama. You have nowhere to run tonight.” 

Finally, finally bottoming out. 

BANG!

Toji’s palm comes slamming down on the space of floor right beside your head, hard enough that the entire floor shudders. Just as much as he was. 

“Fuck- fuck.” He sounded so fucked-out that it made your own ears ring. Long, raven lashes shuttering, cheekbones flushing, scarred mouth falling into an oh! at the feeling of your hot cunt.

“O-oh my god…fuuuck Toji–!” You’re sobbing at the taut stretch of your poor walls, bruising with the slip n’ slide of his rock-hard length. Toji’s cock was probin’ in so deep that you’re counting every lecherous ba-dump! of his racing pulse down under. 

A few black tendrils of his happy trail rub on your ass cheeks as he’s tugging you closer, furiously blinking his hooded eyelids to clear his vision. 

“M’gonna…” And just as soon as the words are forming on his tongue- they’re falling flat. 

Because Toji’s only just raising his white-knuckled hand from the sizzling carpet to find that he’d left a smashed crater in the shape of his hand. 

Strength so overwhelming, powers so out of control - he didn’t know whether it was the technique or you that had him so…ruined. 

“H-heh.” He barks out a hoarse breath of shocked laughter, that very same heated palm drifting down to cup your bulging pussy. Stretched and stretched and stretched around his barreling size–

You can only squirm at the way his touch is so unintentionally hot, almost simmering out the branding of his handprint. Dangerous. 

One hand massaging your tearful cunt, the other letting go of your craned neck to pat that outline he was fucking into your tummy with every- single- slam. The shape of his glazed tip creamin’ into your insides, Toji coos. “M’gonna haaaa fill this cute bulge up with Megs’ new younger sister, ma.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Big big BIG

“You- you know I respect you- right, my love?” Nanami’s seething out with a sharp bite of his handsome jaw, nostrils flaring at that saccharine scent you were giving off. “Right?”

Slowly, you nod– vision blurred with the glassy film of your own stimulated tears. 

What? What happened to make your dear, gentle Nanami Kento so…feral. 

Only for your husband to spank down a hold on the curve of waist and draaaag you bodily down the silken sheets- “Because- because m’gonna fuck you right now. Hard. Fast. Disrespectful.” 

Oh. 

Nanami wasn’t just big - he was teeth-clenchingly, mind-numbingly big. So wide n’ swollen that just a brush of his pretty pink tip against your mushy walls left you ruined from the inside out, whining. 

And right now he was bigger. 

“Ken–” Your brows furrow adorably tight, and you’re swearing that that made your husband grow even fatter. Prolonging a few sultry inches that made your toes curl all the way, “-Ken y-you’re so…”

“S’biiig, huh?” He’s softly swabbing away that thin trickle of drool decorating the side of your lips. Free hand loosening that satin yellow tie of his that he didn’t even bother taking off - couldn’t. “Keep those- hah! legs open, s’alright-”

And every breathy word comes out in a murked pant - heaving, desperate. Gasp after hot gasp departing from his stern mouth every time Nanami’s squelching his girth inside, he spits wetly down your slit. 

“See?” Thumbing inside that translucent splatters, “You- you can take this, then you can take this, my wife. You can- haaaah you hafta. Let me- let me.”

“Oh, p-pleeease!” You’re squealing as he laces an overlarge palm on top of your sweat-matted crown and pushes you onto his throbbing, aching length. Ogling away at the beefy flex of his biceps as he does-

The intensity of your gaze makes him jolt. Body shocked, heat burning- his carnal fingertips itching to squeeze your puckered pussylips together, “C’mon-” Tighter, cock pulsing fatter. “C’mon.” Tighter. 

Just to watch the way your moans pitch higher, face polished with a wave of fucked-out drool - your husband was so mean.

“Hafta fill you up.” His scorching pants make your forehead humid with perspiration. Words sharp, narrowed down where his mushroom tip was slimily mazing inside of you, “Hafta make her f-full, hafta ngh- breed this cute lil’ cunt right here.”

He’s never been this…depraved. 

Never been this vulgar, never this impatient as he keeps clinging onto the nub of your clit with his ring finger, making you yelp at the chilling touch. And you had half the mind to wonder what the hell happened on his mission today.

“What happened? What- ngh! I’ll tell you wh-what happened, my love.”

Shit- were you talking out loud?

His bludgeoning thrusts were so rawly good that it had you stupid, your pupils circling your eyes in a way that was almost silly. “Wh-what…”

“S’a curse- a technique- a- fuck! I don’t even know.” Something stupid when he was rushing to get home to you. And something even more deprived cracks at the back of Nanami’s dry throat, syllables slurring together in a way you’ve never heard your eloquent husband do before. 

“Just wanna fuh-fuck you, darlin’.” Soft, plump lips graze yours tenderly, and he’s drinking in your sweetened scent. The taste of it enough that he ruts - without even knowing. “Want- no, need it. S’like this pretty pussy’s hck! holding me hostage. Gonna die without her.”

He needed you. He needed you. 

The very moment that Nanami finds himself sheathed all the way to those curls of tawny gold lining down his washboard abs - filling you up so much you could barely motion your lungs to breathe - he’s gone. Gone. 

And he was fucking you straight into the mattress, until you felt like you were on the very verge of being swallowed up by the creaking bedsprings. Until you felt like you were going insane-

Bottomed out yet pushing and pushing and pushing.

Your trembling fingers latch ‘round Nanami’s dangling tie for dear life, and it only makes the sculptured man above you grin. “Yeah- yeah that’s it–” One of his roughened free hands clasp over your own and let you puuuull and tug to your lecherous heart’s content, “-roughen me up.”

He wanted to be strung around, he wanted you to scrape your nails all over his muscles every time his deeply scouring cock was hitting your innards. 

“Oh- my god, Kento–!” Comes out your answering whine as he slouches his sturdy weight on top of you until you’re press-press-pressed down with his core. Heels of your feet snagging on the bindings of his thigh suspenders, “Please- please please m’so close.”

Harder. Faster. 

Gazing down at where you were slobbering in great heaving dollops with such greed, Nanami was so needy that you see him drool in thin slivers. 

He didn’t even realize. 

“S-such pretty birthing hips. We’re gonna have s-such gorgeous kids.” He almost whimpers - whimpers out - blond strands sticking in an uncharacteristically unruly manner to his forehead. Nanami plants yet another sweet mass of spit on your sensitive cunt until it had you squirming, “That- yeah like that- c-can you spell my name, darling?”

And he wasn’t just asking - he was manhandling you into it with a few thorough pushes of his toned thighs. Shaking. Unsteady. 

Nanami’s breath catches in his breath once your gyratin’ hips manage to move in something that resembled a slurping K-E-N-T-O - giving extra care to let his vein patterns massage your sweet spots on that last ‘O’.

“O-oh, Ken–” Your hips keep repeatedly bucking and he finds it so hypnotizing, “-m’close- m’gonna- fuck fuck fuck m’gonna…”

K-E-N-T-O

One set of thick fingers rolling on your clit, the other pushing those fogged-up glasses further up his blushing face. 

“Fuck-” Curved mound of his breeder balls kissing your cunt over and over, stinging. Something in him twitches as he feels your fleshy walls squeeze n’ clench n’ cum. “Fuuuck k-keep doing that and m’gonna…make a mess. M’gonna-”

The wave of your high only punctures with one of your shrilling moans as Nanami’s tunneling shaft gives an animalistic twitch. You’re hauling him by the tie to crash your lips into his, open-mouthed and raw. “P-please Ken…inside…?”

Barely even coherent over your euphoria and it still manages to shock him to his very core like a zillion volts. 

And maybe he’s cumming - maybe he’s cumming twice- but fuck. He doesn’t even know right now, doesn’t even feel anything other than the clingy splatter of something wet and oozing out of his geysering tip - and the cold, cold taste of your wedding ring. 

Being brought up to his snarling mouth so that he can bite down– “-m’gonna p-put another one of hck! these on you, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “S-sweet…”

That soft gasping whine tumbles out of Geto’s pretty lips like he didn’t even mean it to - like he didn’t even fucking realize until it was too late. 

And your tearful eyes are cracking wider just a smidge, a sweltering hot gasp sprinting from your mouth and straight towards his tender shaft. Where your leader was ravenously fisting his reddened length in front of your face - rapid, sloppy tugs while he straddled your head.

Practically goading that pearl-sheened droplet of precum to splatter down onto your face, “Sweet.” His nostrils flare as he’s gulping in your scent even further, and now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

That all-new cursed technique the sorcerers used on him was driving him mad, dolloping out a stringy wad of sap that leaks from the strawberry-pink orifice homed at his very tip. Down, down, down to glue your puckered lips together, “You’re so sweet.” Spank goes the ringing impact of his vein-covered length slapping your cheek, until you feel every winding pattern. Gasping, “Why? Why the fuck are you so sweet?”

Agonizing, he was genuinely asking.

Spank spank spank- 

Geto’s slender fingers fly up n’ down from the raven curls at his pelvis to thumb his curvaceous cockhead, “Gonna- gonna be the death of me.” His thick, milky thighs shiver where he hovers over your face, dark brows furrowed. “-gonna ruin me. Gonna fuck- fuuuck–”

Your tongue flops out readily as a few speckles of pale white ooze out onto your face, spittle overflowing at the way it was so hot you could almost see steam.

And it wasn’t enough that you’re making him cum like this - your glittery pussy just looks so delectable that Geto Suguru feels like he could die if he doesn’t shuffle himself down your body and plug you full right this very second.

So that’s exactly what he does. 

Fast enough that your stupidly muddled brain wonders whether your boyfriend had teleported, because in a split-second he’s thwacking his ruby-red tip between the leaky crevice of your pussy and cumming.

In ropey, white mases that cobweb your entrance- Geto’s spit-stringed maw falls open at the way your glistening hole quivers greedily. “God, you love it like this, huh?” He seethes, canines drawn in a snarl. “You love it. Sucking me up like that- ya have noooo idea what you do t’me, huh?”

“J-jus’ want you so bad, Suguru–” You’re whining out, the caps of your knees hitting your tits once you’re being folded like a lawnchair underneath him. 

“Fucking slut.” Trying for his usual predatory leer but he sounds feral, gone. Sounding off the most primal slurp as he coats his achin’ tip with the lustre of slick dripping down your boneless thighs, Geto leans over until you could practically taste his expensive cologne. “S’worse than that t-technique. You…you like it like this, huh?”

And the ‘yes yes yes’ is just starting to formulate on your tongue before he’s smushing your cheeks together with his left hand - and barreling his fat, rock-hard cock into your sobbing cunt with the right.

Inch after inch.

So big that just the first creeped-in plop! of his ridged tip scours your gooey wet spots and leaves you keening. His rotund tip stout and wiiide enough that your mouth falls into the same agape oh!

It wasn’t enough - just getting himself off would never be enough. He needed you you you–

“S’that it? S’that what you want?” Geto’s grouching sounds just as merciless as his pace was starting up, flexible hips swirlin’ aaaaching drags of his heavy cock against every nook and cranny of your pussy. “Ta ruin me? Huh–?” And his eyes blow wide, shuddering thighs coming to press up against yours, he grins. “Well- you’ve got me ruined. Fuuuuck you’ve got me ruined.”

“N-nghhh– Sugu- s-so deep.” You cry out once his cherry-red tip swabs your cervix in a prolonged line, your sanity fraying at the edges with each rummaging push. 

“Shit- you like being fuh-fucked like this.” Pounding every wiry sput of ivory into you so hard that you can feel it swirl inside of you and make such a mess. It wasn’t lost on his cottony brain how that only made you even wetter, prattling. “Like this- all- all sloppy.”

“Yes- yes yes yes, want it- want it all.”

And your ruthless leader doesn’t know whether it’s that damn technique or simply you that makes his heart race so rapidly. 

Giving your cushy walls yet another slam, “Oh yeah? Ya like it when I make this ngh- cute cunt all sloppy? Then you better not w-waste a single drop.”

You’re mewling at the probing feeling of his slender fingertips pushing apart your claggy folds to treat your pulsating clit like a button. Tugging and toying. “D-did you just stutter?”

“Shut up.” And for all your mouthiness, it earns you the biggest slap of Geto’s split-ended head bruising your g-spot. So hard that he was almost a magenta purple at the drooling tippy-top, “Shut up shut up shut up-” 

His soothing bass cracks, his hips shudder. Your calves almost ache where he’s manhandling you easily into a mating press, “N’ take it- t-take it- Hck! gonna be all full with me…full with my kids.”

Plural - and that is almost enough to make you babble out nonsense all over again.

“Fuh-fuuuuck– Sugu–”

Geto’s hazed amethyst eyes falter shut as he buries his face to your throat and draaaags in a deep inhale of your honey-dipped pheromones. So sweet. “H-heh- maybe that’ll stop all that backtalk- huh, gorgeous?” 

The curvy lines of his veins slip across your walls as he drills into you oh-so-relentlessly, and the only response you can give are a few gurgling gasps of his name. 

He was insatiable - nothing like himself.

“Yeah? Oh yeah?” Something in his voice hatches primally, and Geto leans over almost mockingly. Harder. Plump, pink lips curling with every squelch! your stretched-out walls sing, “Tell her ta s-stop drooling n’ talk to me straight-”

“B-but I am-”

“I meant her.” Cutting you off, you can feel your ears pop with the sheer pressure of him ravaging your tender insides. The mound of his crownhead pushes into your cervix and you whine– “Shh- she’s talking-” 

Fuck, he wasn’t even talking to you. So fucked-out that you wondered whether he even realized. 

“She’s talking- telling me that she wants it- ohhh she wants me ta fill you up e-even more-” He has the audacity to giggle - giggle - out something octaves higher and maddened, “-ta breed you, my p-pretty cumdump. To make you all full and round and- and full. Full of my daughter, gorgeous.”

Only dabbing the hand at your clit upwards to sliiide along your ajar maw, gathering a few gumdrops of creamy cum that had decided to slip free earlier— he glosses over your lips and makes you let off the loudest wet noise yet. 

Your lashes grow heavy with tears of sensitivity as that very same sensory pad sneaks down to your swollen folds, gliiiding it all over in a lustrous coating. Thick and hot. 

“H-heh.” 

His parched Adam’s apple bobs at the treacly wet glazes decorating both pairs of your lips, looking so unfairly pretty. All dark strands of black sticking to his clammy forehead, dimples displayed, blush devastating. “Almost looks better on her.” Half-opened eyes narrowed down at your soppy pussy, now all glittery and moistened. Geto growls, “Gonna hafta give her a second helping ta make sure, gorgeous.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Got milk?!

“B-baby-” Choso’s puffy, ruby-red lips flap wildly as your hips swerve gently arooound his aching hot cock. That swollen mushroom tip of his stirring your goopy insides in a snug heart until you didn’t know whether you were more fucked or he was. “Baby- hck! baby.”

“Yeeees, Cho?” You’re cooing downwards, planting a sweet, sweet kiss that leaves your poor best friend blushing. 

He was just plain cute even after a mishap with his own cursed technique - one that left his curse-like powers out of control and him…in heat. Thankfully you knew how to help. 

Whining breathily as he gnaws on your lower lip like candied gum, “N-no…”

You watch on with your head tilted prettily as he lowers his chestnut gaze shyly, a silvery line of sweat roaming somewhere down his temple. “I-I meant-” Choso’s stuttering out needily, the blushing curve of his shaft pounding oh-so-rapidly inside of you, pulse racing. He’s creeping a hand up the sides of your hips - your womb. “-I w-want a baby, baby.”

Every second that you’re stilling in slight shock felt like agony to him, every soft clench you’re instinctively smooching over his rummaging circumference was heaven.

And Choso was damn near letting his heavy lids burst with a waterfall of desperate tears before you blink your lashes in such a sensual way– 

“Awww, Choso–” Leaning over his toned pectorals until your honeyed scent overwhelms him and makes him throb. You pat the sexy incubus-looking inking that’d burned over his curly brown happy trail, “-of course you c-”

He doesn’t even let you finish your sentence - doesn’t have the patience to.

Not even the fucking sanity to do anything but clamp down his honed, animalistic canines into the crook of your neck and cum. Just from those words shrilling out of your mouth– he’s wafting out guttural grunts upon grunts into your heated flesh with every splat! of creamy seed covering your insides.

“I-I’ll take ngh- care of it.” You’re making out his scratchy words, “I’ll take care I’ll— oh.” The plump pads of his fingers smear a wet wipe down your leaking slit, scooping up oodles of cum. “I’ll take take of you- take care of our daughter take- take–”

Shit, you looked so sinful with your pretty pussy drooling down on him this way.

Spraying out a shiny sheen of glossy white that dripped down either side of his slender hips, your greedy entrance gulping up every wiry web of seed he was pouring inside you. 

“Need to fuck you- gonna fuck you. Feels like m’fucking burning up if I don’t…” Overtaking him - overtaking his pace.

You’re squealing at the splosh of wetness pooled inside your walls, “P-please, baby.” Head throwing back stupidly once the fat of his thumb slithers to stuff your hole with so many copious wads of sap. “W-want more-”

“D-don’t say that.” A hefty digit finds itself stuffed inside your slackened mouth, and you can’t help but slurp up the caramel salted taste of Choso’s cum right off of him. “-s’not good t-to talk out of your cute c- oh…”

And he’s so ready for you to squirm your body even closer and spit that ivory frosting back over into his mouth, striking his pinkish tastebuds with a resounding splatter. And he swallows. His eyes rolling all the way backwards until you could only see pure white- humming, “But I want more, Cho. Inside.”

“M-more.” Choso gazes up at you - blank-faced, mouth agape. Gone. Shaking his head, gasping to free himself from this cursed technique, “Really- really want more.”

Nodding, “Mor- mmpf–!”

Choso’s slouching over right in half - he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t want anything but more. In an instant, all the murked air inside your lungs is being squeezed out once Choso sits up on the silken mattress and hugs his strong arms ‘round your body.

Face pushing into your neck, breath scorching your skin. “More- more.” A high-pitched - almost crazed - sort of laughter departs from his adhesive-like lips, “She wants more- my-” Groooaning at the sultry smooch of his weepy orifice accurately into your cervix, “-my baby wants more fuuuck–!”

Mouth watering with a syrupy wave of spittle at your fragrance, so sweet that he could almost taste it. With a creak! of your aged bedcoils, he’s pounding up into you-

Hard. Fast.

Every gyrating motion massaging his tense core all over your front n’ sweaty inner thighs, “Milking me- milking me- ohh, my baby can f-feel all of it, huh?” 

“I can- hngh! C-can…” Your arms throw over Choso’s broad shoulders as you hold on for dear life. He was just so veiny that every whack! whack! whack! of his bludgeoning crown left your dangling knees weak.

Curtained by silky bangs, glassy eyes of his catch yours, “You can- y-you can, h-huh? Feel every inch, every v-vein-” Almost as if he himself couldn’t believe it, Choso’s trekking over one of his splayed palms to feel for where he’s rummaging your insides and hisses. Sharp tattoos on his nosebridge crinkling, “-every push-” His puffily veined shaft slips over your g-spot with a delicate sluuuuurp, “-right here?”

“Oh- ohhhh fuck! I can–”

“Yeah- yeah yeah yeah- feel it. Feel me.” Now slobbering like a damn dog with every cloudy puff of your pheromones, he can feel the heat overtaking him and making his glistening tip swell. “Gonna fuh-fucking die before I don’t fill ya up-”

It was almost hard to remember that this was your best friend. You’re thumbing away one of the pearly translucent tears that slip down his burning cheeks, “Then you better not hah! miss.”

So looong that every rugged thrust reaches your deepest, tenderest insides; spearheading your poor pussy until you felt your folds rub raw. And the sloppier his cadence gets, the more rapidly your hazed irises are circlin’ your eyes dizzily. 

Choso’s sweet lips glue to each other with a lustre of spit and wobbles, a furious blush overtaking his features from the tips of his ears to down under. “N-ngh!”

And it’s all that he has to say- all that he can breathe before Choso’s not just cumming for the second time - he’s squirting. 

You made him squirt out hot rivulets of sticky sap that clings onto your cunt lovingly, trickling down every ridge of his washboard abs. So much. So heavy.

His bulky tip slips out of your entrance at the sheer momentum and Choso whines- “Sh-she’s gonna have your gorgeous eyes- I love your eyes…” Angrily fisting the chubby base to froth out more and more milky ribbons that scorch your slippery crevices, you’re being flooded to the very brim. “-your smile- y-your beautiful skin- your hair- alllll of you. M’gonna take care of it allll.”

Thighs twitching, you’re barely even talking at this point, your pussy letting off more than enough chatty squelches on behalf of you. 

Choso grips a handful of your right asscheek to tug you closer before- with a noisy splatter, a few viscid tendrils of cum drivel out of you. And oh, his tear-filled gaze is hypnotized by the sight of the mess he’s made below. 

Jaw-dropped. Heated. 

“Oh- marry me.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Suffocate me, woman.

The King of Curses didn’t know how he got here- he didn’t even know why. 

One his damn court subjects was showing off a cursed technique, and the next thing y’know is that you’re seated right on top of his plush, puckered mouth whilst the Ryomen Sukuna begged for your dripping wet cunt. 

“O-oh but, Kuna-” Your lower lip wobbles cutely as his clawed fingers grip each side of your hips like a vice, he’d already been driving you mad with his tongue and his dual cocks for hours now. 

And yet - he still needed more.

“Fuck ‘b-b-but’.” Your hulking husband snarls from down below, and just the sight of his gleaming, honed canines is enough for you to shudder out a gasping oh! The edges of his plump lips tickling your perked pulsing clit-

“If I suffocate y-”

“Then fucking s-suffocate me.” You don’t even have the time to register that you’d made the big, bad king stutter before he’s gripping a bruising handful of your ass and draaaagging you down. Plopping, sitting. Grouchy baritone cracking, “Wh-who do ya think I am, puny human?”

It was a rhetorical question, and the only answer you’re able to give is a jumble of mashed ‘fuck!’ and “Kuna!” 

Bellowing out a throaty groan at the honeyed sap beading down his tongue, Sukuna’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs and gasps with every gulp. Every slap of his scratchy tastebuds, every smooch. 

“S-smells so sweet.” And as if he wasn’t lewd enough, you’re feeling the frigid breeze of him inhaaaling the fragrance of your candied pussy. Grunting, “Wanna kiss? Sloppy- w-wanna kiss, don’tcha?” The slivery edge of his tongue slips past your folds and laps up the remnant excess of his creampies from before- “Mmmm- s’not enough. Not- not enough.”

“N-not enough?”

And it really wasn’t enough for him.

Shoving himself even more nose-deep between your puffy folds meant that Sukuna was hypnotized, his crimson peripherals barely peeking out between his pinkish bangs. 

“Cleaning you up t-ta put in more-” A webbed wallop of cum slips between his lips, and he’s taking a few seconds to sniff your honeyed, raw cunt once more. Senses sensitive twofold, “-gotta put in more. S-sooo much more. Gotta fill you up.”

His mouths - both his mouths - were fucking restless. The slimy tip of his second cursed tongue weaving upwards until you’re flinching at its touch, slopping a wet sheen all over your inner thighs. You’re shuddering as the very berry-pink muscle prolongs to slap your clit, “W-wait that’s ngh! Unfairrrr–”

“Didn’t think I would be nice, did ya?” He’s grumbing out, and the length of his other tongue was so loooong that it could stretch all the way until you’re being smeared wide open. Up, up, up just to taste you. 

You’re halfway through screaming as you feel the tiny hearts that he’s drawing over your inner thighs, faster. Faster. Cracking open a heavy eye, “What? Hm?” Not talking to you - but to his other cursed mouth. “Keh, greedy thing. Go on then.”

Oh. 

Oh, you only get what he meant when his winding muscle starts pokin’ your rubbery entrance. Playfully nudging once - twice, before splitting you so open. 

“S-so deep-!” Sukuna’s mazing his tongue down your dewy dampened walls so deep, glistening hot tip searching like a headlight. He scratches the ridges of his tastebuds right over where he could just pinpoint your g-spot, “W-wait there- hck! There–!”

And usually he would snipe back with something smug, usually he would mock your wailing whines.

But right now, Sukuna was so gone on your dizzying pussy that his nostrils flare as he pushes further face-deep between your jittery legs. 

“There- there there there.” 

Chin dribbling with a lustrous glazing of slick and cum and slick, your fuzzy brain sparks with so many stars with every thrust. Faster. “Does it please you to drench me, brat?” Making out with your slobbering cunt like a man parched. Faster. “Does it p-please you to have me like this? Begging and cleaning out your sloppy haaaa pussy- only to fill you up again?”

Overstimulated tears saturating your eyes, you can only throw your head back and whine– “Y-yes–” Legs twitching where they were fully cushioning Sukuna’s handsome face, “-please…won’t last, Kuna–”

It’s like both his drooling maws only get more eager at your declaration.

Jaw spanking the front of your cunt, he’s sucking on your cute clit like a lolly. “Won’t last, huuuh?” Leering grin reflected upon both mouths, Sukuna’s second tongue dares to draw a swooping pattern- no, his name. His name in a sizzling hot motion on your battered g-spot, “Cum then.”

And when you do, it’s with that very same name trilling from your spit-slicked mouth until your lips are buzzing. 

Peak after peak of white-hot euphoria that leaves your head spinning, heartbeat thundering down all the way to your hot core. And the king is soooo much more than happy to let his features brace your every sloppy drag. 

Creaky joints ricketing at the sheer force, the backs of your thighs aching, “S-s’too good-” Your throat clogs with a few wads of saliva that overspill, so filthy. “-feels like m’in heaven, Kuna.”

And it’s only once your tingling high has simmered down, only once you’re just beginning to catch your punctured breath that he’s finally, finally wrenching himself away with a claggy mwah!

“Well don’t tap out just yet, brat.” Heavy lids hooded - the smile he’s gifting you is so drunken. Chuckling gruffly, “Look at this mess.”

Calling it a ‘mess’ was an understatement. 

Sukuna was ravaged from the apples of his high cheekbones - all glossy with a lacquer of your juices - down to his slobbering second mouth. Still licking its monstrous lips with the cloying remnants of you, tongue flicking wet swipes at your thighs for more more more. 

“Clean it up.”

His tone is sharp, stern- but the way that the man himself hiccups once two of his four beefy arms pick you up and manhandle you over his matching cocks was anything but. 

Hell, he was already wondering whether he could get that damn curse to hit him with this cursed technique a second time.

“O-oh.” Sukuna stutters - stutters, at the heated warmth of your pussylips being spread open over his swollen, pre-topped cockhead. Both so big that not even how much his secondary mouth had tugged on your hole could prepare you for the streeeeetch–

“That’s it- that- that’s it-” His broad, meaty pecs heave, his crimson eyes dilate, his own mouth drools at the snug clench of you. Looming so big, you’re being hovered down like a pretty porcelain doll to maze his rovering strawberry divots tight inside your wet cunt, ravenous. “The king can’t have an heir without filling ya up, human.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - HEIR

It wasn’t the Gojo clan leader’s fault this time - it wasn’t. He swears with every sparking, pussydrunken ounce of his brain that he didn’t purposefully let those damn elders hit him with a sex technique-

“Y’know why I l-let them haaaah- use that technique on me, s-sweetheart?” Gojo’s pert, pink lips twitch as they struggle to keep holding his cocky smirk. Snowy brows furrowing at the splashing wave of his own cum that greets him at your entrance, rumbling bass low in your ear. 

And a sensual squelch sounds as he draaags his ruby tip all the way down and up your slit, sluuurping in a way that makes your husband lick his own lips. “Because this sweet pussy was ngh- begging to be bred. They wan’ an heir, they’re gonna get one.”

And before you can even let out another saturated gasp! he’s hovering his clammy palm over your tummy - your skin crackling with the sizzle of cursed energy before-

“Not yet.”

Not yet not yet not yet.

You’re whining, it’s been this way for hours - days? - now, and Gojo’s leveraging his glowing Six Eyes to check whether his repeated, milky creampies had finally taken. “T-Toru, you’re so mmpf-!”

Unable to even finish your sentence before his beefy, impatient arms are looping around your restless body and hauling you halfway down the soft tatami mats. Both boneless legs thrown over one shoulder, Gojo hadn’t even bothered to take off his expensive yukata. 

Hadn’t even bothered to think - to breathe before he’s plugging you up until you’re overflowing. The curving fringe of his mushroomed tip smacking open your glutinous walls, he hugs your thighs. “She’s begging- she’s saying ohhh…”

“F-fuuuck, Toru!” The whack of his slimily-topped cockhead into your cervix makes you keen, gushing out in so many spurts of thick white that it forms a puddle below you. “Satoru, it’s the hck! technique-”

“S’not.” He’s gritting his pearly teeth, and there’s a little tremble in Gojo’s voice that makes him sound as if he’s on the verge of sobbing. Tender ribbons of his veins bursting out shockwaves- “She’s talking t’me- telling me h-how badly she wants ta be bred.” Sneaking a deeeeep gulp of your saccharine pheromones, gasping. Dizzy. “Don’t you hear that- don’t you- fuuuck, listen.”

Drilling into you until your popped eardrums flood with those noisy squelches, and to the strongest it wasn’t just lecherous music to his ears. 

No, no, no no- it was a full-on conversation that he was sluggishly nodding his head along with. “Right- right.” Smile dangling with strings of lustrous saliva that seems to water his mouth after every vulgar rut, “Says sh-she wants ta be all full- all round n’ glowing with my hair. Nghhh– oh, she’s purring.”

Words crackling with a bout of crazed laughter, you’re gulping at the sexy way that Gojo’s azure pupils bulge ever-so-slightly with stimulation. 

Thighs thrashing on top of his broad shoulder- but Gojo’s too strong. He’s pinning them down on one side and trawling you to meet every mazing thrust, leaking divot digging inside your wet cunt like a searchlight. 

“Satoru- hck! Satoru–” Your trills pitch upwards in both volume and pitch again and again and again with every slapping slam of his rounded girth inside. Gummy walls rubbed raw after so many hours, your body twitches every time you feel the remnants of his goopy cum dribble down your entrance. “I-I want-”

“-more?” Gojo finishes for you, octaves higher. Feverish - and it wasn’t just the technique any more.

And the look in his eyes told you that he wasn’t going to back down any time soon, he wasn’t even growing close to slowing down once he rovers a hand down to your clit and pinches. 

“H-heh, more.” He’s sputtering wetly, knobbly ends of his fingers buzzing with cursed energy. Making you see white-hot, “More more more more–” Gojo twists his dextrous wrist and pulls on your clit, “-my wife w-wants ngh- more, riiiight?”

“Yes- yes yes yes yes-” But more than that you were so close - you were about to cum.

But, of course, the Gojo Satoru knew that.

It’s exactly why he’s tugging on your perked clit a few repeated times more, flickers of blue lightning bolting from the ends of his pretty eyes as he gazes down at your tummy and watches his fat, meaty cock part your slippery walls and target your g-spot dead-on. 

Powers working overtime, “Hit iiiit~” Going out of control, he couldn’t stop watching every syrupy smooch right into that cute bundle o’ nerves, “C’mon- scream my name every time I hit it- don’t be haaaa shy, sweetheart.”

You do you do, with every stinging smack! of skin sticking onto skin - Gojo’s hips were so ruthless it’s as if he was trying to brand your ass with the imprints of his v-line, bruising himself red. 

“More- heh- n’ you’re gonna g-get more.” Cooing at your glittery pussylips, he strikes your clit with a pap! of his thumb. Rubbing in your scent, “More more more- more-”

And Gojo counts underneath his strained breath to exactly three before you’re hitting your overwhelming orgasm. Startling your tearful eyes wide open with the sheer force- it’s enough to make him hitch his breath and collapse his sweaty body on top of yours. 

The squeeze of your strobing walls so tight, the toe-curling pleasure enough for Gojo himself to rub his washboard abs in sultry gyrations like he was melting into you. Stirrin’ his rotund crown deeply inside with every blissful wave, as if he could see the stars bursting cartoonishly around your head. 

Face furiously flushed, long lashes flapping, maw agape. 

“Yeah c’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon–” He’s hissing into your open mouth, sharp canines leaving your poor swollen lips bruised. “-milk me. Milk me- This time- this time s’gonna take, my girl.”

It’s so much - both your peaked highs and the way that Gojo’s crashing into his own. Not hitting, no- crashing. 

Because all it takes is a few more sloppy strokes of his uneven cadence and his strawberry glazed orifice is bursting with jetstreamed squirts of cum - squirting. 

“O-oh my- fuck!” Your throat scratches at the sheer volume being animalistically stuffed inside of you, creamy white seed and sap and- and you’d just made Gojo Satoru squirt. 

The idea itself was enough to drive you wild - and so was the splashes of puddling torrents that bawled out of your sopping wet pussy. So much that you were leaking, thick. Gushing–

Splat!

You don’t even realize that you’re fucked stupid until it takes a wet splatter somewhere near your heaving chest for you to be brought back into heady reality. Lashes blinking back some semblance of your blotchy vision, “T-Toru are you-”

He was tearing. Those pooling salted tears staining your skin just as much as his goopy white cum was soiling the yukata slipping off of his broad deltoids.

“Oh…” 

“Wh-what–?”

Gojo’s drool-covered lips sag open as he veers his misty gaze to that tummy bulge he’d just pounded ruthlessly into you, aching hips still slithering his swollen inches back and forth. 

Fully wrung out, voice breaking- he sniffles, “-it took i-it took and…oh” Before you can let out anything more than a few whimpering hiccups, you’re just stuffed so full you can barely articulate. “Wonder- wonder if she’ll be gorgeous like her mama- ngh! W-wonder if she’ll be e-extra powerful if I breed this ngh- sweet pussy twice. ” 

He’s giving you a squeeze to your clit that makes you whine at the faintly buzzing cursed energy, fully babbling now. “Wonder if I can use cursed energy on my cock-”

“Satoru.”

A/N. MWAHAHA I feel somewhat better now babygirls n’ it’s all cuz of y’all <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[meowrimo]

zoro was never a big fan of sweets. he’d give it a chance but never settled for the taste on his tongue, opting to wash whatever it was down with booze.

he’d even try sweeter wines, but quickly decided it wasn’t for him. the sickly sweetness left him with a headache and while he wasn’t picky about his alcohol, it was something he wouldn’t indulge in again.

but to every rule, there is an exception.

and that one is you.

“so fucking sweet.” zoro’s breath fans along your glistening cunt, chin coated in your slick. the words kiss your clit, the deep rumble sending another burst of pleasure throughout your body. “can’t get enough.”

with one final glance at you, looking positively fucked out, the swordsman dives back into your cunt, determined to show you how skilled he can be with his mouth beyond wielding the wado.

his tongue rolls along your sensitive bud before it thrusts deep inside of you as he hungrily tries to get his fill, careful not to leave any part of you untouched. zoro’s fingers roughly grip the plushness of your thighs, pulling you closer to him just so he can drown in you all over again.

at this point, you’re not even sure he is doing this for your sake. not when his groans vibrate against your wetness, his hips humping against the mattress in time with your moans, already on the cusp of release.

it wouldn’t be the first time that zoro has came just from the taste of your sweet essence. he can’t help it, not when you invade all of his senses, a direct attack on him that he could never block — no technique could ever keep you out.

zoro’s nose nudges against your clit, causing your back to arch. but any movement like that interrupts his flowed frenzy, frustrating him. large hands move to your hips, pushing them back down on the bed so all you can do is lay there and take it.

[mariasont]

limerence

you're not a fan of fireworks. luckily, spencer's not a fan of letting you suffer in silence, especially when he has obscure marine biology facts and lap space to spare.

pairing: spencer reid x shy!reader warnings: fluff yipee, fireworks, some discussion of sensory overload, reader in spencer's lap (we up!), spencer is very in love, established relationship, kissing prompt: here! wc: 0.6k

“At night, the jellyfish showed an increase in the time to first pulse and the time to reach bottom compared to during the day. This increased latency in response to stimulus indicates that Cassiopea have reduced responsiveness to stimulus during the night.”

The article is still warm from its ill-fated stint on the radiator, a rushed drying technique he knew was a bad idea, but tried anyway.

He smooths a corner with one thumb, eyes scanning each line. He printed it after you mumbled something about fireworks being… well, not fun. You didn’t say you hated fireworks (you would never be so bold), but just gave him a thoughtful wrinkle of your nose, followed by, “I don’t think colors exploding overhead is my thing.” 

Which, coming from you, translated almost perfectly to please don’t make me pretend I like loud things for your sake.

And If he were being honest, and he’s not, because you’re very pretty and he’s only human, he would admit that he studies you more attentively than he’s studied any dissertation subjects. A concerning thought for his sanity, less so for his ego.

Now you’re tucked against him on the couch, limbs tangled and deposited half-haphazardly across his lap. Your toes nudge his thigh once, then again.

“Out with it,” he says.

A sour look fortifies on your face as cock your head to one side. “What?”

“That face. The I-have-a-question-but-I-don’t-want-to-seem-annoying face. It’s very cute. Not very stealthy.”

He does not mention, of course, that it’s his favorite face. Or how, embarrassingly, he’s sort of banking on you never perfecting your stealth because then he might stop getting to decode all your thoughts in real-time. Which would be weird, obviously. So instead he bites the inside of his cheek.

“So they slow down when it’s dark, but you’re telling me that’s not sleep?”

“Well, what we define as sleep involves identifiable neural oscillations and circadian regulation. Jellyfish lack a centralized nervous system, so technically, they’re not sleeping. But they exhibit behavior that’s, functionally, sleep-adjacent.” He pauses, glancing at you. “You’re not convinced, are you.”

“Sleep-adjacent feels like a cop-out to me, but okay.” You’re moving mid-sentence, elbows and knees negotiating gravity as you clamber into his lap.

It’s entirely impossible for him to continue arguing with you, especially when a firework splits the sky behind you, washing your face in quicksilver blue glow.

Your eyes dart briefly toward it, reflection shimmering against your lashes, before returning to him. He sets the paper aside, letting it flutter to the floor as his hands come to cup the curve of your spine.

He feels your heartbeat beneath his fingertips, fluttering quicker with every sudden burst overhead.

“You’re going to make a terrible research assistant if you keep rejecting my terminology.” There’s a hint of smile tugging at his lips. “But I guess I could keep you around for… morale.”

You gasp. “I would be an excellent research assistant. You’re the one who brought reading material after promising to relax for once.”

“I did promise that, didn’t I?” He muses. “Relaxing is subjective.” One hand rises to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “And you make it easier. So technically, this is collaborative rest.”

“Is that in the paper, too?” you whisper, fingertips tracing the edge of his collar, the slow movement sending a flush of warmth straight through his bloodstream. “The part where jellyfish respond better to affection-based co-regulation?” 

He exhales, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, gaze dipping involuntarily to where your red-painted nails press into his skin.

“That, uh…” he murmurs, “no, that wasn’t explicitly covered in the research.”

“Feels like a major oversight.” You tilt your head, bottom lip jutting out. “I’ll submit an addendum.”

A firework cracks sharply behind, and Spencer nearly jumps this time, though he catches himself just in time. You would never let him live that down.

“Add it to the record,” he mutters — and then he kisses you. Thoroughly.

join me at the lake for my 5k event!

maria's red, white and bau masterlist

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, sexism, you're going to want to grab a man and shake him, brief argument between Lando/Amelia, protective!Lando, possessive!Lando.

Notes — In honour of Lando's Monaco win, enjoy this long ass chapter xxx

2024 (Bahrain)

The hotel bathroom was quiet, lit only by the soft gold glow of the sconces and the flickering of a candle perched on the windowsill. The bathwater had gone from hot to lukewarm, but neither of them wanted to move. The air was humid, vanilla scented fog clinging to the mirror, and the silence was beautiful.

Amelia sat with her back against Lando’s chest, her legs stretched out between his, one arm resting over his knee, the other trailing lazy patterns in the water. His arms wrapped loosely around her middle — not tight, just steady. Warm. Anchoring.

His fingers brushed the edge of her tiny bump, which was just now starting to round out more noticeably under the water.

“Susie texted me,” he said eventually, voice low, lips near her ear.

“I know. She sent me a screenshot.” Amelia hummed. “Said you told her you were proud of me. Thought it was very sweet.”

“I am.” His nose nudged against her temple. “You said yes to something that was scary for you.”

“I always try to say yes to things that matter,” she corrected, soft but firm.

“Same thing, sometimes.”

She smiled a little, the kind that didn’t quite reach her mouth but warmed her anyway. They fell quiet again, letting the moment stretch. Steam curled in the air above the water.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lando said after a while, “about how we announce it.”

Amelia turned her head just slightly, enough to glance back at him. “The baby?”

He nodded. “People already suspect. We could just... confirm. Say it in our own way, before someone takes that away from us, you know?”

She thought for a second. “No awkward statement. No grid-side reveal or something ridiculous like that. Just a photo.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“A bump pic. Me dressed comfy. I don’t want to show anyone my scans, they’re private. Ours.” She said.

He hummed his agreement. “I can take the picture if you want.”

She pushed further into him. “Yes, fine. I’ll post that, and you can post whatever you want.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, baby.”

“Mm.”

They sat for another beat before Lando asked, quieter this time, like he was tiptoeing toward something sensitive. “You want to go back to work after?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She watched the water ripple as she moved one toe, trailing it lazily beneath the surface.

It was a fair question. With Lando’s salary and her own savings, they were more than secure. Add in both their families’ wealth, and their future, their child’s future, was already built on something solid.

But it wasn’t about money.

It was about legacy.

She loved her work. Loved the process of building something from nothing. Loved running strategy with Oscar and chasing that edge-of-your-seat adrenaline from the pit wall. She loved knowing she’d carved out a place in a world that had once been her only real comfort; a world where she hadn’t always felt welcome, but had made space for herself anyway.

Not many autistic people got the chances she’d had. She knew that. And she wasn’t ready to give them up.

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He’d known her answer before she said it.

Still, hearing it, the certainty in her voice when she said “Yeah. I do.” — settled something in his chest that he hadn’t even realised was unsteady.

Of course she was going back to work.

Of course she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She wasn’t built to. And honestly, he hadn’t fallen in love with someone who could. Amelia wasn’t passive. She didn’t sit still well. Her happiness lived in spreadsheets and simulations, strategy calls and sharp, direct problem-solving that left most people scrambling to catch up.

And he was obsessed with it.

Still; some part of him, ancient and primal and just a little bit unhinged, wanted to keep her home. Keep her wrapped up in soft jumpers and warm beds and low, steady heartbeats. Keep her safe. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t trust anyone else.

And now she was carrying his baby.

That knowledge struck him like a wave sometimes. The reality of it. The fragility. The ferocity of what he felt when he looked at her now; the kind of love that walked hand in hand with fear.

“I’ll get a sling,” she was saying, shifting slightly in the water, her voice more animated now. “Or one of those carrier things. I’ll bring the baby to the track with me. Nap time during debriefs. I’m sure they’ll be able to sleep through Oscar talking.”

Lando huffed a laugh, nuzzling the damp curve of her shoulder. “Probably sleep better with it.”

“I’m serious.” She turned a little, looking back at him. “I’ll make sure they’re safe. Make sure it’s never too loud or too dangerous. But I want them to be involved. Even if they’re too small to remember it.”

“They’ll remember how it felt,” Lando said, voice low. “You being happy. In your element.”

That made her pause.

She blinked. Once. Then again. She didn’t cry, not quite, but the weight of the moment settled heavy between them. “We’re going to be fine, aren’t we?” She whispered.

Lando tightened his arms around her, chin tucked into her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We’re going to be brilliant.”

—

Later that evening, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in one of Lando’s old t-shirts; soft, worn-in, hit mid-thigh. The hallway light was low behind her, and Lando leaned silently in the doorway, watching her.

The bump was barely there. Just a shift. A curve where there hadn’t been one before. But he saw the way she looked at it — clinical, detached, like she was trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be defined by numbers.

He knew that look. Had seen it a hundred times when she was deep in a design challenge, stuck on something she couldn’t brute-force with logic.

Only this wasn’t CFD. This wasn’t something she could sketch her way out of.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, softly.

She startled slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. “Sorry,” she muttered, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

He crossed the room in a few slow steps and slid his arms around her from behind, hands warm over the gentle swell of her stomach. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Just… talk to me. Yeah?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into him slightly. “It’s stupid.”

“Bet it’s not.”

Her gaze dropped to the fabric of the shirt. “It’s just… weird. My body. It’s not mine the same way it used to be.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just held her tighter.

“I know it’s normal. I know it’s supposed to be this way. But I feel like I have to keep checking if I’m still… me.”

“You are,” he said, no hesitation. “You’re still you.”

She let out a breath, shaky. “I have two heartbeats.”

“Yeah.” His hand slid lower, covering hers. “Just another one for me to protect, hm?”

Her laugh was quiet. She looked down again, hands still hovering at the hem of her shirt.

Lando’s thoughts ran in quiet loops behind his steady face.

Amelia was already strong. Already capable. But she was also vulnerable in a way that twisted something primal in him. Not because she was weak, never that, but because she mattered. More than anyone. More than anything.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be like this,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Protective.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but his thumbs were gentle as they traced the curve of her waist. “You’re you. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her breath hitched.

“And if anyone even thinks about making you feel less than perfect, or looking at you wrong, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” She said lightly, looping her fingers in the hem of his hoodie. “Run them over with your big scary Formula One car?”

“If I must.”

Her laugh was breathy, but her eyes were wet again. She leaned in, forehead to his chest, small and quiet and warm in his arms.

The mirror behind them had fogged over, hiding their reflection.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into her hair. “Both of you. Mine.”

And if it was possessive, if it was a little bit selfish, well, maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true.

—

Amelia was called in just after Oscar’s final lap time had been logged and the garage started to empty. The paddock buzzed around her with its usual noise and movement, but her mind was quiet. Focused.

She didn’t knock.

Zak and Andrea were already inside, both standing.

She blinked at them.

Her dad looked uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. His hands were on his hips, eyes on the floor. Andrea was less rigid, but equally tense, shifting a folder between his hands. When Amelia stepped in and closed the door, they both looked up.

“Sit down?” Andrea offered.

“I’ll stand,” she said evenly.

Andrea gave a small nod. Zak exhaled, a breath heavier than it needed to be.

“We spoke to the factory team,” Andrea began, “Reviewed the data from the past three days alongside their notes from the adjustments we made pre-season.”

“They admitted it,” Zak added. His voice sounded rough, like he’d rehearsed this and it still didn’t come out right. “They said you were right. About the aero balance. About the centre of gravity shift. About the torque distribution. Everything.”

Amelia didn’t react. Of course she’d been right.

Zak looked at her like he wanted to see something more; a smile, vindication, even relief. She didn’t give it to him.

“We should’ve listened when you flagged it the first time,” Andrea said. “It was a mistake to sideline your design philosophy.”

“You didn’t sideline it,” Amelia corrected, voice flat. “You replaced it. And let the factory team run with their own version of the spec, assuming I was being difficult instead of accurate.”

Andrea winced slightly. Zak flinched like she’d slapped him, not because her tone was harsh, but because it wasn’t. There was no heat behind the words. Just truth. Clean. Clinical.

Like it was data.

“I’m sorry,” Zak said.

Amelia finally looked at him.

She tilted her head slightly. “For which part?”

Zak swallowed. “For all of it,” he said. “For doubting you. For not defending your position when it counted. For treating you like a junior instead of a peer just because you’re my daughter.”

Silence.

Amelia’s hands were still. She blinked once, slow.

“I’m not here because I’m your daughter,” she said. “I’m here because I’m the best person for the job. I’ve proven that more than once. I led a driver to two incredible championships. But every time I push back, you treat it like a personal affront instead of professional disagreement. And Andrea—”

He looked up, eyes tired.

“—you’ve spent months pretending you trust me when it’s clear you don’t. That has consequences. Real ones. You compromised the car’s integrity because you didn’t want to back me.”

Andrea opened his mouth, but closed it again. There was nothing to say.

Zak was the one who stepped forward slightly, voice quieter now. “I didn’t know how to separate it. You being my daughter. You being in charge. I thought if I gave you too much leeway, people would say I was biased. But pulling back, letting others make the calls, it wasn’t the answer. And I see that now.”

Amelia didn’t move. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fold.

She just looked at him, measured and calm.

“Your worry about nepotism made you blind to sexism,” she said simply. “I wasn’t just second-guessed because I’m your daughter. I was second-guessed because I’m a woman in a room full of men who think engineering should look and sound like them. And you let that happen.”

Zak looked gutted.

Andrea rubbed a hand down his face, shame written clear across it.

“We’re reverting the car to your spec,” Andrea said quietly. “As soon as possible. We’re thinking it might take a while, but you’ll have full oversight. We’ll make sure your pipeline through the factory is restored — direct, no interference. We’ll back you. Properly, this time.”

Amelia gave one small nod. “Miami was your deadline.”

“I know,” Zak said. “It might still look like that — with how long it’ll take to introduce the upgrades in a way that won’t piss off the FIA.”

She hesitated, then nodded again — a fraction slower. “Good,” she said. “Then let me get back to work.”

She turned, her braid swaying behind her, and left without needing anything else.

No smugness. No triumph. Just forward motion; the kind she’d built her whole career on.

—

Amelia stood by the far window, sipping from a paper cup. Her badge was clipped to her belt still, her braid loose from where she’d pulled it apart during debrief. She didn’t move when her dad walked in.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did she.

He poured himself a coffee, too. Let the quiet stretch. Then, “I’ve been awful, haven’t I?.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “Yes. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He waited.

She turned, arms folded, the paper cup tucked loosely in her hand. “You’ve always believed in me as your daughter. I don’t doubt that. But you’ve never made space for me to be more than that when we’re here. You tell me you’re proud; but the second I disagree with you, or someone else in that room, I become a liability.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not.” Her voice stayed calm, level. Not emotional — precise. “I’m not irrational. I’m not reckless. I know that sometimes I communicate differently. But I am good at what I do. You don’t get to keep acting like those things are mutually exclusive.”

Zak looked down. His face, tired and slack under the motorhome lights, was older than she remembered seeing it last.

“You’re not a liability,” he said quietly. “Honey, I know you’re not. I swear.”

She nodded once, accepting it. No more, no less.

“I’m not angry,” she added. “But I’m not going to forget it happened.”

Zak nodded too. “You shouldn’t.”

They stood there for a beat longer.

Then he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She gave him a look.

“I mean—” He raised his hands slightly.

“…Fine.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, awkward. “Is this a bad time to ask if you’re going to want maternity leave?”

She blinked. Slowly. “Seriously?”

“Well, you’re already doing the job of three people. I just thought I should check.”

“I’m not going to be sitting around crocheting for six months, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll take a few weeks to recover. But I’m not vanishing. I’ll still be consulting. I’ll have a baby sling. And my iPad.”

Zak gave a small, helpless laugh — the first one all day that wasn’t exhausted. Then quieter, “You’re going to be a phenomenal mom.”

She looked down at her cup. Said nothing. But her lip twitched.

Zak stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, firm hug. For a moment, she stayed stiff — then let herself soften against him, just for a second.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “For everything. For trying to keep you away from Lando all those years ago, and for underestimating you again and again. I’ve learned my lesson. It'll never happen again.”

She didn’t say thank you.

But she hugged him back.

—

There were four days until the first race of the 2024 season.

The worst of the heat had passed, leaving just a shimmer of warmth on the breeze as Amelia and Lando strolled side by side down a quiet stretch of narrow street, tucked away from the busier tourist spots.

Amelia had her sunglasses on, hair up in a messy bun. One hand rested lightly on her hip through the oversized linen shirt she’d borrowed from Lando that morning. Her other hand was cradling a half-finished bottle of water.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Lando asked as they slowed near the edge of a small, shaded plaza.

“If I sit still for too long, my brain starts building hypothetical aero upgrades. You don’t want that,” she replied dryly.

Lando grinned. “God forbid you solve our side-pod turbulence in your sleep.”

“I already did that.” She told him seriously.

They found a little cafe tucked between two sandstone buildings; one of those slightly touristy places, but quiet, with mismatched chairs and a handwritten chalkboard menu. The awning fluttered faintly overhead as they took a seat outside, the table wobbly until Lando kicked a piece of stone under one leg.

Amelia squinted at the dessert menu propped behind the till. “What’s that?”

Lando followed her gaze. “‘Tiramisu stuffed brioche’,” he read aloud. “Nice.”

“I want it.” She said.

“You want it?” He blinked. “You never eat sweets before four pm.”

Amelia gave him a look. “Yes. Well. Apparently, now I do. Make sure it has no alcohol.”

Lando stood without another word and went to order. She watched him through the front window as he paid, then turned slightly to rest a hand on her stomach — absently. Still not fully used to the motion, but grounding herself in it more every day.

When he returned, two drinks in hand and the promised pastry on a little ceramic plate, he placed it in front of her like it was some precious offering.

“Moment of truth,” he said, eyes dancing.

She took one bite.

Then blinked. Chewed. Blinked again.

“Oh wow.”

Lando laughed. “Oh yes.”

“I want twelve more.”

He leaned back, looking smug. “Say the word, and I’ll clear out their kitchen.”

Amelia broke off another piece, then paused mid-bite, frowning at the treat with faint suspicion. “Is it normal to fixate on food like this?”

“Yes,” he said easily. “And very cute.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s irrational. There’s no scientific reason why—”

“You’re building a human,” Lando said, gently interrupting. “You can have cravings. It’s fine. I find it… weirdly hot, actually.”

She choked on the next bite.

Lando grinned wider. “What? There’s something kind of sexy about watching the most brilliant mind in motorsport fall madly in love with wildly specific flavoured carbs.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Amelia swallowed her mouthful and rolled her eyes, but she did smile, just slightly, as she reached for his drink and took a sip without asking.

They sat in the quiet for a while longer, warm air brushing against their skin, the low hum of the city around them. At one point, Lando reached across the table and took her hand, just held it there, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles.

“Tell the group-chat.” She said. “Before we post on Instagram. It’ll be nice for them to hear it directly from you.”

“Okay, baby.”

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

Lando N.

alright lads

Serious message incoming

George R.

Everything alright mate?

Alex A.

Did Amelia lose her iPad somewhere in Bahrain and you expect us to go searching for it? Bc I’m busy

Charles L.

i will NOT be clicking any weird links this time

Lando N.

shut up all of you for 5 seconds

i’m being SERIOUS

Oscar P.

👀

Lando Norris:

Amelia’s pregnant.

We’re having a baby!

Carlos S.

BRO

FELICIDADES

Pierre G.

WHAT

YOU’RE GONNA BE A DAD????

Fernando A.

Congratulations!

I already knew of course, mi Nina informed me herself x

George R.

Mate. Mate.

MATE.

A BABY NORRIS.

Charles L.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Esteban O.

So you’ll be like… a real life dad? Omg

Lando N.

Yes very real. Baby Norris will be arriving late summer.

Logan S.

Does this mean I won’t be the baby of the grid anymore?

Oscar P.

Sorry Loges. Feels like you’ve been dethroned.

Oscar P.

Also

Lando’s baby is 100% going to know more about aero than half this group before it can talk.

Lando N.

not even a joke

Yuki T.

omg

tiny paddock baby

can i be godfather

Lando N.

we’re not discussing godparents yet 💀

George R.

Tell Amelia congratulations from all of us — and that she’s the real hero in all this

You just did the fun bit LOL

Lando N.

already told her

Max V.

Happy for you both, mate

Hope you’re ready for zero sleep for the rest of your life 👍

Lando N.

ready as I’ll ever be

(i think)

Carlos S.

Let’s gooooooo

Grid uncle squad is forming

Message pinned by George Russell:

GEORGE R.

🎉 CONGRATS LANDO + AMELIA 🎉

Baby Norris incoming — Summer 2024

—

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amelianorris We’re having a baby and I am always nauseous 🧡

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landonorris my beautiful baby and my perfect little miracle. ❤️ by amelianorris

user82 the fact that i dont know if amelia is 'beautiful baby' or 'perfect little miracle'.... im so soft for them ohmygod. parents fr

maxverstappen1 Congratulations! You will be wonderful parents x

user26 BABY NORRIS IS REAL OMG!!!!!! THE SPECULATION WASN'T US BEING CRAZY!? BABY NORRIS TRUTHERS RISE

maxfewtrell Congrats!!!! So unbelievably happy for you and Lando. Can't wait to be an uncle 🥰

user60 you're telling me that little lando norris is going to be a dad?????? oh my word im speechless

oscarpiastri All my love to you both (baby and mommy) x

landonorris bro??? oscarpiastri oh right congrats ig user16 LMAO so we all know who his favourite norris is 😭

mclaren A McLaren baby! How exciting. Congratulations to you both!!! xxxx

—

The sun was already climbing, casting shadows across the paddock as the first media crews began setting up. There was a crispness to the desert air, the kind that would vanish by noon. The paddock wasn’t loud yet. That would come later, with the rush of media pens and mechanics and cameras and the first official laps of the year.

Amelia stepped out of the car first, tugging her sunglasses into place. Lando was out a second later, gently shutting the door and circling to her side without a word. His hand found the small of her back automatically, a steady point of contact as they began the familiar walk toward the paddock entrance.

She didn’t need the support, not physically, but she didn’t mind it either. His hand there was warm, grounding. She let herself lean into it slightly.

They weren’t walking fast. They didn’t need to.

A few fans had gathered at the edge of the barriers lining the team access road; early risers, most wearing McLaren caps and orange shirts, phones already out. Normally Amelia would’ve walked right past with a nod or a quick wave, but a young woman in a papaya tee held up a tiny baby onesie with the McLaren logo printed across the front.

Amelia paused.

The girl’s voice was soft but bright. “Congratulations, Amelia! I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Amelia blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sincerity. “Thank you. I’m… working on it.”

Lando smiled at that and stepped in slightly closer beside her, fingers brushing over the back of her shirt as she reached for the onesie the girl was offering.

“It's for you. I sewed it myself.” The fan said.

Amelia took it gently. Held it up. It was impossibly small, white with papaya trim, and a little line of checkered flags stitched along the sleeve.

She let out a quiet breath, something unreadable flickering through her expression.

A few others along the barrier were calling softly now — well-wishes, smiles, and congratulations. One older woman, probably in her sixties, just clasped her hands together and said, “You are both going to be wonderful parents.”

Amelia handed the onesie to Lando without comment and took the offered Sharpie. She signed everything that was shoved at her quickly but carefully. “Thank you,” she said, a little quieter this time.

They hung around for a few more minutes. Lando signed hats and flags; Amelia posed for a few photos, a little awkward, but always soft around the eyes. One teenage girl told her she wanted to be a motorsport engineer because of her. Amelia find herself sniffling, embarrassingly emotional over something she’d been told a hundred times, and Lando reached for her hand again without saying a word.

As they turned to leave, he leaned in close. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It’s nice. People caring. Being so kind. You have nice fans. You and Oscar. They’re good people.”

Lando didn’t respond straight away. He just kissed her temple, hand still on her back as they walked into the paddock.

The baby onesie remained tucked into Amelia’s bag.

—

The atmosphere was calm — a rare thing for the days leading up to the first Grand Prix weekend of the season. A few drivers had filtered into the lounge after media duties, still in their polos, half-watching a muted F2 session on the TV overhead, trading quiet comments about the heat and the track changes.

The sliding door opened. Lando stepped in first, a hand gently guiding Amelia at the small of her back. She was dressed simply in team kit and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop her head, posture straight but relaxed.

Oscar was leaned back in one of the corner chairs, legs stretched out, nursing a bottle of water. He glanced up, and his face lit up with something that looked like pride. “Hey,” he greeted simply. “All good?”

Amelia nodded. “All good.”

Charles was beside him, already smiling, the kind that started in the eyes, easy and genuine. “It’s nice to see you both,” he said.

“You too,” Amelia replied, quiet.

Max was near the back wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He gave a small nod. “Well done,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Amelia to hear as she passed. “It’s nice not to have to worry about keeping your secret.”

She offered him a rare little smile. “I know you struggle with secrets. You did a good job.”

A few others looked up; George, Alex, Esteban.

George was the first to speak now, rising from the edge of the sofa. “Hey. Congrats, guys.” His tone was steady, no teasing. “Really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, mate,” Lando said, his hand still resting gently against Amelia’s back.

Alex gave her a quick nod, not pushing. “You feeling okay in the heat?”

“Tired,” Amelia admitted. “But not bad. The heat is frustrating.”

“You’re in Bahrain,” Esteban said, smiling lightly. “No avoiding it, unfortunately.”

There was a quiet round of low chuckles. No one pushed closer, no one stared too long. No inappropriate questions or drawn-out fuss. They all knew Amelia; knew she wasn’t a spotlight kind of person. They treated her like they always had. With respect. With a bit of caution. With something close to admiration.

Amelia turned toward Oscar for a moment. He tilted his head. “Hi.”

She gave him a small nudge. “How are you feeling about today? First practice of the year.”

“Good,” he said simply.

Lando leaned in slightly. “You want to head over to hospitality? Get some breakfast?”

“In a minute,” she murmured.

It was nice. For now. To be surrounded by people who respected her. Loved her, even.

—

Oscar sat half-suited in the car, balaclava tucked loose around his neck, race gloves rolled halfway up his wrists. The garage was alive around them; murmurs between mechanics, the steady beep of telemetry syncing, a dull hiss from an air hose being disconnected.

Amelia was perched on a stool pressed up against the side-pod of the car, elbow resting on her thigh, iPad propped in one hand. Her hair was tied back into a braid with clinical precision.

“The wind direction’s shifted twelve degrees since morning,” she said, eyes on the live atmospheric feed. “Downforce will wash out quicker through sector two. Turn ten’s going to be problematic for you.”

Oscar leaned his head back against the padding and gave a wry smile. “So, usual Bahrain things?”

“Yeah. Except a little meaner today.” She tapped through the sim data, cross-referenced it with the downforce models. Without looking up, she added, “Let the rear settle through seven or you’re going to spike your tyre temps and ruin the run.”

“Do my best.”

She flicked him a glance, dry and fond. “Thanks.”

One of the support engineers leaned over Amelia’s shoulder. “We’re showing high differential pressure variance through the right rear. Might need a last-minute check.”

Amelia didn't look away from the screen. “Yeah, I flagged it an hour ago. We already swapped sensors — it’s the wind skewing the read. Don’t touch it.”

“Copy.”

Oscar snorted. “Still terrifying when you do that.”

She tilted her head. “Do what?”

“Know things before anyone says them.”

“It’s my job.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath, flexing his gloved hands. “Do I need to worry about rear-end grip into Turn 11?”

“Not unless you've forgotten everything you know about driving a Formula One car.”

“Reassuring.”

Her hand came up, instinctively pressing against the curve of her lower belly for just a second, her expression twisting with something that looked a little green around the edges. 

Oscar noticed, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her quietly, then offered, “You’re not too hot?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “No. I’m fine.”

His brow arched slightly. “You always say that, so I never know when to actually believe it.”

“I’ve got a thermometer that I keep using to check my temperature. It’s consistent. I’m drinking the exact amount of water that my doctor has recommended. I’m taking regular breaks from the sun and eating in intervals of three hours. I am, by definition, absolutely fine.”

He stared at her. “Sure.”

“I’ll bring you something nice for lunch if you can get through this session without causing a red flag.”

“Wow. Conditional nourishment. You spoil me.” He said sarcastically.

Before she could fire back, Lando passed behind them on his way to the other side of the garage, pausing only to brush a hand lightly along the back of Amelia’s shoulder as he went. She didn’t react outwardly, but her entire body softened for half a second.

Oscar clocked the moment. “He’s not going to wrap you in bubble wrap, is he? I need you.”

“He can try,” she muttered, before standing and glancing down at her iPad again. “Alright. First run’s mediums. Five-lap stint. I want lift-and-coast into lap two so we can log some cooling data. Don’t race the lap. This is recon.”

“Understood.”

She stepped back as the mechanics moved in. One of the tyre engineers looked to her for confirmation.

“Release him. Let’s get it done.”

Oscar gave a lazy two-finger salute as the engine roared to life. “Catch you in ten.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Bring it back to me in one piece.”

—

McLaren’s pit wall pulsed with quiet, meticulous focus.

Amelia sat on her usual stool; headset already in place, tablet resting on her lap, one foot tucked under her thigh.

Andrea leaned against the back rail beside her, arms folded. “Any nerves?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “No. I never get nervous for practice sessions.” She paused. “Unless there’s extreme weather conditions.”

Zak, just settling into his own chair a few feet down, let out a snort. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

Will took his place beside Amelia, offering her a quiet nod. “Track temps are rising quicker than expected,” he murmured. “Oscar might get wind shear on the back straight.”

“I know,” Amelia said, already flipping through telemetry with a few well-practiced taps. “Told him we’d adjust diff mid-run if it hits. He’s got the override mapped.”

The strategists filtered in, eyes flicking between live data and evolving models. One handed Amelia a fresh printout of projected stint lengths based on wind intensity. She scanned it, adjusted two numbers with her pen, and passed it back without a word.

There was a beat of quiet as the first few cars fired out of the pit lane. The soft whoosh of tires on tarmac passed through the headsets. Oscar was next.

“Box clear. You’re good to go,” Amelia said calmly into her mic, eyes on the screen. “Watch your entry on Turn 4 — wind's picking up.”

Oscar's response was dry, as always. “Copy. Let’s have some fun.”

She noticed the red light on the camera above them flicker on. Without missing a beat, she lifted one hand and gave it a small, wry wave; the sort that said, ‘Hello, I’m aware that you’re broadcasting my face right now.’

Oscar’s voice crackled over the radio again as the first run of the day ticked down. “Rear’s light into six, but I can manage.”

“Okay,” Amelia said, scrolling across the telemetry. “I’ll bump rear brake bias up two clicks on the next run. Ride’s holding well, though.”

“Yeah. Feels sharp.”

Andrea stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes on the live delta. Will leaned in closer to her screen, already logging feedback. Zak occasionally asked short, pointed questions and her answers were always clipped, accurate, unemotional.

Still, there was something softer in Amelia’s tone with Oscar. A dry edge, yes, but the undercurrent of investment and care was impossible to miss.

“Sure, ducky,” she’d muttered when Oscar said he was ready to “have some fun” on his out-lap. “Fun.”

Andrea had caught it immediately. “You’re soft on him.”

Amelia didn’t even look up. Just took a drink from her McLaren water bottle — her name printed in block letters on the side, a bold red ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sticker slapped under it like a warning label. “He responds better to praise. I yell at him a lot when he’s on the sim. There’s a balance.”

The morning wore on like clockwork. Data rolled in, Oscar ran clean stints, and Amelia barely left her post except to swap tablets or double-check tire degradation stats with the Pirelli engineers. FP1 ended solidly — no fireworks, but tidy and consistent. Exactly what she liked.

At lunch, she peeled off her headset and headed toward the hospitality area with Lando. He met her halfway, already peeling a banana and offering it to her mid-stride.

“I don’t want your banana,” she said flatly.

He grinned and took a bite himself. “Thought I’d try to help with your potassium. You looked grumpy.”

“I always look grumpy.”

“Grumpier than usual,” he clarified.

Amelia rolled her eyes but accepted the bottle of blue (her favourite flavour) electrolytes he handed over without question. They found a quiet corner inside the team’s motorhome, away from the usual pre-race noise. He sprawled lazily in the booth; she sat opposite, tugging the hem of her McLaren shirt down.

“How are we looking out there?” He asked after a moment, nodding toward the pit lane.

She shrugged, already halfway into reading the FP1 debrief notes on her iPad. “Stable. Better than expected on the straights. Wind's dropping slightly toward sunset, so you’ll get a cleaner second session.”

Lando watched her. “You’re amazing at this.”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Yes.”

He smirked. “But also very modest.”

“No point in pretending I’m not good at my job.” She finally looked up, softer now. “Especially with you and Oscar relying on me.”

He reached across the table and tugged her iPad down slightly. “I rely on you even when you’re not working.”

She blinked once. Then twice. “Lando.” She said. Her cheeks were pink.

Lando just laughed.

—

The desert heat had lessened, but the wind hadn’t. It whipped around the paddock in short bursts, rustling the pit board labels and tugging at Amelia’s hair where it was braided and pinned to the back of her head.

This time, Lando was out first. Amelia watched from her usual perch, shoulder to shoulder with Will, strategists reading live delta and fuel burn beside them. Her gaze bounced rapidly between live feeds and overlays, fingers dancing over the touchscreen surface like it was second nature.

When Lando’s rear stepped out slightly in Turn 12, her voice was calm. “Tell him to adjust your brake migration one click forward.”

Will relaid the information.

“Copy,” came Lando’s voice, low and focused.

Oscar followed soon afterwards on fresh softs. Amelia’s tone changed; not gentler, but more measured. “Remember what we talked about. Brake release into 7. Gentle. Controlled. Don’t throw the car in.”

Oscar’s lap lit up green across sectors.

She let a satisfied breath out through her nose.

—

By the end of the day, both drivers had done consistent long runs and given the strategy team a solid amount tire feedback.

Andrea glanced at her as they began packing up. “Good work today.”

Amelia gave a small smile — appreciative, but measured. Still, she noticed he was making more of an effort lately, and that counted. “Thanks.”

Later, back in the garage, with the mechanics winding down and the last of the day’s noise settling, Lando found her perched on a tire stack, sipping from a cold water bottle. Sweat clung to her temples, and the last of the sun lit her skin in warm gold.

He bumped her hip lightly with his. “Hi, gorgeous. Missed you today.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve been glued to my side every second you weren’t in the car.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he pulled her into a soft, end-of-day hug.

Under the buzz of the Bahrain floodlights, she pressed her face into his neck with a tired groan. “My feet hurt. And my ankles are swollen.”

Without missing a beat, Lando lifted her off the ground. “Better?”

She sighed, tension melting out of her shoulders. “Much.”

He kissed the side of her head and held her a little tighter.

—

The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the night air and the quiet hum of the city. Amelia sat cross-legged on the bed in one of Lando’s oversized T-shirts, blue-light glasses on, tapping idly at her laptop. Notes and track maps were scattered beside her, though she was only half-committed to actually reviewing them.

Lando, sprawled beside her with one leg over her thigh and a bowl of popcorn between them, was glued to his phone, thumb lazily scrolling through TikTok. His curls were damp from the shower, and his body still smelled faintly of sunblock and whatever soap the hotel stocked.

He stopped suddenly.

“Babe,” he said, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Amelia didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“No — look.” He turned the screen toward her.

She leaned closer, adjusting her glasses. The video was a fan edit. A slow, cinematic montage. Piano music overlaid with soft synths. The caption read, “Amelia and Lando through the years — from lovers to soulmates.”

The first clip was grainy; a 2018 paddock interview where a much younger Lando, awkward in his race suit, stood across from her in his garage. She looked different and the same all at once: neater, maybe. Definitely tighter, definitely more guarded. She didn’t meet his eyes once.

Then the timeline rolled forward. Garage zoom-ins. Candid paddock moments. A clip of them bickering while walking into the McLaren garage. Amelia pulling Lando’s cap off and tossing it down the corridor. Him handing her a coffee. All of the podiums he’d taken her to watch before it flashed to him up there and her watching, always somebody behind her in his place.

Her in the garage, arms in the air after a good quali. Him grinning at her during interviews he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of.

And then the quiet moments; fan-captured videos of her fixing his collar or brushing lint off his overalls. A slow-motion clip of him watching her walk away, soft-eyed. The first time they were caught holding hands. Her head on his shoulder during a rain delay.

The final clip was from just a few days ago; her at the Bahrain pit wall, hand resting lightly on her small but visible bump, waving at fans. He was standing just behind her, barely in frame, but watching her.

Lando said nothing.

Neither did Amelia.

The music faded out. The screen went black.

Some things are just meant to be — the caption said.

Lando lowered the phone slowly, gaze still fixed on the screen, eyes slightly wet. “Wow,” he muttered. “They got me.”

Amelia blinked a few times. “I remember that day,” she said. “Barcelona test, 2019. You spilled your coffee on my notebook.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, nudging her foot with his. “You yelled at me.”

“I had to yell at you,” she replied, deadpan. “You tried to dry the notes with a heat gun.”

He laughed, soft and fond. Then he turned more serious, his voice quiet. “You think they’re right?”

Amelia tilted her head. “About what?”

“Meant to be.”

She looked at him fully now, taking in his expression — open, a little uncertain. His hand brushed over her shin, anchoring.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if someone had shown me that video back then, I’d have said no.”

Lando’s mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “Ouch.”

“But,” she went on, “I’d have been wrong. So... yeah. Meant to be. I married you, didn’t I?”

He exhaled, tension she hadn’t realised was there easing from his shoulders. Then he reached up, hooked a finger around her collar, and tugged her into a kiss — soft, sure, familiar.

When they pulled apart, he whispered, “I’m saving that video.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a million more like it.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to watch all of them.”

“Yeah. Should’ve seen that coming.” She sighed.

He grinned and went back to scrolling — but his free hand stayed wrapped around her ankle, thumb brushing slow, unconscious circles against her skin. Amelia turned back to her laptop, but her smile lingered, half-hidden behind the screen.

Meant to be.

That was nice.

—

The sun hadn’t even reached its peak, and Amelia was already overheating. Her McLaren polo clung to her back, her hair was twisted into a no-nonsense knot, and she was halfway through her third bottle of water.

Lando trailed beside her through the paddock, annoyingly energetic. “Okay, but Atlas is cool. Strong. Powerful.”

Amelia didn’t even glance up from her iPad. “An atlas is a book of maps, Lando. Not a person.”

“Exactly. It’s smart. Worldly.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “We are not naming our child after a book of maps.”

They passed a few team staff who wisely kept walking despite the tension radiating off them.

“Fine,” Lando said. “Your turn. What name do you like?”

“Lando.”

“We’re not naming the baby after me,” he said, somewhere between amused and sarcastic.

Amelia stopped walking. Her iPad hung loose at her side. “Please,” she said flatly. “Please can you just… stop.”

Lando blinked. His smile thinned. “Fine. Whatever. Veto all my names. Not like I give a shit.”

The words hit harder than he intended; and he knew it the second they left his mouth.

Amelia didn’t respond. Just looked at him—sharp, unreadable—then turned and walked off toward the garage. The heat shimmered on the tarmac between them.

By the time Lando caught up, she was already perched on a stool in Oscar’s garage, scrolling through tire data like nothing had happened. Oscar lay sprawled across a tire stack beside her, eyes flicking between them with his usual diplomatic neutrality.

“What about Nico?” Lando offered again, voice cautious now.

Amelia turned her head so slowly it was almost theatrical. “Are you joking?”

“It’s a good name.”

“It’s Rosberg, Lando. I work in this paddock. Do you want me to be humiliated?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. Lando looked sheepish.

“Didn’t think about that,” he muttered.

“Clearly,” she snapped—sharper than she meant to be.

The room went still. Even the mechanics seemed to pause, pretending to check something on their tablets.

Amelia exhaled hard and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar lifted a hand like he was waving off a foul. “She’s growing the baby, mate. Obviously she gets to pick the name.”

Lando scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Oscar cut in. “It is that.”

Amelia gave him a grateful look. Lando, meanwhile, folded his arms and slumped into the seat beside her. He didn’t speak again for ten minutes.

They made it through the rest of FP3 in a strained kind of silence—not quite a fight, but not not one either. It sat between them through briefings, hydration checks, and another read of Oscar’s sector times.

When qualifying was called, Amelia handed off her tablet and sent Oscar toward his chassis—but instead of returning to the pit wall, she made a detour to the other side of the garage.

Lando was already in the car, helmet on, gloves secured, visor still raised.

She leaned in beside the cockpit, one hand on the halo. “Hi.”

He looked up.

“I don’t want you going out there with us still angry at each other.”

His mouth parted slightly. Some tension uncoiled in his shoulders. “I’m not angry. Just... frustrated.”

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyes locked with hers. The crease between his brows softened. “Baby, I love you too.”

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze—not an apology, just... a truce. 

“I’ll be on the pit wall.”

He nodded once, then pulled his visor down.

Amelia turned on her heel, walked past the media and telemetry boards, and took her seat at the pit wall. She pulled her headset on, pen tucked behind her ear, posture sharp.

Zak glanced over from a few seats down. “Everything alright?”

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He paused. “You and Lando—”

“Fine,” she repeated, firm this time. A quiet warning.

Zak let it drop. He’d learned: if Amelia wanted to talk, she would—and if she didn’t, nothing would pry it out.

Andrea leaned in with a printed tire strategy. “Piastri’s prep lap?”

Amelia nodded, already focused. “He’s ready. Track temp’s down two degrees. We go aggressive into Turn One—he’ll have the grip.”

Zak leaned back and watched her work—cool, composed, headset like armour. Her voice calm, crisp, in control.

—

The motorhome was quiet after quali. Amelia sat cross-legged on the sofa, head tipped back, one hand resting lightly on her stomach. Her water bottle sat half-finished on the table. She hadn’t said much since lunch.

Lando stood nearby, helmet bag in hand, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” he said at last.

She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I was being a prick. A boyfriend, not a husband. You deserve better.”

That made her glance at him, eyes tired.

“You’re growing a human,” he said, crouching in front of her. “You’re doing it in forty-degree heat and still carrying the whole team on your back, and I’m over here sulking because you don’t like the name Atlas.”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but her eyes stayed glassy.

“I’m sorry I made today harder than it needed to be,” he said softly.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying so hard to act normal. But I’m always tired. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m failing if I slow down, but my body won’t let me keep up.”

He didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the couch, pulled her straight into his lap, arms tight around her. Her head dropped to his chest. She melted into the pressure like she’d needed it all day.

His hand moved in slow, steady strokes over her back.

“You’re not failing,” he murmured. “You’re doing something impossible, and you’re doing it perfectly.”

She didn’t respond, just pressed her cheek against him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “We’re a team, yeah?”

She nodded, silent.

When she finally sat up, brushing a tear from under one eye, he kissed her temple.

“You sure you’re okay to run Oscar’s quali?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice steadier. “As long as you go out there and qualify well for me.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

When they stood, she slid her hand into his, fingers lacing tight. The tension had eased. They were okay. They were fine.

—

Oscar caught it first on Thursday. Lando pulling out Amelia’s chair, grabbing her breakfast, nudging her seat in like it was second nature. She said something under her breath, but didn’t stop him.

Oscar bit back a grin. So domestic.

—

On Friday, Oscar glanced over the monitor just in time to catch Lando’s hand at the small of Amelia’s back as they passed behind the pit wall. Subtle, constant—like he didn’t trust the world to make room for her unless he made it himself.

Andrea muttered, “If he stands any closer to her, they’re going to merge.”

—

On Sunday, Lando hovered. One step behind Amelia, intercepting wandering hands, redirecting nosy media, stepping into frame when someone aimed a camera too close.

“Mate,” Oscar said, helmet under his arm, “we have security, you know.”

“They’re not quick enough,” Lando said without missing a beat.

—

Post-race, Oscar unclipped his belts and looked over to find Lando, still suited up, wrapped around Amelia at the edge of the chaos, whispering something into her ear. She didn’t even flinch, like she was used to the weight of him.

Oscar shook his head. Smiled despite himself. 

—

At the team dinner that night, Amelia leaned to stretch her back and Lando noticed immediately, rubbing slow circles into the base of her spine. Then one of Lando’s engineers came over, and Oscar found himself absolutely ensconced by how it all played out.

Immediately jealous, Lando draped an arm behind Amelia’s head and said, without smiling, “You lost, mate?” He asked the engineer. Poor bloke.

Oscar pushed his plate of chips across the table.

Amelia beamed at him. “Thanks.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at his wife. “You ordered mash, baby.”

“Want chips now.” She told him. She was already dragging one through a puddle of ketchup.

“Should’ve ordered chips for your wife, mate,” Oscar teased.

Lando glared at him.

—

It all came to a head on the Monday.

They were flying commercial, first class, but still, alongside a handful of McLaren personnel for the long-haul back to the UK. Amelia was curled up beside the window, hoodie pulled over her head, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. Her hand rested over her stomach like it always did now—subconscious, protective and probably trying to quell nausea all the while. Lando was next to her, flipping through a movie menu without actually picking anything.

Two rows back, a small cluster of engineers were half-whispering over the tops of their seats. Tired, still wired from the adrenaline of the race weekend, and just loose enough from the champagne at the hotel bar the night before.

“She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, hasn’t she?” One of the engineers muttered — the youngest in the group, barely out of uni and already puffed up with the kind of confidence that comes with zero experience and too many opinions.

Another snickered under his breath.

“Please,” the idiot went on, leaning in like he was about to deliver a punchline. “She so much as fakes some weird little meltdown and Lando probably rewrites the whole weekend’s strategy just to keep her from crying.”

That got a quiet laugh.

“And let’s be real,” he added, voice dropping a touch. “He’s not still at McLaren because he’s irreplaceable. Man married the boss’ daughter. Locked in his contract and his pit wall privileges in one go. Fucking genius, honestly. Should’ve tried it myself.”

A third engineer made a noise halfway between discomfort and amusement. “You know she’s, like, three months pregnant, right?”

The first one just shrugged. “Not like that ever stopped a girl from using it to her advantage.”

Lando’s head turned, slow and sharp. He’d heard every word.

Amelia, mercifully, hadn’t. Her noise-cancelling headphones were still on, hoodie hood pulled down like a signal not to bother her.

Lando’s eyes flicked to her, still unaware, then back to the cluster of engineers. His jaw locked.

He stood without a word and walked two rows back, stopping just beside their seats.

“You. Up.” His voice was low, cold. Directed squarely at the younger engineer.

The guy blinked. “What?”

“I said get the fuck up.” There was no raise in volume, but the danger in it was unmistakable.

Around them, a few passengers glanced over. Lando didn’t care.

The kid stood, suddenly very aware that everyone else had stopped laughing.

Lando jerked his chin toward the galley. “Now.”

They stepped past the curtain separating the cabin from the service area. Lando folded his arms, body angled just enough to block the guy from view of the rest of the cabin.

“You think you're funny?” He asked, voice still quiet but razor-sharp.

The engineer’s face had drained of colour. “I—I didn’t mean anything. It was just—”

“No, you did mean something. You meant every word.” He took a step closer. “My wife’s name doesn’t belong anywhere near your ugly fucking mouth. You hear me?”

The engineer opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Lando stared him down. “You don’t speak about her. You don’t joke about her. You don’t look at her the wrong way. You want to talk shit about me? Fucking fine, I couldn’t give less of a shit.” He let the silence stretch long enough to let the weight settle. “But if I hear anything even remotely like that again, you’re done. I’ll really live up to the guy you think I am and go straight to Zak.And then you won’t just be off the travel team; you’ll be blacklisted from the entire industry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the guy croaked.

“Good.” Lando stepped aside, gesturing back toward the seats. “Go sit down. And if I see you look at her one fucking time for the rest of this flight, I’ll assume you didn’t understand me, and mate, I know how to throw a fucking punch.”

The engineer practically bolted.

Lando waited a beat, steadied his breathing, then ran a hand down his face and returned to his seat. Amelia had shifted, half-waking at the curtain being drawn back.

“Hey,” she mumbled sleepily, tugging her headphones down. “Where’d you go?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Needed to piss. You okay?”

She nodded, settling back into the seat and tucking her feet into his lap.

Lando glanced back two rows, just once, then looked down at her and wrapped a hand gently around her ankle.

He was smiling, just faintly. But his eyes? His eyes were still on fire.

—

The hotel room in London was dark, save for the soft glow from Lando’s phone. Amelia had crashed the second her head hit the pillow, curled into the sheets, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other thrown haphazardly across the entire bed.

Lando stood at the window in his boxers, thumb swiping absently across his screen.

He called Max.

It only rang twice before the Dutchman picked up.

“Alright, mate?” Max sounded half-asleep, but not annoyed. Just Max.

Lando hesitated. “Did anyone ever say shit about her when she was working with you?”

Max was quiet for a beat. Then, with a tight tone, asked, “What kind of shit?”

“About her,” Lando muttered. “Just… you know. Fucking guy shit.”

Another beat.

“Yeah,” Max said eventually. “A couple of times. Why?”

Lando exhaled. “One of the new guys in our team said something on the plane back. She didn’t hear it. But I did.”

“Ah.” Max’s voice was a little clearer now. “You threaten to kill him?”

“Pretty much.” Lando rubbed his jaw. “Told him next time he even looks at her sideways, he’s off the team.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Max said, “That’s the right call. I did that a few times, only had to get physical once or twice. Everyone seemed to get the hint after that.”

Lando sank down into the armchair, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “She’s feeling like shit, still nailing every call, and this guy, this fucking kid, thinks he can talk shit about her?”

“I had a guy once say she was a distraction,” Max said quietly. “Because she was wearing a skirt in the garage.”

Lando barked a laugh, mirthless. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Max said, with that resigned sigh that only came from dealing with idiots too often. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever worked with. Some men just don’t know how to handle seeing a woman be better than them.”

“I just—” Lando exhaled hard. “She doesn’t even know. She trusts these people. And it’s like… she deserves to feel safe. Not watched. Not judged. Just—respected.”

“You can’t fight every battle for her.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Max chuckled under his breath. “You sound like me in 2021.”

“She’s my wife,” Lando muttered. “And she’s growing my kid. I don’t care if it makes me look soft or dramatic. She deserves better.”

“You’re not soft,” Max said. “Well, maybe for her, but we all are, aren’t we?”

Lando laughed quietly. “She’d murder us both if she heard this.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d be six feet under.” Then Max said, “You want me to have a word with Christian? Make sure this kid doesn’t try to abandon camp and find refuge with us?”

Lando smiled faintly. “Thanks, man. But I’ve got it.”

“Alright. Call if you need me.”

Lando paused, glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “Yeah. Night, mate.”

He hung up. Stood. Crossed the room and slipped back into bed beside Amelia, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He lay there for a long time, eyes on the ceiling, thinking of all the things she’d never know he protected her from.

And how proud he was that she never needed him to; but how damn sure he was that he’d do it anyway.

NEXT CHAPTER

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “fell for you”.

| summary | Mark didn't know that being clumsy had its advantages. | cw | fluff, strangers to something else, meet-cute?, kiiinda of love at first sight, mark is downnn bad, mark is shy but HE GOT THIS!!| | a/n | my beautiful @peterm4rker, feliz cumpleeee!! i hope you have an amazing day, thank you for being alive, i only exist on your cellphone, so all i can do for u is a silly fic, but i did it with love 😔 TUMBLR SABOTAGED ME AND DIDN'T POST, I CAN'T BELIEVE I FAILED I HAD ONE JOB 😭😭😭 i hope u like it EVERYONE SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCI WE LOVE YOU!!!

Mark hadn’t been able to tear his eyes off you since the moment you stepped onto the dance floor. Actually, it started even earlier, when you accidentally bumped into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink all over himself.

He’d only caught a brief glimpse of you then, but it was enough. The image of you had carved itself into his mind like a permanent imprint—your eyes, framed by just the right touch of color, glowing with a playful spark. Your lips, glossy and shining, curved into a polite little smile as you muttered a quick apology.

He barely managed to say “it’s okay” in return, too stunned to form anything more coherent. He was usually the type to get flustered easily, yes, but something about you completely disarmed him.

From that moment on, his attention was glued to you for the rest of the night. He watched the way you moved so effortlessly with the rhythm, the sway of your body in perfect sync with the music, the way you tossed your head back when you laughed, bright and carefree. You leaned in to say something to a friend, smiling as they nudged you playfully, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed every motion like a magnet.

He wasn't completely sure, but he could’ve sworn you glanced his way a few times too—just quick flickers of your eyes in his direction, barely enough to be sure, but enough to set his nerves on fire.

Watching you from across the room, radiant and completely in your element, Mark stood frozen in place, drink hanging loosely from his fingers, heart pounding in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

“Is that a new flirting technique?” Chenle’s voice cut through the music, amused and sharp, but Mark’s eyes remained glued to you.

“What?” Mark replied absently, not tearing his gaze away. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chenle huffed, reaching out to nudge Mark’s chin up with two fingers, “are you trying to send telepathic signals until she magically develop the ability to receive them?” He gave Mark a pointed look. “Because you’ve been standing here with your mouth open drooling like a golden retriever for the past thirty minutes.”

“I’m not doing that,” Mark grumbled, frowning as he crossed his arms, voice defensive like a kid caught red-handed.

“Yeah, sure you’re not,” Chenle snorted, the sarcasm practically dripping. He took a sip of his drink, raising a brow at his friend. “Seriously, just go talk to her. Is it really that difficult? You’re acting like she’s gonna bite.”

Mark shot him a side-eye. “What if she does?”

“You’re right, she might,” Chenle replied, casually glancing in your direction—just in time to catch the not-so-subtle way you were watching Mark from across the room, nibbling on your lower lip with your eyes slightly narrowed. “She definitely looks like she wants to,” he added with a smirk. “But I don’t think it’s the kind of bite you’re worried about.”

Mark’s brows rose slightly, caught off guard by Chenle’s words. His gaze flicked toward you instinctively—and, oh.

You were looking right at him. No mistaking it this time. Eyes locked, lip between your teeth in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a split second.

“…Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Chenle let out a laugh, elbowing him. “See? Told you. She’s just waiting for you to stop being a coward.”

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don't even know what to say to her.”

“You're talking like a fucking loser, Mark,” Chenle deadpanned, already on the move. He grabbed Mark by the shoulders and started to shove him forward, away from the bar and toward the dance floor. “You’ve done all kind of stuff and now you're scared of a pretty girl?”

“I wasn’t mentally prepared for a goddess tonight,” Mark hissed under his breath, feet dragging against the floor.

Chenle rolled his eyes. “You’ll survive. Just say hi. Or smile. Or blink in Morse code if that’s easier.”

He wanted to protest, to resist his friend's insistence, maybe even run back to the safety of the bar stool, but before he knew it, his feet had betrayed him. There he was, standing just a few steps behind you, frozen in place, staring at the back of your figure illuminated by the flashing lights.

He glanced at Chenle, who was grinning like the absolute menace he was, waving mockingly from the distance, mouthing something like “Good luck.”

Mark inhaled deeply, trying to steady the wild rhythm of his heartbeat. Okay. No turning back now.

He took one slow step forward, then another, using the few seconds he had before reaching you to rehearse every possible conversation in his head—witty lines, casual compliments, charming openers. He even prepared for rejection in all its brutal forms, from polite smiles to awkward laughs.

But he was so absorbed in the panic of how not to embarrass himself and how to maybe, somehow impress you, that he completely missed the fact that his shoelaces were undone.

And just like that, two seconds later, he was tripping over his own feet and stumbling straight into your direction, at the exact moment you turned around.

“Woah!” you gasped, instinctively catching him as he practically collapsed into your arms.

Mark was pretty sure this was how people died of embarrassment. His hands instinctively gripped your arms to steady himself, eyes wide as he looked up at you from his not-so-elegant lean.

"I—uh—hi," he stammered, frozen for a beat. "That wasn't... That wasn't part of the plan."

A soft laugh slipped from your lips, light and melodic, and even with the music pulsing loudly around you, he heard it clearly. The sound clung to his ears like a favorite song, and Mark was pretty sure it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard.

“I’ll give you points for impact,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you watched him clumsily pull away, trying to regain some composure.

“Thank you,” he replied, sheepish, one hand instinctively reaching to rub the back of his neck. He was silently grateful for the club’s low lighting and the swirl of neon colors around you, hiding the fierce red blooming across his cheeks.

“That wasn’t exactly how I planned to come talk to you, but…” he let out a nervous chuckle, stealing a quick glance at your face, still surprised you hadn’t just walked away. "I'm Mark, by the way.”

He extended his hand—like an idiot, he thought—but couldn’t help the flicker of relief that crossed his face when you took it without hesitation, your fingers warm against his. You said your name, and it echoed in his head like a melody. God, what a beautiful name.

“Nice to meet you, Mark,” you replied, his name rolling off your tongue so smoothly it made his heart skip.

Was his name always this nice to hear, or was it just your voice?

“Do you go around falling into every girl’s arms you're interested in, or...?” your tone were playful, your eyes filled with amusement.

“That was actually only for you,” he said, flashing a smile so charming it made your stomach twist in the best way.

“Oh, so I'm the lucky one?” you teased, tilting your head as a grin tugged at your lips.

“I’m the lucky one, actually,” he replied without missing a beat, brows raising slightly as if the words had just slipped out. “Can I, um, get you a drink?”

His nervous look was absolutely adorable, you could never deny it, not that you were planning to. “Of course, lead the way.”

To say Mark was in disbelief over how well things were going—especially after that mortifying entrance—would be an understatement. But here you were, smiling at him, saying yes. He wasn’t about to question his luck.

As the two of you made your way to the bar and shared drinks, the atmosphere gradually relaxed. The alcohol helped a little, sure, but it was mostly you. You made things easy. You were attentive, engaged, and just… so genuinely interesting. Every new thing you said made him want to know more.

He was pretty sure he could get addicted to you.

“Oh, so you’re a singer, a songwriter, and you dance?” you asked, a playful eyebrow raised as your chin rested on your palm, eyes locked on his. “Can’t believe I’m talking to a celebrity right now.”

“Ah, come on,” he rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his lip, which only widened when your laughter followed. “I just have a lot of hobbies, that’s all.”

You let out a low whistle. “Wow. Hobbies? What happened to being humble?” you teased, giving his shoulder a light push. “Next thing you’ll say is you’re only kind of good at them.”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “I mean… I’m decent,” he said, feigning modesty.

That made you laugh even harder, the sound bubbling out effortlessly. “Okay, okay then…” you said, glancing around the lively club for a beat before turning your eyes back to him—your gaze bright with amusement, excitement gleaming in your irises. “Since I can’t exactly fact-check the singing and songwriting right now, how about we test the dancing?”

Mark blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden switch, but your smile was too contagious, too inviting for him to say no.

“You want to dance?” he asked, a flicker of nervousness playing at the edge of his voice.

“Yes, let’s go!” you beamed, and before Mark could even get another word out, you were already grabbing his hand, tugging him with you toward the dance floor with that same infectious energy that had him hooked from the start.

The lights spun wildly above, the bass of the music thumping through the floor and right into his chest, but nothing felt as loud or electric as the warmth of your hand in his.

You turned to him once you found a spot, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his, your smile mischievous. “C’mon, don’t be shy now,” you teased, already swaying to the rhythm, tugging him gently by the hands to encourage him.

Mark chuckled, eyes glinting as he let himself be pulled into your orbit. At first, his movements were a bit hesitant, his usual confidence caught somewhere between the thump of the music and the closeness of you. But your energy was infectious—your laughter, the way you danced so freely, it all made him forget about being shy.

Soon enough, he was matching your pace, still a little clumsy, sure, but no longer holding back. And God, he was having fun. He couldn’t stop smiling. Not when you were so close, not when your body brushed against his in rhythm, not when he could smell your perfume each time you twirled back into him. It was dizzying. It was perfect.

Especially because it was you.

“You weren’t lying about being a dancer, huh?” you teased, voice softer now with the mellow change in music.

The two of you swayed gently, pressed close. Your arms hung loosely around his neck, while his hands rested on your hips—though only after you had guided them there, because he was adorably awkward about it at first.

“Can’t wait to know more about your other ‘hobbies’,” you added, flashing him a knowing smile.

“Oh, so you want to know more about me?” he asked, brows lifting, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I thought that was obvious since we sat down to talk and have a drink?” you shot back, raising your brows with the same playful energy.

Mark laughed, that kind of breathy, boyish laugh that warmed your chest. “Okay, okay… I was too nervous to notice that.”

His confession had you laughing, your head tipping forward until your forehead rested gently on his shoulder. Mark stood perfectly still, caught in the quiet moment, letting himself inhale the soft, warm scent of your hair.

“Then, I guess I’ll have to be more direct with you?” you asked, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes, your own twinkling with mischief.

“Well…” he gave a sheepish smile, his head swaying side to side. “It might help me out a little.”

That made you chuckle again, the sound curling around his ribs like sunshine.

“Alright then…” you paused, humming as if in deep thought, your gaze flicking down to his lips for a beat too long. “Can I kiss you?”

His heart practically leapt into his throat.

He blinked once. Then twice. “God, yes,” he breathed, the words escaping before he could even try to play it cool.

His endearing reaction had you chuckling and giving him a soft, warm gaze that completely melted him. You moved closer, and he followed without hesitation, as if pulled by some invisible string, completely enchanted.

Your lips hovered just a breath away from his, and his heart thundered in his chest. Then you leaned in, nibbling gently on his lower lip, teasing him with the kind of ease that made his knees threaten to give out.

“You are so cute,” you giggled softly, your voice brushing against his lips like velvet.

Was that even legal? He swore you were trying to kill him.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered back, voice low and reverent. Then, finally, he closed the remaining space between you.

His hands slid up to your neck, holding you tenderly as if you were something precious—because to him, you already were. His thumbs drew slow, soothing circles just under your ears, grounding him as your lips met fully.

The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, almost shy, but full of feeling. It deepened gradually, growing warmer, more certain, as your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

He only pulled away because, unfortunately, he needed to breathe if he didn’t want to literally die from kissing you (though, honestly, he wouldn’t mind if that were how he went).

“I think I like you,” he murmured, voice soft as he pressed a featherlight kiss to your lips again, his cheeks tinged with the sweetest shade of pink.

“Already?” you teased, giggling. “I think I like you too,” you replied before pressing a quick kiss of your own.

“Can I have your number?” he asked, a little coyly, his eyes glinting with both nerves and hope.

”You laughed again (your ninth time tonight, not that anyone was counting) and nodded. “Yes, Mark, you can.”

“Do you wanna go out tomorrow?” The words escaped him before his brain could catch up, like his mouth had given his heart the reins for good.

“Our official first date?” you asked, smile softening as you tilted your head.

“If you’ll let me,” he replied, hopeful, eyes never leaving yours.

You leaned in once more, lips brushing his in a promise. “I will.”

His lips were pressed into a thin line as he processed everything, eyes wide with disbelief, like he was still waiting to wake up from some wild dream. It was kind of adorable, actually, how unaware he was of his own charm. You couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Gorgeous, sweet, a little clueless… people like him were everyone’s weakness.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, his big, brown eyes flicking over every inch of your face like he was truly admiring you.

“You don’t have to ask.”

And he didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, lips meeting yours with more certainty this time, melting into the kiss like it was exactly where he was supposed to be. And as he kissed you, one hand still resting at your neck, the other finding your waist, he swore—whatever this feeling was, it tasted a lot like heaven.

“Is it too soon to say I kinda love you already and would absolutely marry you today if you let me?” he asked with a grin, the kind that made your stomach do somersaults. His tone was playful, but his fingers were gentle as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear like you were something delicate and precious.

You snorted, raising a brow. “Let’s calm down a little, lover boy,” you said, pinching his ear gently. “You fall into my arms one time and suddenly we’re planning a wedding?”

He winced playfully, leaning away. “Ouch, noted. Too soon. I’ll dial it back.”

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