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screampied · 4 months ago

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#WANNA PLAY PSYCHO KILLER? t. fushiguro

☆ sum. you know girl, usually when someone’s about to get stabbed, they scream—not moan. ghostface is supposed to be scary, intimidating, terrifying. but what happens when he’s tall, hot, and has a scar that runs down the right side of his lip? maybe his motive this time was to make you scream out his name in another way. welcome to act three.

wc. 7.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface!toji, pwp, roleplay, unprotected, slight dacryphīlia, glove / mask kink, scream spoilers + references, dumbification, knīfe play, biting, he's crazy but your pússy's crazier, fīngering, riding his face mask, hair pulling, first time squīrt, cunnīlingus, pússy drunk toji, spīt, praise, dirty talk, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist.

“now girl, what the fuck was that,” a husky voice that sounds a bit muffled murmurs out to you. you’re laid on the ground, quite literally seeing the life flash before your eyes as the edge of his jagged knife glimmers against the ceiling light. peeking one open, you’re met with the covered soulless eyes of an infamous ghostface mask, and he’s tilting his head at you. “did i hear ya right?”

as he hovers over you, you speak in a breathy voice. growing sheepish, you glance away. “um, hear what?”

“you moaned, doll,” he replies, and the cottony flaps of his costume brush against your skin the closer he gets. as the coolly aerating air turns dead silent for a few moments, you could hear the sounds of his irregular breaths – deep sinister breaths . . and for some reason, it makes your thighs clench, and not in fear. “right as i said i was gonna gut ya like a fish,” and your own breathing hitched once his gloved finger strokes down your lip. “and i put the knife riiiiiight down here,” he slowly drags the prop down your nearly torn top, “you moaned right as i was about to strike. why?”

“i think . . you’re hearing things,” you rub the back of your neck, but you left off yet another moan the second he slides a knee between your legs.

“nah,” the masked man jibes, and it’s as if he’s staring right through your clothes. with a gloved hand he pulls up his mask, only showing part of his face. he pulls it down inches below his nose as you glance at his scarred lips that show. “think i heard quite well, princess,” and he slowly grazes the soft end of the knife further and further down your skin. “besides, like i said earlier. . i wanna play a game—and we can start with me asking,” and he pauses, leaning up close to your shell of your ear, warm breath tickling against your lobe. “you’re not wearing panties right now, are ya, princess?”

right at his words—your thighs stuck together and you felt a shiver run down your spine. it’s cold, and it made your eyebrow twitch at how insanely turned on you were.

usually, most people would scream or run—hell, even fight back. but it’s different when it’s you.

as he continued to straddle over you, you could have sworn you saw this movie before. .

and now, here you were—helpless indeed and on the floor as he hovers his weight over you, waving a his knife—(a knife that looks like a sort of cheap knockoff version of the one michael myers walks around with) in your face while his other hand mockingly cups your cheek.

“and if i’m not?” you mumble, fixating your eyes solely on the hole parts that shield his eyes.

it’s like you were staring at empty black voids, and no matter how hard you squinted – you just couldn’t see him at all. all you could make out was white and black plastic mask, and as he tilts his head again, he’s returning the gaze. fuck, each time he head tilts and cocks his head to a certain degree—it’s like he’s challenging you, taunting you even, and you’d constantly feel your thighs squeeze together tighter and tighter.

“ah, well,” he thinks for a moment, feeling his covered eyes bore at your body. in his mind, you looked so pretty sprawled all out and underneath him. with your chest heaving in and out as he continues to strum his gloved fingers down your exposed skin, he hums.

“maybe i’d just have ‘ta take a look for myself,” and your breath hitches again once he slowly drags the whetted edge of the knife down your polka dot blouse. with a loud tearing ‘shiiiiek’, a few of your buttons go loose as he’s easily dividing through the fabric with the blade. “cute, i’m assuming you’re not wearin’ a bra either,” and you felt yourself throb the moment he pauses his hands, staring at your perked tits. “phew,” he whistles, giving your pretty physique a nice three second stare. “nice rack.”

“you . . aren’t gonna—”

“—what, kill ya? oh, no doll. now that wouldn’t be fun,” he purrs, finishing your sentence.

it was almost embarrassing at how your body responded to him. you didn’t just wanted more, you craved it. staring right back at you were those same dark holes of a mask that you desperately wanted to see his true identity.

just who was he?

but judging from his voice though, it was a raspy low. . somewhat sounding of a way of smoker would speak. the voice sounded a bit older and of course—he had the body shape of a fucking tank.

as he lets off a low sigh, he shrugs his broad shoulders. “you’re too pretty for that. besides, i’m hard ‘n that little moan you did nearly ruined me if i’m bein’ honest.”

as a small impish smile forms against your glossed pursed lips, your nerves lessen. you stare up at the man before exhaling slight sudden relief. so you were gonna be in the sequel, score.

“so . . . what, is this the part where i’m supposed to beg for my life, mr. ghostface?” you had nothing really to lose, so why not play around with him for a bit – reverse psychology.

“actually,” he clicks his tongue, swiping a thumb down the keen edge of his dagger. it’s an eerie dead pause that whistles in the air once his gloved hands brush against your skin before he continues.

“this would be the part where you scream,” and as he presses his mask all the way against face, he’s so close that you get a glimpse of his scarred lips that poke underneath the cover. “but fuck it. since y’er not scared yet, guess i’ll have ‘ta get that heart racin’ one way or another.”

and toji—who was apparently his name, does this in no other way but propping himself right between your legs.

long story short, everything escalated quickly. so quickly that one minute you were on the floor quote and quote “fearing” for your life and the next . . ? you find yourself being tossed on your velveteen cushioned sofa, voluntarily spreading your legs out for him like some slut out of a cheesy predictable horror movie.

if you were being completely honest, the real killer was his tongue . . because for the life of you, you just couldn’t get over how sloppy he moved it in different directions.

toji kept his mask on the entire time, but it’s pulled up just a tad bit to where you’re only getting a tiny glimpse of the lower part of his face. the fabric just barely shields the bottom part of his nose as his scarred thin lips press their way against your sopping folds.

“fuuuck,” you’d whimper, preferring this over death any day.

right away, you spot the scar that slashes straight down the right side of his lip and it’s a small but attractive feature. every few seconds, he’d purposely smear that part of his mouth against your cunt, earning out a candied ‘ooh!’ from you. within seconds, your numbed thighs were already starting to stick together – like glue.

letting off a sharp drawn out gasp, you glance near your nightstand and the alarm that sits above it. the time was a quarter past two . . and well, some would ask how you’d even get yourself in this situation.

truth is, you didn’t really know either but you damn sure weren’t exactly complaining either. toji found you a bit strange though.

usually people would run from him but you . . you moaned right as you were about to meet your maker. weird, and he’s heard countless screams but never once like yours. that’s kind of because yours wasn’t even a scream, it was a literal moan.

and he wanted to hear more and more of it.

it intrigued him – you intrigued him, and he sort of wants to make you scream in a whole other way though, especially since he’s got you right where he wants. sprawled all out, legs fucking spread . .

“do you . . have to keep this stupid thing on?” you breathlessly grouse, a cute pout curling against your lips as your hands grab the top of his head.

it sort of irked you how he kept his ghostface mask on the entire duration he’s positioned between your legs. with a tight grip, you yank him forward and he groans against your cunt. toji peppers sloppy kisses against your pudgy folds before staring up at you, a faint smirk twisting against his own lips. huffing out an annoyed exhale, you grump. “ ‘s not like ‘m gonna turn you in or anything. i never even found ghostface scary anywa—”

toji snickers. “yeahhh, right,” and you shiver, watching with low hooded eyes as he gathers a glossy string of spit in his mouth.

as your legs quivered from the single grip of one of his hands, he spits right on your teary pussy, watching the lustrous trail of slime drag down his chin. “i’ll think about it,” and he laps his own mess right up, dexterously creating nasty slosh sounds with his exaggerated smacking lips.

with a teasing pat of his gloved hand, he smears the slick puddle that rests on your entrance before humming. “cute, seems like y’er pussy’s tryna seduce me though.”

you let off a whimper, not knowing how long your legs could remain open as he’s toying with your clit. fat clothed fingers drag their way down your slobbering cunt, drawing various circles and shapes around your knobbling nub as a breath snatches from your full lungs. “s- shit, spit on it ‘s more,” you’d weep, feeling your own lips part into a curling ‘o’ shape as you’re in carnal awe.

“now, doll,” he’d whisper against your folds, slurping you clean and savoring the taste of your bittersweet fervor on his tongue.

toji brings two thick fingers toward the outer part of your clit before it slowly starts to disappear inside. it’s like a magic trick — you watch them slowly disintegrate inside of your sopping cunt and you whimper, feeling them curl their ways inside.

as he’s preparing to pump both digits inside, your tummy caves in and you let off a sweet moan the second his long digits start to scissor inside of you. “since ‘m gonna spare ya, i think it’s time we set some ground rules,” and as his hot breath continues to fan against your twitching sex—your grip tightens near the top part of his mask. “don’t tell me how to eat, yeah?”

a timid whimper was your response and you watch how his lips carve into a haughty smile. with a second thought, toji spanks your cunt and he hums, hearing the wet back-talking chatter of squelches leave from your pussy.

as you’re twitching and pulsating from the tender stimulation—you feel him starting to lay his long tongue flat. starting from bottom to top, he eats out your cunt as if it was served to him on a silver fucking platter. “afraid ‘m gonna need an answer, little girl.”

“y- yes,” you let off a soft shrilling gasp, feeling his callused fingertips prod deep inside your gummy clenching walls. toji’s gloved digits felt scorchingly warm inside you, and with just a swift motion, he twirls them ‘round and ‘round, barreling each long inch inside of your pretty pussy.

god, if his fingers were this long, you only imagined imagined what his dick would feel like. the feeling alone made your stomach flutter uncontrollably as your teeth sink into the skin coating your bottom lip.

this was bad, this was really really bad . .

you were probably breaking every cliche horror movie rule in the book . . or in this case, the script. you were supposed to run, not open your legs. but, what’s the saying? you only live once, and that’s if you survive his tongue.

toji was ruthless.

his head moves back and forth as he munched on your pussy, playfully nipping the pearly edges teeth against your clit. each time he does that, you’re sensitive and you whine out a sweet battle cry, rutting your hips further into his greedy slick mouth. your legs nearly suffocated him but he didn’t care, and each long stripe that he creates with his sticky tongue earns out a bundle of whiny whimpers from you.

you had no panties on, and he was basically eating you out with nothing but a skirt that’s pulled up toward your waist—clinging against your jerking, active hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you abruptly gasp, feeling your legs already starting to weaken.

by this point, he’s not even eating your pussy anymore, he’s damn near making out with it. toji’s making out with your pussy – with tongue, and lots lots of it.

he’s creating darting motions with the pointed tip of his tongue, barely batting a single lash of an eye that his chin’s starting to glimmer with sheeny slick. your sheeny slick. as you occasionally look down, you only see that same part of his face that’s shown—but it makes you throb regardless, just imagining just what he really looked like.

you knew he was tall—that much was apparent, a strong burly build and a cocky persona to match.

“yeah? give it to me then,” he interrupts your thoughts as a wolffish grin spreads across his lips like butter.

toji’s thick fingers resume to mercilessly plummet in and out of you and he feels his jaw locking. your taste—he couldn’t get enough of it, and pretty soon he’s the epitome of pussy drunk.

you tasted so sweet, and you let off a whimper once he pulls up his mask just a little bit further. “heh,” he huffs out, and he stops it just at the hem of his button shaped nose. as that same wry smirk compresses against his lips, you spot his dimples stretching out near the corners. leaning all the way in, toji gives your cunt a three second sniff before cupping his lips over your pulsating cunt. “mmph—actually, hold on doll.”

as you’re panting heavily, a look of confusion marinates against your features once you watch him prepare to take off his mask. with a bubbly ‘pop’, toji slowly slides his fingers out of you before glancing at your impatient face.

“ah ah, close ‘em,” he clicks his tongue, watching your pretty clit twitch at his demand.

you pout, feeling a brief sting as you’re being delayed of your long awaited release. with a cute sigh, you place a hand over eyes, your vision turning completely dark. “good girl . . now,” he huffs lowly, and you hear a bit of shuffling. toji sits you up and you feel something place underneath your legs. his voice was close, and it sounds like he’s near the side of you. “cum on my mask, pretty girl. can ya do that for me?”

“uh, okay,” you shakily reply, feeling him prop up your hips to sit right up against the ghostly mouth part. it’s eerily carved into a long hanging oval shape and you moan—feeling how warm it was from the front. it makes you pulse, knowing that his mouth was just behind that exact spot a few seconds ago.

even though your eyes were still covered with your own hand, you feel a daunting chill run down your spine yet again, sensing his cold haunting presence.

whoever he was, he was watching you right now, get off . . on his mask.

you let off a quiet moan as your hips started to rut against the propped plastic. you were drenched, and a bit of slick sticks down against your thighs.

toji feels his dick strain in his ripped jeans as he openly stares like a stalker — pretty, you looked so pretty like this. grinding your sweet cunt against the mask he wears on a daily. now that he thinks about it, it’d be a pretty good souvenir.

“touch yourself too,” he’d rasp, kneeling down closer to you. toji gets behind you, and you whimper once you feel the frigid edge of his knife slowly drag down your skin. he starts a trail, and he’s safe surprisingly—making sure to not nip your skin, but it’s close enough to where you feel the coldness of the steel.

as your needy whines pitch louder, you find yourself now guiding a hand near your bouncing breasts. a bit of the ripped fabric of your blouse runs against your fingertips and toji feels himself getting more hard just watching you. “yeah, baby. that’s it. get my fuckin’ mask wet so i can taste it after.”

“tojiiii, ‘m cumming—fuck,” and as he’s got one of his own hands grabbing onto your left tit, you end up finishing.

you’re cutely hysterical, creaming all on the mouth part of his mask as shame swells in your chest. “ngh, fuck fuck.” you babble, your thighs submitting defeat as he pulls you back against his chest. it felt hard, and you couldn’t help but imagine how built he probably was.

toji presses a cold kiss near the left side of your neck. his frigid lips makes you whimper as your head tilts to the left.

his touch . . you only wanted more, and he could tell from the way that the hand that was at first cupping your breast now starts to reach toward his wrist. “atta girl,” he whispers, and right as you were about to remove your other hand off your eyes, he places his own back over your face. “nice try, sweetheart. gotta be patient.”

you continue to pout, and toji slides the drenched front part of his mask from underneath your legs and brings it up to his lips. “mhm, would ya look at that,” and as you’re panting on his chest, still frantic from your recent orgasm, you hear him cleaning it off with his tongue.

he trails his tongue to where your cunt sat against the mouth part, lapping it up and relishes in your sweet taste entirely. “fuck, sweetest thing i’ve had in a while.”

you dig your nails into his thigh as you’re trying to get over your high, speaking in a needy voice.

“t.. toji,” and he finds it cute how you’re speaking through gritted teeth. he could tell you were annoyed with him, how you weren’t fond of his teasing at all.

“hm, what is it?” he replies, giving his mask a satisfied glance once he finishes. it shines in the dim light—and he licks his lips as the right side of his mouth twitches into a devious simper.

“can . . can i have a kiss?” and the words came out of your mouth oh so sweetly.

you don’t know what came over you, but your body was just fed up. something was screaming at you, hollering at you to get a taste. you throbbed, secretly yearning to feel his lips crash on yours. the entire time he was buried between your legs, it was all you thought about, constantly.

toji hums, tilting his head as he faces you. “a kiss, huh?” and he’s still got a hand covering your eyes.

he ponders about it for a while before a low guffaw leaves from his thin lips. “aw, you want a taste of yourself too, don’t you dirty girl?” and once you shamelessly nod in response, toji’s shoulders drop. “fine, you’ll get that kiss. c’mere,”

and you could feel him inching closer and closer closer. toji’s cologne was loud—it’s a manly musk of what you think was rosemary and cedarwood.

it practically blinds the insides of your flared nostrils the more he closes the awkward distance between you both. your cunt’s pulses start to quicken before he’s merely just inches away from your lips now. “stupid, stupid girl,” he pulls your bottom lip down with a gloved finger, and that’s when he stares at your pretty plump lips before whispering. “beg me.”

“i’m not gonna—”

“no beg, no fuckin’ kiss,” he cuts you off, and you grumble. it was almost embarrassing at how your pussy gave away your true dirty feelings. you continued to twitch, and you let off a defeated sigh once his smears a thumb over your wet lips.

“please . . please, kiss me,” and as you speak, he continues to softly caress the curvature of your mouth. you could hear him breathing from behind the mask. it was short raspy breaths and what would usually frighten most people, turned you on.

toji runs a hand through his jet black tresses before a cunning smirk pierces the corners of his lips. “that’s more like it,” and his lips were almost touching yours – almost, a mere breath away.

you could never get over how deep his voice. it’s as if he didn’t need a voice changer like the ones they’d always use in the movies. his was naturally just as gritty, just as husky.

“obedient . . good,” and as he playfully licks near your bottom lip, toji grunts, “mouth, open.”

you moan, feeling his hand reach between your legs, squeezing your pussy. once your lips part and your mouth opens, toji spits right inside, staring as your cute tongue tries to catch it all.

it’s quick, and before you knew it – his lips hurriedly crash onto yours. within seconds, teeth starts to clash amongst each other and you helplessly whine in his mouth. this, this was what you wanted. a kiss.

one gloved hand of his remains covered over your eyes whilst another snakes its way between your legs. toji’s rubbing against your cunt, feeling your cute hips grind against him as you try to squirm and writhe. you were still so tender. his mouth was cold, and you can’t help but moan at the literal taste of yourself washing back against your tongue.

you feel his scar that slants down the right side of his lip rub off against your lips and his lips curve into a sly smirk. “nasty girl,” he murmurs between hot kisses, and you gasp once he starts to maneuver quicker circles against your cunt.

you were soaked already, still sensitive from your recent release but that’s when he lies you back down. as you fall down on the sofa, toji deepens the kiss for a few extra seconds, abruptly pulling away. a pretty decorated string of glittery saliva tugs away from both lips and he wipes your wet mouth, snickering. “such a damn baby. got me spoilin’ you already, tch.”

he’s still got your eyes covered, but that’s right when you reach out . . not expecting your hand to grab near his hardened bulge that hides underneath his cloak.

toji pauses, staring at you before you squeeze it and he groans. “what now, doll? still not satisfied?”

“fuck me,” you murmur, but it’s more of a pathetic whine.

you didn’t care anymore—you were at your wits ends. the erotic two words and six letters easily flowed past your lips as if you were dying to say it for the longest, and in this case – you were.

toji’s amused more than anything, and he’s well aware that you’re far not like the others.

this wasn’t just a usual psycho killer versus helpless victim, this was something more . .

“strong words, baby,” he purrs against your ear, licking a stripe down your neck. toji holds your weak rickety hips in place, still shielding your eyes with his palm before showering a good part of your collarbone with a plethora of sloppy kisses.

uh oh, he was starting to get attached. already, he could feel it . . and he knew you were gonna be nothing but a fucking problem in the long run.

a problem he didn’t mind tampering with for a bit.

“say it again,” he whispers, and this time he picks up his knife once more.

it gradually tears down your blouse all the way from the center, openly staring your tits spring open. “tell me what you want me ‘ta do to you again,” and as his husky voice lowers a single octave within each coarse sentence, you squeeze your thighs together.

toji focuses the edge of his knife against your skin and you shiver, feeling it softly brush against the bristles of hair that coat your skin.

the thing that pissed him off though was that you weren’t even scared of him . . no, far from it actually.

you were aroused—hell, maybe even just as crazy as him.

“fuck me, toji.” you repeat, taking it upon yourself to grab the handle of the knife. he raises a brow as he watches, and you bring the wooden end up to your lips, deciding to be a tease and lowering your mouth down it. toji huffs, growing annoyed at your audacity — but fuck, he’s into it.

and all he’s imagining at the moment is your pretty lips that’s wrapped around the handle of his knife being wrapped around his dick instead. you start sucking on it until it taps near the scaled back of your throat, reaching past the roof of your mouth and he scoffs.

brat.

“got some nerve, suckin’ on my damn knife, girl,” and he snatches it away, softly turning you around, pushing you near the right arm of the couch.

you gasp, feeling him swat a hand against your bare ass before he grabs your hips. his movements were so fast that you could barely keep up let alone react. “fine, i’ll fuck you,” and he’s not covering your eyes anymore.

right as you were about to turn around, toji grabs the back of your neck with a gloved hand, tittering. “don’t try me. eyes forward, head down,” and you moan, feeling him pick your hips up—making your rear grind and jostle against his hardening bulge. “ass. fuckin’. up.”

you kiss your teeth, feeling another breath of air leave out your lungs before you whine. toji’s rough, and he’s got a firm grip against your waist before springing out his dick. he grunts, rolling his eyes as he watches you impatiently wriggle your ass, hoping he’d hurry up already.

“can’t wait, can ya baby?” he utters, stroking his length.

as a thumb of his nearly grazes his throbbing vein, his eyes gaze toward your sopping creamy pussy. all wet, and just for him. the antagonizing wait for him to just fuck you like you wanted became almost unbearable, and the second you feel his tip side-swipe against the entrance of your cunt it was over.

a swollen fat tip smacks vigorously against your pussy, and one smack turns into two, then three, then four. .

as he’s slapping his mushroomy cockhead against your drooling pool of heat, you hear a low chortle from behind you. “god, she’s a fuckin’ wet one, ain’t she?” and you whine, hearing yourself squelch each time his angry tip whacks against your poor soddened flaps. ‘whack’ after ‘whack’ and the sounds of his dick slapping against your pussy slowly started to clank through one ear of yours and out the other.

but doing so—the pulsing sensation between your legs only increased, and by now, you were starting to chew on your tongue.

anticipation was eating away at you as you let off a moan, cutely grumbling. “just fuck me already.”

“how ‘bout i leave you ‘n let you fuck yourself,” he snaps back, matching your sass.

oh. you weren’t really used to someone matching your energy—especially a masked man walking around in a ghostface mask but well, that’s besides the point.

toji’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around his hefty length that’s covered in lighting-like twitching veins before he groans.

he’s so fucking hard . . and the more he stares at your pretty sobbing cunt, the more he understands why. “don’t think you’d like that now though, would ya?”

“n- no,” you reply truthfully, letting off a pornographic moan once he starts to align himself between your gaping slit.

it’s fat, and you could tell from the feeling of the size of his monstrous tip alone. you sort of wished you were facing him but alas, you’d just have to use your imagination for now. “fuckk,” you breathe, already starting to feel your eyes rolling back.

the stretch, god the stretch. you thought his fingers was something but it’s nothing compared to his cock. your toes were already curling up, and oh, you knew you were fucked.

toji’s got a few curly black specks of hair that resides near his base—and as he’s slowly easing himself inside, he feels you tightening. right as you do, you feel a vein that runs down his shaft prod.

he feels it – you feel it, and you both hiss in unison. “goddamn,” he grumbles, staring as your own sappy slick starts to glue against his sculptured pelvis. tiny glimmering strands stick and tape against his skin all because of you and it’s just messy. toji smacks your ass one more time before lightly pushing your head into the satiny covered pillow. “move, move those hips or ‘m gonna pull out, doll.”

“mmph—s- so fuckin’ big,” you babble, bringing a bawled up fist into your mouth.

your sweet moans become muffled as his dick’s gradually expanding through your gummy walls, leaving his very mark with his tip. he’s rummaging through every part of you and you gasp—feeling your cunt welcome him wholly, your squelches becoming louder and louder. your tummy starts to churn the more he sinks in deeper and your lips form into a cute gasping shape. “oh, fuck. ‘s gonna break me, toji.”

“pft. don’t be dramatic doll,” he purrs, swatting another smack against your ass. the shape brief sting that only lasts for about five seconds makes you moan once your hips finally starts to move.

it takes a few lengthy seconds before with a wet ‘pop’, he bottoms out. so . . much . . girth, your empty brain was spinning cogwheels, trying to process just how could a guy be this fucking big.

your reaction to how well he stretched you of course, fueled a good portion of his highly cocky ego.

toji’s got a hooked curve too—and you feel it all. toji teasingly gives you one thrust, just one single thrust and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. it was that much power of his hips—you felt the wind get snatched out of you and the prettiest moan left from your lips.

biting down on your lip again, you’re feeling all of his hefty length massage the insides of your cunt. milliseconds shortly past before you then start to feel yourself shamelessly drooling on your split knuckles.

“fuck, fuck,” you chant in a quiet mumble, seeing nothing but inky black as your eyelids continue to flutter open and close.

toji had the kind of size that left butterflies in your tummy – a school of them to be specific, and you felt every single inch of him plummet its way inside. as you’re still babbling incoherent whimpers and whines at how snug he’s buried in you—toji starts to move faster with you.

with two hands, he holds you in place. darkened brows of his crease into a furrow as he sighs. “mhm, atta girl. see, look at you,” and you could hear the playful sarcasm seeping off his tone.

“takin’ it like a fuckin’—champ,” and right at that last word of his sentence, he starts to roll his hips just a bit quicker.

toji tries to match your berserk movement with his own hips, but he ends up beating your pace entirely. you’re trying to keep up but failing miserably and it’s just so cute. . but your face probably wasn’t as cute.

you probably looked a sight—mouth all open, jaw dropped and dangling, eyes bulging, pathetically drooling for more and more and . . you get it.

“hng, harder. fuck me,” you whine, the sound of skin and hips clashing repeating in your ears.

your sloppy cunt’s soaking him from the back, and his backshots were just brutal – killer.

each thrust serves its purpose every time and you’re left speechless. after a while, both bodies start to move rhythmically as your jaw’s just dangling.

damn, randy meeks would be shaking his head, tossing ‘n turning in his grave if he saw this.

under no circumstances . . never ever fuck the masked killer, and yet here you were.

but, who gives a fuck about movies?

you didn’t—not really, and when he had a mean stroke game like toji, you weren’t the type to complain. he’s hitting you deep with his fat splitting tip, filthily cruising his hips into you at such precise vigor until you’re just spouting a whole load of nothin’.

“ugh, right there. right fuckin’ there, fuck,” and you let off a cooing mewl once toji’s hand wraps around your throat.

with a few fingers, he gives you a safe squeeze that earns out a faint gasping croak from the back of your throat. toji uses your neck as leverage as he’s pounding into you rawly, ravaging your insides and all. your pearled clit’s repeatedly getting hit with his plump crown and you gasp, squeaking loudly once he taps against your precious g-spot.

all of a sudden, your brain’s fuzzy and you’re seeing stars—somewhat like a cartoon character. you were silly, literally being fucked silly. “fuuuck!” and it catches you by surprise.

once he reaches past that cute ‘lil spongey barrier of yours, it was over.

you were pronounced dead—dead from cock, and pretty soon you were starting to feel yourself go into a lewd white fantasm for a few seconds.

you’re dumb, dumbly fucked stupid from his sloppy enticing hits that you could barely speak coherently. it felt good, it felt so fucking good, and as you feel his heavy base slam back into you again and again, you start to moan. “yeah, i know, i know, baby,” toji huffs, and your cunt’s just addictive. your walls cling onto him tightly, hugging around him like a vice—threatening to never let go.

your sheer sweltering warmth from the inside makes his head slightly toss back to a certain degree and it’s sexy. if only you were to see it. “god, clampin’ down on me so good. work those hips baby, yeah. give me a fuckin’ show.”

as you try to match his crazed tempo. . eventually, you start to feel a tender feeling arise in the lower part of your tummy.

its familiar, and you can recognize that hot brewing sensation from anywhere. you’re close, and as wanton shrilling whines continue to drag away from your lips you start to spasm.

“fuuucck, toji something’s coming,” you whimper, dragging out your words, and you don’t think it was a regular orgasm.

it was far different . . the feeling was equivalent to someone harshly pressing a palm down on your stomach. your eyes squeeze shut before you repeat yourself through quivering glossed lips. “toji, ‘m gonna—”

“yeah yeah, i heard ya,” he maunders, and he’s feeling himself reaching his inevitable peak too.

it doesn’t take long before he feels the undersides of his meaty thighs starting to burn with hot intensity. toji’s fat cock continues to drag in and out of your goopy walls, hearing you squelch over and over him and he snarls. “fuck,” and he punctuates his thrusts, watching as your ass swiftly slams back into him at such speed. his abs that hide underneath his dark cloak tensing. “same time, baby. finish with me.”

“o.. okay,” you moan, and he’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around your throat the entire time. a thumb of his caresses down your nape, humming at your pretty twitching body underneath him.

it’s a sight he’d love to get used to.

as you’re both chasing your delirious orgasmic peaks—toji presents to your cunt one final thrust that sends your entire body into a crazed stupefied state. your plush cheek near the left side of your face smushes against the pillow before you whimper, starting to feel yourself spritz on him.

your eyes widen as it happens. a spraying geyser shoots out you as you let go—and oh, you’re soaking toji right with you, glossing his entire cock from the base down.

“oh my god, fuck, fuh—fuck!” you sob in craving pleasure, flapping eyelids sticking together from the pretty glassy tears that start to form. so good, it’s a feeling you’ve never felt before and you felt like a weight was gradually being lifted off your shoulders . . including your sweet pussy.

toji finishes seconds later and he groans, stilling his hips against you. creamy velvety bundles of ribbons pours into your cunt and he lets off a low growl. “fuck,” and his hand smacks against your ass again for the nth time.

you felt warm as he’s continuing to spill such a mass amount whilst at the exact same time, you’re drenching his cock – putting faucets to shame at just how damn wet you were.

toji’s cock eventually turns flaccid and soft as his tip and peeled frenulum spits a good amount, watching your body limp underneath him.

with a sly exhausted grin stretching across his scarred lips, he traces his fingers down your spine. “my, oh my,” and you whine, finally finishing. toji stares at your body, feeling you weakly writhe your hips before finally submitting defeat. “did you jus . . fuckin’ squirt on me, pretty girl?”

you did,

and you end up dampening up the cushions of your burgundy colored sofa in the process. you felt like you were floating, panting and heaving ridiculously like a dog. toji brings his hips to a sudden stop, gazing at the ivory wads and ropes of cum that fill inside of your cunt.

slowly but surely . . it starts to race down the crevices of your thighs, splotches of white splattering against your skin. in a dirty, filthy way, it’s pretty – in toji’s mind at least.

he luxuriated at the sight of you all fucked out and speechless. not a word came from your lips except for the occasional whimpers and moaning sobs that would tear out your throat. you were still arched over, moaning once you feel him slowly starting to pull out. “ain’t that a pretty sight,” he rasps, hearing his cock sweetly ‘pop’ out of your creamy fat folds.

you’re oozing out with so so much of his gooey lush cum and it makes him licks his lips. you looked delicious, and he couldn’t help but swipe a finger down your runny cunt, bringing his eager digit up to his lips just to get a taste for himself.

toji was a nasty man—but with the way you tasted, he was even nastier.

as he licks his gloved finger that contains the concoction mess of both sappy liquids, he hums in amusement. “mhm,” and as his leafy viridescent colored eyes linger down towards your cunt, he smears his leaky tip over your pussy.

toji grunts, making sure to paint the entirety of your entrance with his pasty cum that sobs down parched folds. “good girl, good . . fuckin’ girl.”

toji stays like that for a while, and it’s only after an abrupt pausing moment that he makes you turn around to face him. he makes you lie flat on your back, and there, you’re met with the eyes of a handsome smug man. his features were as sly as his attitude, and his ruffled black hair was naturally messy.

“surprise,” he mutters, and you intake a breath once he gets on top of you again. toji doesn’t have the mask on anymore—but he still has on the costume part, a ghoulish black cloak that had slits near the edges of his sleeves. “scared yet?”

“not . . really,” you sheepishly say, slowly trailing your eyes down his body.

squinting just enough, you saw right through the outline of his muscular frame. he was fucking ripped, and you felt yourself throb the moment you started to imagine him wrapping those big burly arms around your—

“figures,” he scoffs, though his tone’s a bit more playful than annoyed. toji runs a big veiny hand through his hair before bringing his watch up to his face. wrinkling his nose, he hums. “gotta run, doll. ‘s been fun.”

a pout pulls against both sides of your lips as he says he has to depart. sure, you didn’t exactly expect him to stay . . well who were you kidding, you sort of did. but you knew he had to go.

your thighs stick together as he remains on top of you, watching him pull his mask back on. with a slightly worn out voice, you murmur. “you can’t stay?”

“no, i can’t stay,” he snickers, knowing you wanted more. toji’s head friskily tilts as you stare at him with a cute doe-eyed expression, still pouting and he rolls his eyes behind the mask. “god, fine. greedy little thing aren’t ‘cha?”

and you hear a bit of shuffling, watching him fish a hand in his pocket as his jeans were now pulled up and made presentable again. toji grabs a sharpie out of his pocket before pulling your waist closer toward him. “tsk. stay still,” and you’re curious to what he was about to do, not daring to move an inch.

you’re all bare and exposed, and you let off a soft exhale once he starts to write something right below your belly button. just a few more inches down and he’d be writing on your pussy.

it lasts for about seven seconds before he stops, adding a heart near the end of what was a ten digit phone number.

“alright, princess. here’s my number. whenever you’re feelin’ horny, just give me a call, yeah?”

and before you could even reply, he leans up to you—pulling up his ghostface mask over his lips, giving you a long teasing kiss. you moan into his mouth, smelling a scent of his cologne before he leisurely pulls away. toji whispers against your lips for one final time before pressing a thumb toward your throat.

“i’ll always come back.”

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therealbeachfox · 1 year ago

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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

38K notes · View notes

thephantomsdream · 8 months ago

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Can't stop thinking about Captain John Price, your good friend's boyfriend, listening to you talk about how you are considering getting a guard dog, and he whole-heartedly agrees with you. John likes you, you're a fantastic friend to his dove and you're sweet, and sweet girls do need protection. So he nods along and tells you he'll look into getting you one, a big one to protect you.

Two weeks later, you're invited to your friend's house, her telling you days before that John might have gotten you a dog, so to prepare! She wasn't sure, he just hinted at it on the phone.

Tell me why, after knocking at your bestie's door, she opens kinda pale and awkward, maybe even a little bit annoyed, inviting you in. Instead of a proper, legit, literal dog, John introduces you to Simon Riley, who stands there awkwardly but tall and intimidating while your friend apologizes, calling her boyfriend an idiot. But John isn't an idiot. For a while now, he thought you'd be perfect for his Lt., this just a funny way to introduce you both. And the only thing that took Simon to agree (after a sharp yet bored no when firstly asked) was to send him a picture of you at a bar, smiling.

Extra:

"So... you come with a leash?" You joke with the tall man, whose eyes wrinkle in amusement. He has been more on the silent side although very atentive, his intense brown eyes on you all evening. Now that you were both alone at the balcony, abandoned by the two love-birds, you tried to ease the tension.

"I don't do leashes but I can pull a spiky collar." He smiles as you giggle. Hell, he felt relief that you did. Even happiness...

"Yeah, it would fit you."

"Yeah?" His voice was low and buttery. "What about a tag with your name on it?" He leans down a little, just enough in your personal bubble, and your stomach flipped. You felt your cheeks warm.

"Can it be heart shaped?" You stare prettily at him and all he can do is to snort to ease the tension.

"However you want it." His reply was quick, eager.

"Deal. But first take me on a proper date."

"Perfect." He smirks.

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #john price #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader

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ms-demeanor · 3 months ago

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Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

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canyonmooncreations · 1 month ago

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I can’t stop thinking about bratty princess reader x bodyguards 141

Something something your life is ruined now that your father has hired four broody body guards to be with you at all times. They usually rotate shifts, one staying with you at all times.

Sometimes events call for three of them or all of them. So when it’s time for a royal ball and three of them are needed, Simon opts to sit this one out in hopes to avoid the uncomfortable socialization.

After the ball, John stays at the palace with you and Kyle and Johnny join Simon back at their residence. Simon is absolutely baffled when the boys don’t shut up about how bratty you were and the major attitude adjustment you need.

Talking about how you refused to follow directions, even when they were for your safety. Refused to buckle up in the car and struggled so much that Johnny had to hold you down while Kyle buckled you up. Pouting the rest of the way home. Refused to eat dinner at the ball and insisted they stop at a drive through even though that wasn’t on your itinerary. Threatening to get them fired if they don’t take you.

The boys go on and on about your behavior and Simon just listens, dumbfounded.

“What’s that face for Riley? She even worse with you?” Johnny asks with a frustrated tone.

Simon shakes his head. “No attitude for me.”

The boys both start laughing. There’s no way that’s true. You’re truly a spoiled rotten brat, they think. There’s no way that he’s serious.

They never believe him until there’s an event that calls for all four of them. Simon’s with you at the palace while you get ready. The three boys pull up out front ready for you to join.

They watch as you walk nicely to the car and climb into the middle settling in next to Johnny. Simon climbs in after you. The boys are ready for the battle of asking you to buckle up.

“Buckle, princess” Simon grumbles.

“Yes, Mr. Riley.” The car goes silent. Johnny and Kyle look like their eyes are about to pop out of their head. John doesn’t miss the way your cheeks blushed red.

The car ride is silent. The boys are too shocked to say anything. Since when did you have manners and the ability to follow instructions? John drives with a grin on his face. Simon is unphased as you rest your head on his shoulder.

At the event, you are on your best behavior. You eat your food, move when instructed to move, and smile the whole time. The boys are genuinely so shocked at this new side of you. They watch in awe as Simon approaches you and the ever present feisty look is no where to be found.

“Ready to go?” Simon asks softly.

“Can we please stay a little longer?” You ask so kindly. Simon nods and finds his protective position.

“Did she just say please?” Johnny asked exasperated.

“She doesn’t even know what that word means!?!?” Kyle is just as shocked. John just chuckles and shakes his head.

They then watch as minutes pass and you gently tap Simon and tell him you are ready to leave.

When you get to the car, Johnny decides to put this to the test. Simon gets you in the car and closes the door to talk to the event staff before leaving.

“Buckle up sweetheart.” Johnny instructs.

You give him a polite nod and buckle up quickly. John lets out a chuckle and before Johnny can’t say anything before Simon is joining them in the car. “Bloody hell.” is all that is heard as the car falls silent.

On the way home, you lean over the Simon and ask if you could stop for ice cream. He replies with a simple “No, princess” and is met with no reaction from you. A slight nod and your head falls back against his shoulder.

Kyle is about to lose it. You threatening to get them fired if they didn’t take you through the drive through the other day. What the fuck has Simon done to you??

Something something and now it’s the end of the night. Simon has got you settled into bed and walks into the castle living room to review how tonight went with the security team.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Johnny and Kyle stare at him as if he’s accomplished the impossible.

“Told ya, no attitude with me.”

John chuckles and pats Simon on the back as he grins.

A/n: is this dumb?? It’s been eating my brain for a four hour car ride 😭😭

#fanfic #ghost cod #call of duty #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #tf141 #tf 141 x reader #body guard #tf141 x you

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flowafairy · 2 months ago

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holding you , holding me ✿ bllk men

﹒postscript : when they realise they’re in love, with you. ɞ‎ feat. nagi, reo, rin, karasu, shidou, sae, kaiser ɞ‎ cw fem reader in a few, banter, suggestive

nagi realises he’s in love with you when the late night calls start getting more frequent. he had started craving your presence more and more. hell, he felt lovesick.

“what a hassle..” nagi’s head flops against the bed sheets, his gaze constantly shifting to his phone to see if you’ve replied to his text yet.

the nagi waiting for your texts? not to mention texting first, call a man whipped!

”i only take a few second’s to reply..” nagi picks up his phone again, grumbling when his notifications are empty. if he replies as soon as you do, why do you have to spend the next 3 decades replying back?

nagi’s usually the one who replies and then logs on minecraft for hours. him replying in mere seconds at your texts—you’re definitely special. very special in his eyes, oh. there’s something else that caught his eyes.

nagi’s phone lit up with a notification, from you.

sure! it’s a date then :))

cool, :x. 7PM?

reo realies he’s in love with you when his pockets really start to hurt.

i mean really. he’s been spoiling you relentlessly for the past few weeks. even if you insist you don’t need a new shirt, by tomorrow your closet is filled with them.

you just can’t seem to escape his mind. whenever he walks by the street and spots a store, his first thought goes to you, that maybe you’d like this. that maybe he should buy it for you—of course he will.

“you know.” reo smiles at you as you try on the new necklace he bought for you. “i booked a dinner for us, just us.”

“oh?” you hum, still struggling with the hook. “can you help me?”

“sure.” he’s more than happy to help you hook your necklace—a chance to put his hands on you? he’ll take it gladly.

“so about that dinner..” his hands swiftly clasp your necklace around your neck. “are you coming or what?”

“i don’t know… the mikage reo taking me out?” you grin up at him. “im a little shy.”

you and reo laugh soundly, well, looks like you’ve got a date tonight.

rin couldn’t believe it.

he’s in love with you, playback—he’s in love.

it started off with smaller details, like how he would leave his soccer practice or gym earlier than usual to see you. and also how his messages app slowly started to become his most used app.

soccer wasn’t everything anymore, he had you too now.

“don’t make me waste money on this lukewarm shit ever again.” rin gruffed as he watched you sip the drink he had bought you from the convenience store earlier.

normally, he’d never waste his money on some useless milkshake from the store, that’s not even good for your body. but seeing you contentedly gulp at the fresh taste of your drink, he can’t seem to hold himself back.

“give me some.”

the words slip out of his tongue before he can control them.

“you wanna try?” well he’s definitely colored you surprised now. “come here then, rinnie.”

rin could feel his face slightly heat up at the nickname. he scoots closer to you, snatching the drink from your hand with no warning.

“hey!” you glare at him as he drinks the entire thing in one gulp, definitely not what you anticipated. “that was mine, you were supposed to take a sip.” you huff at him.

rin only rolls his eyes. “i paid for it. ill buy you a new one later.” your eyes sparkle at his words.

“fine, you win.” you smile. “im going to get going before you become grumpy and tell me to shoo.” you give him a teasing wink, about to get up from his couch when suddenly he grabs your arm.

“wait.” he grits his teeth, biting back words. “don’t go.”

“rin?”

“just, don’t.”

“you missed me, huh?” karasu smirks. he had his hair down, for once not put up with an insane amount of gel—karasu in all his glory.

“i didn’t.” you huff at him. “you look even uglier with your hair down.”

“yer’ comparing my beauty to your birds nest?” karasu crosses his arms, leaning against the door.

“oh, we can see them split ends girl.” you roll your eyes.

karasu has always loved bantering with you, but nowadays, it seems as if his heart has been telling him thats not the only reason his heartbeat speeds up whenever he’s around you.

he loves bantering with you, he loves you.

there’s a prolonged silence, karasu’s anticipating if he should say what he’s about to say. he usually isn’t this nervous—you’re the exception to that.

“you think you wanna go out sometime, yeah?” it’s the way his sharp eyes soften that makes your heart start doing flips.

“yeah, i do.”

there’s a moment of comfortable silence, your brain ingraving the memory in the back of your head. which of course, quickly gets ruined by his cocky smirk. he wasn’t the best at dealing with these moments

“even y’can’t resist my charm.” karasu sticks his tongue out at you. “ill pick you up at 9.”

“you… get back here!”

shidou could feel a wide grin on his face as he read your message—“sure, i’d love to go sky diving with you!”

anybody would of said that is a crazy idea for a first date, but you? you can say you definitely match his freak.

his heart explodes into a burst of enthusiasm whenever you’re around him. he can feel a rush of serotonin whenever you accidentally brush your hands against his.

oh he was so in love. he is definitely wifing you up when you deploy the parachute- how could he not when he feels like he’s going to explode with all these bottled up feelings.

he in fact had a very disappointed pout on his face when you said it was far too soon for marriage, so what if you’re not dating yet? you can start now!

your betrayal will not be forgotten. but hey, he can try again next year.

sae realised he’s in love with you when you started becoming an avid figure in his daily routine.

it was like muscle memory for him to wake up and check for your good morning text, never failing to emit an amused scoff from his lips.

of course, he acknowledged the fact that he was in love with you. but would he dare entertain the thought and risk the beloved friendship you already have? never.

“nobody’s looking.”

this was dangerous. he has you trapped against the wall in the locker room, his lips tantalisingly close to yours. he wasn’t suppose to be doing this—but how could he resist when you came to see him at practice?

“sae…we can’t here.” you try to be rational, but your breathing is just as heavy as his.

“just shut-“

footsteps. someone was coming. sae pushes you away behind a locker so nobody see’s you, leaning against the wall nonchalantly.

maybe next time he’ll get you.

kaiser took some time to notice his feelings, but even he started getting self conscious of all the excuses he started making to touch you, and the flirting was starting to cross a few boundaries as well.

maybe he’s just lust-driven, that’s all he thought for a while. he chose to distance himself, and you didn’t miss the change in his behaviour.

he thought distancing himself would help ease his feelings.. not make them worse.

he can feel his heart throbbing, mind full with only thoughts of you—is it love or is it lust?

he doesn’t know, he’s never felt like this before. what even is love? thats stupid.

“hey.” he smirks, grasping your hand, a habit of his by now. “what are you up to, schatz?” the light-hearted pet name rolls off his tongue smoothly.

“michael.” you look at him, eyes widening a little. “i haven’t seen you in forever.” his expression slightly wavers at that.

“oh i’ve been.. busy.” he lies, smiling. the truth is, he hasn’t been busy at all. he’s been avoiding you, you and your precious smile.

“its okay.” you pat his shoulder. “i just missed you.”

“i missed you too.” he blurts out unknowingly, slightly flinching at what he said. “i’ve been avoiding you.” he confesses.

your eyebrow’s slightly raise at that. “…why?”

“because.. i don’t know.”

your hands hesitantly reach out. you knew how he was about physical touch, but maybe just this once he needs it.

he bents down a little, his face hitting your shoulder as he reciprocated your hug.

“Ich liebe dich.”

apologies, some parts aren’t as long as the others. i got lazy ( and have favorites… ✌️) only 7 chrc bc i had no ideas for isagi

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seumyo · 11 days ago

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when you don’t say “i love you” back to bakugou.

Bakugou says, “I love you,” every time he’s about to leave the house without you. It’s something that he got from his father, and to put it simply, he got influenced.

He’s about to finish putting on his hero gear. His gauntlets were already in place, his boots laced, and his mask pushing his hair away from his face—kind of like how he wore it during high school whenever it wasn’t necessary to wear it properly.

And there you were, sitting cross-legged on the floor without a care in the world.

Books were scattered around you in piles, organized by some system only you seemed to understand. You were focused as you murmured to yourself quietly, comparing sizes, genres, and authors, completely absorbed in your task of organizing the living room’s bookshelf.

“I’m heading out.”

“Mmhm,” you replied absentmindedly, holding up two books and tilting your head as if the slight angle would help you decide which belonged on the top shelf.

Bakugou frowned, his brow twitching. “Oi, did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, still not looking at him. “Be careful, Katsuki.”

He let out a huff, running a hand through his hair. He was used to you getting lost in your little projects, but this felt different (were you playing a prank on him?). He stepped closer, crouching down beside you to meet your eye level. “Don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone,” he said, softer this time.

“I won’t.”

Still not looking at him. Unbelievable.

To Bakugou, it felt like being thrown through a building and back—and he wasn’t even exaggerating because it actually happened to him once! And he could definitely conclude that the feeling’s similar when you’re ignoring (not paying that much attention to) him.

Bakugou watched you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly before he sighed. “I love you,” he murmured, his tone quieter.

“Uh-huh. Have a good day at work.”

Just as Bakugou was about to stand back up, he blinked, the words sinking in slowly. His brow furrowed as the realization hit him—he’s so confused.

You didn’t say it back.

“What the hell?” he muttered, more to himself than to you—because you didn’t even hear him.

He huffed, taking the book you were inspecting as he let your hands fall on his arms instead.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” you glanced at him, your expression innocent as if nothing unusual had happened.

“You didn’t say it back,” he said, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of disbelief beneath the irritation.

The audacity you had. After almost always saying “I love you” to him to the point where Bakugou realized he couldn’t go on his day without hearing it, you decide to not say it now?

What’s next? You’re going to tell him you want a divorce? He’s overreacting, he thinks.

“Say what back?”

He clenched his jaw, his cheeks flushing faintly. “I said I love you, dumbass.”

Realization dawned on your face, followed by a sheepish smile. That smile—the one that managed to win him over—it’s so infectious it might as well be a cause of an epidemic.

“Oh! Katsuki, I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

“Tch,” he muttered, looking away from you. “Yeah, I noticed.”

You leaned closer to where he was crouching, squeezing his forearm softly, your touch light and apologetic. “You know I love you too, right?”

He side-eyed you, his scowl deepening, though it was clear his annoyance was fading.

“Doesn’t count if I gotta remind you,” Bakugou grumbled—almost pouting.

Your laughter bubbled out, so familiar that Bakugou was reminded where his home is, as you then held his face gently—then squishing his cheeks so that his lips are puckered. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “I’ll make sure to say it next time, promise.”

“Better keep thath promish,” he muffled out.

“I will,” you assured him, loosening your hold as you gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Strawberry-flavored chapstick, one of Bakugou’s favorites whenever you kiss him.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He tried to maintain his frown, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as you kissed him once more. “You better.”

“Now go save the day, my hero.”

With a sigh, Bakugou leaned away from you, his posture reluctant to even leave you. He made his way to the door, pausing to glance over his shoulder one last time. You were looking at him, blowing him lots of kisses with the emphasized “mwah!”

“Don’t get so caught up in your books that you forget I exist,” he tells you.

You smiled, nodding along. “Never.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too! Text me when you get to your agency; love you lots!” That’s better.

As he closed the door behind him, Bakugou shook his head, muttering to himself, “Ignored for some damn books. Unbelievable.”

Still, despite his grumbling, the faint smile on his face said he wasn’t really mad.

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starryjake · 2 months ago

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book lover | s.j

in which you’re trying to read your book and jake gets needy.

pairing: jake x fem!reader

includes: rough jake, blowjobs, nipple play, choking, unprotected sex, cumming inside, masturbating, finger sucking, fingering (lmk if i missed anything).

you were so effortlessly pretty. literally effortless. you were laying there on the couch, your face glued to the book you’d been reading for the past couple of days. jake thought you looked good. really good.

the fireplace was on, an orange glow reflecting on your smooth face, making you look somehow even more beautiful.

jake was sat on the other end of the couch, your socked feet curled in his lap. he side eyed you, hoping you’d pay him some attention, but you were too entranced in the world of your book.

he brought his hands to your feet and began giving them a massage, thinking maybe that would get your attention, but it was like you didn’t even notice.

jake let out a loud, dramatic, sigh, finally capturing your attention.

“what is it?” you asked, tearing your gaze from the book.

“nothing, why?” he responded.

“oh,” you shrugged. “thought you needed something.”

he frowned as you went back to your book. that didn’t work out how he wanted it to.

he waited a few more minutes, occasionally looking over at you, but you were still so engrossed in something else that wasn’t him and it was starting to piss him off.

there was one way he knew for certain would get your attention.

he softly pushed your feet off his lap, which you unsurprisingly didn’t even notice. he kept his eye on you as he brought his hand to his bulge, palming himself until he built up an erection. just by staring at you, he was getting harder by the second.

eventually, just rubbing himself over his pants wasn’t enough anymore, so he slid his hand underneath his waistband and his boxers, grabbing his bare cock with no interference.

he sighed in relief at the contact, watching you to see if you’d notice, but you didn’t. he jut his bottom lip out, pouting at how it felt like you were ignoring him when you really just didn’t realize what he was doing.

he pulled his dick out of his pants and wrapped his hand around it tightly, dragging it up and down his length. a little bead of precum gathered at his slit which he let trickle down the side of his cock, the sensation making him shiver. he then smeared it around his tip, moaning out at the feeling.

“what the hell are you doing?” you asked, finally noticing him.

“jerking off,” he said through a deep breath, starting to feel really good now that he’d been caught.

“yeah, i can see that,” you replied, setting your book to the side.

for a moment, you decided to just watch. it didn’t take long for yourself to start feeling worked up, seeing your boyfriend touch himself and be so into it.

“feel good?” you asked.

“feels so fucking good,” he answered, looking at you through dark hooded eyes. “wish it was you.”

“i bet,” you answered.

he frowned, rubbing his thumb over his slit and twitching. he let a wad of saliva trickle out of his mouth and land on his tip, using it to help his hand glide easier.

you bit your lip, watching your boyfriend’s hand speed up around his cock, already working to make himself cum.

you watched for a few minutes before deciding to involve yourself. you sat up on your knees and crawled over to him. he immediately grabbed you by the hair on the back of your head and pushed your mouth onto his cock.

jake threw his head back against the couch as soon as he felt your warm throat wrapped around him. he kept his grip on your hair, giving you no choice but to suck him off.

you gagged around his length, saliva spilling out of your mouth and down the sides of his cock, which he loved. he loved when you were messy, which it was hard not to be when he was gagging you like that.

“fuck yeah,” he groaned, lifting his head to watch you suck it.

he could feel his tip hit the back of your throat and he jutted his hips up just a bit, just to test your limits. you clenched your hands into fists, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“good girl,” he cooed, speaking to you like you were a dog.

he even patted your head, loosening his grip ever so slightly.

he gave you a second to come up for air which you took full advantage of, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

jake grabbed your chin, smiling at your fucked out face.

“c’mere,” he urged.

you sat on his bare lap and he immediately pressed his lips to yours, licking up your saliva and his precum that was smeared all over your lips. you panted against his mouth, your breathing rate still not back to normal.

you’d wondered what had gotten into jake. he could be rough at times but it was rare. if anything, he usually was game to let you be the one running the show, but you could tell that was not how it was going to go tonight.

his hands were suddenly on your waist and he was pushing your sweater up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor. you’d gone braless today and jake thanked whatever god was out there that you did, needing his mouth on your pretty tits immediately.

he moaned as he took a hard nipple into his mouth, suctioning his lips around and sucking on it like he truly hoped something would come out of it.

with his other hand, he gripped his cock and started stroking it again. there was even more precum now, enough that it could’ve passed as a small load, but it wasn’t. he was just incredibly aroused and it showed.

he gathered the precum on his fingers and brought them up to your lips. he didn’t even need to ask you to open your mouth, you just did so, and he knew then that he trained you well.

you wrapped your lips around his long fingers, sucking on them and swallowing the salty taste of his precum.

he switched to your other nipple, leaving the one he had been sucking on wet to the cool air. it didn’t go unnoticed to him the way you were trying to subtly hump his leg, his fingers still pressed down on your tongue. he allowed it as it only fueled him to jerk his cock off harder.

he pulled back from your chest after another moment and grabbed your hips, laying you down on the couch. he tugged on your sweatpants and pulled them off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

he wanted to taste you so bad. he always did, but he just couldn’t wait tonight. he needed to shove his cock inside you as deep as he could and just fuck you until his dick stopped working.

so, he pulled your panties down leaving you completely bare on the couch. he cock was fully drooling precum, a string dripping down onto your stomach.

he was quick to kick his sweatpants off his legs and pulled his shirt over his shoulders. he needed to feel his bare skin against your bare skin, which was exactly what he did as he pressed himself against you, kissing you again.

you moaned into the kiss, feeling his cock slide between your soaked folds. you slid your fingers through his dark hair, wrapping your legs around his waist to get into position.

he could tell you were eager, maybe just as eager as he was. he pulled back and lined his cock up with your drooling hole, pushing in slowly to feel himself break that barrier, to stretch out your tight, velvety walls.

“fuuuuck,” he groaned, eyes rolling back at the overwhelming sensation.

you whimpered, placing your hands on top of his over your waist.

you were absolutely covering his cock in your wetness, adding another layer to it that was just purely your arousal.

he pushed himself all the way inside your pussy until your pelvises were aligned. unmoving, he stayed there, relishing the feeling of his cock resting in you.

“move,” you begged, needing to feel him do something other than just sitting there inside of you.

“hang on,” he mumbled.

he couldn’t move. he would cum if he moved. he clenched his eyes shut, momentarily trying to take himself out of this situation in his mind so he didn’t bust on the first thrust.

“please,” you begged, raising your hips up to try and get some movement.

that one movement alone did it for him, just like he knew it would.

he choked on a moan, eyes still closed as he started to cum inside you. he was so embarrassed, he didn’t even want to look. he wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening. he’d fucked you a million times before and this had never happened. there was something about tonight, though, something that had taken over him.

you were speechless as you felt his hot ropes of cum stain your insides. nothing had even happened. you didn’t understand why he was already cumming.

you stayed silent until he was finished, a sheen of sweat covering his body from the pure intensity of his first orgasm.

his eyes opened then and they were darker than before as he looked down at you.

“i said hang on,” he said sternly, angrily even, his fingertips digging into the skin on your waist.

“i didn’t know you were about to cum,” you defended.

“it doesn’t matter,” he retorted, a vein slightly bulging in his forehead. “listen if i fucking tell you something.”

you swallowed, suddenly getting the chills at his change in demeanor.

“i’m s—”

he pulled out of you so quickly and suddenly that it hurt, making you shut up your own apology. his cum came spilling out of you like a broken dam and dripped down onto the couch.

you watched him with anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen next but just hoping he wouldn’t leave you there without making you cum first.

“get on your stomach,” he demanded.

you nodded, your nervousness evident. you quickly laid down on your stomach, still nervous but excited for what he would do now.

he grabbed your waist and pulled your hips up. his cum still slowly trickled out of you, leaking down your sticky thighs.

you suddenly felt his finger pry at your entrance before sliding in and feeling your warm pussy, full of his early release.

“jake,” you whined, wishing he would just put his dick back in you and fuck you like normal.

“shh,” he said. “let me have my fun with you. i think it’s the least you could do, hm?”

you turned your head to the side, cheek pressed against the couch again.

“are you gonna fuck me?” you asked.

“i tried,” he said, sliding another finger into your pussy. “but you just couldn’t listen.”

“please,” you cried out, your fingers clenched into fists at the side of your head. “i didn’t know. please, i just need you to fuck me.”

jake cooed at your eagerness, at how you were begging for him now when you were never really one to beg. he did want to fuck you again, and he would, but he needed you to keep begging for it.

“i bet,” he said, purposely repeating your own words from earlier, which were now clearly biting you in the ass.

“please,” you groaned, pushing your hips back on his fingers. “i can’t wait. i just wanna cum.”

jake was a weak man when it came to you and he knew that. he wanted to make you wait just a little longer, but how could he when you were begging and needing him so sweetly?

he jerked himself off for a second again before realigning his tip with your entrance. he slid himself in again, twitching when he felt your walls pulsating around him.

“fuck!” you cried out. “thank you thank you thank you.”

“can’t say no to you,” he huffed, starting to thrust right away. “you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? just have to give my baby what she wants.”

“mmm yes!” you rasped, drooling onto the couch. “feels so good, jake, oh my god.”

“i know,” he said, holding onto your hips as he fucked you nice and hard, watching your ass bounce back on his torso. “you’re so warm, baby.”

“‘m close,” you warned.

he wanted to ask, “already?” but decided not to given the fact he’d just cum from merely being inside of you less than five minutes ago.

he rubbed the skin on your hips, silently urging you to let go, not just for yourself but for him too. nothing felt better than your walls clenching around him when you came and how wet and slippery your pussy became.

“jake!” you yelled, looking back at him with teary eyes and bright red cheeks. “i’m cumming!”

he moaned as he felt it and watched you go through it. your eyes rolled back into your head, your toes curling. you collapsed back down onto the couch and he continued fucking you through it, his stomach clenching from the sound of your wet pussy getting pounded by his cock.

“good girl,” he cooed, rubbing your back as you attempted to calm down, which was hard since he was still fucking you at the same fast and hard pace.

he grabbed your hips again and pulled you up so you were on your knees with your back pressed against his chest. you were so tired and limp, he had to keep his arm around his stomach to keep you upright.

“fuck, my little doll,” he grunted, speeding his thrusts up even more, your entire body jolting. “my little fuck doll, yeah?”

you just moaned, dazed, lolling your head back against his shoulder. with your neck exposed the way it was, jake couldn’t resist.

he immediately wrapped his around your neck and squeezed, feeling his cock twitch uncontrollably. you let out a tiny sound, a gasp for air mixed with a tiny squeak and jake nearly came just from the sound alone. you were so innocent and perfect, letting him just fuck you like he needed without argument.

he squeezed your neck until your neck turned red and his hand left an imprint. he had to force himself to let go. but he wasn’t done.

he let you catch your breath for a second before wrapping his entire arm around your neck like putting you in a chokehold, literally giving you no room to move and forced to take it.

but jake knew you liked it because you let out a yelp and were suddenly releasing all over his cock again without warning.

he released the chokehold after a few more seconds and kissed your neck, caressing it with his thumb.

“good girl,” he praised. “i’m close.”

“please,” you whispered, beyond exhausted and lightheaded at that point. “inside.”

“want my cum inside of you again?” he asked, taunting you almost. you just nodded, looking up at him with shiny eyes. “okay, baby. i’ll give my good girl what she wants.”

he fucked his cock into you a few more times before he was releasing his second load deep inside your cunt, marking your walls up all over again.

he was dripping sweat, his fingers pressed against your clit as he came, his orgasm lasting even longer than the first. he was practically shaking by the end of it.

once you were both done, he helped lay you down on the couch and covered you up with one of the throw blankets.

he immediately got you a glass of water, worry overcoming him because he’d never been so rough with you before and you hadn’t uttered a word in minutes.

“drink,” he urged, handing you the glass of cool water. you took a few sips before handing the glass back to him. “are you okay?”

“mhm,” you said tiredly, offering a sly smile. “that was really hot.”

“oh,” jake let out a sigh of relief. “you scared me, baby. got so quiet, i thought i was too rough.”

“well it was kinda hard to speak while you were choking me,” you joked. “but I’m exhausted now, baby. can we nap?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” he said, joining you in laying down.

you rested your head on his sweaty chest, immediately falling asleep as soon as he began running his fingers through your messy hair.

jake laid awake for a few minutes, replaying the scene that just occurred in his head until he too eventually fell asleep.

a/n. idk why i decided to make him put reader in a chokehold i think i blacked out.

thanks for reading!! <3

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #kpop smut #sim jake smut #sim jake x reader #jake sim smut #jake x reader #jake smut #enhypen jake #jake sim #sim jake #enha jake #jake enhypen #jake enha #jake enhypen smut #enhypen jake smut

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neferaskingdom · 2 months ago

Text

♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!”

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.

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