#this is all over the place but i just want to make out with him.. that’s all i ask.. dies (real) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urmum-lovesme · 1 day ago

Text

Bunny (P4)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: I'm not gonna lie I've never been on a golf course so this might be really inaccurate. however #justiceformygirly/n

warnings: mentions of drinking, rude comments, aggressive behaviour, black mailing.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4)

The sun was beating down on the manicured greens of Figure Eight’s most exclusive country club as Y/N crouched by her cart, restocking the mini freezer with ice. The scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the air, mixing with the distant sound of polite laughter and the occasional crack of a golf club hitting a ball. She exhaled sharply, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she shoved a bottle into place. Working the beverage cart wasn’t the worst job in the world- decent tips, the occasional rich old man slipping her an extra twenty just to call him sir, and best of all, no uniform beyond the white polo and tennis skirt. But the heat, the mind-numbing small talk, the entitled customers was already testing her patience.

With a huff, she straightened and glanced out over the course. A group of men stood a little ways off near the ninth hole, laughing too loudly. She didn’t even need to get closer to know who was there- she could feel him before she even saw him.

Rafe fucking Cameron.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the cart, shoving a few more bottles onto the shelves with unnecessary force. Of course he was here. He was always here, like a shadow dressed in designer. And judging by the obnoxious laughter echoing across the course, he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. Y/N had spent the past week trying to avoid him, especially after what happened at the club- but clearly, the universe had other plans. And sure enough, as she climbed onto the cart, ready to make her rounds, a sharp whistle cut through the air, snapping her attention toward the very last person she wanted to talk to. Rafe stood a few feet away, golf club resting against his shoulder, that same smug grin tugging at his lips. His eyes flickered over her, slow and deliberate, before he tipped his head toward the cart.

"You gonna do your job, or just sit there like a stuck up bitch?"

Her grip tightened around the steering wheel, teeth grinding together. A few of the other guys chuckled, amused at her expense, and she forced a slow exhale before putting on her best fake smile.

"What can I get you, gentlemen?"

She asked sweetly, voice laced with poison. Rafe exchanged a look with Topper who was already stepping closer, resting his forearm on the top of the cart like he belonged there. "Let’s see…" He dragged the words out, acting as if he were actually thinking about it.

"How about a Johnnie Walker Blue? Neat."

Y/N fought the urge to scoff. Of course he’d order the most expensive whiskey they had. "Sure thing," she chirped, already scheming.

"And for the rest of you?"

The other guys rattled off their orders—beers, vodka sodas, a gin and tonic. She nodded along, pretending to be the perfect accommodating employee, but Y/N barely spared Rafe a glance before turning to the rest of them.

"And you?"

She asks, voice clipped as she looked towards the brunette. Rafe glances down at the selection of bottles lined up on her cart, dragging out the moment. "Hmmm." Her fingers tighten around the bottle as she makes one of the other guys drinks. "Sure, go ahead. Take your time," she says flatly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. A slow grin spreads across his face at her impatience.

"I’ll have a Bloody Mary."

"A Bloody Mary?"

She scoffs before she can stop herself, staring at him. He speaks, tone nonchalant, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Yeah"

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head, "You don’t even drink shit like that-"

"-Is there a problem?"

Her jaw clenches. Of course, this is exactly why he ordered it- because its the most complicated drink on the menu to make. He knows she’s going to put in the effort for a drink he won’t even finish. He’s just doing it to get under her skin. And the worst part?

It’s working.

Y/N turned away from him, yanking a cup off the shelf with more force than necessary. The ice clattered loudly as she scooped it in, the sound grating against her nerves as she reached for the vodka. The other drinks were easy- simple pours, barely requiring her attention- but this dumbass Bloody Mary… She grabbed the tomato juice with a scowl, biting back the urge to roll her eyes. The thick liquid sloshed into the glass, the deep red already annoying her before she even had to reach for the Worcestershire sauce. A few dashes, a heavy pour of vodka again, a squeeze of lemon she nearly crushed in her frustration at the never ending ingredients. Behind her, she could feel Rafe’s eyes burning into her back, could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he said,

“You’re taking your time Maybank.”

Her grip on the drink tightened, and she soon found a slow smirk creeping onto her lips as her fingers curled around the Tabasco.

One, two, three, four, five, six—

She lost count of the number of shakes she gave it, but the deep red liquid swirled ominously in the glass, promising nothing but regret. A quick stir, a squeeze of lemon once more, and she shoved the celery stalk inside, pushing it down so hard that the juice nearly sloshed over the rim. Turning back, she plastered on her sweetest smile and placed the drink down in front of him with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Your drink”

She said brightly, tilting her head as she batted her lashes at him. Rafe eyed her, then the Bloody Mary, before lifting it lazily to his lips. He took a long, slow sip; the burn of all that extra Tabasco, the overwhelming taste of tomato and spice hitting his tongue like a slap, but there’s no way in hell he’d give her the satisfaction of a reaction- instead letting the awful taste settle, all while maintaining eye contact with her. His jaw flexed slightly, the faintest twitch of his lip as he smacked his lips,

“Mmm- Perfect.”

She’s fuming. She knows it tastes like absolute shit, knows it should have him coughing or gagging, but instead, he’s sitting there acting like he just ordered the best damn drink of his life. He lifts the glass toward her, a smug glint in his eyes as he adds,

“You should try it”

She glares up at him, fingers tight around the cold cup as he presses it into her hand. He’s close- too close- his broad frame looming over her, one hand braced against the top of the cart as he watches her with that insufferable smirk. He murmurs, voice low and taunting.

“Drink it”

Y/N hesitates for half a second, but she refuses to let him win. So, she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip- too big of a sip. The spice immediately scorches her tongue, searing all the way down her throat. She barely suppresses a cough, blinking rapidly as her eyes well up, the heat hitting her like a slap. Rafe tilts his head, watching every flicker of discomfort with smug amusement.

“Aww—what?” His voice is mocking, dripping with fake sympathy as he leans in just a little more.

“You don’t like it?”

She swallows thickly, willing herself not to react as she forces the glass back into his chest, her jaw clenched so tight it aches,

“Go fuck yourself Cameron.”

And now he’s looking down at her, eyes flickering over her face, dark with something unreadable as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Such a naughty mouth Y/N.”

She doesn't to look away, refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. Her jaw tightens, other hand curling into fists at her sides, but she holds his gaze, a silent challenge burning between them. Then he moves, reaching for the cup, fingers brushing against hers as he takes it back—too fast, too careless- and the red liquid sloshes over the rim, splattering against her white polo and tennis skirt.

She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes snapping downward as the cold, sticky drink seeps into the fabric, staining it instantly. A drop lands on his own polo, but he doesn’t seem to care- doesn’t even glance at it. Her gaze flicks back up, burning with rage, but he’s already watching her, already grinning, amused by the whole thing. His voice is anything but apologetic.

“Oops.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

She mutters, stepping back instinctively, eyes darting down to the spreading stain. Rafe, meanwhile, just watches her, amusement flickering in his gaze as he sets the now almost-empty cup back on the cart. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, before he tuts. “Look at that,” he muses, eyes dragging over her ruined uniform.

“Messy, messy.”

“You’re such a dick.”

She clenches her jaw, nostrils flaring as she glares up at him. Rafe just smirks at her stubbornness, gaze flickering between her eyes before dropping, taking his time to lazily drink in the sight of her, now disheveled and stained because of him. Then, he exhales sharply, like he’s made some kind of decision. “Well,” he drawls,

“you should probably go clean that up- wouldn’t want to look unprofessional.”

God, he was insufferable.

Y/N's eyes narrow as she dabs at the stain on her polo with a tissue, but it’s no use. The red liquid has already seeped deep into the fabric, leaving a glaring mark. She sighs in frustration, bending over to wipe the mess off her shoes, her white skirt riding up her thighs. She can feel a set of eyes on her, Topper and Kelce standing a few feet away, their gazes lingering and she rolls her eyes, already irritated. But the way they’re elbowing each other and snickering only makes her more uncomfortable.

Before she can fully straighten up, she feels a sudden, sharp slap against her ass. Y/N jumps, her body stiffening as a rush of heat floods her face. Her head whips around, her eyes flashing with fury.

"What's wrong with you?!"

She snaps, her voice sharp as she scoffs, brushing it off as best she can, but her face is red with embarrassment and fury. Rafe's staring at Kelce now, his gaze practically burning through him. Kelce’s smugness falters for a second, the cocky grin fading slightly as he tries to meet Rafe’s eyes, but he can feel the threat hanging in the air. Without a word, Y/N steps over to the cart, her fingers already reaching for the wheel. Yet as she goes to grab it, she hears Rafe’s voice, low and commanding.

"Hey—hey!"

He grabs the wheel himself, his grip tight and unforgiving. Y/N looks up at him, confused and a little frustrated. He demands, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Where are you going?"

"Really? I'm covered in tomato juice, Rafe," she snaps, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you think I’m doing? Going back to get changed."

Rafe narrows his eyes, still looking at her with that dead, intense glare, and it’s almost like he’s seeing right through her. "Well, you got your shitty drink on me," he says, his voice dripping with irritation.

"Excuse me, I did that?"

Y/N blinks, incredulous. Her eyes flicker down to the tiny splodge of red on his polo, her expression shifting into an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she looks back up at him. Rafe’s jaw tightens, but his gaze doesn’t falter as he stands there, silently assessing her, his posture rigid with tension.

"Yeah, well," he mutters, clearly not done with the situation, "drive me back. I need to change."

Y/N glares at him, shaking her head. "What? No."

She can't even protest any further as Rafe steps around her, sliding into the cart, and sitting down beside her with that infuriatingly casual air, like he’s the one in control. His leg bumps hers as he settles, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if the whole thing is just a game. Y/N glares at him as he casually sits down beside her in the cart, crossing his arms and leaning back like he’s completely at ease.

"Uh- get out?"

She says, her voice sharp with frustration. Rafe doesn’t even flinch, just looks over at her with a lazy smirk.

"Get out"

"I hope that’s not how you talk to all your customers, Maybank."

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

Y/N’s eyes widen in disbelief, she’s seething, the smell of the tomato juice stain on her uniform only adding to the frustration. Her hand clenches around the wheel as she tries to keep her composure, but it’s hard when Rafe is sitting there, acting like he owns the place.

"Better get going, or that stain will stick”

He adds casually, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. Y/N’s jaw clenches, and she takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the urge to snap back at him. But with the tension thick in the air, there’s no ignoring him. She huffs, gripping the wheel even tighter. “Fine,” she mutters under her breath, eyes flicking to him before she starts the cart and drives off, the sound of the engine almost masking the anger simmering between them.

Rafe leans back, perfectly comfortable in his spot, not a care in the world, while Y/N fights the urge to punch him in his stupid fucking face. Her eyes stay on the road, trying to ignore the irritating presence next to her, but she knows this is far from over. The cart bumps along the grass of the golf course, the soft hum of the engine doing nothing to ease the tightness in the air. Y/N’s hands are tight around the wheel, her grip rigid as she focuses on driving, trying to ignore the heat from Rafe’s presence beside her. Her body’s tense, her muscles stiff under the weight of his gaze.

Rafe, on the other hand, seems perfectly relaxed, like he’s completely comfortable with the silence stretching between them. But he’s not looking at the horizon or the passing course; no, his eyes are on her. Slowly, they drift over her face, studying her every feature with an intensity that makes her skin crawl. Then, his gaze lowers, tracing down her body with lazy attention, stopping at her thighs—bare beneath the drink-stained skirt. Y/N’s pulse picks up, and she doesn't even process it, but she feels Rafe’s hand is on her thigh, resting just above her knee.

The touch is so casual, but it makes her freeze. Her body stiffens in shock, and her eyes snap to his, wide and full of surprise.

"Rafe—"

"Shhh, relax"

He murmurs, his voice low and slow, the words cutting through the tension like a hot knife. His fingers rub gently up and down her thigh, almost as though a sweet gesture, but the touch feels possessive, like he’s marking her without saying it aloud.

"What- What the fuck are you doing?"

She asks, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty, and every part of her wants to pull away. He squeezes her thigh lightly, almost teasingly, and his gaze doesn’t leave her as he speaks.

“Well I pay for your services, don’t I?”

His words are heavy with meaning, his tone casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes her stomach flip. Y/N scoffs, a mix of disbelief and anger rising inside her.

“Yeah, wrong club”

She bites back, trying to push him off, but the way his hand stays there, the way his fingers grip her just a little too firmly, a little too high, keeping her in place.

Her heart races, the air around them charged, and it’s clear that neither of them is backing down. Y/N’s pulse thunders in her ears, and her breath catches in her throat. Rafe’s hand is still on her thigh, just a little too far up, the warmth of his fingers on her bare thigh making her feel exposed. She grips the wheel tighter, her knuckles going white, the engine’s soft hum doing nothing to drown out the sound of her rapid heartbeat. The cart lurches over a bump, and it snaps her attention back to the road, but Rafe’s hand doesn’t move—his fingers squeezing once more. She feels a rush of heat, but the anger bubbles just as fast, rising in her chest.

"Get your hand off me"

She says through gritted teeth, her voice more forceful this time. She forces her gaze ahead, trying not to look at him, trying not to react to how his hand is still there, how it’s still so present. But Rafe just smirks, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear as he whispers,

“Make me.”

His voice is laced with a challenge, with something dark that makes her skin prickle, makes her feel like she’s walking a dangerous line between hatred and something else. Something she’s not ready to confront.

Her jaw clenches, and for a split second, she contemplates slapping his hand away. But then she feels it—the sudden weight of his gaze as it shifts to her lips, lingering for a heartbeat too long. The chemistry between them, that dangerous spark, shifts just a little. She knows he’s pushing her, testing her limits. But there's also this magnetism pulling her toward him, something about the way he’s looking at her drives her crazy.

"Cut it out Cameron"

She warns, voice barely above a whisper, but it’s a warning that means nothing when Rafe just chuckles and moves his hand upward almost hitting the edge of her panties.

Then, without warning, she jerks the wheel to the side, sending the cart veering slightly off course toward the edge of the course.

It’s a quick move, almost out of desperation, as if she’s trying to shake off the way he’s affecting her. The cart jerks again, and Rafe has to steady himself hand letting go of her thigh to hold onto the dashboard.

"You really want to play that game, huh?"

He muttered, eyes narrowed. Y/N doesn’t know what she’s doing, but all she can think of is how badly she wants him out of her space, out of her head. She doesn’t care about the stain on her skirt anymore; she’s thinking about the best way to get a thousand miles away from him.

The cart bumps back onto the paved path leading to the club, and she slows it as they approach the building, her fingers twitching on the wheel, still burning from the heat of the moment. Rafe leans back against the seat, but there’s still that smug look in his eyes, that feeling of control he loves so much. He glances at her, as she gets out the cart, he slips out after her taking in her expression, the way she refuses to meet his gaze, and then says,

“I need a change of shirt.”

“Okay”

She replies flatly, her tone as cold as she can make it. Y/N doesn’t even flinch, still focused on the path ahead. Rafe steps closer, closing the space between them with slow, deliberate movements, he leans down slightly, his voice low and insistent.

“So... get me a shirt.”

“I don’t see how you're my problem”

She shoots back, her voice dripping with sarcasm, finally looking up at him, her arms crossing over her chest. Rafe doesn’t step back, doesn’t even give her a second to breathe before he takes another step forward, crowding her space.

“Well, I am, so fucking find me a change of top”

He demands, his tone sharp, full of that same cocky authority. Y/N’s lips curl into a sarcastic smile even though she’s seething inside. She rolls her eyes, turning her head away just enough to make it clear how little she cares.

“Sure Mr. Cameron, let me get that for you”

She mocks, voice dripping with fake sweetness. He can't even say anything else because she turns on her heel and strides toward the club, walking away with that same attitude as she leaves him standing there with his challenge unanswered.

Yet as she's walking away, she feels the sharp tug on her arm, her body jerking back as Rafe’s fingers wrap around her bicep, pulling her toward him. She turns, ready to snap at him again, but before she can open her mouth he scolds,

“Don’t walk away from me.”

His voice is low, almost a growl, and there’s something dark and angry simmering under the words. Y/N’s eyes flash, but she stands her ground, lifting her chin as she spits back, her annoyance clear.

“Or what?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, a vein at his temple throbbing with the effort to keep his temper in check. He doesn’t want to be this pissed off, but the way she’s treating him- like she doesn’t give a shit about him- it drives him mad. It’s like a challenge, and he’s not backing down from it, even though he knows he’s been just as bad. His voice comes out seething,

“Or I’ll complain to your manager.”

At that, something shifts in Y/N’s expression- her eyes narrow, defiance flickering for just a second. She can’t afford to lose her job, not like this.

Not over him.

She snatches her arm back, her frustration visible, and for a brief second, the fight in her dies down. She exhales, the anger draining from her posture as she steps back, eyes flicking toward the staff quarters.

“C’mon”

She mutters under her breath, quieter now, and there's a weariness in her voice that wasn’t there before. She’s not giving him the satisfaction of being totally submissive, but her tone has changed—it's more resigned than anything.

Rafe watches her for a beat, still standing a little too close, but this time, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes follow her as she walks through the club, her movements brisk as she heads toward the staff quarters. There’s a flicker of surprise in his chest, and for a moment, he considers backing off, letting her go, but something about how she’s reacting entices him So, he follows her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N walks briskly through the club, the sound of her shoes clicking against the polished floors echoing in the quiet hall. Rafe follows closely behind, his presence heavy in the air as they make their way toward the staff quarters. She doesn't glance back at him, but she can feel the heat of his gaze boring into her.

They pass a few of the staff lockers, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above the only sound as they walk down the narrow aisle of the staff area. Y/N moves with purpose, each step holding no sign of the unease she’s feeling on the inside. She turns the corner at the end of the hall, and they reach the large lost and found. It’s a mess- shirts, jackets, random pieces of clothing, and forgotten items strewn across the bins, piles of things that have clearly been left behind by members and staff who aren’t quite as neat as they should be. There’s no order, no system, just a jumble of lost things waiting to be reclaimed. She gestures to it, voice laced with that same sarcasm she’s always got, but with an edge of frustration creeping in.

“There.”

She motions to a polo shirt thrown over a pile of forgotten jackets. Rafe takes a step forward, his eyes scanning the pile. He doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking back to her for a moment, sizing her up. There’s something about the way she’s handling this, the way she’s pretending to be completely unaffected, that gets under his skin. He doesn’t like it- not because she’s hiding something, but because it’s like she’s challenging him to break her composure. He grabs the shirt off the top of the pile, holding it out in front of him like he’s completely entitled to it. The material is rough, not the kind of quality he’s used to, and he sneers at it for a moment.

“This is what you got for me?” he mutters, voice dripping with mock disbelief, “I didn’t realise I was getting leftovers.”

“Not my fault you spilled tomato juice on yourself.”

Y/N crosses her arms, her body language unreadable as she leans against the nearby counter. She rolls her eyes, eyes flicking over his shoulder for a moment, clearly unimpressed by his dramatics. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches her with that cold smirk, but then his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the shirt with exaggerated slowness.

“I thought you were supposed to take care of me- Y/N”

He says, voice low and purposeful, the undercurrent of something more in his tone now. Y/N shoots him a quick look, her eyes narrowed, frustration simmering. She stands up straighter, ready to walk off, but she’s not backing down.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am serious.”

He steps closer, his face unreadable, but there's something about his presence, the way he stands there so close, that makes her freeze for just a moment. Rafe's gaze unwavering as he watches her, looking for any crack in her cool exterior. Y/N’s pulse quickens, but she’s not going to let him see that. She stands her ground, even though every instinct is telling her to get away from him. He tilts his head slightly, his voice low and deliberate.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

“About what, exactly?”

Y/N arches an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sarcastic smile. Rafe takes a slow step forward, the proximity between them shrinking. He’s invading her space, pushing against her comfort zone, but she’s still not backing down, she won't appear weak- she's not weak.

“About making sure I’m... taken care of”

He says, his words hanging heavy in the air. She exhales sharply, rolling her eyes again and shes surprise they've not fallen out of their sockets yet.

“I’m not your fucking personal assistant, Rafe.”

“-but you sure as hell act like it”

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he enjoys seeing her fight back, his hand's still gripping the shirt, his fingers brushing against her arm lightly as if testing her reaction. Y/N’s breath catches, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she meets his eyes, the defiance still strong in her stance. She leans in just a fraction,

“And what? You think that means you can boss me around?”

Without warning, Rafe moves, stepping into her space so suddenly that she has no choice but to press her back against the lockers, the cold metal digging into her skin. His large frame looms over her, his hand bracing against the locker next to her head. He’s so close, she can feel his breath against her cheek. For a second, she freezes, eyes wide as she realises just how trapped she is- physically and mentally. She looks up at him and his eyes are already fixed on her, his expression unreadable, almost cold.

“Maybe I do”

He says, his voice now barely a whisper, but it feels like it’s cutting straight through her. There’s something in his eyes- something dark, predatory, like he’s daring her to make a move. Her chest tightens. She hates that this proximity makes her heart race, but she refuses to let him know that. She’s not going to let him see that he’s rattling her.

“And if I don’t want to be bossed around?”

She challenges, her voice shaky, but she’s still holding her ground. Rafe’s gaze flickers for a moment, then he moves even closer, his knee brushing lightly against her thigh as he adjusts his position. Her breath catches again, her body tensing instinctively, but he’s not done yet. His voice drops even lower as he leans in, his words like a private threat just for her.

“You’ll learn to deal with it, Maybank.”

She almost flinches at how intimate it sounds- like there’s more than just the words hanging between them. It makes her nauseous- she’s so close to him now, she can’t tell where he ends and she begins.

Then, suddenly, her phone buzzes in her pocket, breaking the tension like a gunshot.

She takes the opportunity to glance down, breaking eye contact with him just for a moment. It’s a message from her manager. She sighs, her shoulders sagging as the reality of her situation starts to settle back in. This isn’t a game. She can’t afford to get caught up in whatever power struggle Rafe’s trying to pull. Without looking back at him, she pushes her self away from the lockers speaking out sharply.

“You’ve got your shirt. Now get out.”

Rafe doesn’t move right away. He stands there, staring at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Y/N thinks she’s won their little silent quarrel, but something about the way he looks at her- dark, calculating- tells her she hasn’t. Finally, he steps back, his gaze lingering on her like he’s trying to figure her out. His voice, when it comes, is dripping with something both mocking and serious.

“You might want to work on your customer service skills, Maybank.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N steps out of the club, exhaustion settling into her bones after a grueling double shift. The cool night air hits her like a breath of fresh air, and she sighs, stretching her arms overhead. She’s almost to the parking lot when she hears a familiar voice calling her name.

"Hey, Y/N!"

Sofia's voice is warm, and Y/N turns to see her friend walking towards her with a bright smile. They meet halfway, and she smiles, grateful for the distraction. Sofia pulls her into a hug, the kind of hug that only close friends give.

"Hey, Sof," Y/N says, her voice a little tired but genuine, "how’ve you been?"

"Good, just the usual stuff but you look like you could use a nap," Sofia jokes, pulling back to get a better look at Y/N, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Double shift today?"

"Yeah, you know, Can’t resist the overtime."

Y/N chuckles lightly, shrugging. Sofia grins but then her expression softens.

"I saw you with Rafe earlier…"

"Oh, uh, yeah. He's just being a bitch as usual..."

Y/N's heart skips a beat, and she immediately tries to brush it off, her gaze flicking away. She trails off, not wanting to get into it. It’s not like she owes Sofia an explanation, but it feels weird to talk about Rafe. She adds quickly, forcing a smile.

"It’s nothing"

"You sure?’"

Sofia tilts her head with a small smile but she can sense the shift in Y/N’s mood. Y/N exhales sharply, trying to hide the heat creeping up her neck. "It’s really not a big deal," she says, voice a little too sharp.

"Just a… a thing. Nothing worth getting into."

Sofia watches her for a moment, her eyes searching Y/N's face. "Alright," she says, though the tone in her voice suggests she’s not entirely convinced, "But just so you know, people talk. I’m not saying you need to explain yourself, but one of the girls said you went to the locker rooms and I know that doesn't mean—"

Y/N cuts her off with a soft but firm laugh. "Sof, it’s really nothing. He’s Rafe Cameron, I don't want anything to do with him, relax. Anyways- I’m not going to waste my time worrying about whatever it is other people gossip about."

Sofia doesn't push further, but her concern lingers in her eyes. "Okay, okay," she relents, nodding.

"You're not mad right?"

"What!? No- of course I'm not. Don’t worry."

Y/N gives her a half-smile, trying to look confident. The two share a brief, comfortable silence before Sofia raises an eyebrow.

"You heading home now? Need a ride?"

Y/N shakes her head, glancing back at the club, "No I'm good I drove- besides I know when I get back I’m crashing tonight for sure, so I doubt I could keep up any good convos right now."

Sofia smiles knowingly, "Alright, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me."

“I know- I love you get home safe.”

“I love you too! Text me when you're back”

Y/N waves at the girl, and the two of them part ways, Sofia heading off into the night while Y/N walks toward her car, a heavy feeling settling in her chest. Her mind drifts back to the Chinese leftovers sitting in the fridge at home, wondering if JJ got to them before she had a chance. As she gets closer to her car, her pace slows, and she sees a figure leaning against it.

Her heart skips a beat, and instinctively, she hesitates.

It’s late.

She’s alone.

She knows better than to approach someone like that without caution. She stays still for a moment, the feeling of being vulnerable creeping over her, before she takes a few steps forward, straining her eyes to make out the person.

Then she sees it’s him.

Her stomach drops, and she mutters under her breath, "What the-?" She’s always been a decent person, always tried to do the right thing. But then there’s Rafe- always showing up at the most inconvenient times. "Seriously?" she says, her voice low, laced with frustration as she walks around to the opposite side of the car.

"What do you want?"

She shoves her bag in the backseat, the motion sharp, as her thoughts race. She can feel his presence by the driver's side, looming, as if he’s waiting for something. He’s standing there, leaning casually, but she can tell he’s not entirely sober- his eyes are blown, his posture sloppy, like he's a little drunk and definitely high. She rounds the back of the car and stops just short of him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Rafe doesn’t move, his eyes locked on her with that same unreadable expression.

"Why the hell are you here?"

She mutters, now visibly annoyed, but not completely surprised. Was his tormenting the morning not enough for him? Of course, he’d show up when she’s least expecting it, and definitely when she least wants him around. Rafe steps closer, his presence overpowering the air between them. His eyes are half-lidded, and his stance is far too relaxed for the late hour and the situation they’re in. He tilts his head as he studies her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So," he starts, voice low and a little too smooth for Y/N's liking,

"You headed to the club tonight? Gonna work that shift of yours... ?"

His words are dripping with something- teasing, playful, but also a little too sharp, like he knows exactly how to push her buttons. She steps back instinctively, glaring at him, but he doesn’t give her any space. He steps forward again, this time almost closing the gap completely. She pushes his chest, trying to push him away.

"Get your fucking act together, Rafe. I don’t have time for this shit."

Her voice is tight, forced out through gritted teeth. But he’s not having it. Instead, he steps in even closer, his hand brushing her arm, an unspoken challenge in his touch. The air between them is thick with tension, and she can feel it creeping under her skin. He’s toying with her. Again. “Come on, Y/N,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaches up to rest lightly on her waist, and he gives her a slight, mocking smile.

“Don’t make things complicated”

“Get off me, Rafe”

She snaps, shoving his hand away harder, but he’s not backing off. Before she can react, he steps around her, his movement quick and decisive. With one smooth motion, he flips them around, so now she’s trapped- her back against the cold metal of her car, his body closing the space between them. Her breath hitches at the sudden shift, and she looks up at him, eyes wide with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Where r'you going?”

He mumbles, his voice low and threatening, but there’s something in it that sounds almost possessive, like he’s done playing games. Y/N’s heart is racing, but she doesn’t show it. She tries to push him off again, her hands firmly against his chest, but his body is solid, unmoving. She glares up at him, her chest heaving with each breath, but he’s not giving her an inch.

“You’re fucking insane”

She spits, her voice barely audible, but laced with venom. Rafe’s hand slides down to her waist, his grip firm but possessive, as he leans in closer, closing the distance between them. The proximity is overwhelming, his body heat radiating off him. His other hand rests casually on his hip, his gaze dark as he looks down at her, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice thick with an almost smug satisfaction. “Come home with me- be my little dancer." His words are dripping with insinuation, the suggestion hanging heavy in the air, thick with promise and something darker beneath the surface.

“I’ll pay you well... you won’t regret it.”

Y/N freezes for a moment, shock and outrage flickering across her face. Her hands which were instinctively pressing against his chest, trying to keep some distance between them, faltered slightly. Is that really what he thought of her? The audacity of what he just said is enough to make her blood boil, the anger rising up in her chest like fire.

Her hand swings up and cracks across his cheek.

The sound of the slap echoes in the night air, sharp and satisfying. Rafe stumbles back in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief, his drunken haze momentarily shaken. Y/N, her breath coming in short, angry gasps, doesn’t give him a chance to react. She yanks open the car door, the movement quick and jerky as she turns on her heel to face him one last time.

“I’m not a fucking prostitute”

She spits out, her voice low and venomous, the words sharp as daggers. She slams the door behind her with a force that makes the whole car shudder, her heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her. The silence that follows is deafening, and all she can hear is the ringing in her ears.

Rafe stands there for a moment, he’s drunk, but even through the haze of alcohol, something in his chest tightens as he watches as she drives off, the sting of her slap still lingering on his skin.

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reignpage · 20 hours ago

Text

♛ Sukuna in Wonderland ♛

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

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

“Walk faster,” he spits.

You roll your eyes.

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

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

He’s the worst.

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

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

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

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

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

“B-but…”

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

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

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

Typical.

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

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

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

Dejected, you nodded reluctantly.

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

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

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

“Great.”

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

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

And now here you are.

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

“Are we in the right place?” You ask.

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

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

Prick.

“Oh!”

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

“Is that a fucking rat?”

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

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

“Excuse me, sir?”

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

Merlin, why did it have to be him?

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

“Damn. That is one stressed out rat.”

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

“Why me?”

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

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

“How dare you! Put me down at once.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! Wait!”

He doesn’t.

And he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

Whoops.

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

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

What is going on?

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

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

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

Or maybe this isn’t a way in at all!

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

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

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

“Oh!”

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

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

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

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

“Did you check that, though?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pay his grumbling no mind.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, anyways, down the hatch it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

You’ve shrunk.

“This is weird as hell.”

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

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

Now, just to get out of this place.

“Shit. The key.”

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

And out of the darkness you left.

——————

“We’re lost.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can’t argue with that.

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?”

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

Maybe this is a trick.

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

“It’s hot in here,” you mutter.

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

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

Quiet mumblings come out of your mouth.

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

Prick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long is eventually?”

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

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

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

“What’re you doing?” You slur.

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

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

“N-no,” you breathe out, “we can’t.”

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

This is crazy.

“I’ll do it myself. Get out.”

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

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

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

And that is all he needs.

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

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

Why does he sound like that?

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

You moan.

“Like that. I like it like that.”

“Yeah?”

Humming, you watch him watch you.

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

“Watch the nails, idiot.”

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

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

And you cum.

——————

“Those are some fuck ass mushrooms.”

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

You can’t.

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

Yeah, there’s no coming back from that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It isn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

“Now what?”

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

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

“Dunno. Wasn’t really listening.”

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

“Cannibalism?”

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

Think.

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

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

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

“Sukuna.”

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

“You need to eat me out.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing in this world does!” You yell.

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

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

An idea comes to you.

You grimace. “Well…”

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

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

“Ah, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!

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

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

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

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

Everyone knows you’re good at following instructions.

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

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

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

There, you both catch your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

Aaaaaand he’s back.

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

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

——————

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

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

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

The damn cat kept following you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

POOF!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well fuck, you thought.

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

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

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

Spinning in the air, the cat grinned.

“Wonderful!”

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

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

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

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

“Why, until the very end, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————

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

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

Again, can’t argue with that.

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

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

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

“I don’t see any wine,” you remark.

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

“Then why the fuck would you offer?”

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

Fair enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THUD!

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

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

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

You both sit up. “Taken? Where?”

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

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

“We’re not drinking this.”

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

Great.

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

And so down it goes without much further argument.

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

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

They all laugh. Or maybe none of them do.

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

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

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

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

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

“The warmest.”

“The tightest!”

Oh fuck.

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

“What!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sukuna!”

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

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

“I don’t have bad breath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t fucking interrupt him, dumbass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why with an M?” Enquires the Hatter.

The March Hare asks, “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same fucking difference.”

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

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

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

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

“The finger! Where’s the finger?”

“The Queen has it. Took it away.”

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

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

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

You slump against him, completely spent and drenched.

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

“A little…but it was good.”

“Yeah?”

You hum.

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna snorts, “Fuck’s their problem?”

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

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

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

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

“What a bitch,” you mutter.

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

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

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

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

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

The liquid sloshes into his mouth. You both gulp.

“Prick.”

“Princess.”

And then you’re invisible.

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

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

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

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

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

Gasps stagger around.

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

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

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

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

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

Blink.

You’re standing on solid ground.

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

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

And so that’s how your return proceeds.

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

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

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

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

Is it guilt? Shame?

You don’t know.

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

You knock.

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

“Fuck do you want?”

Nevermind.

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

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

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

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

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

You smile.

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

“Yeah, it did. But we did good.”

“Yeah, we did...”

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

‘Hey, thanks!’ Or ‘Nice?’

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

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

“Didn’t happen,” you confess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it hasn’t and it won’t.

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

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

“Terrified.”

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

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

Sukuna doesn’t stop there.

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

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

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

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

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

“The hell it was.”

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

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

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

You nod, distracted.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, fuck! Sukuna!”

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

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

“T-too rough…you’re being too rough!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two cocks meet your stare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t make me wait again.”

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

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

You cum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So now what?”

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

Somehow, ‘whatever’ is the perfect answer.

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

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

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fic #jjk sukuna #Sukuna Ryomen #Sukuna x reader #Sukuna smut #jjk oneshot #sukuna oneshot #sukuna fic #jjk x you

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ernest-rimmingway · 2 days ago

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⭐a Helping Hand⭐

tags: [mdni][mlw][handjob][male orgasm][tip teasing][brief ass play (on him)][established relationship][msub][petnames][overstimulation]

Mark loves the way you give handjobs.

He can't do anything other than adore the way your delicate hand grabs the chubby base of him, fingers brushing along pulsing veins that throb and he feels the way his muscles tense beneath his suit.

He knows he's just supposed to show up, tell you he's okay but you're always looking at him with those soft, adoring eyes. Hands cradling his face and when you press your lips against his, the taste of your lipbalm seems to turn his brain into mush and he nods weakly.

Murmuring the sweetest "uh-huh" when you carefully pry his goggles from his face, discarding his mask and ushering him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

Mark feels the way your chest presses against his back, the fabric of your clothing does nothing to hide your pebbled nipples, and he hyperfixates on you.

He looks down at your hand as you stroke his cock, translucent beads of precum rolling onto your hand but you're too preoccupied whispering.

"I saw how you saved those people." You whisper softly. "You're such a good hero, baby."

You coo and you pander. Your sweet words a gentle balm to his bruised body, and even more bruised spirit.

You press kisses along the side of his neck, listening as he talks about his day, stuttering through meaningless details like he's not fucking up into your hand.

Mark's hands move to grasp at your thighs, pulling them around him and he shifts, cock throbbing in your grasp and he leans back against you.

You're always so warm.

Always so attentive that you know just when to slide your finger over his tip, tracing that leaky divot until Mark's eyes go cross and his blunt nails dig into your skin.

"Oh... God.." Mark whines, shifting and he presses his face into your neck.

You smell like you just showered. Fresh, clean and so, so warm. You smell sweet. A mixture that he can't quite place, but he loves it enough to breathe it in.

He's trying not to cum too quickly. His climax rapidly approaching because while you're stroking his aching cock, your other hand has spit-slicked fingers, pressing against that sensitive spot just behind his full balls. And he whines.

"Fuck, you're gon—gonna make me c-cum..."

He breathes out your name, panting each syllable like he's praying to you and in a way, he is.

He's praying for you to take away the stress, to ease his mind, and to make him feel so good that he's seeing stars when he goes back out to patrol.

But Mark always forgets you take things just a bit too far.

And he forgets the walls are thin.

So when he eventually starts hiccuping, puppy dog eyes getting blearier and he's whining, rutting into your hand... He gets loud.

Overstimulated, with cum strewn across your hands, his belly and his thighs, Mark's sounds become unhinged whimpers. Choked moans and mewls, whimpering 'please baby's that fall from his lips with the ease that Mozart wrote symphonies...

And you're covering his mouth, pressing your lips against his temple.

And you coo.

"The walls are thin, baby." You remind softly.

"You don't want everyone to hear you, do you?"

Mark doesn't know his left from his right, right now, but he knows one thing:

He definitely doesn't wanna be heard. Not by your neighbours, not by heroes not by anyone, except you.

So Mark shakes his head, mumbling the cutest 'no' before shifting.

He braces his sock-covered feet on the edges of your bed, muscular thighs spread and he uses the change in position to keep fucking up into your hand.

All while the hand that covers his mouth moves south so slowly, nails dragging along his tensing abs, scratching at that dark patch of hair and his back arches so sluttily when you cup his balls.

"...s-s-s'too much, baby." Mark sputters, biting down on his bottom lip. His eyes are teary, his lips are raw bitten and he's drooling. Copious amounts of precum drip from him and he's not even sure if he's cumming.

But his body tenses when he feels one of your dainty, manicured fingers slowly trace that furled entrance. And he gasps, letting out a whimper.

"N—not...s'there..." He whines, but he's not pushing your hand away.

Not in the slightest.

"I'm not going inside, baby." You reassure softly. "We're just gonna see how it feels, okay?"

And Mark nods.

You could ask him anything right now and he'd nod his head. So in love and so, so, so desperate for you that he might actually give you a lung if you asked for it.

And Mark feels the way his cock throbs.

One finger repeatedly rubbing at his swollen and reddish tip, while another teases his virgin hole.

And he swallows.

You always take it too far. But that's what Mark likes.

You challenge him. You guide him. And God, does that not make his cock leak onto your hands, his thighs covered in fluids. And he pants.

"M'almost there..." He whimpers. "..again.."

And he hides his face in your neck.

Raven strands are tousled, his body prickles with goosebumps and droplets of sweat trail in the carvings created by heavily toned muscle.

"I— I... I can t—take it..."

#ernie's way⭐#mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x fem!reader #mark grayson smut #mark grayson x reader smut #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x reader smut #invincible x fem!reader

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effervescentwolf · 3 days ago

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"No one believes me," Buck complains when Eddie picks up the phone, "when I say that I'm not in love with you."

Eddie's heart drops. Then, like his stomach isn't still in his throat, like he doesn't feel out of his body for no reason at all, "Hey, Buck." He gestures, imagines Buck's hands waving around as he talks. "Hi, Eddie. How's the house?" Then, back to himself, "Finally unpacked most of my stuff. How's your unpacking going?"

"I don't get it," Buck continues morosely like he didn't even hear Eddie. He sounds a little like a kicked puppy, and there's a fond little feeling tugging at Eddie's chest. It feels good to feel that again, even though it hasn't been that long yet.

Yet.

But it still feels like something familiar in this unfamiliar house, familiar in a way all of Eddie's worldly possessions don't either. The closest he got to comfort were Christopher's things, and then the things Buck has bought him over the years. The rest felt—impersonal.

"You told them I'm straight?" Eddie says, and there's that other feeling again, the one that makes him feel like he's missed a step when walking, like his feet are being swept right out from under him.

"That's what I said," Buck says, glum. "Even Tommy—"

"Tommy?" Eddie repeats, brows drawing together, warmth in his chest snapping shut, like turning a key in a lock, like there's something closing up.

"Yeah, I—" Buck starts and stops. "I—I ran into him the other night when I was out with Ravi, and—"

"You were out with Ravi? Didn't think you two had much in common," Eddie says, not sure why he asks or why he says it, not sure what he wants to know. Buck didn't tell him that though, and it feels almost like panic for a second, except Eddie doesn't panic, and Buck isn't—Buck is his best friend. Buck just... hadn't told him yet.

"Yeah, Maddie said I needed to make friends so—" Buck groans. "Why is this so hard?"

He's whining. Eddie smiles despite himself, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "Never really needed to," he says absently.

"I know! And I'm fine being alone—uh, not that I'm alone," Buck immediately backtracks, still doing that thing of stepping around Eddie to protect him.

"Buck," is all Eddie has to say.

"But I can't sleep in your house and pretend," Buck says, and now it's an outpour, "It doesn't feel like my house. Even when I—I hooked up with Tommy here, and—"

"What?" Eddie says, and he thinks the only thing keeping him standing is the way he's about to shatter his phone with his grip, so tight it hurts, fingers numb, mouth dry, heart pounding. "Buck, why would you—"

"I know, I know," Buck replies hastily, "I won't do it again. I thought it was—I mean I didn't want to be alone, but he asked me—he thought I was in love with you," he rounds out, sounding small, and Eddie has to swallow two times before he can even say anything. Buck beats him to it, still on a roll. "I guess he was... jealous? I get it, I guess."

Eddie's lips are numb now. He still feels a flicker of something vindictive, a little bit of satisfaction. That's what he gets for breaking Buck's heart, he thinks. Should've stayed away in the first place. "You get it," he repeats anyway.

"Yeah, I mean—you know," Buck says, hesitant, and Eddie can see him so clearly it hurts, see the way his face scrunches up, the way he shrugs and turns his shoulders inward like he's trying to hide, just a little. "We're—close. We're—you know. You and me."

"Yeah," Eddie says. He's not choked up, not really, but he's so grateful for everything he has, and he's just—he's glad he has Buck. He misses him, and he's glad for him. If he has to blink back tears, there's no one to witness it. "Me and you."

Buck doesn't respond for an eternity. "I just miss you," he says eventually, soft.

"Not in love with me, though?" Eddie has to ask, and he doesn't know why.

Buck laughs a little, sheepish. "Not in love with you," he says, and what he should sound is relieved, but he sounds nervous, mostly.

What Eddie should be is relieved. But it takes him another eternity to realize he's not that, and he's not breathing either, and then he inhales and the world keeps going, and Buck is still on the other end of the phone, and he thinks there's a very tiny part of him, something hidden away in a corner, something that he hasn't dared touch, that wonders what it would have been like in another world and another conversation where he wasn't the tiniest bit, guiltily, disappointed.

#need to stop writing episode codas and lock in #which is why this is on tumblr and not ao3 #but here bc i'm trying to exorcise myself #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 spoilers #wolf writes

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itsraceweekbitches · 2 days ago

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JUST HOW FAKE ARE WE?

summary: Your so-far-successful fake relationship with Max takes a different turn in Monaco. But how far will things go eventually? ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 3.2k ✤ tags: fem!reader, marriage talks, fake relationship, teenage crush, excited-puppy-in-love!Max

[march 2025 – australian grand prix]

The media is having a field day with your suddenly revealed relationship with Max, who seems to enjoy this show a little too much. I’m bored, it’s fun, and it’s absolutely no big deal, he said.

And he clearly means it, because he doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re walking down the paddock together for the first time on Saturday, and he always makes sure he has a hand on your body, or places a kiss on your cheek whenever there are cameras around.

The inevitable happens shortly before qualifying, when the first article about the two of you is published on a well-known gossip site. And then comes another. And another. Followed by social media posts and video edits by fans. The fans are obsessed with this turn of events.

Some immediately catch on, stating that there is no way this relationship is real, that it’s nothing more but a decoy. They’re right, of course, but lucky for you, there are many more fans who believe the lie. Some even uncovered a few photos from the boys’ karting days, ones where you and Max can be seen together talking, laughing, and even hugging.

Charles has been apologizing non-stop, telling you he feels guilty since the press got the conversation from his account, and he even believes he shouldn’t have joked about it at all.

Now Max is attending an emergency meeting to discuss how to handle the situation, while you’re hiding in his driver room, talking to Charles who has already returned from his own emergency meeting.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Charles tells you during your video call, although you can see the doubt in his green eyes.

With a groan, you lean back on the bed, but you can’t calm down, you can’t think clearly, not when your brain is in overdrive by the fact the whole room—and especially the pillow—smells like Max. You’re not used to being surrounded by this scent, and it feels like you’re invading his personal space.

And the decorations keep reminding you that you’re not at Ferrari anymore, that this is uncharted territory, something you know nothing about yet. Sure, you will have to get familiar with things here, but you are still feeling out of place.

“I know it’s not the end of the world,” you finally speak up, “but now we dragged Max into this, and—”

“Hey, no, no, no, he volunteered. We didn’t hold him at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, then give him a look that immediately silences him, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he forces himself not to go on. You’ve known Charles literally your whole life, you know each other like you weren’t just best friends, but siblings who are stuck together.

“I’m just worried he’ll get into trouble because of me. You should have seen the faces when I showed up in Red Bull territory this morning,” you note with a grimace.

The most shocking moment was running into Christian, who watched you with narrowed eyes, as if he was thinking about what ulterior motive you had. If he only knew the truth…

On the other side of the line, Charles lets out a heartfelt laugh. “You as a corporate spy… Nah, you would suck at that,” he points out, then takes a deep breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Here you go again, he’s apologizing once more, and probably not for the last time. You wish you could go over to him and give him a big hug, then play video games until you both fall asleep. Like in the good old days.

After shaking your head, you sit up and lean your back against the wall behind you. “Charles, it’s not your fault. And I could never be mad at you, you know that.”

You want to go on, just to make sure he understands that there’s no reason to blame himself, but you’re interrupted all of a sudden.

“Honey, I’m home,” you hear Max’s familiar, cheerful voice from the door when he enters the room. “Oh, I didn’t know you were talking to someone,” he says when he comes to a halt in the middle of the room.

You flash a smile at him and shake your head. “It’s just Charles.”

“Just Charles?” the Monegasque asks with a roll of his eyes.

Before you know it, Max kneels on the edge of the bed, and leans down to press kisses all over your face, a move that brings a stupid giggle out of you. “She’ll call you back, now she’s all mine,” Max announces when he looks at the camera for a second.

It’s hard to miss the expression on your best friend’s face, the way his nose scrunches and he acts like he was about to throw up. “Disgusting,” he notes.

Next to you, Max doesn’t seem bothered by that, if anything, it just makes him more smug than he usually is in your company. “Screw you. I can shower my girlfriend with kisses anytime I want.”

“Since when?”

You let out a tired sigh as you push the man on your side away before he can give you another kiss on the cheek. “He’s been like that all day, he thinks he’s funny,” you tell Charles with a shake of your head.

“I’m hilarious,” Max corrects you as he lies down on the small space on your side. “And since we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s only natural to act like this, no?”

“Only in public.”

“If you touch her in an inappropriate way, I’ll push you off the track tomorrow,” Charles warns him.

Instead of being scared, Max only lets out a carefree laugh. “You’ll have to get close to me first.”

When you turn back to the phone, you can see that little shit kind of grin on your friend’s face. “Your car sucks this year,” he notes happily. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

You wave him goodbye, then end the call with a sigh.

“So does yours,” Max mutters under his breath, even though Charles isn’t there anymore.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly to calm yourself. Soon this will pass, soon you’ll be free again. Until then, you’re stuck here with the Dutchman, who happens to act like the perfect boyfriend.

When you look over at Max, you notice that he’s staring right back, as if he’s been watching you all this time. But what if he has truly been watching you? There’s something in those blue eyes you can’t quite place yet. It’s something you’ve never seen before, an emotion that’s completely unfamiliar, and maybe even a little unsettling.

Before you could say anything, though, he grins at you then rolls off the bed, heading to the mini fridge in the corner to get a Red Bull out for himself. He asks you if you'd like one, but your heart is already racing, an energy drink is the last thing you need.

Just two or three more races. The storm will end, and you can all go back to your everyday lives.

[may 2025 – monaco grand prix]

Over two months later you’re still pretending.

And now it’s time for the most important race of the season: the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles’s home race. The one you want to watch from the Ferrari garage along with his family you’re so close to.

But first, it’s time for dinner with Charles, his mom, and Alex, to which Pascale invited Max too. If Charles brings his girlfriend, you should bring your boyfriend too, she said. And who are you to say no to your second mother?

Later in the afternoon you’re trying on dresses in your family’s penthouse, happy that they are away with their friends until Saturday since Max decided to jump in and pick you up. He arrived early–like, two hours early—so now he’s the one rating your outfits.

“The color is nice, it suits you, but the shape is terrible,” he comments as he holds up the makeshift rating card, a smaller whiteboard he writes his points on.

Six points. Okay, this goes back to the walk-in closet, but you only leave after sticking out your tongue at him, because you love this dress so much that hearing it doesn’t look good on you physically hurts.

Three more outfits later he lets out a groan and jumps up after tossing the whiteboard to the other end of the couch. “I have an idea,” he begins as he follows you to the bedroom for whatever reason.

“I’m not gonna wear jeans with a Red Bull Racing shirt, forget it,” you point out without looking back at him.

“What? No, I’d rather you wear that when you’re with Ferrari this weekend.”

You spin on your heels to look at him, and sure enough, there’s that cheeky, boyish grin you were expecting. But how does he know about your plan to spend the weekend on Charles’s side of the paddock? You never mentioned that.

To your surprise, he knows perfectly well what’s going on inside your head. “What? You thought I wouldn’t know that this weekend is special? I discussed this with Charles a while ago, everything’s ready for you,” he tells you casually.

“Thank you. So, what do you have in mind, then?” you wonder as you walk closer to him.

Max lets out a thoughtful hum as his eyes sweep over your body, as if he was making this up on the spot. “Well, I would suggest jeans and a Simply lovely shirt, but no, I have a better idea. I have a surprise for you in my backpack, give me a sec.”

You watch him rush out of the room with a frown on your face, wondering what the hell is happening here. Max being nice and thoughtful is nothing new, but today it just feels different, like something has shifted in your fake relationship.

To be honest, you may have been thinking about him more than you probably should, even when he’s not around. You find yourself opening the messaging app you usually use, typing some words before changing your mind and deleting them. Or other times your finger hovers over the screen as you wonder if you should call him or not.

You’re kind of afraid of whatever that means. Is this more than just pretending?

At this point, you can’t help but wonder if it’s time to put an end to this. By now the press moved on, focusing on other drivers’ relationships instead of yours. It’s yesterday’s news, and everybody knows Charles and Alex are back together, and that they’re happier than ever. So what’s the point of this? Nothing.

Yet…

“Before you ask, I cheated and asked Charles to somehow get me what size you wear. Apparently Alex straight-up asked you, so,” he begins with a sheepish smile as he holds up a dress.

It’s a beautiful dark blue cocktail dress, which somehow didn’t have any wrinkles on it despite spending God knows how much time in that backpack. You don’t even know what to say, mostly because this gesture only proves what you’ve been suspecting about this certain shift you’ve noticed.

“You don’t like it.”

Your eyes move from the dress to your fake boyfriend, and you don’t hesitate to shake your head. “No, it’s beautiful. I just… Never mind. Thank you.”

Max lets out a sigh as he places the dress on the back of a chair. “Listen, I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

What are you supposed to say to this? That your brain is wandering to places you don’t want to explore?

“I’ll try on the dress, so could you wait outside?”

Nodding, Max gives you one last look, then leaves the room without a word. That’s the last time you speak until you meet the others, and even then, you keep an unusual distance. For him, it’s about being cautious. For you, it’s about making sure you make a fool out of yourself.

Charles, of course, notices the change in the atmosphere right away, and he even pulls you aside to start questioning you. But, even though he has known you since you were born, meaning he could probably give you some advice, you decide to lie and act like it’s nothing.

But it’s not nothing.

Your eyes keep finding Max throughout the evening, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. Does he have the same thoughts? Or is he desperately waiting to be free of you? It’s hard to tell.

Just as you planned, you spend the weekend with Charles, arriving at the paddock with his family, staying in Ferrari territory just to be safe. Safe from Max. Safe from your thoughts. Safe from the media.

But there’s an itch in the back of your brain, one you can’t scratch. And the itch even has a voice, repeating his name over, and over, and over again. It’s getting louder with each passing second, with each moment you see him on the screens on the wall, when your phone buzzes to notify you of a new message from him.

Alex gives you worried looks every now and then, but it takes her a while to open up and tell you what it’s about. And when she finally tells you what’s going on, you feel like the whole world has turned against you. First, everyone was freaking out because they thought you and Charles were getting married. Then it was you and Max. Now? Now the fans are mad because you chose your best friend over your boyfriend.

You close your eyes for a moment, but then you take a deep breath and leave the garage, trying to move in a way that doesn’t scream how terrible and pathetic you feel right now. Some fans are screaming bloody murder because Max is starting the race from P10 after a mechanical issue in Q3, which only happened because his lucky charm–you–wasn’t there with him on Saturday.

To be honest, you haven’t talked since the dinner. You’ve been avoiding him, ignoring him, and you hate yourself for not answering him.

“Wait,” you hear a familiar voice calling after you.

Fuck.

Max ran all the way here, ready to jump into the car based on the suit he already wears, but despite this, here he is, looking for you. There are people already turning in your direction, you can’t just leave him there, so you come to a halt and force a smile on your face.

“Hey, I–”

Before you could say anything, he gently but firmly puts a hand around your neck to pull you into a kiss. It’s rushed, passionate, and messy, yet it feels perfect. This is the first time the two of you kissed, until now you carefully avoided that situation, but God, what did you miss?

It’s only when he lets go for a moment that you notice the cameras around you, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact, it just draws a smug smirk on his face. “Well, if you want to jump ship, Red Bull’s always waiting for you. I love you,” he adds quietly.

This short-circuits your brain. This didn’t sound fake, you have a feeling he meant it. But if he meant it, then… Okay, you need to stop, you can’t overthink, you can’t let him put ideas in your head.

You want to say something, anything, really, but nothing comes to your mind.

He flashes a big smile at you before pressing a rushed kiss on your cheek. “Come over tonight. The cats miss you.” And with that, he waves goodbye and leaves.

What the hell just happened?

Luckily, you have enough brain capacity left to send him a quick good luck message.

“I was hoping you would jump in, but don’t worry, I’m glad you’re here now” Max says when he opens the door of his apartment.

Yeah, right. The invitation. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go there, not now. Not when you had these confusing feelings and thoughts. Did he mean it when he said those words? Did he catch feelings just like you did?

Because you did. You caught feelings in the past two months, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny. Just how long can you play pretend knowing damn well you want more from him?

Letting out a sigh, you go straight to his living room without saying a word–something that confuses him based on the questioning hum he lets out as you walk past him. Once he catches up, you gulp and prepare to speak up, breaking the awkward silence. This has never been the problem, not once. You could always chat and laugh, but now it feels different.

“Maybe it’s time to end this fake relationship,” you announce, even though the thought breaks your heart.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats stubbornly as he sits on the couch and picks up his youngest furry kid. “Aren’t we having fun? Why can’t this become something real? Come on, you enjoyed that kiss this afternoon, didn’t you?”

Oh, that confident smile of his is driving you crazy. You just want to slap him.

You want to slap that handsome face.

DAMN IT! FOCUS!

“Max, people have moved on, there’s no reason to keep going,” you try, although your voice lacks conviction.

And he knows. He always knows if there’s something you’re not telling him. This time he starts with a doubtful look, which is followed by a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. The thing is, Max always gets what he wants, and this time you have a feeling you’re what he wants.

Before you know it, he puts the cat to the side–who gives him a mean look in return–and reaches out to take your hands to pull you into his lap. Your brain melts when you feel his hands on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. Why does it feel so good? You don’t want to like it as much as you do.

Taking a deep breath, you try to pry his hands off yourself to break the spell, but his grip only tightens as he launches himself forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Another mind blowing kiss that knocks every coherent thought out of your brain.

The fact you like it is pathetic.

But still oh so good.

Maybe giving him a chance is what you should do now. Maybe he’s right, maybe you would be good together. So, without thinking more, you let yourself get lost in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. But he suddenly leans back to build a little distance.

“I have an idea,” he begins with a smile, his lips red and swollen. “I have napkins in the kitchen, let’s write a contract. Seems to work for you.”

“God, you’re so silly,” you tell him with a grin, then kiss him again.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #charles leclerc

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comatosebunny09 · 3 days ago

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@midiplier inspired me to write a bite-sized continuation for sensitive. A little steamy but pretty tame.

“—good on you.”

He cocks his head towards you, inquisitive, eyes fixed on the tablet in his palm, but his attention is evenly distributed, nonetheless. “Hmm?”

You smile. It reaches your eyes. Your chest swells with fondness. Fingers twitch with an impulse to touch.

“The earrings—they look good on you.”

He chuckles something tempting. Grins wide, dimples forming in his cheeks. He’s so incredibly handsome. Boyish, the delicate, black studs gleaming in the sepia lighting of his study, heightening his appeal.

You did good picking them out. They’re pretty, nestled in the warm ivory of his skin. Less bulky, not overwhelming, flattering.

“You think so?”

There’s something about the way he works. When his attention’s divided, but he still humors you, carving out time in his busy schedule to allow you into this private sector of his life, even if it’s just to watch him furrow his brows over intel while you tap away at your phone.

You’re grateful for these quiet moments between you—no bullets whizzing by, no blood to staunch. No deprecating thoughts live here, no jealousy. Just serenity between two people content with existing in each other’s presence. Comfortable like long-time friends used to the lull of silence.

“Yeah. They look great. How do they feel?”

He tears his eyes away from the screen. Stalls your breath in your lungs when he looks at you from his shoulder.

“Less irritating. Not as heavy. Thank you.”

“Really,” you breathe. Mischief creeps onto your face. “So, if I did this…” Shaky fingers stretch to stroke along the curve of his ear, gentle as they ease towards his lobe, sliding over the rigid contours of the stud.

He stirs lightly at the contact, lashes dancing, throat thickening with a soft, strained sound as his smile falters. You feel it coiling in your chest, that noise. Dripping hot, pooling in the chasm of your belly. He cants his head towards you like a feline seeking the warm press of the sun.

You smile with quiet, curious delight—an adventurous child mapping out the world.

“This doesn’t hurt?” Your voice cracks as you lightly pinch his lobe between your fingers, entranced by its elasticity. How soft it is, how warm it feels.

He grunts something barely there. Bitten-off. Content as he nuzzles his cheek against the flat of your nails. “Not at all.”

Your smile widens if at all possible. To his chagrin, you draw your hand back into your lap. He eyes you, haughty, mildly annoyed, as if to convey, ‘Why did you stop?’

You’re unsure where you acquired this boldness—this sudden need to sink your teeth into the pretty, reddening flesh. It’s overpowering, a primal impulse to bite down. But, you just…do. Angle yourself closer from your place beside him, your chair creaking, and his breath quickens when your nose brushes his cheek.

It’s doughy between your teeth—his cartilage. Stretched thin, flushed. The noise you elicit from him is more tempting, his voice liquid sin, halfway anguished, pleasured. You feel it in your toes, prickling in the crown of your head. It’s drawn out when you drag your teeth down his lobe, his skin salty in the palate of your mouth, traded for the taste of black diamond and metal.

Your ego swells. The leader of Onychinus, putty in your hands, beneath your teeth. Who would’ve thought? You let go after swiping your tongue over the stud, sitting back, smiling like a satisfied cat.

“Did that hurt?”

He’s so pretty, swiveling his chair towards you, knees bumping yours. That pretty flush dusting his cheeks, the drunken bow of his lashes, the scowl twisting up his lips as if he’s done with your shit—it makes you want to coo. Makes you want to gather his cheeks into your palms and nuzzle your noses together. He makes your heart swell. Makes your eyes water with a thin film of moisture.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

There is no warning. No preamble when the dark, misty lick of red circles your waist, your wrists. You’ve barely time to blink before he’s drawing you into his lap with his Evol. Your knees bracket either side of his waist, legs folded awkwardly against the chair.

His palms burn through the stretch of your slacks, molding to your hips. He draws you closer, his thighs devastatingly toned beneath you. He doesn’t release you from the spell of his eyes as he waggles his fingers, a smoky tendril summoned to lock the study’s door.

“Now we won’t be interrupted this time,” he drawls, hot against your lips, eyelashes tickling your cheeks as he studies your mouth. So close. It’s dizzying. “Why don’t I show you how I deal with tricksters?”

You could escape if you wanted. His grip is loose enough for you to slip away. Yet it’s firm, possessive, almost desperate as his thumbs stroke over the pockets of your hips. As his fingers curl around your thighs, repositioning you into a more comfortable position.

You don’t want to leave. Want to see what this punishment of his entails, your arms snaking about his shoulders, his chest so pleasantly warm and sculpted against your breasts.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x non mc reader #sylus fluff #sylus #love and deepspace #lads x non mc reader #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #l&ds sylus #qin che #lads x reader #sylus romance

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sugurouge · 3 days ago

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southbound. sylus x f!reader

explicit content, smut, mdni ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚ smut, cunnilingus, praise, overstimulation, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, kitten, princess), size difference | 1.4k wc

synopsis: nothing much but sylus eating out his stressed girlfriend

Maybe it’s the way his biceps flex around your figure every now and then. Maybe it’s his breath tickling your nape, or the way his scent floats and engulfs you to the fullest that sends these utterly exciting little butterflies down to your core.

Or maybe, just maybe, your day has been stressful and all you desire is your boyfriend. For him to make all these thoughts running laps inside your brain stop.

Either way, Sylus’ influence on your already aroused brain isn’t calming in any shape or form—leaving you unable to focus on anything but the man pressed close behind you. There is no intention behind Sylus’ behavior, his eyes are glued to the TV, mind fully absorbed into the scene playing on screen while using you like a life-sized plushie.

Your shifting on his lap barely gains his attention, and surely won’t get the message, you desperately want him to understand, across. Right?

“Sylus…” he finally hears you murmur.

His eyes dart left to glance at your side profile for him to watch you lean back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder before you look up at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” he questions in return, his eyes now never straying from yours as the tip of his nose nudges yours.

His hands come to rub along your waistline and the feeling of his touches is electrifying at this point, causing shivers to run down your spine and bringing puffs of air to fan over Sylus’ lips.

“You know…”

He has to fight the smirk tugging at his lips, has to swear to himself to remain stoic. “I know, what?” The question is mumbled against your lips, a faint kiss to end his words.

“It‘s just,” you try, but struggle to simply tell him what you want. So instead, he lets you guide his hand over your body. Only for him to use his strength to place it on top of your thigh instead of where you actually wanted him to be.

The tease of his thumb brushing your skin and dipping beneath your shorts is frustrating—not enough yet also so good. Until his fingertip grazes the hem of your panties, creating desperately needed friction.

Those irregular little breaths which bring your chest to rise and fall are priceless.

“Cat got your tongue?” Sylus asks as he mouths along your neck, nibbling right below your ear lobe.

God, your panties are uncomfortable.

You wish you could rub your thighs against another, yearning for the slightest relief as you writhe beneath his actions. “I can't focus on the movie,” you finally admit in shame. Thinking is always a little complicated once Sylus gets a hold of you.

“I have noticed,” is his rather calm reply, accompanied by a small hum. “And you thought you should distract me as well?”

You bite your lip to stop a guilty smile from spreading on your features while nodding to his statement as though it’s the brightest idea in the world.

“Yeah, pretty much…”

“Pretty much,” he repeats quietly, almost as if he was to deeply think about your words. “If you want me to eat you out, just say it.”

“Sylus!” you warn, and quickly push your hands against him to bring distance between your bodies.

But he’s not wrong.

You both know it.

So it comes barely as a surprise that your back makes contact with the plush, luxurious mattress of Sylus' bed. Your legs are being parted by his hands only a moment later for Sylus to find a home between your thighs as he kisses along your body. “I always got you, sweetheart, you should know that by now.”

“I-I do,” you huff and crane your neck for his pampering.

Sylus dips beneath the fabric of your shirt and allows himself to bite into your stomach. Next, he kisses, sucks and nips over your exposed skin until he arrives at your tits. Tongue running between your pushed-up mounds as he holds them in his large palms and thumbs your nipples.

You're quick to turn pliant in his hold. Humming his name innocently while greedily craving everything he has to offer. “Sylus, mhm… more, please.”

Of course, he follows suit immediately. His touch warms up your waistline until his fingers wrap around the hem of your shorts to pull them off alongside your panties.

Apparently, you’re not the only greedy one.

“More,” you hear him echo softly. The word vibrates against your skin before he licks over your sternum, sucks along your tummy until he arrives at your pussy and inhales your sweet scent, groaning right against your puffy lips.

It’s hard to not get flustered by his actions; impossible to not try to close your legs but only squishing his face between your thighs.

Yet this is just the cherry on top for Sylus.

“Your pussy smells so good, princess.” Thank god for the darkness of the room or else he could have watched you melt from shame.

Sylus' fingers mimic the touch of a feather as they run over your slick folds, eyes mesmerised by the glistening of your cunt thanks to the dim ambiance lights and TV. “And always so wet for me, hm…” he tentatively dips the tip of his index finger inside, deeply enjoying how you already try to cling to a singular digit of his.

Gentle lips kiss your thigh before Sylus’ teeth nibble on your skin, while crimson eyes are trained on your face, on how your brows crease and your lips part to let a quiet moan slip past. It’s adorable how you’re already so far gone with such simple actions.

Oh, if only you were prepared for what’s to come.

Both of his pointer fingers run along the sides of your pussy before pulling your lips open to fully reveal your clit. He licks a deep strip from your pussy all the way up to your little bundle of nerves.

A gesture so electrifying, you simply can’t help the jerk of your hips or the cry of his name as soon as his tongue pushes inside your hole and the tip of his nose presses against your clit to fully coat his face in your juices as he laps at your pussy.

You know he loves the mess; he knows you enjoy it too. So he doesn’t even try to stop himself from drooling all over your folds as his tongue flicks against your little bundle of joy.

The tremble of your legs against his cheeks has Sylus’ eyes roll in their sockets and a groan ringing against your pussy. Causing your fingers to reach out for his hair and tug on the silver strands, a leverage to allow your hips to roll against his face.

“Doing so good for me,” he murmurs against your thigh, his teeth once more grazing your legs as he feels your walls throb around his fingers—tightening and clenching just right and giving him the cue to dive back in.

Sylus' tongue presses against your clit before his mouth moves with vigour, slurping with no shame or remorse as you cry your highest moans and finally come undone.

Your smaller hand finds his by second nature as you entwine your fingers and hold on tightly throughout your orgasm. “Thank you, thank you…” your repeated sigh between passionate moans whilst your boyfriend seems unwilling to stop his ministrations. Instead, he is all too busy swallowing your juices and letting his tongue lick over your puffy lips to drag out your high.

“S-Sylus, please!” your high-pitched plea attempts to win his compassion. But the levitating feeling keeps raining in on you, overstimulation slowly numbing your mind as you pant and whimper for mercy.

Only then will you feel his hand cradling your cheek, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone as he bends down to kiss you softly. “Can’t stop myself when you moan for me like that, sweetie,” Sylus murmurs, the satisfaction so evidently laced in his words as a smug grin rests on his lips.

dividers by @/cafekitsune + @/anitalenia | screenshot credit

#sylus x reader #sylus smut #lads sylus smut #lads sylus x reader #sylus x reader smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #about.sylus #─ .✦ winter's words #cw overstim

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swoo-bats · 2 days ago

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Tucker didn't think he'd ever be interacting with one of the Big Bosses. Glimpses of them in the lobby, hallways, other work areas, sure; that's how he got in on the open secret, after all. A few too many times of the Waynes showing up to work with injuries that didn't really coincide with the "skiing accident" or whatever they claimed it to be. But Tucker, familiar with Danny's tendencies to hide his own injuries, knows what to look for.

After getting a little suspicious, Tucker started paying more attention to the Bats. He religiously followed social media posts. Twitter was a hot bed for sightings and Tiktok was great for seeing clips of fights. And after a few weeks of paying close attention to social media and any local celebrity gossip as well as the short sightings at work, Tucker can definitively say that Bruce Wayne is Batman and Tim Drake-Wayne is Red Robin.

Though he had to put in the work, he figured that with observation of the more obvious injuries and work absences over a long period of time, any Wayne Enterprises employee would come to the same conclusion. He just sped up the process a bit in his unrelenting curiosity. It must be an open secret like Danny's identity in Amity Park; people are being polite by not talking about it.

He even confirmed his speculation with his coworkers. At lunch he had casually mentioned to Jamie, a fellow systems engineer, "With what the Waynes get up to, I'm surprised they're actually at work as often as they are."

To which she eagerly replied, "Right?! They're probably so tired all the time. If I did what they did, I'd be calling out super often." She tilted her head back and forth, considering. "Though I don't have the money for that."

Two other coworkers nearby also joined in, commenting on how the Waynes are so rich, it's not really a surprise what shenanigans they get up to. Tucker nodded along, excited now that his suspicions were basically confirmed.

So when he had heard two guys in the alley outside of his apartment talking about a big drug shipment (do people really think no one will hear them if they talk in echoey alleys?), he figured he could pass it on to the Bats. Just slip a post-it into a file that's getting sent up to their office, no problem.

Safe to say, Tucker was not expecting to be called up to talk with them. Did they want more information about the drug shipment? He already wrote down everything he knew! Or... oh no, he hopes that they don't think he's involved with those guys. He walks out of the elevator, hoping he looks like a normal employee and isn't giving off, like, criminal vibes or whatever. He knows he's not guilty of anything, that this is definitely one of those scenarios like "oh shit, what if I accidentally brought a gun to the airport?" where the anxiety obviously doesn't come from any rational place. But he is still excited to meet them for real. They're heroes! The only other hero Tucker has ever met is Danny and he doesn't really count.

He makes his way to the secretary at the desk in front of the office doors and says that he was asked to come up to talk. They confirm his name with his employee ID and let him through.

The first thing Tucker notices is that the office is way less cool than he thought it'd be. It's a little bland, honestly. He wasn't expecting, like, a Batman costume to just be displayed in the room, but typical office gray is what meets his eyes.

The second thing he notices is that Tim Drake-Wayne is the only other one in the room. Tucker guesses that makes sense, he heard Batman got a nasty hit over the head last night, so he's probably taking care of his concussion or head wound or whatever.

Tim gestures for him to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Tucker does. It isn't a comfortable chair.

"So Mr. Foley, I was wondering if you could explain why you passed on a note involving a drug deal to me."

"Well, sir, I figured this was the most direct way I had to pass on some information to the Bats. I don't know anything more than what I wrote on there, though."

Tim's expression turns confused. "Why would you think I have a method of communication with the Bats?"

Tucker's own face becomes confused. Are they still pretending they both don't know that the other knows? "Why wouldn't you?"

Tim blinks. "Although they may have... saved me... from kidnappings a couple of times," he says very reluctantly, "I definitely do not have direct contact with the Bats. I suggest you find another way to contact them." He finishes, pushing the note towards Tucker.

Mind running, Tucker picks up his note. Why keep denying it? Unless he thinks that Tucker's gonna tell someone? But it's already an open secret in the building, so why worry about that? Maybe he doesn't want any rogues going after WE employees and targeting them since they know the Bats' identities? But how would the rogues find out what the employees know? Everyone is pretending they don't know, since it's an open secret and everything...

Understanding dawns on Tucker's face. Plausible deniability! If Tim confirms his identity to Tucker, who knows who Tucker could tell. If the Waynes never outright confirm it then they can decry anyone who blabs as making it up. Tucker nods.

"Ah, I see, sir. I'll definitely make sure to pass it on correctly this time." Tucker puts the note in a pocket of his slacks. When he looks back up, Tim looks skeptical. "Anything else you need to discuss?"

"You didn't answer my earlier question. Why did you think I had a way to communicate with the Bats?"

Tucker runs a few answers through his mind and picks the least plausible one. "I've never seen you or Mr. Wayne in the same place as the Bats."

Tim's expression turns bewildered and Tucker holds back a laugh. This guy is a pretty good actor, though Tucker's answer was pretty funny too. Too bad "the butts match" isn't a joke he can make in a work setting.

"I'm sure you haven't seen most people together with the Bats though? Why us?" Tim questions.

For a moment Tucker wonders why Tim's dragging the explanation out, but he knows this building is full of security cameras and whatnot. One of Batman's enemies might be like Technus and be able to get to this footage.

'Wow, he's thorough,' he thinks.

Tucker shrugs, "Celebrities are more interesting to gossip and form theories around." He pauses and scrambles to add, "Not that I'm gossiping about you and Mr. Wayne or anything! I just mean in general, celebrities have to deal with more gossip because they're assumed to be more interesting than average people."

He watches Tim's face until it eases into something more neutral. Tucker really hopes he didn't just talk himself out of his job.

"Ah. I see. That's all then, you can go."

Tucker sighs in relief. "Thank you, sir." He stands and takes his leave. In the elevator back to his floor Tucker wonders if he should actually send the note again or if that's redundant since he knows they already got it.

Well, he may as well look for an alternate method of communication in case something like this happens again.

---

Tim watches Tucker Foley exit his office and his racing mind is full of questions about the man. He was definitely lying about the "same room" excuse, there's no way he would be working in system engineering if that was the extent of his logical reasoning ability. Tim wants to know what actually made him suspicious to Foley, why he thought that Tim could easily communicate with the Bats.

The preliminary research paints a picture of a man wanting to get out of his hometown and live in the big city. His hometown is a city itself, so he was probably looking for something new and exciting. And nothing screams exciting like Gotham.

The interesting part of this research is that Amity Park's main tourist attraction is their supposed haunted city and ghost hero. Who fights other ghosts. Tim rolls his eyes at the obvious gimmick. But more research proves the hero to be real, whether he's a ghost remains to be seen. Though it seems like the city's opinion was the complete opposite when the hero first appeared, lumping him in with the other "ghosts." That early information is hard to find, just sparse blog posts about "Phantom" and the occasional facebook post made by complaining residents. In fact, all of their digital newspapers only seem to go back a few years. If it was only a couple papers it wouldn't be weird, but all of them have nothing earlier than five years ago.

No wait, he needs to focus on Foley. Find out what he thinks he knows. And he can't have the other Bats look into him either because then Foley will know for sure that Tim is connected to them. So a trawl through his digital footprint it is, then.

He can't get through the security.

Tim is frustrated, at home on his own computer trying to access Foley's tech and nothing he's doing is working. If Foley did this himself then Tim is glad he's working for WE because he is having difficulties getting through the security. He scowls at the screen.

As Red Robin he's on par with Oracle with their tech knowledge. So there's no reason why he can't do this. He just needs to persevere.

Two hours later finds Tim angrily looking for more information on Amity Park. Is it secretly a tech haven? Could it rival Silicon Valley for their advancements in cybersecurity? He finds a few engineers located in the city but none of them are listed as cybersecurity or any related fields. One listing has him pausing when he sees "ecto-tech engineers" next to a name. The Fentons. What the hell is ecto-tech?

The Fentons' website is cringe-inducing, but he scans through their bright-colored pages and comes away not knowing whether or not this technology could be used to amp up someone's cybersecurity. Though it definitely could amp up someone's building security, given that you were trying to secure it from ghosts. Tim sighs.

Are these even real engineers? This has to be part of the city's ghost tourism attraction, right? But on the Fentons' About page, they do list degrees from the University of Wisconsin in... ectobiology? Tim wants to slam his head against his desk. What the hell is up with this city?

Tucker gets a job at Wayne Enterprises, and instantly clocks Bruce and Tim and Batman and Red Robin (and thus by extension figures out the rest of the family).

But since he figured it out so easily, he assumes it’s an open secret that everyone knows but keeps on the down-low for privacy and whatnot. After all, that’s what Danny’s identity had been like by the time they all graduated. Basically everyone in town knew unless the feds were asking. Because those white-suited government bastards can Fuck Right Off.

And thus, when he later finds an important potential lead on something, he doesn’t think much of just… handing it off to them to deal with. Yeah, he’s temporarily breaking the illusion, but it’s not that big of a deal.

Needless to say, Tim vehemently disagrees with that assessment, and is now deeply invested in finding out what the hell is up with his employee and his weirdly secretive hometown.

#dp x dc #my writing #idk why my brain latched onto this today but this was fun to write!#it feels kinda... choppy? but idc i'm writing for fun here #had to make him put in the work to confirm their identites though bc familiar w/ a secret id he may be tuck is not familiar with the waynes #his reasoning is a little skewed though #tucker. tuck. what do you mean it's obvious over a long period of watching them?#do you think everyone pays attention to their bosses that closely? the average person doesn't care about the boss that they never talk to

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puck-luck · 3 days ago

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Trevor gives off the vibes where he’d love just being in his girl even if it’s not sexual like they’ll just be sitting there watching tv and before you know it he’s inside of her and they’re just vibing together. I also feel like he’d be so into free use with his girl like he’ll be playing video games and she’ll get off while she uses him or she’ll be laying there reading and he’s just inside of her getting off on his own

4 + 1: Free Use with BF!Trevor

After talking about it, you’ve taken to wearing thongs and an oversized t-shirt around the house. Trevor needs easy access, after all, and you had made a promise.

You’re reading a book on the couch when he gets home from some Ducks event. You’re laying along the length of the cushions on your stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed, kicking your feet in the air aimlessly. The book is propped up against a throw pillow and you’re lazily turning the pages.

When Trevor arrives home, you look up at him. “Hi, baby,” you greet. “Good day?”

He’s the perfect picture cuddly boyfriend, which is why he’d been late getting out of bed for this event in the first place. He hadn’t even had time to change. He’s still wearing those BU sweatpants you love so much and the white hoodie he’d found at the foot of your bed.

Trevor offers you a complacent smile. “It was fine.” He walks over to the couch and pushes your legs down until they’re flat on the cushions. He collapses on top of your back, laying with his head just between your shoulder blades.

You let out a small chuckle, barely more than a puff of breath, and return to your book. You’re being pressed into the cushions by a lot more than gravity now, but you don’t mind. It’s nice to have your boyfriend so close, especially as he’s snaking his hands up the sides of your shirt and tracing your skin.

He kisses your spine. “Can I?” Trevor asks, his voice muffled and pouty against your back. He shifts up on his knees so he can press his hips to your ass.

It’s the first time that Trevor has wanted to do this since you talked about it. Free use. Goosebumps rise on your neck.

“You don’t have to ask,” you remind Trevor, although it’s nice that he did since it’s the first time he’s actually going to use you like this. “‘m all yours, babe.”

Trevor hums proudly at that, pecking your shoulder before pulling away from you entirely. He leans back on his heels and pushes his sweats down.

You look again to your book. You can feel Trevor stroking himself to his full hardness and you bite your bottom lip. You’re wet thinking about how Trevor just wants to be inside of you, to treat you like no more than a hole to be filled when he wants to fill it, but you’re not particularly inclined to participate. That’s the whole point, after all, isn’t it?

He pushes your legs apart, then settles between them. The blunt tip of his cock probes your entrance and sinks into you.

The drag is harsh and it gets harder and harder to read as Trevor becomes more drunk on this feeling. You feign nonchalance.

Trevor grips your hips and drives his cock into your heat over and over and over again. There’s no regard for you, for your pleasure. It’s only about his pleasure and, honestly, that makes you feel good. Trevor’s climax, in this state, means much more to you than your own. As long as he’s feeling good, then you’re happy to be used.

He doesn’t waste time on anything other than chasing his orgasm. You get to hear Trevor in his purest state– this is like fucking his own fist in complete privacy, but instead, he’s fucking into you. You get to hear all of his grunts and groans and puffs of breath and stifled whimpers, all of which he makes when you’re together too, but he likes to make them more manly and sexy when he’s putting on a show for you. Truth be told, you like these better. You like that Trevor can’t stop the stutter of his hips and the keen that escapes his mouth as he starts to shoot off inside of you.

You love how he moves to bracket your ribs with his arms, palms flat on the couch. His hips continue to move as he works through his orgasm, cum dribbling from his tip into your cunt. Trevor’s lips find your neck, your shoulder, your spine… he plants grateful kiss after grateful kiss to your back until his movements slow to pure stillness and Trevor lays against you.

His cock remains inside, acting like a plug to keep the cum from leaking out of you onto the couch. Trevor hooks his nose over your shoulder. “I hope I didn’t disturb your reading,” Trevor mumbles. He takes some of the fabric of your shirt in his mouth, tugging on it. “Couldn’t resist.”

II.

“Hey, babe, c’mere,” Trevor calls from down the hall.

“What, Trev?” you reply. You scrunch your hair in a towel, having just gotten out of the shadow a few minutes prior. When he doesn’t reply, you roll your eyes and leave the bathroom, making your way into Trevor’s game room. “What, Trev,” you repeat in a more exasperated voice.

He looks over his shoulder and moves one of his headphones to the side. His face splits into a grin. “Oh, good. Take your towel off and come here.” He spreads his legs, scooting back in his wheely chair so you can fit partially beneath the desk. “I want to use your mouth.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, then shake your head and chuckle. “Really?”

Trevor nods and lifts his hips enticingly.

“Are you going to game while I suck you off?” you ask.

Trevor nods again and smiles wide.

You start to laugh again, walking over to where he sits and putting your hands on his knees. You bend at the waist and peck his lips before sliding to your knees.

Trevor grabs a hairtie from the desk and ties your hair into the world’s most hurried bun. Then, he leans back in his chair and picks up his controller. He puts his headphones back over both ears and resumes his game. He lifts his hips as you start to drag his waistband down.

You lick Trevor’s tip slowly with the flat of your tongue, peeking up through your eyelashes as you do and catching the way the corners of his mouth turn up. His eyes stay on the screen.

The hair on Trevor’s thighs is soft and you pet through it as you slide his cock into your throat. You scratch your nails gently over his skin, closing your eyes and starting to bob your head. Trevor’s cock is thick and tastes slightly salty as precum oozes from his tip and seeps into your warm mouth.

Trevor’s breath is deep and his expression remains mostly unaffected. You aim to change that.

You swallow him down as much as you can. Trevor’s cock flexes with your swallow, filling all the space that you give him. You gag, but force your way down until your lips are wrapped around Trevor’s base. You lift your eyes to his face and find Trevor’s gaze on you, wide smirk on his face.

“Showing off?” Trevor asks knowingly.

Stilted by the cock in your mouth, you shake your head.

“Then fuck your mouth for me, will ya?” Trevor instructs goodnaturedly, nudging you with his foot and grinning at you.

You choke a little bit on Trevor’s cock when you laugh at his words, but you pull off and put your mouth to work.

You lay your hand flat on Trevor’s hip and caress his abdomen with your thumb, bobbing your head up and down. His tip knocks into the back of your throat as you push yourself down, alternating between lathering your tongue over his tip and deepthroating him until you have to pull off and gasp for breath.

Trevor plays on. You can hear the clicking of his controller and the way he’ll let out an annoyed groan whenever something goes wrong on the screen.

You lap at his tip and fit your lips around his crown, sucking softly and flicking the tip of your tongue over his slit, collecting the precum there and begging for more to come out and coat your tongue. You hum and take him down about halfway, drawing your fingers gently up and down the rest of his shaft. You’re barely touching him in this moment, just ghosting over his veins and ridges. When you take him all the way down, you cup his balls and roll them in your palm. When you give them a squeeze, Trevor’s cock jumps in your mouth.

It’s the first physical reaction, beside how hard his length is, that you’ve gotten from Trevor.

You repeat the actions over and over. Trevor’s cock is steadily leaking precum now, the taste filling your mouth, and you can feel his pulse growing more and more rapid on your tongue. You breathe through your nose, choking yourself on Trevor’s length and allowing spit to drip down his cock until he’s positively coated.

Massaging the vein on the underside of Trevor’s cock with the flat your tongue, you swallow around his tip. His cock jerks again, bumping into the roof of your mouth a telltale three, four, five times before pearly white cum shoots down your throat in long, thick threads.

You swallow around him until Trevor is done coming and there’s nothing left in your throat but the aftertaste.

You kneel back on your heels and use the momentum to make your way to your feet, pecking Trevor’s mouth again and heading back to the bathroom to finish your post-shower routine.

III.

You’re wearing Trevor’s pink sweatshirt, the one with Roman numerals on the breastbone, and chopping up vegetables for a pasta sauce. You’ve already got four tomatoes halved and thrown in the blender, plus an onion that you cut into quarters. There are a few cloves of garlic thrown into the blender with those veggies and you’re about to start blending them, once you finish chopping this carrot into fine little pieces. Really, you’re just trying to blend all of your veggies that are about to go bad together so that they don’t go to waste. Even if it tastes like shit, your boyfriend is like a vaccuum when it comes to any kind of food, and he’ll eat as much as you give him.

It’s been a couple of months since you and Trevor started this free use journey and you’ve stopped wearing underwear altogether when you’re around the house. Trevor has ruined a few pairs already, by stretching them out or physically ripping them off of your body due to his lack of patience, and you’d rather not have to buy new underwear every other month.

It’s lucky that you’re wearing nothing, given how Trevor walks in the front door after practice and drops everything where he stands before beelining to you. He presses his face into your hair and breathes in deeply, shoving his hands up the sweatshirt and kneading your boobs.

“Long day?” you ask, chuckling and chopping up the final pieces of carrot before putting the knife to the side. You pick up handful after handful of carrots and toss them in the blender, eventually wiping your hands on the teatowel you’d thrown on the counter after washing the tomatoes.

“The longest,” Trevor replies. One of his hands leaves your chest, retreating to pull his cock out of his pants. He fists the base and rubs his tip against your folds until he’s hard and straining and you’re slick enough for him to press inside.

You’re doing your best to pour a dash of vegetable oil and a bit of heavy cream into the blender so that the vegetables blend more easily, but Trevor has started to thrust against you. The carton of heavy cream slips and you pour way more than you wanted to, but you catch your mistake before the sauce will be too creamy. You close the carton with one hand, using the other to find purchase on the counter and brace yourself for Trevor’s bucking hips.

He notices your stiffness and slips his hand back up to your boob, holding both in his hands and keeping you in place so that you don’t have to. “Sorry, baby, I’ll be quick,” Trevor murmurs with a kiss to the back of your neck. “I needed this.”

“Don’t apologize, Trev,” you say. “You feel good. Take what you need, sweet boy.” You press the button on the blender and the loud whirring fills the room, but you can feel the puffs of Trevor’s breath on your neck and his low moans next to your ear.

He pinches your nipples beneath the sweatshirt and the feeling travels through your body to your pussy, squeezing Trevor tight. He swivels his hips against you, grinding deep before he draws back and starts to pound into you again. His forehead meets your spine. You can practically feel how close he is already, even though it’s only been a few minutes. He just needs a release after a long day and you’re more than willing to offer that to him.

You press your hips back and watch Trevor’s reaction in the glass of the blender. As he throws his head back and furrows his eyebrows, jaw dropping open, his hips drive into you in a slower, harder, more precise way. His body claps against yours and you turn off the blender just as Trevor comes, moaning out loud and flooding your cunt with his seed.

You transfer the blended sauce into the pan on the stove and hit a few buttons, setting it on low heat as Trevor pulls his cock from your pussy and watches the cum drip from your hole. He pushes it back in with his fingers, then guides his softening cock to your entrance and fills you again. He stays behind you like that as the sauce simmers, playing with your boobs and kissing your neck as you dump the strained pasta into the sauce and mix them together.

“That looks good,” Trevor mumbles. He kisses the space right behind your ear. “You’re so good to me.”

You giggle when his breath tickles the shell of your ear, shivering at the sensation. You turn the noodles over in the sauce. “It’s ‘cause I love you,” you tell him.

Trevor brings a hand to your clit, circling his fingers. “Gonna get you back after we eat,” Trevor says. “Make you come a couple of times.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply. You reach for the teatowel and hang it over your shoulder. “Now, clean me up and put this in the laundry after, will you?”

IV.

The next time Trevor needs you like that, you’re asleep in bed. He didn’t expect you to be up waiting for him. That’s a honeymoon phase thing– you guys have been dating for a while. You’ve gotten into fights. You’ve been living together for a while now. You both have seen the best and worst parts of each other over time, and you’ve gotten comfortable enough in this relationship that you and Trevor are both perfectly okay with your not waiting up for him after every game.

But after a long east coast roadie, Trevor has been missing you. You look so pretty in his big t-shirt. When he peels back the covers, Trevor sees that it has ridden up to show off your stomach. Like you’ve been expecting him, your legs are spread apart and, as always, you’re not wearing panties.

Trevor smiles. You’re ready for him.

He bends down and kisses your cheek, then moves slowly to the other. He slides into bed with you, having stripped down to his boxers already, and shifts between your legs. He rolls his hips down into your core, his clothed bulge gliding against your folds.

You stir, the hand resting next to your face on the pillow coming up to blearily wipe at your eyes. “Trevor?” you rasp, confused and sleepy.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry for waking you,” Trevor whispers. He purses his lips and brushes them against yours.

“S’okay,” you reply. “How was the game tonight?”

“It was fine.” Trevor kisses down your neck and brings his fingers to your slit. “I missed you.”

He can feel your cheeks shifting as your lips widen into a smile. “You are such a horny guy,” you tease.

Trevor pushes a finger into your heat, feeling the slide grow easier with each thrust. “Can’t help it when my girl is so pretty,” he says.

“Hmm,” you hum. “Be quick. Wanna cuddle.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, lifting one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist.

Trevor leaves his lips in contact with your cheek as he pulls his finger from your body and fishes his cock out of his boxers, fucking into your pussy at an unhurried pace. You’re so warm and tight; Trevor hasn’t fucked you in days and he knows he won’t last an impressive amount of time. You told him to be quick anyway. Once his pelvis is flush with yours, Trevor breathes in deeply through his nose and kisses down the curve of your neck. He wraps his arms around your middle and splays his fingers across your lower back, lifting you slightly to provide a better angle for your pleasure… although he’s admittedly not aiming to get you off right now.

Trevor rocks forward in aborted movements. Your gummy inner walls hug his cock tightly, rubbing against the nerve endings along his shaft and tip in a way that has him panting in just minutes.

Your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, pushing into his hair. He feels like he can feel your nails scratching his scalp better now that he cut his hair shorter, even though that’s nonsensical. You sigh contentedly in his ear, chest rising and brushing his. “Fill me up, T,” you croon, pulling him even closer with the leg wrapped around his waist. “Know you want to. I’ll keep your cum inside all night and you can fuck me again in the morning. I’ll ride you, hm? How’s that?”

Trevor feels his cock throb, feels his balls grow tighter just before you clench down on him and he shoots off inside of you. Trevor feels like his brain turns to mush as he comes, his limbs loosening and lips smushing against your skin. He lays atop you when his cock is done twitching and leaking, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and soap and the natural smell that is so you. He could fall asleep right here.

You push at his shoulder and insist that he sleeps on his side of the bed rather than on top of you.

Still, Trevor pulls you into his side and falls asleep with his nose against the crown of your head.

You’ve been feeling especially feral today. You’re not sure why, but every time you look at Trevor, a lightning strike travels through your body and the energy settles riiight between your legs.

He’s not even doing anything hot. You’re actually pretty sure you saw him biting his nails earlier and that itch on his nose might have been him digging for gold. You are not sure and you’d looked away so that you could give yourself the benefit of the doubt and convince yourself that, yes, he’d just been itching his nose. Nothing more than that. He’s not that gross. He might be a boy, but he’s not that gross. Surely.

Even if he is a gross, disgusting boy who bites his nails and might pick his nose when he thinks no one is looking… you’re absolutely feral for him today.

Trevor is sitting on the couch watching TV. His legs are spread wide, creating a nice space just for you.

You’re sitting on the other end, torn between scrolling on your phone and staring at your boyfriend. You think you’re caught staring when Trevor’s hand shifts to his lap and covers his cock, the slight bulge of which you could see in his boxer-briefs. Your eyes widen, then your gaze flies to his face.

And Trevor is just staring at the TV. He gives his cock an absentminded squeeze and moves his fingers over his length briefly, then stretches his arm out over the back of the couch.

You suddenly blink to yourself and draw your eyebrows together. Why the fuck are you still turned on by a man who just scratched his balls right in front of you?

You need to get this out of your system or else you’re going to be distracted for the rest of the day. So, for the first time, you approach your boyfriend and straddle his lap, planting yourself on his cock and grinding down.

Trevor is delighted by this turn of events, you can tell by the silly smile on his face. His hands come to your sides and pinch your hips. “Hey, pretty girl,” he greets, his attention now on you rather than the screen.

“Take your cock out,” you command before tugging your shirt over your head and dropping it on the coffee table. “I want you to suck my tits while I fuck myself on it.”

Trevor’s eyes light up and he lifts his hips, shuffling his briefs down until his cock springs free. You can see it reacting to your presence and you wonder, very quickly, if he’s still itchy at all. You stamp the thought down and forget it as soon as it comes, rising up on your knees and lining his cock up with your entrance.

Since you’ve been turned on all day, your pussy has been ready to accept Trevor since the moment you clambered onto his lap. Once aligned, you sink down and take him. You move your hips in figure-eights, gyrating and finding the pleasure you enjoy. When you’re riding Trevor in an effort to make him come, you’ll bounce– but that’s never brought a climax to your body on its own. No, for you, it feels better when you rock your hips and roll your pelvis forward in a scooping motion, punctuated by a series of bounces here and there just to shake things up.

You close your eyes and lean your head back, facing the ceiling in a relaxed pose. You can feel yourself being consumed by the movement of Trevor’s cock inside of you and how it presses against sensitive spot after sensitive spot.

You’re sure if you look down right now, Trevor will be staring at you like he’s looking into the face of God. When you’d first talked about free use, he’d made it very clear that he didn’t want it to just be about him. He spoke at length about how if you wanted to use him, he’d be more than willing. In fact, over the time that you guys have been practicing this newfound kink, Trevor has had to remind you that he wants to be used. You’re finally doing it.

He fulfills your request shortly after you find your groove. His teeth encircle your nipple and tug, his hands wrapping around your back and pulling you closer like he just can’t get enough. He alternates between your breasts, licking and sucking until your nipples are wet, straining, and aching with pleasure.

Your stomach thrums with excitement, clit swollen and making contact with Trevor’s abdomen when you swivel your hips just right. You repeat the motion over and over again until it’s just not enough, snaking a hand between your bodies so that you can rub your fingers over the bundle of nerves in rapid passes. You make a soft noise halfway between a whine and a squeal when the balloon of tension in your gut explodes and forces your eyes, closed as they are, to the back of your head. You swear that if your vision wasn’t black, you’d be able to see the back of your skull with how strong his orgasm is.

Trevor moans against your tits, bucking up twice and spilling into your heat, adding to the mixture of warmth that is coursing through your body and making you feel like jelly. You sag against him and Trevor holds you tight, burying his face between your breasts and kissing your sternum. He stays there for only a moment before kissing a line up your neck to your lips. “Fuck, that was so sexy,” Trevor breathes out. “Let’s do it again.”

i need to write a dom trevor fic soon bc hot so we might see some free use in that too, these were all pretty soft so

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