#like could do proper second age and just

[neim-batteries-not-included]

What if I made an in-character sideblog. Of like some second age (gods still around) disaster. Because I am so bad at posting worldbuilding stuff but I know I could do that. Do some art for it. What then. Would anyone be interested because I can 100% do that. (Will possibly just do it anyway because Why Not).

[dangoulains-devotion]

yuffie has many interesting elements to her but people refuse to move past "i find energetic kids annoying" and it makes me sad

[screampied]

‘ HIT IT LIKE IT'S ALL MINEEE ?! ★

𝜗℘ feat. toji, gojo, nanami, geto, sukuna. jjk men as ex boyfriends ‘n how they fuck.

cw. fem! reader, ex bf trope, unprotected, possessive themes, brat taming, p spanking, manhandling, size kink, brēeding, ōral (f! receiving), impact play, degradation, praise, squírting, doggy, mīssionary, mating press, overstim, petnames.

wc. 4.8k

GETO ☆ the sloppy ex.

“said ‘m sorry,” he’d hiss, watching as your legs voluntarily snake around his neck. geto’s got the most smug grin, pretty batted lashes fluttering as he’s being fed his favorite meal that he’s been craving for so so long..

but he’s not sorry. in fact after every argument, it would always end up like this. he’d always make it up to you by eating you out, savoring your taste and giving you the most toe-curling climax. it was the least he could do, right? scorching hot breaths of his fan against your drooling folds as you sat upright against the edge of the mattress. you’re whining, gripping at his unkempt, black strands tightly as your thighs jitter. “mhm, could never stay away from my girl for too long.”

you vigorously shudder, feeling his crooked, pink lips ghost against your soddened folds. with geto, he was a messy eater. you were the only person who could get him on his knees. “i’m very sorry, pretty,” he whispers against your cunt, lengthy tongue swirling and delving deeper inside. you whimper, your grasp against his hair growing tighter and firmer. his darkened roots rise up from the secure grip and you start to grind against his face. “ohhh, my. seems like you missed me too,” and with three wet kisses pressing onto your swollen entrance, he glances up at you. humming, he swipes his nose against your pussy before lolling his tongue out allll the way to show you how messy he was for you. “or you jus’ missed my tongue, huhhh.”

he was so smug, so fucking smug. even whilst being buried right between your thighs, slurping you up like he hasn’t eaten a proper good meal in ages. “s- sugu,” you moan, your sudden attitude disappearing the moment he whisks his tongue against your nub. his other favorite girl, your eyebrows that was once arched from arguing was now curling together from such calamitous pleasure. he’s so sloppy too, taking every few pausing seconds to spit right into your cunt, lapping it up with his tongue, only to spit right back on it again. “f- fuckin’ hate you.”

“yeah yeah,” he whistles against your cunt unfazed — warm breath tickling against your folds that seep with slick juices. so wet, he pries your legs open even further with two hands before making a sheeny trail of saliva with his long, lengthy tongue licking from top to bottom. he stares dead at you too, dark sable irises never leave yours while he’s enjoying his treat. a free hand creeps between your inner thighs and he starts to ease a single thick finger inside. “i take back my sorry then, baby.”

your back arches - feeling his thickset digit easily soak into your clingy walls. you’re already coating a majority of it with your slick, rutting your hips against his mouth and his finger now. the stretch had you feral.

you despised his sassy mouth, and yet he’s always despised yours. the perfect match. if it was anything you and geto could come to terms with, it was the simple fact that you both craved each other. crave was a strong word, but it was the right word.

“s- suguru, fuck— i feel something, ‘s gonna come,” you babble, feeling an unfamiliar sensation bubble up into the deep pits of your lower abdomen. it felt like an intense, spiraling pressure building up before gradually starting to press down onto you. your jaw drops, feeling like you were about to gush right out. his tongue returns to slurp against you, luxuriating your sweet, syrupy taste as you’re practically just fucking your cunt onto his face. he darkly chuckles, feverish breath going against your dripping folds before he literally makes out with it. “s- suguru did you hear me?”

“oh, i heard ya, baby,” he whispers, another finger vanishing into your tight walls. with black strands of messy hair running all down his face, he french kisses your cunt thrice, groaning at the feeling of you pulsing right on his lips. “i just don’t care,” and your legs shake out of nowhere. you felt like you were floating — cloud nine, all the clouds, you felt like you were flying.

your mouth remains open, stupefied and all. with a squealing gasp, you drag his face further against you before spotting a shimmery trail of your own slick running down his chin. again though, geto doesn’t care. in fact, he licks it clean with no shame, swiping a thumb across the crack of his lips before he starts to spank your pussy. “well?” he eyes you, his voice growing low. “you gonna make a mess or not?” pat. “i’m waiting,” pat. “oh c’monnn, don’t tell me you’re scared ‘ta make a mess. we’ve known each other for how long, princess?”

and before you could reply with a snarky comeback — it happens. you end up gushing right on his face, watching it trickle all down his chin and your eyes roll back in nirvana. everything feels so quick, you’re barely able to breathe regular breaths as your eyes grow droopy and your legs break into a fit of spasms. “suguru, suguuu,” you pant, losing your grip in his hair. and like the sloppy eater he was, he laps your cunt clean. savoring the taste, savoring you.

“did you just squirt on my face?” he rasps, pulling his fingers out to watch the mess dribble straight out. you’re so wet, just a puddle and you were laying right in it. you don’t respond and he rolls his eyes, giving your cunt an ‘encouraging’ swat with his palm before purring. “mhm, how ‘bout you do that again? for old times sake, messy girl.”

TOJI ☆ the nasty ex.

“y’know the drill, babygirl. bend over. uh huh, gimme that slutty arch like always, attaaa girl,” toji grits. intently, hooded green eyes are staring at your back. you moan, feeling just how quickly your body submits. toji could never get enough of you. the second your gummy walls swallow his girth, you suck your teeth in salacious rapture. it’s almost carnal. toji groans, gazing right before his eyes as your back slumps forward just for him ‘n only him. “mhm, good girl. sluttin’ y’rself out all fuckin’ on me.”

the crimson red sheets bristle against your skin as he drags your hips closer - raspy breaths pour from his lips as he’s gradually plummeting his thick cock inside of your grippy, welcoming cunt.

oh, you missed him. but more importantly — you missed his cock. if it was anything toji knew how to do, it was to fuck. you whimper, immediately bawling up the sheets into the smooth pads of your palms with your hands imitating a fist shape.

he’s just so fucking big, you feel the fat of his girth stretch you open so good that your mouth starts to salivate. “ngh, fuck toji,” you mewl out in desperate sobs, smelling his loud cheap cologne that never fails to waft right into your nostrils. within an instant, his rude sharp hips snap into you meanly. your jaw hangs open as he’s shoving such lengthy inches into you at once. “mmhhh, right there, ‘toj.”

“still the same cock drunk ‘lil slut i know ‘n love,” he huffs, watching how your body responds to his crazed rhythm. again, he’s so rude, just a single piston of his hips and you’re a slobbering, numb mess. toji always had the stamina of a horse, you feel the pulsing sensation pulsate on his angered cockhead and you shiver. “missed my favorite pussy,” he gruffs, dark thin brows curling together. “fuck back against me, good girl. make me fuckin’ proud, princess.”

you’re a whiny mess. with such ease, toji snatches out orgasm after orgasm out of you like it was nothing. nobody knew your body like he did. he left you in a stupid state, so stupid to where the only words you’re murmuring out is just blurbs ‘n blurbs of incoherent babbles.

“fuuuck,” you suck at the air, feeling how every few seconds he’d bring a mean swat toward your ass. oh, that was always his favorite part. the way your cute recoil always bounces back against him, always responding to his palm. and as he’s continuing to mercilessly plunge his cock in and out of your sopping pussy. it takes no time before you’re creaming down his cock. “t- tojiiiii.”

the moment you’ve successfully milked him dry however, he never fails to plug you full of his hot, sticky cum. you gasp, hearing the wet squelches overflow into your walls. your back still arches itself forward as he’s spewing such stringy ropes deep into the depths of your womb. such a mess,

“aht aht, bring that ass back here,” he lowly snickers, dragging your hips back into him once you try to crawl away. “saved so much cum ‘n i wanna give ya all of it, baby. mhm, let’s listen to it together, yeah.”

you whine, feeling his hovering weight press right up against your ass.

toji swipes a thumb against your entrance, sloshing sounds exiting right from your pussy. he makes you listen to how filthily soaked you were, purposely growing silent. his thumb was fat, it curls its way against your sweet ‘lil labia before he gathers a nice amount of dribbling cum near the print of his finger.

“fuck, ‘s pretty,” he grouses through gnawed teeth. you’re taken by surprise once he flips you over to where you flop right on your back. landing with a surprised oof, you’re met with the hungry eyes of your ex-boyfriend who’s not exactly done yet. “go on. spread ‘em,” he does a swift hand motion with one hand, flicking his tongue against his thumb with the other. you felt your cunt shamelessly twitch at the sight and you moan once he dives right in between your trembly legs. “good girl, now lemme see what ‘m workin’ with.”

the moment he pried your legs open—he wastes no time, smearing his face right against your sloppy cunt. “s- shiiiit, toji,” you sob out a sweet syllable of his name, feeling the edge of his scar tickle against your swollen puffed folds. his long tongue slithers its way down your full slit, relishing in your taste, your taste of his cum. he didn’t care, his tongue happily laps up the honeyed mixture of both sweets that dance on his tongue. you whine, grabbing a fistful of his hair, hearing him groan once you give his head a light tug. glancing down, he spits on your cunt, swirling his tongue around before slurping you right up, cleaning you. “toji y- you’re so nasty.”

with a teasing him, he pats your twitching cunt before the pat turns into a rough spank. “gotta be nasty ‘ta deal with a cunt this wet,” and he gives your folds a single kiss before flipping you over again. you moan, still feeling remnants of cum ooze out of your entrances before he smacks a broad palm against your left ass cheek. “mhm, now now. be a good girl ‘n bend over one more time. wanna clean ya up from the back. just like i always used to, babygirrrrl.”

GOJO ☆ the annoying ex.

he’s just as stubborn as you, maybe even worse. “yada yada less talkin’ more riding, sweet thing,” and you moan once you feel a stinging smack ghost against your ass. you’re riding him, swirling your hips around him back ‘n forth as you’re pressed up against his bare chest in classic cowgirl. one hand of his grips onto your waist, watching you throw your hips back in such obscene rhythm. the roll, you’re so pretty like this, especially whenever you were on top. your knees bury themselves into his thighs as you’re bouncing up and down his cock, taking in many inches of him effortlessly. “you’re so hot,” gojo smugly grins at you, continuously bouncing his left thigh just to see your lewd reaction. you loudly mewl out at the staticky friction, feeling him pump into you again ‘n again. “heyy, pretty girl.” he slyly says as you finally meet his stare. gojo brings a hand against your ass, gripping it tightly before spanking it again - his way of telling you to go faster.

with satoru gojo as an ex, you’d never hear the end of it. hear the end of him,

he craves you more than anything. even better if you let him fuck you just for the night. but that night turns into one, then two, then three.

he’s purely infatuated, your pussy never fails to make him drunk. your arousal was always his favorite dessert. whining against his ear, your tremulous hips create haste a bit quicker as you shift your weight onto your bent knees. “s- satoru, mhh. gonna cum again, fuckk.”

“aw, already baby?” he coos to you in a faux, caring tone. gojo grabs both of your hips, peering intently at the way your abdomen tenses in front of him. you’re gaping, recognizing the stretch like no other. you’re so pretty, your tongue rolls itself out as you’re preparing to make a mess on his cock. like you always do, your arms throw over his shoulders before the moment gets abruptly ruined by a ring. not just an ordinary ring but it’s your phone. gojo raises a white brow, you’re still rocking your hips against him in a circular rotation before he hums. “oh, and who’d be callin’ my baby at this hour?”

“s- satoruuu,” you make a weak attempt at grabbing your phone but he beats you to it — he squints at the screen, an unsaved number that only you recognized. it was one of your old flings and for some reason they still thought they had a chance.

a wave of ripples surge all throughout your core as he’s buried to the hilt. “yo,” he answers, a hand still attached to your rear. you’re completely stupid, forming into a state of sheer dimwit as you moan into his neck. his fattened tip steadily repeats its movements to kiss and kiss near your sweet spot, yanking out such pretty harmonic whimpers. to gojo, the guy was speaking a whole lot of nothing, and he yawns, fingers combing straight down your feverish waist. “uh huh, well anyways, she’s busy. she can’t ngh—come to the phone right now but she’d loooove to leave you a mes- uh, don’t cut me off. do you know who i am?”

you wanted to face palm. he could be so dramatic, but you were being too stuffed full to even think about that. it’s been far too long without his cock, and each hit he created against you had you drooling for more. gojo’s thrusts were so good that it’s got you whining ‘n whining like a broke record until your voice grows strained. you’re having a competitive race with your own breath, blushing throbbing crown continuing to bury its way into your sopping cunt. gojo leans back, grabbing onto the headboard and his pectorals flex. “fuckk, i mean we’re busy,” and he shoots you a teasing grin as you straddle him.“ain’t that right, angel? say hi.”

and you moan loudly, a force ripping out of your windpipe the moment your orgasm comes. gojo puts the phone on speaker, letting the caller on the other end hear all of you. your sweet, sweet climax. you’re going crazy - feral.

it sounded so pretty nonetheless, a five second syllable that’s neverending and it makes his dick twitch. you feel the twitch — you also feel the vein that runs down the curve of his heavy shaft. “s- satoru, fuck fuuuck,” and with your eyes squeezed shut, your jaw tightens. he hums, watching as you coat his cock down with your slippery slick, squelch after squelch wailing out from your cunt. “ohmygoddd.”

“that’s it, baby. make me just as messy as you, yeah,” and you’re met with wet lips crashing onto yours. weakly moving yourself against him at a much slower pace, he delves his tongue inside your hot, warm mouth. you shiver, still feeling the pleasurable after effects before he pulls away, ending the phone call before tossing it near the other side of the bed. “heh, she’s such a good girl,” and you gasp once you feel a hand of his slither between your thighs. maneuvering a few circles against your stuffed cunt, gojo nibbles on your chin. “mhm, who’s pussy is this?”

“y- yours,” you whine, feeling your thighs shake from just his touch alone.

“my name isn’t ‘yours’, pretty girl.”

“m- my pussy belongs to you, ‘toru. satoru.”

“yeah she fuckin’ does.”

NANAMI ☆ the unforgettable ex.

nanami’s the type of ex where you couldn’t forget him even if you tried. he’s got the looks, the charm, the romantically deep strokes.

prefers to have you right underneath him, right where you belonged. you’re so pretty, he can’t help but blink twice because if this was a dream, he didn’t want to ever wake up.

“sweetheaaart,” he lowly groans into your neck, his body gradually rocking into you. he didn’t wanna go too quick or too fast - nanami’s pace was always just right. “you dunno how much i missed you,” and you moan, feeling him hide his face into your chest. he playfully nips against your breasts before sighing gruffly. “missed my girls too.”

“k- ‘kennn,” you moan, going into a short split second daze once the leaky tip of his cock glissades past your clit. you’re so sensitive, clenching your teeth as he’s rolling his beefy body against you. with his weight on top of you, you’re in perfect sync, perfect harmony. he huffs and puffs, hot clouds of breath tickling against your skin before he licks a damp stripe from your chest to your neck. “mhm, i- i missed you more.”

“oh, my sweet, that’s impossible,” he whispers, stretching out your gloopy walls with all his might.

like always, you opened up for him - the stretch was always there. nanami hissed faintly, feeling your cunt cling onto him tightly. so tight as if you never wanted to let go — and you didn’t.

he looked so pretty like this though. dirty blond hair that’s mostly neat and parted was now all ruffled, strands everywhere - strands running past his eyes and forming into thin bangs. as translucent beads of sweat race down his forehead, they pour down each side of his face.

whilst his tense back muscles flex at every sharp thrust he’s giving you, nanami groans—his adam’s apple bobbing as he tossing his head back, biting his lip. as he does so, he feels the little charms of your anklet he bought you years ago with his initials of ‘n. k.��� engraved on it, run down his skin, hearing the dangles sing out a tune as he goes faster and faster. with his chiseled hips going faster, so does your breaths.

“you drive me crazy,” he almost pouts, cupping the curvature of your jawline. nanami holds your face as a single thumb strokes your cheek. “no one m- makes me feel as good as you do, my love.”

“kentoooo, ngh,” you moan out, fuzz deafening the insides of both of your ears. it’s so loud, the sounds of skin slapping and groaning groans fills the room — bouncing and reverberating against the thin walls. the neighbors would probably file another complaint, yet alas, you started to not care. maybe he was what you were missing. you’re throbbing not only from his touch but his voice. nanami could call you the prettiest girl in the word and you’d cream all down his cock, like you’d always do. “breed me, ‘ken. ‘s okay, you can finish inside.”

“s- sweetheart, careful now,” he sheepishly says, feeling the way you wrap your arms around his tense shoulders. your words made him hot, incredibly hot. his entire body feels shivers, just from a few simple words. “fuck,” he swears, delicately pounding you into the bed you two once both shared. with an abashed expression, he peppers your collarbone with soft kisses before whispering up against the sensitive shell of your ear. “ah, i shouldn’t s- say such foul language in front of you, forgive my filthy mouth,” and you cut him off with a tender kiss, rocking your body against him ever further. he moans in your lips, feeling the thumping of his heart accelerate. oh, you had him whipped. he never fell out of love with you - he couldn’t.

calloused fingertips graze against your neck as he holds you close. with thick inches of cock plummeting in and out of your walls, he’s seconds close to shooting into you raw. he sucks in a breathe, bucking his hips as your tongue battles with his. “mhh,” you whimper, feeling his sculpted abs grind against you. nanami still had on his blazer — yet, his tie remained on and his collar was roughly tugged out. in some cases, you forgot why the two of you even broke up in the first place. but with nanami, one or the other would always come crawling back. “kento, ‘s okay, baby,” you murmur between kisses in a shaky voice, feeling him circle a palm around your tummy. he’s envisioning you with a plump belly already and it does something to his brain.

“okay, okay,” he huskily grunts, your legs tightly wrapping around his waist. you heard the timbre in his voice, how it’d always get low whenever he was close. underneath him — your knees buckle, and your cunt was pulsating. each individual nerve prods and pulses, making you whimper out his name in such a sweet manner. the way you’d whine out his name, throwing your head back and rolling your eyes in debleating rapture - it was pure bliss. the moment he cums, he sees nothing but snowy white. nanami’s eyes grows murky, almost doe-like before he’s dumping such a satiny load of ropes into your pussy. “hngh, oh- ‘s so much, sweetheart. ‘m gonna fill you up so g- good.”

and he does — barred big hands grab onto yours as he’s overflowing your weeping pussy with his warm seed. it’s so much that it spills out, dribbling down the sides of your thighs. the smell was almost potent, a milky ring forms its way around his base before he collapses onto your chest. nanami’s eyes were closed and yet his lips latch onto your bare, swollen nipples. “i- mph, love youuu,” and judging from his slurred speech, he was already pussy drunk. he leans into your touch, feeling the way your fingertips massage his scalp. the same hand from before rubs a circle against your tummy, and his head moves its way down before planting a pecking kiss near your stomach.

“and i’ll love our future little one also.”

SUKUNA ☆ the possessive ex.

“tell me,” he purrs in a raspy voice, raking a few fingers over your shivering frame. you moan, watching as he’s preparing to pounce like an animal does right before its prey. you meet the demon’s gaze and he cups your chin, his damp tip brushing against your folds. “anyone touch her?”

coyly, you shrug both shoulders as your legs remain sprawled open. “huh,” you murmur out, sheepish grin curling against your lips. “touch who, ‘kuna?”

“woman, don’t try me,” he snarls, baring a single fang as he spoke - the same exact fangs that would always bury into your flesh, gifting you with a plethora of individual fang marks. your breath hitches once he’s sinking his dick inside, feeling how quick your walls were to tighten. your arms toss over him for support, sweeping the edges of your fingertips against the ancient markings that paint the blade of his broad shoulders. “ah,” he whispers against your ear, an almost growl. you whimper, feeling his forked tongue ghost against your earlobe before he nibbles on it. “talkin’ about her, my other stubborn girl who’s always soaked.”

and as he finishes that sentence, a hand squeezes against your cunt before giving it a rude spank. you gasp, a single thrust of his hips and he’s fully inside. it felt so good, it’s probably been months since he’s seen you, since he’s been inside.

sukuna was the kind of ex where he’d never let you forget him.

the sharp rims of his claws gently and delicately scrap against your skin and he leisurely moves his mouth toward your neck. now, he’s got you right where he wants — mating press.

“s- she’s missed you, ‘kuna,” you finally whine out, the gripping pressure of his cock rummaging through your insides so thoroughly, so fully just makes your brain short circuit. he’s just so big, as he’s expanding inside of your walls, already, your body underneath him starts to grow limp. sukuna stares at you, watching as your facial expressions twitch and contort in gratifying pleasure. “fuck, fuck. i missed you.”

“i know you did,” he groans, and it’s a bit of sincerity underneath his tone. you had the audacity of stealing his breath away and his heart.

having you sprawled out like this . . on his royal bed, screaming out his name like you always did, he’s missed it. he’s missed you, but last of all, he’s missed your sweet, sweet pussy. the bed creaks ‘n creaks until it can’t anymore, creating a sort of beat with each croaking grunt it wails out.

sukuna’s weight is right on top of you — crashing against your skin, barely hovering over your own frame as he’s driving his hips into you speedily, fucking you deeply into the kingly, regal sheets. you’re babbling out candied cacophonies of ‘ryooo’ — ‘kunaaa,’ and a majority of other colorful swears that sound so melodic coming from your tongue. “still got a filthy pussy but an even filthier mouth, i see.”

and as he’s pounding you into the mattress, he grips your chin. he’s so rough, snapping hips rut into you all at once to where you could barely get an audible word out. you’re stammering pure lewd gibberish, skin against skin and he’s sticking right against you like sweltering hot glue.

“f- fuuuuck, harder,” you egg him on, jerking back against the bed at each powerful hit. it doesn’t take him long to locate your g-spot either, you squeal out that same squeak he’s grown to love and that’s when he starts pummeling into it. again, and again, and again. his sloppy thrusts against your pussy gets so repetitive — he feels your legs snake around his waist and he growls into your neck.

“hah, you sound so stupid,” he jibes, pearly fangs nipping the inner part of your neck. your taste, he could never get enough of it. no one had your flavor, your taste — your sweet arousal that forevermore lingers on his demon tastebuds. you were sukuna ryomen’s favorite treat. as he’s grinding into you, you’re already a puddled mess. you whimper, moaning into his ear before he starts to bite near your neck. “all mine. mine to breed, mine to kiss, mine to love.”

as he’s grunting his ‘possessions’ into your ear, your sloppy cunt flutters. his reddened tip thrashes in ‘n out of your core before you start to spasm.

with his weight still pressing onto you, you felt his heat everywhere. his toned body, his muscles colliding against your soft, tepid skin. “i- i love you, ‘kuna,” you whimper out, and he has a smug cunning grin at your sudden blurt. so cute, the way it rolls of your tongue. as he’s continuing to ravage into your swollen, needy walls, he throws your leg over his shoulder. fingers of yours wisp near the nape of his neck whilst another hand cups his face. “never stopped.”

“oh, yeah?” a low voice rumbles out of him, and he starts to flick his tongue near the numerous of fang marks that were slowly forming near your collarbone. you were so sweet, he could just eat you up. “i have a strong liking to you too, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“i . . love you too, brat,” he says through gritted teeth, it was like saying those simple eight words were about to kill him. he felt a weird softness pool its way into his heart before you both reach inevitable climaxes at the same time. it’s abruptly euphoric. he groans, using your bare shoulder to suppress his moans. twitching, he remains like this the entire time. strong arms, all of them wrap around your body, pulling you close.

“all mine,” he repeats, and you watch with glossy eyes as he pulls up your ring finger. with a huffing blow, he has a cute pouty pout. the demon was fucked dumb just as much as you. he rests his face into your chest before grumbling. “does this mean you’re staying this time?”

“maybe.” you pant.

“tch. maybe she says.”

[arolesbianism]

Hm. I am getting the distinct feeling that either revanced broke or some apps are doing smth real shitty

[dilf-docs]

Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) flopped, i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[theonottsbxtch]

SOMETHING LIKE LOVE | OP81

an: to all of those who believe you aren't worthy of love. you truly are, it'll come xx this is apart of my 2k celly, requested!!

wc: 5.3k

summary: she’s f1’s rising star. fierce, fast, and convinced she’s not made for love. oscar is the sarcastic softie who's been falling for her since day one. when one press conference cracks her walls, he makes it his mission to prove her wrong.

THE PADDOCK WASN'T BUILT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. It reeked of burnt rubber, adrenaline, and the sort of manufactured glamour that barely hid the pressure underneath. Flashing cameras. PR smiles. Men in pristine team gear pretending the world didn’t hang on lap times and tenths of a second.

She walked through it like she belonged, because she did, but never without the weight of proving it.

Two seasons in Formula 1 hadn’t made things easier. If anything, the stares lingered longer, the whispers just quiet enough to still be heard. Her VCARB rarely made it to the top ten unless she dragged it there herself. But she didn’t complain. She drove. She fought. And when they underestimated her, she made them regret it.

She was sharp. Quick-witted. Sassy, some said. A “media darling” with a bite. The kind who could deliver a one-liner that left even the most seasoned interviewer blinking.

And Oscar knew it from the start.

Oscar Piastri, McLaren’s golden boy, all easy charm and restless ambition. Three years into his career and finally, finally, he looked like he might be on track for a proper championship run. Two wins in four races, and the papaya car was back in the fight.

To the public, he was the perfect mix of cheeky and clean-cut, messy brown hair that refused to stay slicked back, a soft Australian accent that turned heads in press conferences, and eyes that didn’t give much away unless he wanted them to.

But around her, he never quite managed to keep his composure.

They were the same age. Entered F1 within a year of each other. She arrived a storm; he remembered watching her first race from the McLaren garage, muttering “bloody hell” under his breath when she overtook three cars in two laps like it was nothing.

He’d been intrigued ever since.

But she didn’t let people in. Not really. She joked, flirted, rolled her eyes at dumb questions, but the walls stayed up. And Oscar couldn’t help but want to know what was behind them.

He didn’t push. Not yet.

Until that interview.

The sun beat down on the pit lane, heat shimmering off the tarmac as engineers scurried and photographers prowled like vultures with lanyards. Just another Saturday. Quali was done, data collected, and everyone was pretending to be relaxed when they were actually wound tighter than the bolts on the front wing.

She was sitting on the edge of her garage wall, swinging one leg like a schoolgirl on break, water bottle tucked between her hands. Her helmet sat beside her, visor up, reflecting the bustle. She watched it all with that same expression she always had post-session. Ccalm, but calculating. Like she’d already rewound and replayed every corner in her head.

Oscar spotted her before she saw him. Not that he was looking. Not exactly.

He’d just finished his debrief, race suit zipped halfway, hair doing its usual floppy rebellion. He could’ve turned into hospitality. Could’ve headed for the ice bath. But instead, his feet took him across the paddock, like they always did when she was around.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, voice casual as he stopped beside her.

She glanced up, squinting into the sun. "If by ‘view’ you mean watching your pit crew nearly drop your front jack, then yeah. Thrilling stuff."

Oscar smirked, teeth flashing. “It’s all part of the drama. Keeps the fans on their toes.”

“Right. That, or McLaren’s just allergic to calm pit stops.”

She said it with a grin, but Oscar swore there was something else behind it — amusement, yeah, but also that spark she always had when she was comfortable. Which wasn’t often. Not properly. Not unless she trusted someone.

He perched on the wall next to her, not too close. Just enough. She didn’t move away.

"You were quick today," he said, more genuine now.

"So were you," she replied. "P2 in Quali? Showing off for the cameras?"

Oscar shrugged. "Just trying to impress the VCARB girl."

She arched a brow, smile twitching like she was trying not to let it grow. "You’re three years too late for that.”

���Reckon I’ve still got time,” he said lightly, but it landed heavier between them.

She didn’t reply, just took a sip from her bottle, eyes on the track. A mechanic shouted something in Italian nearby. Her leg kept swinging.

"Tell me something, Piastri," she said eventually. "Do you ever get tired of being the fan favourite?"

He looked at her then. Really looked. “Do you ever get tired of proving everyone wrong?”

That made her go still for a beat. Then she exhaled, soft and slow.

“All the time.”

Before he could decipher what she meant, a voice cut through the buzz of the pit lane, clipped, PR-perfect, and far too chipper for the afternoon.

“Right, you two. They’re ready for you in the media pen. Sofa set-up. You know the drill.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as she stood, twisting the top back on her bottle.

Oscar stood too, brushing imaginary dust off his fireproofs. “Do I at least get to sit next to you?”

She gave him a look, all raised brows and mock pity. “That desperate for moral support?”

“Obviously.”

They walked side by side, weaving through crew and cables, eventually emerging into the small, overly lit press area. The sofa, that cursed faux-leather monstrosity in sponsor-friendly grey, sat in front of a wall plastered with logos. Lance was already sitting there, on the edge, smiling at them when they walked past.

Oscar dropped onto one end, she slid into the middle, Lance on her other side. The flashes started immediately.

Questions came quick. Routine stuff. Lance was asked about his lap time, Oscar about the McLaren upgrades.

Then, someone aimed their mic toward her.

“Question for you,” the reporter said, polite smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You’ve had a strong start to the season considering the car you’re in. P7 in the standings. You seem sharper than ever. Do you think that drive, that edge, comes from not having distractions? You’ve said before you keep your circle tight.”

She didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head slightly, fingers laced in her lap. “If by distractions you mean relationships, then yeah. Probably.”

The reporter pushed, as they always did. “So... nothing on the horizon? Love life completely off the table?”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that hung too long to be comfortable. Her eyes flicked briefly to the floor, then back up.

“I don’t think I’m made for love,” she said, simply. Like it was a fact. “Not the way people want it. Doesn’t really fit with everything else.”

A few awkward chuckles. Lance looked down at his shoes. The journalist nodded, clearly satisfied with his viral soundbite.

But Oscar?

Oscar hadn’t moved. He was still angled slightly toward her, lips parted just a little. Because something about the way she’d said it. Not bitter, not flippant, just... tired, it punched the air clean out of his lungs.

Not made for love?

He wanted to shake her. Tell her she was wrong. That whoever made her feel that way had clearly been a coward, because she was all sharp edges and fire, yeah but there was something soft in her, too. Something no one had ever bothered to stay long enough to understand.

He didn’t say anything. Not there. Not with a dozen cameras on them.

But inside, something locked into place.

He was going to prove her wrong.

The thing about F1 was that it never slowed down. Not really.

One weekend blurred into the next, a constant carousel of countries, circuits, press calls, qualifying stress and race-day nerves. But somewhere between Bahrain and Jeddah, something shifted.

It started with a cup of tea in Jeddah.

She’d had a hellish day, the VCARB car twitchy as hell through sector two, her engineer frustrated, and the media already foaming at the mouth for something to twist. By the time she stalked into hospitality, she barely noticed the cup waiting for her on the table.

Two sugars. Splash of milk. Her kind of tea, the sort no one in the team ever seemed to get quite right.

She paused.

Then saw the note, scribbled on a napkin in slanted handwriting:

Figured you’d need this after that press conference. — O

No fanfare. No performance.

Just… thoughtfulness. Simple and grounding.

She never mentioned it. But she started noticing things after that.

Miami was blistering.

Drivers’ parade meant being carted around the circuit in the back of an open-top truck like they were part of a royal procession. She hated it, the awkward wave, the sun in her eyes, and today, the fact she’d left her sunglasses back in the garage like an idiot, made it worse.

“Looking for these?” a voice said beside her.

Oscar, of course. Holding her black framed sunglasses by one arm, a smug little smirk on his face.

She stared. “Why do you have those?”

“Saw you left them by your bag. Figured I’d rescue them before someone else claimed them.”

She snatched them, slipping them on with a scoff. “Stalker.”

“Public service,” he replied, resting an arm casually behind her as the truck started to roll. “You’d owe me a favour, if you weren’t so stubborn.”

She glanced at him from behind the lenses. “I’ll add it to the imaginary tab you think I have.”

But her voice was softer. Less guarded.

Monaco, as always, was madness. She’d had a surprisingly strong quali.  P7. But the grid was chaos, press everywhere, the tight streets of Monte Carlo offering no room to breathe.

She was trying to centre herself, leaning against her garage, helmet off but earplugs in. She liked that moment, just her and the buzz of a silent track.

Until someone tapped her shoulder.

She turned, expecting her engineer. Instead: Oscar.

He held something out.

Her blue lucky charm. A little rubber tag she’d had since her karting days. She hadn’t even realised it had fallen off.

“You dropped it in the paddock,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t want you going without it.”

She blinked, eyes flicking from his hand to his face. Then took it, fingers brushing his, unintentionally, of course.

“Thanks.”

He gave a half-shrug, stepping back. “Lucky charm for someone who doesn’t need luck.”

She didn’t respond. But she clipped it back onto her necklace and didn’t take it off as she slipped it under the fireproofs.

The pressure always peaked at Silverstone.

Her home race. Headlines were brutal. Fans were louder. Her mum was in the paddock, bless her, nerves practically seeping out of her pores as she tried to pretend she wasn’t terrified every time her daughter got in that car.

She was seconds away from getting into her car while her team faffed about with her car when Oscar walked up to her, helmet off.

She turned her head just slightly, visor still up.

He didn’t smile. Just looked at her like he saw her.

“Your mum said you always hated the crowd here,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the roar of the crowds. “So block ‘em out. Just you and the car. Show them why they should’ve put you in that Red Bull seat.”

Her breath caught, a flutter she couldn’t blame on nerves.

He winked, then turned and jogged back to his own car, slotting into P3 like he hadn’t just cracked something open in her chest.

She finished P4, right behind him. Best result of the year.

By Hungary, it wasn’t subtle anymore,  at least not to her.

They were seated beside each other at some PR dinner, everyone playing polite for the cameras. She wore black, sleek and unbothered. He wore a shirt and shorts, as he always did.

Someone made a joke. She barely heard who it came from.

“All that attitude and no man to handle it,” he said to one of the F1 Academy girls, grinning. “You’ll end up like our princess here, all work, no play.”

The table chuckled. She didn’t flinch. She was used to it.

But Oscar leaned forward.

“Yeah,” he said. Calm. Cool. Deadly. “Because having standards is such a crime.”

The room shifted. No one knew what to say.

Except her. She just looked at him, eyes soft.

And he looked back.

Like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone in all this as she thought.

Something had changed.

He wasn’t just trying anymore.

He was showing her — in every touch, every look, every small act of care — that love wasn’t about grand gestures or promises shouted from rooftops. It was quiet. Steady. Gentle hands at your back when the world was shouting. Someone seeing you exactly as you are and staying anyway.

And little by little... she started to believe it.

She told herself she wasn’t keeping track.

Not of the way Oscar always found her in a crowd. Not of how he seemed to know when she needed to be distracted, or when silence was kinder. Not of the brief, shared glances across driver briefings, or how he never once looked at her the way the others sometimes did — like she was a story waiting to be twisted.

But she remembered it all.

Like in Monza, when her DRS failed mid-qualifying and she stormed back to the garage, helmet still on because she didn’t trust her face to hide how gutted she was. No one said a word. Not until she felt something cold press into her hand.

Oscar, offering her a can of apple juice. No words. Just a look as he took a sip out of his can.

“I hate apple juice,” she muttered.

“I know,” he said, sipping his own. “That one’s mine. Yours is in the other hand.”

She glanced down.

Peach iced tea. Her favourite.

She didn’t ask for any of it.

The sunglasses. The drink. The keyring. The silence. The noise.

But it kept coming. Him, quiet in his certainty. Like he’d already decided that she was worth showing up for, even when she wasn’t sure she’d earned it.

Especially when she wasn’t sure she’d earned it.

The next time something happened, it was in Singapore.

Hot. Humid. Heavy with expectation.

She’d just come P6 in a brutal race that chewed up tyres like paper and spat out dreams by lap thirty. Her fireproofs were soaked, her head pounding.

And Oscar was waiting by her team’s hospitality exit, arms folded, cap pulled low.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “Dinner.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

He shrugged. “Then sit with me and don’t eat.”

She didn’t have the strength to argue.

He ordered for her anyway. Didn’t ask what she wanted. Just remembered. Her favourite noodle place two blocks from the paddock.

She ate in silence, and when she finally looked up, he was already looking at her.

Not expecting anything.

Just… there.

Then came Mexico.

Two weeks of media frenzy. The first whispers of contract talks for next season. Her name was in headlines again, her seat not guaranteed, everyone treating her like she was a gamble.

She was pacing in her hotel room, phone in hand, brain buzzing with what-ifs.

A knock pulled her out of it.

She opened the door.

Oscar stood there. Hoodie and trainers. Not his usual post-race gloss.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down the hall. “My sister’s in town. We’re grabbing food. Thought you might wanna come.”

She blinked. “Why?”

He blinked right back. “Because you’ve barely eaten all day and you pace like a lunatic when you overthink.”

She stared at him. Quiet. Still.

Then: “Why do you keep doing this?”

His brow furrowed. “Doing what?”

She crossed her arms. Not angry. Just… tired.

“All of it. The tea in Australia. My sunglasses in Miami. The keyring. Silverstone. The way you stood up for me in Silverstone. The ice tea in Monza. Singapore noodles. Now this.”

He said nothing.

She stepped closer.

“You remember everything. You notice everything. You show up like you’ve got something to prove. So tell me, Oscar. What exactly are you trying to prove?”

Silence.

The hotel room was too quiet, just the buzz of a nearby light and the thrum of her heart.

He swallowed. Voice quiet.

“That you’re worthy of love.”

Her breath caught.

He looked at her then, really looked, eyes softer than she’d ever seen them, shoulders loose, like he’d been holding something for too long and was finally letting it drop.

“That day, in the media pen in Bahrain,” he said. “When you said you didn’t think you were made for it… I don’t know. It just stuck with me.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He kept going.

“Not because it was dramatic. You didn’t even say it like that. You just said it like it was true. Like it was fact. And I thought…” He paused. “I don’t know what kind of idiot made you believe that. But they were wrong.”

He stepped closer.

“You’re stubborn. And proud. And you act like you don’t need anyone, which is probably true most of the time. But you’re also… the kindest, most brilliant pain in the arse I’ve ever met.”

A breath. Then:

“And I guess I just wanted you to know you don’t have to go through this alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

Her throat was dry. She blinked once. Twice.

Then whispered, “You’re not very good at playing it cool, are you?”

He laughed — soft and low. “Not when it’s you.”

Oscar’s words had hit too hard, too deep. She couldn’t breathe properly now, couldn’t find her voice.

“Why do you think you’re not worthy?” he asked softly, the words almost lost in the air between them.

She looked at him then, eyes blurry and strained. There was so much she could say, but it was all knotted in her throat. His quiet intensity, the way he stood there with all that sincerity, it made it hard to keep up the walls.

“Because…” She paused, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “Because I’m a woman in motorsport, Oscar. And that’s hard enough on its own. The pressure to prove myself is enough without having to deal with all the other stuff.” She shook her head, her voice faltering. “People don't see me. They see the seat I’m in. They see the fact that I have to fight for everything. And sometimes... sometimes, it feels like it’s never going to be enough. Like I’ll never be enough.”

She was rambling now, the words spilling out faster than she could control. “I’m constantly proving I belong. I have to keep up with men who think they’re better by default. I’ve had to do more, be more, just to be seen as equal. And for what? So some guy can come in, wave a magic wand, and tell me I’m worthy of... what? Love?”

Her voice cracked at the last word.

The silence stretched between them. The tears that had been hanging just behind her eyes finally fell, one by one, streaking down her cheeks.

She felt weak. Like everything she’d fought to protect for years, her confidence, her strength, was slipping away with each tear that fell.

But Oscar... Oscar didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Instead, he took a step closer.

And then another.

She didn’t pull away.

He stopped right in front of her, barely an inch separating them now, the faint heat of his body seeping into hers.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Don’t you ever think that about yourself. You’re so much more than any of those idiots who don’t know what it’s like. You deserve love. Real love. Not the kind they pretend to give you because of your seat or because of how they see you. The kind that just… is. The kind that doesn’t expect anything in return.”

He reached up, his thumb brushing against her cheek, wiping away the tears that hadn’t even stopped falling yet.

Her breath hitched.

And then he did the most Oscar thing he could have done.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, the closeness stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Don’t let them tell you you’re anything less than worthy. Don’t let anyone make you think you’re broken because you’ve had to be stronger than anyone else. You’re whole. You’re worth it, always. And if it takes me showing you every day, I’ll do it. I’ll spend every day reminding you.”

Her heart was pounding now, so loud she couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears. She wanted to speak, but she couldn’t, the emotions were too raw, too intense. She could barely comprehend what he was saying, not through the haze of vulnerability that had opened up inside her.

He pulled back slightly, but not enough for their foreheads to part. His eyes were soft, searching hers for something. Maybe for permission. Maybe for the answers she hadn’t given yet.

And then, without warning, his lips were on hers.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was... slow. Gentle. His lips brushing against hers in a tender, tentative kiss. A kiss full of everything unsaid, of all the moments he had cared for her in silence, of all the things he’d done and felt that had built up to this point.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was him proving, finally, that he’d meant every word.

Her hands moved instinctively, reaching up to touch his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as the kiss deepened. She felt the warmth of his body, the gentle pressure of his lips, the quiet way he held her like he was afraid she might break if he wasn’t careful.

The tears didn’t stop falling, but they were different now. Not from pain, not from frustration, but from something else. Something soft and tender, like she could finally exhale after holding her breath for far too long.

When they finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, her forehead leaned against his again. His hands were on her face now, cupping her cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“See?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I told you. You’re worth it.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tight with everything she felt but couldn’t say.

Instead, she just nodded. “I never thought someone could love me for just… me. Not because I’m a driver. Not because of anything other than that.”

“You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always will be.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.

The kiss lingered in the air between them like a warm, unspoken promise. Neither of them moved. Neither of them needed to.

Her heart was still racing, but now there was a sense of calm, a quiet settling she hadn’t realised she needed until this very moment.

Oscar’s hands were still gently cupping her face, his thumbs brushing softly along her jawline as if he wanted to imprint the feel of her there in his memory. His gaze was soft but intense, still reading her like he’d always done. She could feel the weight of his words pressing against her, even now.

And she knew.

She knew that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment, a one-time gesture. This was something deeper. Something that had been building for a long time, maybe without either of them even realising it.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was just right.

But then Oscar’s phone buzzed.

It broke the stillness, and his gaze shifted, momentarily pulling away from hers.

He glanced down at his screen, his fingers swiping it unlocked before he tapped out a quick reply.

But she couldn’t help herself.

Her eyes drifted to the message on his phone, just barely catching a glimpse of the text that had popped up.

"Did you finally tell her?!"

Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. Her mind immediately started working overtime. Tell her? What did that mean?

She couldn’t stop herself. She leaned in just a little, trying to see if there was more.

Oscar noticed the shift in her attention, his thumb halting mid-type. He looked back up at her, eyes wary, lips pulling into a small, knowing smile.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes slightly guarded.

She frowned. “What was that about? ‘Did you finally tell her?’”

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, a small chuckle escaping him.

“Look, I —” He stopped, biting his lip as if trying to find the right words. “I didn’t exactly want you to find out like this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

His eyes flicked to the phone again, where the text from his sister still lingered on the screen.

“I’ve... kind of had a thing for you for a while, actually,” he said, his voice sheepish, like it was something that still surprised him. “And I guess, in a way, she’s been... waiting for me to actually do something about it.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed again, trying to process the words as they settled in.

“So, it wasn’t just me imagining all this?” she asked softly, her gaze searching his. “All the little things, it’s not because you wanted to prove a point but because you always liked me.”

He shook his head slowly, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile. “Nah. I’ve been a bit of an idiot, to be honest. She’s been telling me to just... tell you already. To stop being such a coward.”

Her eyes widened as she leaned back slightly, the weight of his confession landing on her.

“How long have you liked me then, Osc?” she asked, the words still foreign on her tongue.

He chuckled, eyes softening. “For a while now. Since we started racing against each other, actually. I just — I don’t know. You’ve always been so... independent. And I didn’t want to mess things up for you, you know? You’ve got enough on your plate without some guy making it more complicated.”

She could feel her chest tightening, her heart swelling with something she couldn’t quite name. “You really thought I wouldn’t want you? With all the times you’ve been there for me?”

He paused, his hand dropping, suddenly unsure. “I didn’t think I was the right kind of guy for you. You deserve someone who can... give you everything. And I didn’t know if I could.”

Her voice dropped to a soft whisper. “But you already have.”

He looked at her, a flicker of hope and disbelief in his eyes. “You mean it?”

She nodded slowly. “I do.”

A silence stretched between them once again. But this time, it was different. There was no more hesitation. No more fear.

She could feel the pull again. The one that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. And this time, she was ready to admit it.

“I never thought anyone could feel this way about me,” she whispered. “I always thought... I was too much. Too loud. Too stubborn. Too everything.”

Oscar’s hand reached out again, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “You’re not too much, love. You’re exactly what I’ve wanted.”

She met his eyes, and for the first time, it felt like the weight of everything — all the doubt, the fear, the loneliness — finally melted away.

His phone buzzed again, but this time, he didn’t even glance at it.

He just leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin.

“You’re so worthy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Before she could say anything, before she could process the feeling overwhelming her, his lips were on hers again. Slow, tender, and full of everything he had been holding back.

This time, the kiss wasn’t just an expression of everything that had been unsaid.

It was a promise. A promise that, for once, she didn’t have to prove herself. Not to him. Not to anyone.

She was enough.

He was more than willing to remind her of that, every single day.

And he did.

He reminded her every day.

Every morning when the sun crept through the hotel curtains, he was the first thing she saw, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reached out to pull her closer. Every time they woke up next to each other, whether in a hotel room after a race weekend or their small flat in Monaco in between races, Oscar was there. His hand in hers. His heart in his eyes.

There was no more second-guessing. No more wondering if she was enough. Because with him, she knew.

The world outside the bubble of their love kept moving, of course. The cars kept racing, the fans kept cheering, the pressure kept building. But with Oscar by her side, she felt like she could breathe. Like the weight of the world wasn’t too heavy to bear.

The year she got her promotion to Red Bull, she was already flying high with the confidence that came from the love she hadn’t known she needed.

She remembered how he’d been there, of course, always there. That morning, just before the announcement, she’d been pacing in her garage, waiting for the call. He had leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching her with that patient, steady smile of his.

“You’ve earned this,” he had said quietly. “You’ve always earned this.”

She hadn’t believed it then, not fully. Not until she got the call. Until she stood in the team office, her name printed on the top of the contract for next season.

Red Bull.

It felt surreal. But when she went to call Oscar, to share the news, he’d already been there, waiting on the other end of the line.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “This is just the beginning, love.”

And she knew, right then, that it was.

Because then, there was that moment. The one that everyone had been waiting for.

The moment she became the first woman to win the World Drivers’ Championship.

It wasn’t easy. It was never easy. The battle with the other teams, the constant questions, the doubts. But through it all, Oscar had been there. Through every late-night debrief, every race weekend, every difficult practice session where she didn’t think she could do it, he had been her quiet strength.

He wasn’t the loudest supporter. He didn’t shout in front of the media. But when it was just the two of them, when they were alone in their little world, he was her unwavering pillar.

After the final race of the season, when she crossed the line and knew it was done, she was overwhelmed by emotion. But when she looked out into the crowd, the first person she saw wasn’t her manager, her family, or her teammates. It was Oscar. Standing in the paddock, arms spread wide as if he had been waiting for this moment just as much as she had.

The podium ceremony was a blur, but when they met backstage, before the interviews and the flashing cameras, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“I told you,” he whispered into her ear. “I told you that you were worthy of everything. You just had to see it for yourself.”

She smiled, tears mixing with the sweat and champagne, and kissed him deeply, because no words could capture what they had between them. She knew he would never stop proving it, that she was worthy of all the love, all the victories, all the happiness in the world.

And he would keep proving it every day.

the end.

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[fandomizedtrash]

Unfinished Business

Remmick x reader

Ask and you shall receive! After almost 500(!) of you responded to my poll, I had to keep writing. Enjoy!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

word count: 3.2k

Summary: After your parent's were killed when you were just a child, a secluded life in the Mississippi Delta has been all you have know. But when you stumble upon a stranger whose presence draws you in against your better judgement, you end up with more than you bargained for.

Warning: violence, blood, death, dub con elements!

Growing up, the Mississippi Delta felt like the whole world. The endless blue skies, forests that went on forever, rolling fields as far the eye can see, it was all you knew. It was home. Home to you, your friends, your family, your laughter, and your tears.

As a child, hot summer days and home-cooked meals was all you could think about. But while your mind was preoccupied with the beauty of the Delta, you remain completely unaware of the darkness that lurked deep within the trees.

***

“Do it again”! You demanded your father, who as far as you were concered, a magician. 

He chuckled to himself as he began the trick again. 

“Look at my hands.” His fingers were spread out wide while he turned his wrist around to show that there was nothing there. Then he reached behind your ear and took out a small coin. 

You clapped giddily at the site. Being just 7 it amused you to no end. 

“Give your father a break y/n”. You are going to bore him.” Your mother said, poorly suppressing a smile at the site of your glee as she placed the steaming meal in the center of the table.

“How about you help your mother with dinner?” Your father suggested. You ran over to the kitchen and carefully grabbed the plates from your mother’s hands. As you placed them in their proper position, a knock was heard at the front door. 

It was unusual. Your family’s home was at the edge of town and 50 yards deep into the forest from the main path. Most people wouldn’t find it unless they strayed. 

“Stay put.” Your father warned you as he cautiously approached the door. You ran to your mothers side, nervous at the coming of this stranger. 

When your father opened the door, a tall man with dark hair and an almost uncanny wide smile greeted him. 

“Howdy sir, I hate to intrude on this lovely night but I need someone to help crank-start my automobile. Would you be so kind as to help?” Being in a small town, almost everyone knew everybody. And even if you didn’t, you would have at least seen their face at the store or walking down the street. Even at your young age, you could pick out everyone in town from a crowd of thousands. But this was a face you have never seen before, and it unnerved you to no end. While his smile remaind, you knew in your soul that it was not true. 

“It’s just down the road, it won’t take but a few minutes of your time.” For just a split second, you could have sworn the man’s eyes flashed a dark red color. But in an instant, it returned to their original icy color.  

You wanted your father to say no, to shut the door, and turn back to you and your mother so your perfect night could continue; but kindness was always something that was preached in your household.

“It’s no problem mister.” Your father turned his head back. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He shot you and your mother a smile before leaving with the strange man, closing the door behiind him. 

“Don’t you worry baby.” Your mother said coddling you. “Your father will be right back. Now how about some dinner?” Your mother served you some chicken and beans onto your plate, but just when you were about to bite in, an ear-piercing scream came from outside followed by what sounded like when the town's stray dogs bit into a carcass. 

You and your mother’s eyes shot up from the table to the front door as the screams continued. 

“You stay right here!” Your mother demanded as she went outside.

“Mommy no!” You tried to stop her. Whatever evil was happening to your father was sure to happen to her too. 

But it was no use, she ran out. 

You ran to the wall of the door being a chair. Hugging your knees to your chest in a desperate attempt to protect yourself. 

“NO!” you heard your mother scream. Right after, the awful tearing sound continued. followed by silence. 

By this point, your cheeks are completely damp from the tears you didn’t even realize you have been flowing. Who was this man? What did he want? Why did he come to your home?

“Come out little one.” The man yelled from outside. “I saw you earlier in your mother’s arms. I know you want to join them” he said, taunting you. His voice changed, from what it was before. Some sort of accent you have never heard before. 

“Come on y/n, we both know you can’t hide in there forever.” 

Your breath got caught in your throat. He knew your name. How, you didn’t know.

“Your parents were sure kind people.” He began. “It’s a pity that it turned out to be their undoing.” Suddenly, a fight lit inside you. Your feelings of fear and sadness were firmly swept away as anger started to course through your veins. 

You shot up from your huddled position behind the chair and ran to the front door. Whoever this man is, you were going to stop him with whatever you had in you. 

After swinging the door open, you froze in your spot. The darkness made it difficult for you to make everything out, but you saw enough. The man’s eyes glowed red and his clothes were damp with what could only be blood. 

“Hello sweetheart” The man started, standing several feet from your pourch. “You can call me Remmick.” You shut the door, unable to confront the monster that stood behind it. 

“Don’t you worry sweet thing. I’ll be back for you.” 

The next morning, you discovered that your parent’s bodies were gone. Not even a strand of hair remained, leaving you with nothing but memories. 

***

The years have come and gone and now you live in the middle of town working at a local apothocary shop. You have done your besst to suppress the painful memories of that fateful night. The blood, the screams. While you couldn’t escape the Delta, you could at least forget. 

After all these year’s of waiting for Remmick to come back, you started to believe that he may have forgotten about you, and that maybe a normal life is actually possible. The thought that you will never have to encounter this devil of a man again makes you feel relieved, but also angry. That the closure, the revenge you so desperately want will never happen. 

“Hello y/n, got any cough syrups?” Thomas, one of your regular’s came in shooting you a soft smile.

“Sure thing.” You went to the back to collect the bottles. 

“Mighty warm weather we are having aren’t we.” Thomas said as you were cashing him out at the register. 

“It’s always this warm in the Delta.” You teased. “Lord knows we could use some rain. I’d do anything to cool off.” 

“Well if you need some relief from this heat, I’m more than welcome to accompany you on a night’s walk. The sun finally sets and the night air is rather refreshing.” Thomas flashed his pearly whites at you as you handed him his change. Almost every time he comes to the shop he comes up with some new scheme to ask you on a date, and while he was certainly a charmer (and not bad looking either), you couldn’t find yourself taking him up on the offer. 

“Thank you, but I think I can manage this heat just fine.” 

“Whatever you say little lady. Have a nice day.” He tipped his hat and left the store, the belle ringing merrily on his way out. 

As the day was coming to a close, you finished locking up the shop. After storing away the aliments, soaps, herbs, and medicine in all their proper place, you locked the shop door. 

“Hello miss.” The voice of a stranger startled you as you dropped your keys. 

Bending down to pick them up, the stranger beat you to it. Standing up, a man with dark hair and deep blue eyes, held the keys in his hands.

“I believe these are yours.” He said with a small grin. 

The man placed his hand on top of your palm to return the keys for you to then place in your dress pocket. 

“Thank you sir.” You responded kindly, blushing at the brief touch of contact. Being a yong lady in a small town meant that if a man had the chance to firt with you, he would. But none were certainly as good-looking as him. 

“Locking up shop all by yourself? It ain’t safe for a little lady like you to wander around after dark.” While he spoke with an air of caution, it came off more like a threat.  

You smiled at his sentiment, Living alone, you were no fool to the dangers the Delta held, but you’ve learned how to grow thick skin.

“I promise you sir, I can handle myself just fine.” You rolled your shoulders back and straightened your spine as a puny attempt to show you are stronger than you look. 

“Oh I have no doubt about that.” The man said, taking a few steps forward. 

You stood firm in your ground as he approached you. Maybe you would’ve backed down before, but there was something in the air that night that told you to stay against your better judgement. He soon stood close enought in front of you that if you reached your arm out you could touch his chest.

“Is there something I can help you with, mister?” You uttered carefully, daring yourself to take another step closer. He was attractive, no doubt about it, but it was often the things most gratifying to the eye that ended up being the most dangerous. Even so, your practical side wasn’t the one pulling the ropes. 

“Help me?” He spoke, brows raised. “A tempting offer, but I think I’m here to help you.” His voice became low and daring. “A lady like you shouldn’t be out all by herself, you never know what you may run into in the Delta.” 

“Believe me sir, no one knows that better than me.”

“Aren’t you a firey one.” He said while cocking his head to the side. “May I have the pleasure to escort you home?” You considered his offer. Any other young woman would have sprung at the chance for a nighttime stoll with a handsome mysterious stranger. However, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

“I think I can handle myself just fine.” Spoken firmly and final. 

“Then I hope you’ll grace me with your presence some other night.”

“Maybe.” You cast your eyes down playfully, unresisting a smirk. “Only if the Delta’s dangers don't get to me first”. 

The man let out a short laugh at your cheeky response. “Believe me miss, I wouldn’t let them get to you even if they tried.” The reply was strange, nevertheless, you let it pass.

“And does this gentleman have a name?” You asked, wanting to leave with at least something to remember him by. 

“Let’s not be hasty now. All good things come with time.” Even more odd. 

Any girl growing up in these parts knew when something, or someone was trouble. Even so, like a moth to a flame, you didn’t turn away. 

“Well you have a good night mister. You know where to find me if you need anything .” You turned on your heel and strod off. 

“Don’t you worry miss, you already gave me everything I need.” You turned around to respond, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen. 

Odd.

Your walk home faced no difficulties. Nonetheless, you kept turning your head every minute, unable to shake the feeling you were being followed. 

***

The next day came and went with no signs of the mystery man from before. As did the next day, and the day after that. Eventually, it got to a point where you started to believe that your loneliness… and your desire, was starting to make you hallucinate. 

Just when you thought that the stranger was nothing more than a figment of your imagination, you ran into him once more. 

“Well if it isn't my pretty little lady.” You were on your way home from work, just reaching the town's edge. 

The man’s steps were loose and unhurried, salvaging the encounter. 

“Good evening sir.” You answered politely. “I take it everything is alright with you?”

“Oh everything just became perfect right about now.” The stranger has haunted your thoughts for long enough, you deemed. It’s about time for your mind to be brought to ease. 

“You aren’t from the Delta are you?” you challenged. 

“What gave it away?”

“You get used to seeing the same faces after a while down in these parts. So where are you from.”

“A place far more ancient than you can imagine.” You scoffed at the answer. Who did this man think he was? This was not your first time dealing with disagreeable folk, and certainly not you last.

Your interrogation continued, “And what brings you to this part of the country?” The question brought a smile to his face. You knew you were dancing with the devil, but at this point in this deadly waltz, you had no longing to stop. 

“I guess you could call it unfinished business.” The answer didn’t sit right with you one bit. 

“And what would that be?” You’ve seen his expression before when you encountered hunters in the forest, one who’s prey fell right in their trap.

“Many years ago I came across this wee little thing in the woods. Before, I wanted her for… well let’s just say other purposes. But now, after seeing her again, I’ve changed my mind. I want her for something completely different.” His answer sent a chill up your spine. 

He started to approach you slowly. “Come on y/n, don’t you remember me at all?” Your heart rate spiked up and your breaths became frantic. 

“No.” It came out barely about a whisper. The memories of that fateful night, the one you have tried so desperately to forget started to break its way back in. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to hurt you, at least permanently.” He laughed at his own joke. “All these years, and I couldn’t have imagined the pretty thing you would turn into.” And then, there it was, the flash of red. As he came closer, your survival instincts finally kicked in and you ran as fast as your legs could take you. 

Your house wasn't too far, but you have never been much of a runner, and who knows what he, what Remmick, is capable of.

“There is no point in making this hard.” You heard him say behind you, speaking like a parent trying to make a stubborn child eat their veggies. 

You didn’t dare to look back. All you could think of was getting home. And soon enough, there it was, your four walled sanctuary. 

By some miracle, you made it past the pourch and into the home, placing you back against the wall of the door. You waited a moment to let your breathing die down. But your moment of relief only lasted just that.

“You can pretend all you want, but I could smell how badly you want it.” His southern facade has vanished into that foreign sound you heard before. “It is just in your luck that I can give it to you.”

You paid his words no mind. Shutting your eyes tight, you prayed to whatever God there was to make this devil disappear. 

“I have to say, I feel a little dissapointed. Before you were a child, but I guess you were too weak then and too weak now.” And just like that, your eyes shot open. The fear inside you was replaced with pure rage. You knew enough folklore to know what he was, know his weakness. Grabing the silver kitchen knife, you ran outside screaming. 

Remmick didn’t stand too far from the enterance of your house, and in an instant, you stabbed the knife to the upper left side of his chest. You stepped back after your attack, expecting this to be the end of it.

All it seemed to do was irritate him. 

After he stumnled a few steps back, he pulled the knife slowly out of his torso and threw it aside. 

“I knew you were going to take some convincing but you sure do know how to put up a good fight.” He sounded almost amused. 

You stood paralyzed. Your only weapon now proving useless. In a flash, Remmick ran towards you, hand around your throat as the other pulled you close to him.

You let out a scream before he placed his hand over your mouth

“Shhh, we both know that won’t save you now.” Your eyes started to brim with tears. Whatever dark plan he has instored for you couldn’t be good. 

“There is no need to be scared. I’m about to give you everything you could ever want.” Your fear turned into confusion, and soon enough, his lips were on yours. He kissed with longing, with need. Like it was something he was waiting to do for a very, very long time. For all you knew he was. 

As the kiss deepened, he started to touch you in an area that in these parts was reserved for your husband, certainly not him. You couldn’t resist letting out a soft moan. It was hard to remeber the last time you have gotten such pleasure. 

“There we go.” Remmick whisphered in your ear. Slowly, his mouth widened to reveal his fangs. Once your eyes opened, you remembered exactly what you were doing, and exactly who it was with. 

You pushed yourself out of his grasp. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” You fell to the ground, picking up the discared kitchen knife and holding it in boith hands, pointing it towards him.

Remmick let out an exasperated sigh. "Just when I thought I had you, you had to act up.” 

Your hands trembled while clutching the knife. He won’t get me. He won’t. 

The devil in disguise took four long strides towards you before standing over you looking like he just caught your hand in the cookie jar. 

He crouched down slowly, taking the knife from your grasp steadily as you sat powerless to fight. 

He ran his finger up and down against your cheek. For a beginning as ancient as him, his touch was softer than expected. 

“You’re perfect.” He stated. 

Just like that, not wasting a moment of time, his fangs pierced their way into your neck. 

You let out a scream, but soon, the initial pain started to fade, and in its place was something wonderful, something blisful. 

After Remmick pulled away, you looked at him and felt everything he was feeling. His love, his hurt, his desire. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You smiled foolishly at him. How could you have been so disagreeable before, when right here, right now, was the man who would give you everything.

@spikedfearn

[my-castles-crumbling]

man - may 25 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 512

“Marlene asked me if I was gay today.”

Regulus almost choked on his own spit. It’d been weeks of this….thing, this strange friendship, with James Potter, and he suspected he would never get used to the other boy’s open way of speaking. “What did you say?” he asked after he got proper working use of his mouth again.

“Said I didn’t know. I’ve never kissed a boy before, have I?” James said casually, walking along beside Regulus as they completed Prefect Rounds.

Suddenly, Regulus couldn’t breathe properly. What was he supposed to say to that? Certainly, screaming aloud that he would happily volunteer wasn’t a friend thing to do. But the sad truth of it was that he’d been disgustingly obsessed with the annoying enigma that was James Potter for months. Years, if he was ready to admit it. Which he wasn’t. He decided to go with a different answer. “It’s different than kissing girls,” he said vaguely, avoiding eye contact. 

“Oh? You’ve kissed boys?” James asked, his footsteps slowing.

Fuck. He’d figured the older boy knew. “Erm. Yeah. It’s…I’m gay,” he nodded, wanting to sink into the ground.

“Maybe you can show me, then? How to kiss a bloke?”

Oh, this was a dream. It had to be. Because on the one hand, it was everything Regulus had ever wanted–kissing the boy he’d pined after for ages. But on the other…to be able to kiss James only to be told that no, he didn’t like boys like that. Or worse, that he liked boys, but not Regulus…Salazar, that would kill him.

But he’s never been good at making great choices, so he spoke without thinking. “I could,” he murmured, keeping his voice aloof, heart in his throat.

How had he ended up with his back against the wall? How had he hot realized how much taller than him James was? How was it that their lips hadn’t even touched yet, but he was already reeling? All he knew was that suddenly, James was almost pressed against him, his mouth just centimeters away, and Regulus wanted to drown in him.

He told himself to keep control.

He forgot as soon as their lips touched.

Gasping, his hands moved of their own accord to grab James’s curls, his back arching and his feet rising on tiptoe to get a better angle as James, who seemed just as eager as he was, licked into his mouth almost immediately, swallowing his noises.

His head was swimming in the best way, his body on fire, his every nerve a live wire, something warm and honey-like pooling in his stomach when James let out a low groan and pressed forward. Fuck, and he tasted so fucking good.

After several seconds, James pulled back, looking nothing less than dazed. 

Regulus regained enough sense to lower his hands and try to calm his gasping breaths. “How–what d’you think?” he asked, trying to be casual about it, even as his whole body sang.

“Yes. Yes, I like men. You specifically,” James mumbled, wide-eyed, before pulling Regulus toward him again.

[organic-bloodbath]

hello! could I request literally anything w chishiya x pregnant!reader? maybe how he (and the rest of the group) would take care of reader during and in between games? thank you sm!

Child of Hearts

Chishiya x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Chishiya takes care of you after you two have been separated from the rest of your friends.

A/N: Please request me more Chishiya i need this man so bad. I hope this is alright 🫶🏻 (mind you, i have never been pregnant myself so i might not know what the hell i'm talking about)

Part 2

♤♡♧◇

Running away from a man shooting every person in sight with a huge rifle was a big challenge when you were 7 months pregnant. You didn't know what the gun was called, but when the bullet hit its target, it would basically cut your body in half. Hiding behind a car would be useless, as the car would be in pieces as well.

Running fast enough was already difficult, almost impossible, but your heavy stomach, bearing another human being, was making it a lot harder. It didn't take long to be out of breath and your legs were going to betray you any moment. Chishiya's hand was pulling you forward and you could barely keep up. He would soon have to drag your body against the ground, and then you'd both be dead.

This was it. You had played several games, somehow been able to beat them all with the help of your friends, which was a miracle itself. Especially without Arisu, Usagi, Kuina and Chishiya you would have died ages ago.

Before your pregnancy, you had been quite a fast runner and could run fast for a long period of time. Now? The total opposite.

Finally, you could sit down on the ground, leaning against a car. You had to only hope that the shooter had passed you and wasn't going to blow it up.

"You doing okay?" Chishiya looked at you with concern when you closed your eyes and threw your head back, breathing loudly.

"Yeah, yeah, i'm fine," you nodded, barely being able to talk. "Just can't run anymore."

Seeing a massive airship floating in the sky almost right above you, a large playing card hanging from it, you finally came into a conclusion what was going on.

"Well, he must be the King of Spades," Chishiya said next to you, leaning against the car.

Absolutely amazing - now the entire Tokyo was a game arena?

The shooting had stopped for a moment, but the shooter – or more specifically the King, should you call him – could come out from any corner at any second, surprising you completely.

Ann arrived with a car, telling all of you to hop in. However, Chishiya was left behind, because of a grenade that had been thrown between him and the car.

As were you with him.

♤♡♧◇

The others were gone now, driven away with the car. You and Chishiya were left alone to find a way to survive on your own. You were relieved to have Chishiya with you, he was extremely smart and knew how to survive different situations.

Previously many of your teammates had helped you, but now it was just the two of you. For a second you were slightly afraid that taking care of you alone would become too much to Chishiya if the King of Spades found you out of all people and started chasing you. You could tell that running with you was challenging to him.

You were starving, not remembering when was the last time you got proper food, and eventually found a small grocery store which windows had been shattered.

Chishiya started browsing for food while you waited, leaning against the counter. Soon, he came back with the most suitable and edible food he could find in this situation.

"Cash or credit?"

"Aren't you a little too pregnant to be working?"

"Don't underestimate me, Doctor Shuntaro," you teased him.

You pretended to scan each item like you had worked here for years.

"Thank you for shopping with us, please come again," you said with your best customer service voice.

"You definitely deserve the best worker of the month award," he praised you, almost impressed, and clapped his hands a few times.

"Finally someone gives my work credit," you said, hand on your chest.

There was a small table and two chairs by the window. You and Chishiya dragged them away from the window, so you could sit down in the back of the room and not be seen to anyone possibly walking past the store.

"Here you go," Chishiya said and offered you food and a plastic fork, along with a bottle of water, as you sat down. "It's not much but it's the best i got now without any electricity to heat it up."

"Thank you," you said quietly.

You ate in comfortable silence. You hadn't realized how dizzy you had started to feel after all the running and having not eaten or drank water in hours.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Chishiya asked when he was finished with his meal and put his hand gently on yours, looking concerned.

"Yeah, i'm fine," you mumbled and stretched a little. "My back just hurts."

"Let's take a break and lay down for a while, okay?"

"But shouldn't we stay on the move? The King of Spades might come back and-"

"We'll be safe enough here for a while. Take a short nap, i'll keep an eye on the surroundings," he insisted. "You need more rest than me."

You were sleepy, so you weren't going to resist too much. You hadn't slept properly in a while.

Chishiya watched you sleep on your left side, your head on his lap to use as a pillow. You clinged on his leg with both of your arms, and he gently brushed your hair with his fingers to soothe you to sleep.

You were so beautiful, and he knew that he didn't say it to you often enough - as often as you would have deserved.

Chishiya was terrified every second of being in this world, having to play the games with you on his side. He wasn't afraid of many things, but you? If he lost you, he'd also lose your baby. His unborn child. And that was easily his biggest fear.

You had been in a relationship together for the past three years, and the pregnancy hadn't been planned, at all. Chishiya wasn't sure if he would ever want children, and when you told him that you were pregnant, he didn't know what to think. But it didn't take him too long to get used to the idea of becoming a father. And having you as the mother was everything he could have wished for.

You, however, hadn't considered becoming a mother at this age and had cried in the bathroom for an hour after seeing the two lines on the pregnancy test. Now, as the months had passed, you had gotten used to the idea of having a child and were more ready with Chishiya's constant support, who you loved and trusted with all your heart.

You just had to finish the rest of the games and hopefully, you could then return home - before you'd start delivering the baby.

♤♡♧◇

You entered a new game with Chishiya inside an old prison.

Jack of Hearts - Solitary confinement.

This was absolutely the ideal game for you, since all you could do was just chill and sit around until it was time to go into your little prison cell to announce the correct symbol on the back of your collar. And for that, you had Chishiya revealing it for you. As long as Chishiya was there for you, you had nothing to worry about.

People formed groups, telling each other everyone's symbols, so other people could confirm they were telling the truth.

"Hi," a girl in a blue dress greeted with an eager smile, approaching you. "Want to join our group?"

You glanced at Chishiya, unsure, but nodded your head.

"Sure, why not," you shrugged. Mom always told you to try and be more social.

Slowly, as the rounds went by, people started to lie and betray each other, which ended up more and more people being eliminated. This was a Heart's game, after all, it was supposed to mess with both your head and heart.

"Listen, let me worry about the game, you just remember your symbol and rest, okay?" Chishiya had said earlier, giving your hand a squeeze.

Chishiya had been eyeing the other people and trying to study any hints that could lead him to reveal someone as the Jack of Hearts. He hadn't told you much about his thoughts, probably still trying to decide his opinions on the players.

Right now, you sat at the table, looking towards the group which was sharing their symbols with each other. It was like watching a high school drama all over again, except now people were getting killed.

"Here," Chishiya said, sitting next you, and laid food on the table in front of you. "You need to eat."

He had grabbed two different kinds of crackers, a bottle of water, some orange juice, and a can of soup.

"I just did, i'm fine," you tried to refuse, even though you knew you could have eaten a little bit more. Chishiya just stared at you with no expression on his face.

"Yes, but you need to eat more, since you're eating for two," he insisted and wasn't having a 'no' for an answer.

You rolled your eyes, and he noticed it, giving you a look.

"Fine, fine, Doctor Shuntaro," you smirked.

After you had finished eating, you went to the bathroom again - you were sure you'd have to pee every hour. Washing your hands and your face, you heard someone arriving to the bathroom.

"Hello," a young girl greeted you nervously, taking careful steps towards you. "Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me the symbol on my collar? I don't really trust my group anymore and, well, you seem nice."

"Um, sure," you mumbled and looked at the girl's symbol. "It's a diamond."

"You sure?"

"I have fully functional eyes."

"Thank you so much," the girl said, giving you an excited smile.

You didn't bother to include yourself in that drama club and lie for no proper reason, you had decided to keep your distance to them since you didn't need help with your symbol. You doubted any of them would be the Jack, but who knew - the Jack could be a girl too, after all. If they started manipulating and lying to each other, that was on them.

A few more rounds passed, and you were starting to become really sleepy. By now you had been at the prison for 8 hours and you had no idea how much longer all this would take. Chishiya had been feeding you crackers and other snacks almost every hour, now that you had food available a lot easier.

You wondered if your friends were alright, though you knew all of them were strong and if they had survived this far, they must be able to handle anything. Still, of course you couldn't help but to worry.

You walked around the place and tried to search for a corner to take a quick nap, there was 36 minutes left until you had to go back to your cell.

Then, you had to stop walking when you felt sudden pain and pressure on your stomach. You let out a loud gasp, startling any few people nearby and make them look at you. You leaned against the nearest wall, so you wouldn't fall on the floor.

No, no, no, no. You weren't going to start delivering your baby a month or two early. Especially in the middle of the game where there was a time limit and a chance to be killed. Of course they wouldn't stop the game for a moment if there was a woman on labour.

Chishiya had heard you and instantly ran towards you. His eyes widened when you were holding your stomach in pain.

"Y/N? What's happening?" Chishiya asked, trying to hide his panic so you wouldn't start to freak out even more.

"I-I don't know," you mumbled and truly started to panic. "It just hurts. I don't know. Oh my god, Chishiya, I-"

"Okay, calm down. You're having contractions, it doesn't necessarily mean the baby's coming, okay?" he tried to reassure you, his hand on your cheek. "Look at me. Just breathe, take a deep breath."

You did as he told, taking deep breaths and squeezing Chishiya's hand every time the waves of pain took hold of your stomach. If this hurt, you didn't want to know how much it hurt to push the baby out of you - your pain tolerance was extremely poor.

"I can't do this, any of this, i'm-"

"Yes, you can, darling," Chishiya said softly.

After some time, it stopped. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, for the next twenty minutes, Chishiya holding your hand the entire time and gently rubbing your back.

"See? Everything's fine," he said calmly and put his arm around you, keeping you close against him.

"You know," you started, eyes starting to water. "I haven't felt any movements from the baby in a few days. What if something's wrong?"

"Listen," Chishiya said. "Contractions are normal, even when the baby won't come yet. The baby might not move every day, it's normal. You'll just have to stay calm and try to avoid too much stress. And i know that's a lot to ask for in our current situation."

You nodded, unsure, but trying to believe his words as well as possible. He was a doctor after all, right?

"Next round, we'll get you a place to sleep for a moment," Chishiya promised. There was 9 minutes left to announce your symbols.

"You know, when the baby will be born, we'll have a lot more different story on how the pregnancy went than other expecting mothers," you chuckled. "Like, not many moms can say that they've run away from a shooter while being on their third trimester of their pregnancy."

Chishiya smiled. "Or spent a day in a prison with no actual guards around."

An older man walked past you, still sitting on the floor, leaning against Chishiya.

"My God. Are you okay? How on earth have you survived this far being pregnant like that?" he asked in shock, surely seen the scene just a moment ago.

"Well, i've had a lot of help," you shrugged.

You had been used to people commenting on your pregnancy. Every time you met someone knew, they just stared at your stomach for too long, feeling bad for you and considering you the weakest player of the group. You stood out from the rest of the people around, it was understandable. At first it had bothered you, but now you were so tired of it you just felt numb.

Arriving to the Beach for the first time, the entire pool party had quieted down for a moment when people saw you.

"Here, it is required to only wear a swimsuit," they had announced, but looking at you, they let you wear more clothes. Thank god for that. You weren't exactly very fond of showing off your stretch marks and everything. You had been given shorts and an oversized t-shirt - it was the same shirt you still had on.

In the end of the current game, only four people came out from the cells alive, after the Jack had guessed the wrong symbol, and left the prison, two of them you and Chishiya. It had been the first game where you could have actually relaxed and sat back for a while.

If there had been a proper bed, you wouldn't have minded to stay a bit longer too.

"So, what now?" you asked.

"We'll try to find a place to spend the night."

It was becoming the night and you had been walking almost half an hour on the streets, trying to find a good place to hide and sleep.

You found a small hostel, completely abandoned and empty, and found your way into one of the rooms. The door was locked, but Chishiya could easily pick the lock open. You were able to sleep on a real bed again, you could have started crying from even the thought of it. The sheets weren't fresh at all and the blanket was really thin, but you couldn't complain.

You laid yourself on the bed, it felt so good to feel an actual mattress and a pillow under you, you felt like your body could melt there like a cotton candy in water. Chishiya came to lay down next to you after removing his shirt, warming you better with his bare skin. He cupped your cheek and pulled you in a sweet kiss.

Suddenly, you winced when you felt a kick inside your stomach. Chishiya immediately sat up, concerned.

"What's wrong? Did the contractions start again?"

You grabbed his hand and put it on your stomach, trying the correct spot to find any movements, and when he felt a kick right against his hand, he flinched and a smile spread on his lips.

You started laughing, with a few tears of relief and happiness, and he laughed a little too.

"We'll be alright," Chishiya whispered. He hugged you and kissed your forehead.

"I hope so," you said quietly.

"I love you," he whispered and looked you deep into your eyes. "You know that, right?"

"Are you saying that in case the King of Spades comes to shoot us in our sleep?" you teased. "Honestly, that would definitely be cheating."

"I doubt he's going to find us here," he assured you and pressed a kiss on your hair. "Good night."

"Good night," you answered and turned on your side. Chishiya's arm wrapped around your stomach, pulling you against his chest.

[ivyues]

1 Month, 1.000 Jokes ⋅ Seungmin

To Seungmin, you being slightly older was never a big deal.

Seungmin sat on the couch, his phone in hand as he scrolled through an online store. Around him, the other members of Stray Kids lounged lazily, some playing games, others chatting about their latest schedules.

He had been thinking about your upcoming birthday for weeks now, running through ideas in his head, but he wanted a second opinion.

“Hey, what do you guys think about this necklace?" he asked, tilting his phone towards Changbin and Felix.

Felix leaned in, inspecting the delicate pendant. "Looks nice. Who’s it for?"

"Y/N."

A few heads turned at that, and suddenly, Seungmin had the full attention of his members.

"Ooooh, a gift for your girlfriend," Hyunjin teased, grinning. "Why? Is it your anniversary or something?"

"No, her birthday is coming up in a few weeks," Seungmin replied absentmindedly, still browsing different styles.

There was a brief silence before Changbin’s head snapped up. "Wait… your own birthday isn’t until next month."

"Yeah, so?" Seungmin frowned, confused.

I.N let out a dramatic gasp. "That means she’s older than you!"

Seungmin blinked. "By a month."

A beat of silence.

"So she's older than you?!" Han suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening in pure amusement. "You're dating an older woman?!"

Seungmin rolled his eyes as the dorm erupted into laughter. "Han, she's literally one month older."

"Still counts!" Chan chimed in, his dimples showing as he laughed. "Our little Seungminnie is dating a noona. So mature of you, mate."

Seungmin rolled his eyes. "You're all acting like she's ten years older than me. It’s literally just a month."

Chan was still chuckling when Seungmin turned to him with a smirk. "And if she’s so much older than me, then what does that make you? Ancient?"

The room exploded into laughter again, with Chan dramatically clutching his chest as if he had been personally attacked.

“Oi, leave Chan out of this,” Hyunjin wheezed, wiping away a tear. “He’s already struggling with his back pain these days.”

Chan huffed. “I do not have back pain—”

“Bro, you literally complained about it this morning,” Han pointed out, grinning.

Changbin smirked, crossing his arms. "But, Seungmin, an older woman? Didn’t think you had that in you."

Seungmin squinted at him. "What is that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, Changbin just chuckled, nudging him with his elbow.

Seungmin sighed, shaking his head. He had expected a simple yes or no about the necklace, not an entire joking spree about the age difference between him and his girlfriend.

“Alright, alright, can we focus?” he huffed, waving his phone in the air. “I’m trying to pick a gift here, not debate a non-existing age gap.”

Felix leaned in, finally taking a proper look at the screen. “Fine, fine. But go for silver, it suits her better.”

Seungmin hummed, nodding. Finally, some real input.

-----

A few days later, you arrived at the dorm to pick Seungmin up for your date. As soon as he opened the door, it began.

"Oh? Look who's here," Han called over his shoulder. "Seungmin, your noona is here to take you on a date!"

Felix leaned against the kitchen doorframe, grinning. "Did you at least say please when you asked her to come get you?"

Seungmin rolled his eyes as he pulled on his jacket. "First of all, she offered. Second of all, it's just convenient. Would you rather have me make her wait while I try to figure out a bus schedule?"

The members snickered, clearly enjoying how defensive he was getting. Hyunjin smirked. "Just admit it, Seungmin. You’re spoiled."

"Yeah, yeah," Seungmin muttered, stepping out and shutting the door behind him before they could throw any more comments his way.

When Seungmin stepped outside, the teasing still echoed from behind the door.

You let out a small, slightly awkward laugh, shaking your head as you started walking together. The members had always been like this – playful, relentless – but tonight, for some reason, their words lingered a little longer than usual.

Seungmin took your hand in his, his grip warm and familiar. You weren’t really insecure about the age gap – at least, not in a way that made you doubt your relationship – but you had always been aware of it. Ever since you started dating, it had just… been there, in the back of your mind that you are older after all.

Seungmin must have noticed your silence because he glanced at you. "Do you want me to tell them to stop?" he asked sincerely. "I will if it bothers you."

You hesitated for a second before shaking your head. "You don’t have to. I know they don't mean any harm by it."

Seungmin studied you for a moment, his gaze gentle. Then, with a small smirk, he leaned in and murmured, "Next time they bring it up, I’ll remind them that I at least have a girlfriend."

That made you laugh, the uneasiness fading just a little. "That should shut them up."

"Exactly," Seungmin grinned. Then, his expression softened. "But seriously, if it ever really bothers you, just tell me, okay? You being older than me doesn’t matter – it never has."

You looked at him, warmth flooding your chest at how easily he said it. "I know," you said, though your voice was quieter this time. "It’s just... I guess sometimes I worry it’ll always be a thing people joke about."

Seungmin’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, reassuring. "Let them joke," he said firmly. "I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either."

After a short silence, he smirked. "Now let’s go before they start yelling more nonsense through the door."

masterlist

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

don't lie to me

part I — part II — part III

pairing: boyfriend's!dad!ben x girlfriend!reader

content warning/s & word count: ben being his own warning, forbidden relationship, power imbalance, dubious morality, age gap, language, toxic relationship, heartbreak, smut (dirty talk, fingering, clitoral stimulation, squirting, oral, p in v, marking, biting kinda, degradation, gentle humiliation), minor guilt, sneaking around, I think that's it. 6.4k

The sheets were still warm where he'd left you.

You shifted slowly, the ache between your thighs blooming all over again the second you moved. It wasn’t pain, not really. It was heat. Stretch. Residual slickness clinging to skin that hadn’t even had a chance to cool. You could still feel the dull throb of his last thrust, the lazy weight of his mouth on your shoulder, the way he’d sighed after whispering that he wanted it to stay in you.

Now he was gone, and the room felt louder without him—too bright, too still, too aware of the mess you'd both made.

You rolled onto your back, exhaling sharply through your nose as you winced at the feeling of slickness gathering again between your thighs. It was leaking out of you. Still. Hours later. As if your body couldn’t quite let go of him. As if it didn’t want to.

The sounds downstairs were soft at first. The creak of old floorboards. The whistle of the kettle. Then—

His voice.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

Your whole body jolted.

Ben leaned against the doorframe, bare-chested, coffee in hand, sweatpants slung low on his hips. Hair wild. That slow, satisfied grin tugging at his mouth like he hadn’t just ruined you in a dozen different ways. Like this was all normal now. Like you were his.

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” he said, voice low and rough. “Looked too pretty all curled up like that.”

You pulled the sheet tighter around yourself, heart skittering in your chest. The words were so casual. So offhanded. Like you were just his girl, and he was just your man, and last night hadn’t been a war waged on everything you used to be.

“I made coffee,” he continued. “Bacon’s on. You hungry?”

You hesitated. Opened your mouth. Closed it. Then nodded, eyes downcast.

He smirked.

“Thought so. After the stuffin’ I gave you last night, I figure you earned a proper breakfast.”

Your cheeks burned so hot you could feel it down your neck. He knew what he was doing. The way he said it—like it was sweet. Like it was a compliment. Like he hadn’t been balls-deep in you not twelve hours ago, making you sob his name into the mattress.

“I don’t want to eat with Jamie,” you said quietly, almost a whisper.

Ben’s mouth twisted.

“Ah, fuck that little prick,” he muttered. “He’s lucky I didn’t knock his teeth out after that stunt yesterday. Don’t worry about him. He can eat his dry-ass cereal in silence. I’m cookin’ for you.”

Then, softer, eyes dragging down your bare shoulders. “Go get dressed, baby. I’ll keep him busy.”

And just like that, he was gone. No kiss. No I’ll see you downstairs. Just those broad shoulders disappearing down the hall, like it was already settled. Like this was your house now.

You sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding. Then—movement. You scrambled out of bed, legs unsteady, the sheet tangling around your ankles as you made your way to the door, every step making that dull ache inside you pulse again.

The house was quiet except for the kitchen. You could hear the low rumble of Ben’s voice from down the stairs. His tone was light. Teasing. The kind of tone he’d used last night when he’d kissed the inside of your thigh and said, "bet Jamie never even touched you here, huh?"

Your chest tightened.

You padded down the stairs as quietly as you could, toes brushing cool wood, hair a mess around your face. The hallway was empty. You ducked into the downstairs guest room, rummaged through your bag for something clean. A sundress. Light and soft and floral—something innocent to wrap around all the filth still clinging to your skin.

You pulled it on quick, no underwear. Not after last night. You couldn’t even imagine trying to get panties on over this much slick. Your thighs would stick together. You’d feel him all day. You already did.

You were halfway back to the hall when you saw it.

Your top. Crumpled on the floor beside the living room sofa, like a forgotten warning. You squeaked—literally squeaked—and lunged for it, snatching it up with shaking fingers. It smelled like sex. Like sweat and his cologne and everything you shouldn’t have done.

You stuffed it into your bag.

The voices from the kitchen drifted louder now, Ben laughing at something Jamie said. Your breath hitched.

“She’s got better taste than you ever deserved,” Ben said, voice smooth as whiskey.

You didn’t breathe.

Not until you were pressed flat to the wall just outside the kitchen, bag clutched tight, your entire body trembling with the weight of what you’d just heard.

And what he really meant.

You stepped into the kitchen like a girl stepping into a bear trap—slow, silent, a little breathless. The sundress felt too light on your skin. Too floaty, too innocent, like it didn’t belong in this house anymore. Not after what you'd done.

Ben was at the stove, back turned, spatula in one hand, the morning paper folded neatly on the counter beside him. He didn’t look at you. Not yet. But you saw the way his shoulders straightened when he heard your footsteps. The way his voice didn’t lift in greeting—just deepened slightly, like he was already bracing to go to war for you again.

And then Jamie looked up.

He was hunched at the table in yesterday’s hoodie, spoon limp in his cereal bowl, eyes puffy from lack of sleep or regret or whatever brand of self-loathing he pretended not to feel these days. When he saw you—really saw you—his entire face twisted.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snapped.

You flinched.

But before you could even open your mouth, Ben turned and launched the spatula across the room.

It clattered off the fridge with a sharp crack, making Jamie jolt like he'd been shot.

“Watch your fuckin’ tone,” Ben growled, low and lethal. “She stayed in the guest room after the shit you pulled. You’re lucky I didn’t tell her to pack your crap instead.”

Jamie flushed hard, colour crawling up his neck like shame. He stared into his cereal, suddenly very interested in his off-brand cornflakes, mumbling something you couldn’t make out under his breath.

Ben didn’t push. He just moved to the table, pulled a chair out—your chair—and nodded toward it.

“Sit,” he said, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t laced with everything he’d done to you. “How d’you take your coffee?”

You sat, heartbeat stammering. “Um… milk. No sugar.”

He nodded once, poured, slid the mug toward you with quiet ease.

Then he set a plate down in front of you—bacon, eggs, a slice of toast, all still steaming.

“You need to eat,” he muttered. “Don’t want you faintin’ in my house.”

He finally looked at you then—really looked at you—and it was too much. There was heat in it. Pride. That same dark satisfaction he’d worn last night when he was fucking you through the mattress, whispering about filling you up. But now? It was wrapped in domesticity. In routine. In the illusion of normalcy.

To anyone else, it would’ve looked like nothing.

But to you?

It felt like a hand on your throat.

Ben took the seat between you and Jamie, unfolded his paper like he hadn’t just threatened his son with a kitchen utensil, and bit into a strip of bacon.

Silence stretched.

Jamie shifted. “So…” he started, eyes flicking toward you. “Can we talk, or…”

You didn’t even look at him. Just picked up your fork, poked at your eggs.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Jamie scoffed. “Seriously?”

You turned your head, slow and deliberate.

“You broke up with me,” you said, voice steady. “While you were in another girl’s car. I could hear her laughing. You didn’t even have the decency to wait until you were alone. So no—I don’t want to hear whatever half-assed excuse you’ve got lined up.”

There was a beat of stillness. Then the soft crinkle of newspaper.

You glanced at Ben.

He wasn’t looking at either of you—just scanning the news, chewing his bacon—but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk that made your stomach twist. Like he was proud of you. Like this whole exchange had been a test you’d just passed with flying colors.

Jamie was still staring.

“Dad?” He said, flat and wary. “Why is she still here?”

Ben didn’t look up.

“‘Cause she’s been keepin’ me company lately.”

That made Jamie pause.

Ben flipped a page, folded it over, finally looked at his son.

“Been comin’ over. Waitin’ for your sorry ass to come home from whatever you’re out doin’. Vaping in a fuckin’ parking lot or some bullshit, I don’t know. You invite her over, disappear for hours—what was I supposed to do, let her sit on the porch like a stray?”

Jamie blinked.

Ben shrugged.

“I’ve grown fond of her,” he said simply. “She’s sweet. Thoughtful. Dotes on me while you’re out bein’ a goddamn disappointment. Makes a better pot of coffee than you ever did, too.”

You stared down at your plate, hands trembling slightly on your fork.

It wasn’t what he was saying. It was how he said it.

Every word was technically clean. Civil. Parental, even. But beneath it—buried like a razor under satin—was the truth. The weight of last night. Of his body pressed to yours. Of his cum still sticky between your thighs.

Jamie didn’t speak again. Just scowled into his cereal.

And Ben?

Ben leaned back in his chair, paper in hand, and reached across to steal a piece of your toast—chewing slow, fingers brushing yours like it was nothing. But you felt it. Every glance. Every graze. Every unspoken sin curling between the lines.

And all you could think was:

You’re fucked. You’re still fucked. And somehow, this time… you want to be.

You finished your breakfast slowly, more aware of yourself than you’d ever been at this table. The fork felt too loud against the plate. The mug too warm in your hands. And Ben—Ben was silent now, calm, relaxed, the morning paper rustling faintly with each turn of the page like none of it touched him.

But you could feel it.

His thigh pressed close to yours under the table. The occasional glance over the edge of the paper, the faint tug of his lip every time you shifted in your seat and winced at the reminder of how thoroughly he'd ruined you.

The quiet intimacy of it all made your chest ache.

When your plate was empty, you stood without thinking—fingers curling around your mug, your fork, Jamie’s empty bowl, the now-cold pan from the stove. You moved on instinct, barefoot and soft-footed, gathering up the remnants of the morning like they were yours to handle. Like this was your place. Your home.

You didn’t even realise you were humming something under your breath until you reached the sink and flicked the tap on.

Ben cleared his throat behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, voice low and curious.

You blinked. “I’m… clearing up.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. A sound closer to a groan than a sigh.

You turned just in time to see him drag a hand down his face, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying to suppress something inappropriate.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“Jamie,” he said, louder now, voice cutting clean through the kitchen air. “Go on out to the garage. Or get on with whatever dumb bullshit you’ve got planned for today.”

Jamie looked up from his phone, brows pulling together. “Why?”

Ben didn’t look at him. Just leaned back in his chair, eyes on you.

“Because I said so.”

Jamie scoffed, cutting his gaze to you.

“When are you going home?” He asked, too direct, too sharp.

You opened your mouth.

But Ben beat you to it.

“She’s stayin’ as long as she wants,” he said firmly, voice like gravel and heat. “And maybe if you pulled your head outta your ass once in a while, you'd realise she’s the only reason this place still feels like a home.”

You froze at the sink, fingers tightening around the sponge.

Ben kept going.

“Look at her. She’s cleanin’ up without even bein’ asked. Sweet as hell. Thoughtful. Not sittin’ around all goddamn morning scrollin’ through TikTok or whatever the fuck you waste your time on.”

You flushed so hard it made your toes curl, shoulders hitching as you tried not to let it show. The implication hung thick in the air. Heavy. Drenched in everything you’d done. Everything he’d seen.

Jamie stared at him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, groaning like he was fifteen again. “Just fuckin’ adopt her already.”

He pushed his chair back with an obnoxious scrape and stood, grabbing his phone and trudging out of the kitchen.

“I’m gonna shower,” he muttered on his way out. “And then I’m leaving for work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben called after him. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears, champ.”

The second the door clicked shut upstairs, you let out the breath you’d been holding.

You didn’t hear Ben move.

But you felt him.

His presence behind you was instant—hot and heavy and close. You stilled as his hand slid over your hip, slow and familiar, palm splaying across the curve of your waist like it belonged there.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice a slow drag of sin across your neck, “you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy in this little dress.”

You swallowed hard, fingers slipping against the wet ceramic of the plate in your hand.

Ben leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Lookin’ like springtime and sin, all soft and sweet and drippin’ all over my goddamn kitchen.”

His hands wandered—slow, casual, practiced. One curled around your waist, the other skimming up your thigh beneath the hem of your sundress.

And then he paused.

Froze.

His fingers flexed.

And then—

He gasped. A soft, mock-shocked little sound that made your knees go weak.

“Well fuck me,” he rasped, sliding his hand higher, knuckles grazing bare, sticky skin. “No panties?”

You whimpered.

He chuckled—low and delighted, the sound vibrating straight down your spine.

“You wanted me to find this, huh?” He whispered, mouth hot against your neck. “Wanted me thinkin’ about it all mornin’, sittin’ at that table while you pretended to be a good little guest?”

His fingers slid lower, knuckles trailing between your thighs, collecting slick like evidence.

“Christ,” he muttered, almost reverent now. “Still so fuckin’ messy.”

You bit your lip, knuckles white on the edge of the sink.

Ben leaned in tighter, hand splayed flat across your stomach now, the other still ghosting over soaked skin.

“I should bend you over the counter,” he murmured. “Right now. Let the whole house hear you.”

You whimpered again, head tipping back, breath catching.

He kissed the spot beneath your ear, soft and slow, then nipped it.

“Still wanna tidy up, sweetheart?” He asked, voice a husky tease. “Or you wanna show me how grateful you are?”

You didn’t speak.

Just turned slowly in his arms, breath catching when his hands slid instinctively to your hips. He held you steady, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment—like he was always ready to catch you.

Your back hit the counter with a soft thud.

He leaned in, nose brushing against your neck, the drag of his beard making you shiver. Then came his mouth—hot, open, slow—pressing kisses up the curve of your throat, nipping just beneath your jaw like he wanted to mark you again.

Your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt. You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not yet.

Instead, your gaze lifted—up, toward the ceiling. The sound of the shower was steady now, running loud overhead. You could picture Jamie a floor up, scrubbing away last night like it meant nothing, while this—while you—were being undone again down here.

Ben followed your eyes, and when he clocked it, he smiled.

“Don’t worry about a damn thing,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “He ain’t got a clue. And if he did?” A pause. A darker smile. “Too late now.”

He kissed down your neck, dragged his teeth across your collarbone, muttering like he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re drivin’ me outta my mind, y’know that? Standin’ up to him like that, wearin’ this little dress, cleanin’ up like you belong here.”

You gasped as his hands found your thighs, slipped under the hem of your sundress, and hoisted you up onto the counter with one smooth motion. Your legs parted automatically, instinctively, letting him step in close, slotting between them like a puzzle piece made just for you.

Then—his fingers. Right between your legs. No warning. Just pressure and heat and slickness already pooling.

Ben let out a low, rumbling sound that made your breath stutter.

“Still wet?” He muttered. “Still so soft for me, baby. Jesus.”

Two fingers eased inside, slow and deliberate, curling just right.

You bit your lip, tried to hold it in, but a soft moan escaped before you could catch it.

Ben’s hand came up fast, clapping gently over your mouth as his eyes narrowed, wicked and amused.

“Shhh,” he hissed. “You wanna alert my son to what we’re doin’?”

You shook your head, thighs already starting to tremble.

He started moving his fingers—slow, deep, precise. You couldn’t stop the noises now, muffled and desperate against his palm. Every curl of his knuckles hit a spot that made your stomach twist.

Ben dropped his mouth to your ear, voice so low it barely made it out.

“I’m gonna make you come just like this,” he whispered. “Nice and quiet, baby. Let me feel you pulse around my fingers.”

He moved faster. Your hands gripped his forearms, knuckles white.

“Keep those pretty little noises to yourself,” he said, a teasing growl curling under his voice. “Jamie’s got the water runnin’, but he’s not deaf.”

You whined.

Ben’s breath hitched like he felt it happen. He bent, pressing a kiss to your cheek like a reward, then moved back to your neck, teeth catching your skin again, fingers not letting up for a second.

You were so close. Too close. The pressure was tight and fast and climbing—sharp at the edges, like breaking glass.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let it go for me.”

And you did.

Your whole body locked up, thighs clenching around his waist, hands scrambling for purchase as your release hit hard and fast. You gushed around his fingers—slick and hot, soaking his hand and the countertop beneath you.

Ben groaned—groaned, like he was the one coming.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching you with hungry eyes. “That’s my good girl.”

He slowed his hand but didn’t stop right away, working you through it, thumb brushing gentle circles as you trembled.

When it was over, when your breath was shaky and your muscles weak, he leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose.

“Still hungry?” He asked, all grin and sin. “Or you wanna say thank you first?”

Ben helped you down from the counter like you were something fragile—hands warm under your thighs, easing you gently to the floor even though your knees buckled on impact. He caught you before you could stumble, mouth curving in a crooked, quiet smile.

“Jesus,” he muttered, low and amused. “You really are fucked.”

You flushed, heart pounding, dress clinging to your sweat-damp skin.

He stepped back just enough to drag a hand through his hair, then nodded toward the stairs.

“Go shower. Take your time. Use my bathroom.”

His voice was casual, soft. Like this was normal. Like it wasn’t still dripping down your thighs.

You nodded, legs shaky as you turned toward the hallway. Barefoot. Sticky. A little dazed. You made it almost to the stairs.

Almost.

Then you heard him.

“...Fuck it.”

You turned just in time to see the look on his face. Dark. Hungry. Decided. He crossed the space between you in three long strides, grabbed you by the waist, and hauled you up against his chest like a man possessed.

You gasped.

“Ben—?”

But he was already walking you backwards, already pushing you toward the pantry door like he had to—like you were oxygen and he’d gone too long without breathing.

“Can’t let you leave my sight lookin’ like that,” he muttered, kissing your jaw, then your mouth, then down your neck. “Little fuckin’ sundress. No panties. You tryin’ to kill me, baby?”

Your back hit the pantry door.

He opened it blindly, one hand still gripping your waist, the other dragging up your thigh. Then he spun you both inside, kicked it shut, and slammed you up against the shelves so hard the flour tin rattled beside your head.

His mouth was on yours in the dark—hot, greedy, filthy. His hands groping, kneading, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.

“You keep this shit up,” he panted, teeth scraping your bottom lip, “I’m gonna fall in love with you or some shit.”

You whimpered. Instinctive. Helpless.

His hand snapped up over your mouth.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he whispered, grinning. “You want him to hear?”

You shook your head, trembling.

Ben groaned—actually groaned—as he reached down, shoved your dress up over your hips, and pulled himself free with one hand. He was already hard. Already leaking. Already fucking huge.

You braced for it. You didn’t brace hard enough. He pushed in deep. One thrust. Slow and thick and overwhelming.

You screamed against his palm.

Ben’s eyes rolled back.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, voice cracking. “Feels like comin’ home.”

You clawed at his arm, gasping through his fingers as he bottomed out and stayed there, hips pressed flush against yours, body trembling from restraint.

He leaned in, breath hot against your ear.

“I ain’t pullin’ out,” he whispered. “You hear me, baby? This fuckin’ pussy’s mine now.”

You nodded frantically, legs wrapped around his hips, already pulsing around him.

He started to move. Slow at first. Deep. The kind of thrusts that made your whole body rock against the shelves. Cans shifted. Something clattered behind you. Ben didn’t even blink.

“Christ on a cross,” he muttered, pounding into you harder now, breath catching. “You got a fuckin’ mouth on you, huh?”

You whined again—too loud.

He slapped his hand back over your lips, grinning.

“Keep it down,” he hissed, voice shaking with laughter. “Keep it down, baby girl. Wanna be good for me, yeah?”

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes now—not from pain, but from the stretch, the depth, the overwhelming pressure of it all.

Ben groaned into your neck.

“Too fuckin’ tight,” he whispered. “Like you were made for this cock. Like your body knows who it belongs to.”

You whimpered.

He fucked you harder.

“I’m gonna knock you up,” he rasped. “Right here. Right now. Stuff you full ‘til you’re leakin’ for hours.”

You came. Hard. Screaming into his palm, nails dragging down his arms, thighs squeezing like a vice.

Ben shuddered, swore, voice breaking apart into a feral moan as your pussy spasmed around him. He came seconds later. Deep. Loud. Raw. Buried in you to the hilt.

“Never fuckin’ leavin’ this cunt,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “You hear me? I live here now.”

Ben was still inside you. Still deep. Still thick. Still twitching every time your muscles fluttered around him. His chest rose and fell against yours in slow, heavy waves, both of you breathless and coated in sweat, your dress bunched around your waist and your thighs sticky from everything he’d just poured into you.

He leaned back slightly, looked down between you both like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Don’t wanna pull out yet,” he muttered.

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted in a silent whimper.

And then—

The water shut off upstairs. Both of you froze. A beat later, footsteps—loud, impatient—thudded across the floor above your heads.

Ben groaned quietly, like he was in pain. Like this was all too much for one man to handle.

You buried your face in your hands, mortified.

He laughed softly—low and warm—and pulled your hands away from your face.

“C’mon, don’t hide those pretty flushed cheeks from me,” he whispered, kissing the apple of one.

“It’s dark in here,” you mumbled. “You can’t even see if I’m blushing.”

“Oh, I know you are,” he said, grinning like the devil. “Know you well enough by now. I know what gets you all hot and bothered, sweetheart.”

You clenched around him—instinctive. Unthinking. He groaned hard, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” he panted. “You’ll get me ready for another fuckin’ round.”

You giggled, breathless, lips brushing his ear.

He sighed. Long. Dramatic. Tragic. Then, finally, he pulled out—slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to go. You whimpered at the stretch and the slick, at the obscene warmth spilling down your thighs all over again.

Ben stepped back and exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

“Damn shame,” he muttered, tucking himself back into his sweats with a faint shake of his head like he was trying to come back to earth. “Absolute fuckin’ tragedy.”

He opened the pantry door and stepped out like a man leaving confession, body loose and casual—only to jump a foot in the air when Jamie appeared in the kitchen doorway, towel slung over one shoulder, hair dripping wet.

“Jesus, Jamie,” Ben barked. “What’re you skulkin’ around like a fuckin’ ninja for?”

You scrambled to smooth your dress down, cheeks burning, trying to push your hair back into some semblance of order while still half-hiding behind the doorframe.

Jamie squinted.

“Why are you jumpin’ like a frog on coke?” He shot back.

Ben barked a laugh. “Don’t be a smartass.”

You stepped out a second later, trying to keep your legs from shaking, brushing invisible dust from your dress.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He looked between the two of you, slow and suspicious.

“Why were you in the pantry?” He asked, tone flat.

Ben didn’t blink. “Helpin’ her find the sugar.”

Jamie’s eyes dropped to your hands. “You don’t have any sugar.”

You blinked once, then shrugged. “I just put it back.”

There was a pause. Ben smirked, watching Jamie squirm.

You cleared your throat. “May I use the shower?”

Ben turned to you like you’d just offered him salvation.

“Look at that,” he said, grinning. “So full’a manners. Jamie, you takin’ notes? That’s how a guest behaves.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. Loud.

Ben jerked his chin toward the stairs.

“Go on, sweetheart. Use my bathroom.”

Jamie scoffed. “That’s not fair. I never get to use your bathroom.”

Ben snorted. “That’s ‘cause you’re a filthy little shit. Don’t want your cum or your clap on my fuckin’ tiles.”

“DAD!” Jamie shouted, scandalised.

Ben just laughed. Full-bellied. Gleeful.

You bolted up the stairs before the tension could snap all the way in two, dress swishing around your legs, thighs aching, breath short. You didn’t stop until you were behind his bedroom door, heart racing.

You were dripping. Full. Ruined. And still—God help you—you wanted more. 

The bathroom was still fogged over when you stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped loose around your body, another in your hands as you scrubbed gently at your hair. Your skin still buzzed—clean, but not untouched. No amount of soap could rinse out the way he’d held you. Bent you. Filled you.

The ensuite was quiet. His bedroom quieter.

You stepped out, expecting to find your clothes waiting. Only they weren’t. No bag. No sundress. You’d left it all in the guest room. Shit.

You exhaled softly, brushing your damp hair out of your face—and that’s when you saw it.

A jersey. Thick. Oversized. Slung over the foot of the bed like it had been waiting.

You stared at it for a second too long. It was so obvious. Too obvious. A jersey he’d never even worn in front of you. Probably not in years. Folded, casual, but placed with intention.

It should’ve made you roll your eyes. Instead, you dropped the towel and pulled it on. It swallowed you. Soft and dark and warm, the collar wide around your collarbones, sleeves halfway to your elbows. You smelled him in it—soap and sweat and that spiced musk that clung to his shirts even after a wash. You felt obscene in it. Marked.

You padded downstairs barefoot, skin still damp, hair dripping against the cotton.

The living room was dim. You heard the hum of the TV before you saw him.

Ben was sprawled across the sofa like he owned the fucking world. One foot kicked up on the armrest, the other planted wide on the floor, head tipped back against the other end. He looked ridiculous. Massive. The kind of big that made you forget how small you were until you were underneath him.

He looked like comfort and destruction and something you weren’t supposed to want again so soon.

You glanced toward the kitchen. When you looked back, his eyes were on you. Wide. Slack-jawed. His gaze dropped—slowly. Took in the jersey. The bare legs. The still-damp hair clinging to your temples.

Then his hand dragged up into his hair, pushing it back as he let out a groan so low it vibrated straight through the floor.

“Knew you’d look good in that one,” he muttered. “Knew it.”

You felt the heat bloom down your throat. Your cheeks. Your stomach.

He patted his lap.

“Come on over, baby.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking once more toward the kitchen, toward the windows, toward the hall.

Ben saw it. “The little prick’s gone to work,” he said, voice rough and fond. “Won’t be back for hours.”

You nodded once. Your feet moved before you could think. Slow. Careful. You stopped in front of him, unsure of where to sit.

He didn’t wait. One big hand reached up, curled around your hip, and tugged.

You let out a soft breath as you collapsed against him, legs falling to either side of his hips, your body folding easily into his like a magnet finding its opposite. Your head dropped to the curve of his neck, breath catching when you inhaled him all over again.

Ben groaned.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You love doin’ that, don’t you?”

You smiled against his skin. Didn’t answer.

His arms came up around you slowly. One cradled your spine. The other slid around your waist. He didn’t touch you like a fuck. He touched you like you were his. Like you were delicate. Like you were exactly where he wanted you.

“You good watchin’ the game with me?” He murmured.

You nodded against his throat.

“Good girl.”

The room settled into a slow, heavy rhythm. The soft murmur of the commentators. The flicker of the screen. And the sound of your breath, caught against his collarbone.

His hand rubbed slow circles on your back. Yours curled against his chest, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

You should’ve felt calm. Safe. Instead—you felt like a wire pulled taut.

It started slow. Your hips shifted. Barely. Just a twitch. A nudge. The smallest roll. Ben didn’t react at first. But then—you felt it. The echo. His hips moved too. So soft. So lazy. So deliberate.

You dragged your breath in through your teeth.

He kept rubbing your back. The movement never stopped. Like he wasn’t even aware. Like you were just cuddling. Your thighs clenched where they bracketed his.

He let out a breath. Didn’t say a word. But now he was grinding too. Barely. The softest friction. Cotton on cotton. Heat on heat. You could feel him through the fabric. Hardening slow. Your lips parted. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. Still—he said nothing.

You weren’t watching the game anymore. And neither was he

The room was warm with stillness. The kind that settled heavy in the air after something wicked. The kind of quiet that followed a storm and promised more thunder if you dared stir.

Ben’s hand was soft against your back. Slow. Rhythmic. The kind of absentminded touch that would’ve felt sweet from anyone else. But from him? From him it was a warning. A claim. A leash disguised as affection.

You lay across his chest, thighs wrapped around his hips, your breath syncing to his as the football game flickered across the screen in front of you—ignored.

Your heart thudded heavy.

He hadn’t said a word since you climbed onto him. Hadn’t moved. Just that hand. Just that calm, steady breath. But you could feel it. The tension in his muscles. The shift of his thighs. The low, deliberate grind he kept sneaking in beneath you.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him. He wasn’t looking at you. Smirking. At the TV. Like he hadn’t already rearranged your guts this morning and was now slowly driving you insane with the laziest friction known to man.

Your eyes narrowed.

Fine.

If he wanted to play it cool, so could you.

You shifted in his lap, hips rolling down with a little more pressure this time—more intent. You dragged your cunt over the front of his sweats in one long, slow grind, your breath catching at the friction.

A soft whimper slipped out before you could catch it.

Ben didn’t look away from the screen. But you heard it. The sharp inhale through his nose. The pause. The subtle flex of the hand on your back.

Still… no words.

You did it again. Lower this time. Deeper. The movement slow and lazy, your hips rocking like waves, like sin, like worship. You shifted your weight just enough to drag the thick line of him against you through the jersey and the cotton of his sweats, your thighs already slick and trembling.

And then—your hand. It slid down his chest. Over the jersey you wore. Down across his stomach.

Ben didn’t flinch. Not yet. But when your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats and dipped just beneath, then he moved. His head snapped toward you like a whip. Eyes wild and dark and low-lidded with disbelief.

“The fuck do you think you’re doin’?” He asked, voice low and frayed, rougher than it had any right to be.

You looked up at him through your lashes, bit your lip, and said, “Whatever I want.”

His eyes rolled back like he’d just been hit.

You didn’t wait. You pushed yourself up just enough to slide down between his legs, your knees brushing the floor, your hands dragging his waistband down.

Ben lifted his hips before you even asked. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. Just watched. And when you looked up at him again, wrapped one small hand around him, leaned in and took him into your mouth in one slow, wet inch—

He growled. Not a moan. Not a grunt. A growl. A deep, guttural, primal sound that rattled out of his chest like he was losing his goddamn mind.

“Jesus fuck,” he gasped, hand flying to your hair. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You moaned around him.

He cursed again. And the game kept playing. Forgotten.

He was already shaking. One hand tangled in your hair, the other clenched white-knuckled on the sofa arm. His thighs were spread wide, twitching beneath you, and his chest rose in jagged stutters—like he couldn’t catch his breath, like you’d stolen it from him.

You dragged your mouth along the base of him slow. Deliberate. Spit-slicked and sinful. And when you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, swallowed around the thickness of him, his entire body jerked.

“Fuck,” Ben choked out. “Oh fuck, that’s it—baby girl, you’re gonna kill me.”

His voice was wrecked. But his mouth kept running.

“You hear me? I ain’t ever—fuckin’ ever—felt a mouth like this before. You were made for it.”

You moaned around him. He twitched in your mouth.

“Shit—don’t you fuckin’ do that. You’re gonna make me—”

Another groan. Broken. Ripped out of his throat like confession.

“You’re so goddamn good, sweetheart,” he rasped, hips stuttering up into you. “So fuckin’ pretty like this, all needy and eager—lookin’ at me like you know you’ve got me by the fuckin’ balls.”

You swallowed him again. Deep. Slow. Unrelenting. His head hit the back of the couch with a thud.

“You wanna be mine, huh?” He panted, jaw slack, eyes blown wide. “That it? Want me to ruin you so bad you never even look at another man?”

You hummed—dark and low and deliberate—and he gasped like you’d sunk your teeth into him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby—god, you’re perfect—fuck, you’re perfect—gonna keep you, you hear me? Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

His hand tightened in your hair. Not yanking. Just holding. Possessive. He looked down at you—sweat beading on his temple, brows drawn, mouth slack with need—and all he saw was devotion. Wreckage. Heaven with teeth.

“Shit—fuck,—you’re gonna make me lose it,” he groaned. “I’m tryin’, baby, I’m fuckin’ tryin’, but your mouth—goddamn, your mouth’s a fuckin’ miracle.”

You worked him harder now. Faster. Your hands braced on his thighs. Your eyes locked to his.

He broke.

“Christ on a goddamn shittin’ cross,” he bellowed, voice cracking, “you wanna be his step-mom?! That it? You wanna live here and wear my fuckin’ shirts and sit on my face after makin’ pancakes?! Jesus, sweetheart—marry me. Fuck.”

You moaned around him again—sweet and ruined.

His whole body jolted. Then—

He growled. It was feral. A snarl from the chest. And it came right before he slammed a hand over his mouth, like he knew if he didn’t, he’d shout it to the gods.

His other hand clutched your jaw—gentle but shaking.

“Baby,” he gasped, “I’m—gonna—I’m right there—”

You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He saw it in your eyes. You wanted it. Everything he had. Every drop.

And when he came?

It was violent. Hot. Thick. Endless.

He shouted into his hand, hips lifting off the couch as you swallowed him down in heavy, deep pulls. His thighs trembled. His abs clenched. His head dropped forward, eyes blazing, watching you take it—take him—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He sagged into the cushions, panting.

You swallowed. Licked your lips. Looked up at him with innocent eyes and a ruined mouth.

Ben stared. Still trembling. Then muttered, hoarse and ruined, “…fuck me sideways.”

He was still catching his breath. One hand limply resting on your thigh, the other dragging up through his hair like he couldn’t believe what had just happened—even though he’d orchestrated every filthy second of it.

You were curled back up in his lap now, warm and pliant and tucked against his chest, the echo of everything you’d just done still clinging to your skin like sweat. You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek, could smell the mix of both of you on his skin.

His fingers brushed over your hip. Then your ribs. Then up your spine in long, slow strokes. Soft. Reverent.

He exhaled into your hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice gone hoarse. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You hummed sleepily against his shoulder. Smiled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Then—his mouth again. Against your temple, your cheek, the side of your throat.

“I mean it, y’know,” he said, quieter now. Like it wasn’t just a line anymore. “I’m keepin’ you.”

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just nodded against his chest.

Then, soft—dry—smiling: “Jamie’s gonna have a hard time dealing with that.”

Ben snorted.

“Fuck that little punk.”

You laughed.

But he wasn’t done.

“I’m about ready to make a whole fuckin’ litter with you,” he said, voice like gravel and honey. “Tie you to this house for good.”

You grinned, wide, into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Put you in my bed, my shirt, my fuckin’ will if I have to.”

You were still laughing softly when he reached for your face. He cupped your jaw. Pulled your head gently from where it lay against him. Made you look at him.

And when you did?

Everything stilled. His green eyes were on fire. Not wild. Not smug. Certain. Like he knew exactly what he wanted. And it was you. His thumb dragged along the hinge of your jaw. Then down. Pressing gently—commandingly—until your lips parted.

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

Then he kissed you. Deep. Slow. Ruining. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t greedy. It was like he was erasing you. Like he was kissing every old name off your skin. Every memory. Every man. Every touch that wasn’t his.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still locked to yours. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He’d already said it all.

And you? You were his now. Completely.

a/n: okay, finally. i knew a part three would come to me eventually, and here is it. i love it. i needed some intense aftercare in there because i stg i need me an older man who will just take fucking care of me. not treat me like my manchild of an ex did... you know? anyways... hope y'all like. i like. hehehehe. let me know! all the love.

Ben/Soldier Boy taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @tinas111 @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @mostlymarvelgirl @itshellfire @drakulana @deansbeer @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @adoredawn @sunnyfuffly <3

[rottingghosty]

Little Talks | DC X DP

part second part to the ghostling au !! this is just something to give you guys food while i write the fic

also usual errors will be made im only one person blah blah. hope you enjoy, as usual this is scheduled to post at 7am

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny lazily blinked at the person in front of him, his brain slowly rebooting itself as he released a small yawn. The person was green. A green person. Huh. Alien? He was exhausted, he spent so long aiding new systems and cradling stars that died and spread their dust around so they would be reborn again. He wanted to sleep but this person was in front of him and it’d be rude to ignore him. Pandora taught him better than that.

“Mrrp?” Danny felt his ears twitch, he wanted to feel mortified at the fact he made a sound like a cat in his own head but he really can’t be blamed because the moon he was around was really comfortable and he had no shame. He lazily tilted his head as the person’s shoulders seemed to loosen? A shake in his body. Weird.

Oh. He’s trying not to laugh at Danny’s response. Can Clockwork rewind so that didn’t happen. Of course CW ignored him like usual when it came to embarrassments like these.

“I do not mean any harm friend.”

The voice in his head echoed and it made Danny shiver in response, it was odd sharing a head space with someone else. He didn’t retaliate or cause any harm. His core could feel that this person was friendly, curious and respectful. He gives a head tilt in response.

Friend. Safe. Okay.

Danny gave another yawn, feeling his jaw open a tad wider than it should in normal human circumstances but who could care less when he has a Martian— an actual martian in front of him even if he’s too sleepy to actively be excited! He’s tired okay, it’s not everyday he gets to indulge on his obsession heavily on an everyday basis. He’d been so deprived that he’d gotten sick and it’s what made the others decide to give him the boot so he could enjoy his time before he got the crown.

“What is your name, little one?” Martian Manhunter softly asked in Danny’s head after the younger one winced from the volume earlier after he began to wake up.

“Danny.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Old man said I needed my enrichment.”

“One of my allies called you a baby ghost of the Infinite Realms, is this true?”

Danny released another cat like sound, this one more curious than the other when he had just barely woke up. Someone knew what he was? How curious, it wasn’t often Danny stumbled in dimensions that knew he was from the Infinite Realms… much less the fact that he’s even a ghostling.

“Mhm, ghostling is the proper term. We usually calculate age by how long we’ve been dead. In ghost terms I’m like three.”

Martian Manhunter seemed to pause, as if listening to something. Danny gave another yawn before he finally decided to change into a more normal size instead of the large form he had used to travel through the void easier. His form shifted in a bright light before he floated over to Martian Manhunter.

He quickly realized he was a lot smaller than he’d been and he supposes this is what CW meant when changing forms, he’d most likely reflect the age he’s in ghost terms. He doesn’t think he’d handle if Martian Manhunter treated him like a kid.

“When you said enrichment…?”

“Oh! Clocky said to play nice with my cousin? I think her name is Wonder Woman? Um he’s ah known as Chronos?”

[turon-na-saging]

Fixation at Strength

sung jinwoo with a short older female reader older that has herculean strength like Do Bong Soon.

a/n: hello everyone, this is my first contribution to this fandom 🙆‍���️. my writing skills has definitely rusted from years of inactive writing but hope you like this. i was working on the isekai corporate slave reader, but this kept occupying my mind so now this was born lol.

update a/n: had to edit a few things after rereading as it mostly comes off as a self-insert instead of a reader insert. apologies for that. 🙇‍♀️

EDITED WARNING: this is my first time attempting writing a yandere/dark fic. if such trope makes you uncomfortable, please continue scrolling and ignore this post.

EDITED TAGS: mentions of blackmailing, cliché plot/trope, probably the brewing beginning of dark jinwoo(?)

[you are here] [2]

Sung Jinwoo was brooding.

He was on his way home after clearing a gate an hour earlier when the system screen popped up in his face. On the screen, an alert was issued to look out for a potential threat. With a loud ring, the amount of distance was shown to him.

His eyes narrow at the distance drastically went shorter. Was this a hunter? Possibly a monster? He hasn't heard or receive any news of a dungeon break near this neighborhood. His body was tense as he ready himself at the upcoming threat. His eyes shook as he looked at the number closely. It was coming closer to him. Glancing at every road corner of the neighborhood around him, he waited.

The tension he felt was immediately broken once he heard a light-hearted humming. A short young woman appears from the corner of the neighborhood staring down at her phone.

Jinwoo nearly tripped at the sight. Was the system broken? Jinwoo thought as he stared at the short woman before him who walked passed by glancing at him for a second before minding back your own business. He double checked at the screen and indeed it really was you that the system considered a potential threat, seeing the number of distance growing again after he passed by you. Not to mention, he could not see or sense a single mana around you yet why did the system deemed you a threat? Unless you were like him?

A notification appeared as it now identified you not a threat and the alert was closed.

Something didn't felt right. The fact the system reacted to you like that. Using his stealth skill, he followed behind you hidden from sight. He could hear you hum as you wonder what to get for tonight's dinner. With raised eyebrows, he can tell you are quite harmless and . But then again, you are a civilian and not an awakened hunter like him.

Deep laughter broke him from his thoughts as he saw an approaching group of 3 guys. Based from their clothes, the few armors they had and the aura they're emitting, they are definitely hunters. D-rank to be exact. He looked at you, who was still happily skipping as you scroll down your phone.

As he predicted, you accidentally bumped your shoulder into one of the hunters in the group. You immediately offer an apology to the man, but he didn't liked it as he grabbed your arm and tore off the phone from your hand, slamming it down the ground.

"The hell was that woman! Not a proper apology? You just bumped into a fucking hunter, show some respect!" The burly guy, who could tell was the leader, shouted.

"That's right boss! Tell 'em!" His buddies cackled beside him as if they found a new entertainment.

Jinwoo was about to show and finish those guys himself when he froze upon seeing you push the man like nothing making him fly hard to the nearby trashdump. His buddies took a step back out of shock before you expressed your frustration at them holding your now broken phone.

Jinwoo was in disbelief as he quietly watched you singlehandedly beat them up and dragged each of the guys by pulling up by their top, lining them up against the wall to kneel near the garbage dump. They were cowering as they sobbed snots pouring out of their nose.

He could hear you ask their ages with each of them obediently answering. After their answer, you made sure to lightly smack each of their heads yet the men cried harder as if it was painful, after learning they were younger than you. Judging from the state those men were in as they bow down apologizing to you in tears and swearing not to be bunch of assholes anymore, you have certainly already taught them enough lesson.

A noona? You sure didn't look like it. Jinwoo just felt something light inside him despite his human emotions slowly died out from the near death experience he had after he received the system. If one were to look closely, there was redness on his ears.

Upon finally noticing him standing a few feet away from where you were, you froze as there was a witness. But there was something unsettling for you, his eyes were glowing purple and small wisps of shadows surrounded him. That definitely screamed danger to you. This man is a hunter and far more dangerous than the usual ones you encountered. You may have your superstrength, but you remain cautious as your jinx may backfire.

Seeing you were distracted, the men scrambled off running away in fear. You didn't pay them any mind as your attention was on the hooded man a few feet away from you.

"Who are you...?" You warily asked, fists clenched watching him with caution.

Jinwoo couldn't hold back his chuckle. He may have seen your strength and knew not to underestimate you. The height difference was big with him towering over you. But you were too adorable for him despite being older than him. This unknown feeling was growing rapidly at the sight of you, high alert looking up at him with wariness. Like a cat ready to bare her claws and fangs, he mused.

You have certainly caught his interest. Was this a good thing? With the smirk present on Jinwoo's face and the glint in his glowing eyes? Well, who knows.

At the sudden shift in the mood, you could only feel dread and the urge to run away. Like a predator laying its eyes on its prey, waiting for its move.

You gasped when he was infront of you, leaning down close to your face the instant you blinked. His eyes lingered at the company ID which displayed your name for a few seconds before a smirk graced his lips.

"Sung Jinwoo. Nice to meet you, noona~"

Upon hearing that name, your blood ran cold. Korea's 10th S-Class Hunter, the one people especially the media have been going crazy about lately. His display of strength during the Jeju Island Raid has certainly earned him a reputation and admirers. With growing popularity, there will be no doubt people who see him in a negative light.

With your instincts of danger sent shivers down your spine, you held his arm as you plan on throwing him down the ground as a warning to stepping into someone's personal space. Instead of that happening, the ground under your feet crumbled as you realized Jinwoo was not budging an inch. Your eyes went wide in shock and perhaps fear. It didn't work.

Seeing as you didn't stand a chance, you are about to step away but he immediately held you by your waist pulling you close to him. The shadows around him made you freeze, like you'll be swallowed whole in any moment. You are shaking without realizing it.

Jinwoo felt bad that he found this sight of you cute. He easily towered and covered you as you only reached until his chest. He didn't know why he felt the need to pull you close to him. This was an entirely knew feeling for him.

"It is curious as to why you're not a hunter with that strength, noona? Does the Association know there's an unregistered awakened?" He whispered in your ear. It was a teasing tone yet it was laced also with threat.

"I-I'm not an awakened! I swear!" You hastily answered. "Please don't report me! I really am not!"

Your thoughts were running out of control as you try to come up with excuses regarding your power. Meanwhile Jinwoo remained silent as he continue staring at you, contemplating. Indeed you are speaking the truth as he couldn't sense even a speck of mana on your body, even at this close contact. Unless you have tremendous skill of cloaking it to the point of being thought as a normal person. After a minute, he finally let go despite not fully satisfied with what he got.

"I'll believe you for now." Jinwoo released his grip from your waist as you sighed in relief before glancing up at him again with those wary eyes.

"But in exchange, I wanna see noona more often." His eyes narrowed as it glowed, yet he has a smile that you couldn't describe. "Wouldn't want the Association learn of your power right?"

The confidence he held by holding the knowledge of your deepest secret, Jinwoo knew you would've give in. Seeing you glanced down at your broken phone, he knew what you were insinuating.

"I have my ways of finding you. Seoul is a smaller than you might think." He simply answered with a shrug. With a sour look you nodded, he knew he already won.

His phone rang making you both broke eye contact as he check who was calling. Seeing it was his younger sister, Jin-Ha, he had no choice but to part ways with you for now. "Sadly, I would have to cut our meeting short. I'll see you soon, noona."

To your surprise, his whole body slowly disappeared like mist leaving you alone in the middle of the neighborhood street. You definitely have sealed your fate.

Without a second thought, you ran away in haste as to make sure you've gained distance away from that place. Once you were home, your family noticed your pale complexion and thought it was due to a long day of work. Although bad news for you, he already planted some of his shadows to yours without you knowing.

Anyways, thank you for reading y'all! Thoughts are appreciated! Don't mind me going feral for this as I'll be making more parts for this pairing. owo/

[sugudoe]

☕️⌇ ◜ OFFICE HOURS ◞ ⠀⠀⠀

╰⠀boss!nanami x secretary!reader where . . . nanami kento can’t let people know the reality that he, under no circumstances, belongs to them. in fact, is quite the contrarie. everyone in this job is a puppet willingly letting him pull the strings. you more than anyone. after committing the bizarre mistake of telling nanami your true intentions with him, your boss is more than eager to comply your desires and just maybe, forget he first input of no belongings.

cw. too much swearing, fingering with others present (not caught), fem!reader, reader keeps daydreaming w. nanami, slightly age gap but non-important all legal, public sex, overstimulation, they both keep failing to hide, possessiveness, love bites, he slap her thigh once, bit of blood because of self lip biting 4.9k words, english is not my first language.

an. hi, hello, i want everyone to know i’m this man wife. this is, in fact, our love story, i used to serve his coffee, now i’m serving my puss— anyways, enjoy it. FYI nanami smells like either tom ford tobacco vanille or byredo bibliothèque.

There are certain events in the workplace ── a sequence, if you may ── that serves as a warning to everyone that Mr. Nanami Kento has arrived.

Not many months ago, you were clueless to the symphony of presentation he had, even before stepping into the room. Now, though, it’s engraved in your mind. Much like he is. It is, also, a dirty secret to have that you eagerly wait for it, everyday.

Halting the tack-tack of your fingers on the keyboard, your ears pick the first signal ── rushed footsteps. All opening space so he can pass without the need to raise his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, from his cellphone. The second is the whispers and swooning. Some, more brave than others, compliment him out loud. Always about his peculiar ties, and always he smiles back. Lastly, when Nanami is in your sight of view, he is accompanied by his signature scent that greets you before he even does.

The most raw way to describe his smell is by saying that you wish you could crack him open, and lay inside of him forever. It’s comfortable and addicting and it makes you want to kiss him until it can permanently fixates on you.

In more proper synonyms, Nanami Kento smells like caramel, wood and a bit smokey. He is hot to the touch, one can admit. You don’t fall far from these thoughts, but sometimes, when you are not eye-fucking your boss, you think he smells like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Perfect place to fuck him, though.

Is easy to imagine such a thing. You can picture him with thick sweat covering his body, like a second layer, as he comes inside with a hatchet and wood for the fireplace. And you can, also easily, imagine yourself on your knees sucking him so good, as way to thank him for keeping you warm.

It’s a Kento effect. Everywhere he passes, people tend to have a heat stroke. You are no better than the others. Probably worse. He, however, does not need to know that. Nanami’s plate is already filled to the brims with people gazing him as a snack, he doesn’t need his personal assistant to do the same.

Not in front of him, anyways.

So, when he comes near your table, and stop to take whatever you have for him (work related, honey, even when you wish it was your pussy), you present the calls he need to answer with a compliment for his shoes and a black coffee with pretzels.

He adores you.

You want to fuck him senseless.

A perfect imperfect balance of clashing feelings. His are professional, yours are not even close. He only steps over the boundaries when it’s to call you “Darling” and you only do so in your head, when you think of laying on his table and letting him feast on your dripping cunt.

He is gentle and caring.

You wouldn’t mind chanting his name loud enough for everyone to understand what’s happening.

He departs ways and you share a trembling sigh with your inner turmoil of emotions. He makes you have a constant fever. In fact, with him, everything is constant. You want to fuck him everyday, you touch yourself with his voice in your mind guiding you. He gets pretty out of character in your alone mind, though.

Real Nanami is a sweetheart. Your Nanami would make you cry while on his cock.

“── and the meeting room needs to be ready by eleven, you can do all that, darling?” He asks. He asks! He is talking with you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kento,” You stutter before shifting your attention from your computer screen to his charming understandable smile. “could you repeat, please?”

“Sure, darling.”

You need to put extra neurons to work when eyeing his pink lips moving gracefully. Is it the same shade as his cock? Oh, you hoped so. That would be your favorite color, would paint your nails, your hair, anything.

“Got it now?” Nanami curls his lips as he question you. You can’t lie to him, so you sign that No, you did not payed attention. He chuckles and comes closer, resting both hands in fist on your table, letting himself down so he can be face to face with you. “I need you to order mine, yours and the lunch for the usual gentleman I talk about the finances, ── you have that noted, right?” You nod, and he proceeds. “Then, I want you to decorate the meeting room, the way you always do.” You nod again, and he moves back. You want to whine. “Good girl.”

Pause.

That’s new. It’s like achieving a new item in a game. A new level. That’s a prize, the greatest form of enlightenment one could have. You feel warm in your chest and cheeks, but dare not to sway your eyes from his twinkling ones. You wonder if he knows what you are thinking, or if he knows the power he has over you ── over everyone.

That’s Nanami Kento. The man with a dazzling aura, it touches all in proximity, no one survives him. If he wants, you are his. Hooked like a worm, willingly ready to be devoured by a fish, and the thing is no one knows if Nanami is said fish or the fisherman.

The secret about his success is not only the sweet talk he does, but the way he can easily take it away. And no one wants to be away from his warmth. You’ve seen it before, how he controls people ── some more powerful than your mind can comprehend, they all are puppets for him to pull the strings. He touches and praises them when they do what he wants, but Nanami grows cold and absent when they don’t.

Everyone wants to be loved by him, so everything this enterprise does, it revolves around Nanami.

He can be a scary man when he wants, and you’ve heard the tales, from time to time. With you, fortunately, he is just your nice boss. And a part of you wish he would cradle you into his arms and play with you like a marionete. His doll. Yeah, you want to be his fucking doll.

Tempted to ruin this lunch and be ravished by his famine, you shake your deranged thoughts and focus on ordering the food. Also asking for red velvet cookies for you and Mr. Gojo, the owner of this whole enterprise.

A cocky young man, that likes to devour your physique whenever you come inside the room. He is rich and beautiful and his name is always on the newspaper with gossip mostly involved. You could fall for him, could fuck him, but he is not Nanami.

He doesn’t boss you around gently, nor he makes you crave his scent on lonely nights. He makes you shy, but not timid and horny. In fact, you don’t even think about Satoru Gojo unless you are balancing his persona with Nanami’s. That’s sad for him.

You keep doing that ── the thoughts, the sexual dreams ── while preparing the meeting room with a charming decoration. Black glasses, black plates, all with golden details. Satoru Gojo himself payed for it, not that he knows or care. You commented once, Nanami liked, and moved his toys in favor of buying the expensive kitchen utensils you wanted. He even made sure to get some for your own house.

The last part is closing the thick black curtains around the room, for privacy. Someone comes inside the second you step back from the last tapestry, and when you turn, Nanami is there.

“How’s everything?” His fingers press on the table, moving swiftly with him, closer to you. “You’ve got cookies?” There is amusement in his question.

“Mr. Gojo’s secretary, Suguru, told me he was craving something sweet.” You turn back to the table behind you, stacking the sweet in a small mountain. “He always gets fussy if he doesn’t get his daily large intake of sugar.”

You grabbed one, knowing that half of it was rightfully yours, and twisted on your heels. Nanami scared you in two sequential situations after that. The first being his looming presence right in front of you, piercing gaze on you, shifting between your eyes. He was searching for something in it, so, you tried the hardest you could to give him something back. Eyes that said “please, fuck me.”

Maybe it worked. The next thing he did, that scared you, was bending down and biting your cookie. Eyes never leaving yours. You gulped, he smirked.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chocked.

See, your eyes were supposed to be the one speaking for you, but Nanami also has this super power that no one can lie to him. He wants something, he gets it delivered in a silver plate. He knows everyone’s secret, and yours were never safe, just happened to be hidden in a line of things that weren’t priority for him. Not until now, at least. He wanted to know what you were hiding, and you gave it to him.

“I ──” The words are struck behind your teeth. Nanami eagerly waits for them. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, you leave him.

In a perfect world, he would have grabbed you by the wrists and fucked you against Satoru’s side of the table. But it’s not, because he lets you go. He has to let you go, even if you know that’s not the end of it. He will get you later, and like a little kid in science class, he will dissect everything you said. Therefore, during the thirty minutes of freedom you are granted in the bathroom, before the meeting starts, you try and fail and try and fail to conceal your thoughts into a perfect lie.

It doesn’t work. Not even a bit. Because Nanami knows you like the back of his hand, as much as he knows everyone that works with him. He knows when you lie and when you are truthful, and thanks to that, your work relationship had always been good ── you’ve never lied to him to stroke his ego. You were too busy wanting to stroke something else. Nanami let you slide your nasty comments about others, and he would share them, granting you some of their secrets.

He was a gossiper. He knew everything. You knew right there that lying would never work with him, so you just avoided to let him reach that horny part of yours that burned for him. Give him something else to sink his attention into. Your neck, you wanted, but rather you would feed him with gossips from your college classes, or what you got from Suguru Geto, your friend and Satoru’s assistant.

Now, you had already run out of distractions. Maybe that was his plan all along. If the world is correct, and it all falls down to Nanami’s desires, then maybe he was just waiting for you to crumble and admit. You had never been subtle with your eyes, anyway. That’s why he had been so fascinated about it, staring from time to time, trying to catch a glimpse of your true self, like a wishing star in a starry night.

The stars have gone dark, burned and busted away, when you come back to the meeting room and sit down on your designed chair, by his side. Nanami is focusing at you, again, like he needs more of your secrets at this moment. You have never gave him something so largue before, he is addicted.

But you, stubborn, appalled, stoic and all, think your plate of pasta is the most interesting thing in this whole world. You don’t eat much, because your throat is filled with all the words and screams you want to let out. You fear if you so much breathe loud, it will all come flooding this room.

“Are you annotating all of this in your head?” Nanami whispers in your ear, referring to the meeting now in progress. You sign no, and he sighs. “Your mind is far away, today.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I do with you?”

Someone coughs. An old man, standing by the edge of the table. He wants Nanami’s eyes on him, the praise, the goodness. Kento grants him half a smile, and that is not enough. Never will be. Everyone always wants more.

The lights are turned off when the projector is brought by Suguru, he comes and goes quickly, not before stealing a cookie from Satoru. That’s the first smile you present since the incident, and Nanami is back at staring at you with an intensity your heart fears but your pussy drips for. Are you scared? Petrified. And still, you are fucking horny.

He knows your secret, he is devoting his eyes to you, no matter what anyone else wants. He, in this moment, wants you. It might be because he needs to know what you meant, it might be because you are stroking his ego, finally. Or, you dare wonder, he is debating throwing you on that table and fucking you. Old men and Satoru aside, you wouldn’t mind. At all.

You take courage to look at him, and instantly you stare at his lips first, before his eyes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You go back at eyeing the projector. He does the same a long beat later. An even longer one, he slowly puts his hand on your exposed thigh, skirt raised since you set down.

You try to not fail in your stoic face, but you do so anyway. Because, for fuck’s sake, Nanami Kento has his hands on your thigh, his thumb in circular movements. Your lips instinctively curl up, he snorts by your side before going back to his serious demeanor.

You thought he would just keep his hands there, as if testing the water but deciding to stay near the shore. That’s not his case, though. Nanami loves to go to the beach, to swim far away beyond the waves, he likes to get damped. His hand move closer, and you open your legs absentmindedly. He wants, you give. As much as you have wanted, and now he is giving you.

When his hands are pressing against your lacy underwear, you hear a little “Fuck” coming from his mouth. You’re soaking wet.

It’s hard to keep your breathing pattern steady when he is near you. Even more harder when he has one finger slowly penetrating you. For the outsider viewer, everything is normal, and the two of you are just concentrated on the projector screen. The truth is you have no idea what’s going on, and maybe neither does him. You want to moan, and tug his hair until he groans. And you want him to replace his finger with his cock. You stare at the annotation book, empty of your handwriting, and use the opportunity of your head down to hang your mouth open and close your eyes.

Nanami shifts his eyes to you, and he drowns himself into your fucked gaze, even more so when he puts another finger. He can’t linger much, or others will notice, so he decides to keep his movements fluid and calm, and to stare at you from time to time.

He can multitask. Of-fucking-course. He asks questions, answers, he acts as if he is one hundred percent into whatever is going on. The reality is different. The truth is all about his curling fingers pressing themselves in a place inside you that will forever mark his presence there. Like a secret plaything only for him, no one, not even you, will ever reach that. It’s like he is signing it with either his name only or a “Nanami was here.”

You want him to stay, forever. Stay inside you, slow pacing, curling, sensitive.

He can’t, because what feels like hours later, turns into minutes. Everyone is raising up to leave, and he moves out of you so fast, you clench around nothing ── had you been quicker, grabbed his fingers, they all would know. You don’t give a fuck, you want them too know.

“Go to my office.” He whispers before going the opposite direction of the exit, and staying back to talk with the others. You walk without a goodbye, creating an excuse when Satoru wants some of your time.

Inside his office, you feel like breathing for the first time. It’s confusing, like your lungs are new and not fully connected to your esophagus, so it comes up weird ── in a mixture of laugh and relief, salted with a “what the actual fuck”.

You want to stop and think of what’s happening or what’s to happen, but you never had the chance. It’s a second later, and you are being pressed against his, now, locked door. His arms holding your hips, his head resting on your neck, sulking your scent much like you do with his.

“You meant it, right?” He asks, bringing his face up to yours. “You want me to fuck you. Please, darling, say you do, because I need to fuck you now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Yes, please, please.” Midway through your desperate nod, Nanami lunged at you, catching your lips in his and conducting the rhythm, the strength.

He was so, so good. In all ways. His slow fingers had your legs shaking and his eager kiss has your mind fogged. All that he does seems to be professional, but you know deep down, this effect is all because is made by him. Just his presence alone could have you hot and bothered, but to actually be touched by him, it’s like adding the fire to your gasoline self.

You had always been meant to be burned by Nanami.

He hoist you up against the door, for a quick second his hands kept clawing your thighs, until he walked you both to his desk. He let you down on it, and at the same time, his kisses moved to your neck and shoulder. You could feel the scrape of his teeth, tempted to mark you with a significant bite ── tell them I’m yours, you thought.

He groaned against your flustered skin, because he knew he couldn’t do that. Mark you, that’s it. Fuck you? Oh, that he can, that he will do.

“I need you to be really quiet for me.” His hands are quick on his belt, dropping it with a thud against the floor. He raises your skirt to your waist, Nanami grumbled under his breath with the sight of your underwear. He had touched the elaborate details earlier, but to see it was another story. White, see through, a pink ribbon on the top. “I’m going to rip it.”

“No, you’re not!” Raising your leg, you pushed him away. Eyes still hypnotized by your clothed cunt. You removed the piece with a satisfied smirk. It had been months since you started to wear those type of under-wears, hoping one day this situation would come.

No one wants to fuck their sexy boss with granny’s pants.

The cold table coming in contact with your intimacy made you moan a bit, and Nanami’s attention was back on you. There you were, beautifully waiting for him. Fuck-me eyes, pleading mouth, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You were at his mercy, had been for a while now. And he? Well, Nanami was yours now, that’s what matter.

One of his fingers, the same one he had penetrated you earlier, came back inside you. Smearing itself with your wetness. His other hand gripped your hips, bringing you closer, and making him go deeper. There, right fucking there. He curled, and thrusted, and another two more out of nowhere.

Cruelty was not on the way he was ravishing your cunt, but the biting of your teeth on your hand. You have to be quiet, follow his orders, but Nanami seemed to want to make you scream. Let everyone know that he is fucking you. Nearly fucking you.

Combining this movements with the ones of earlier, you feel your insides getting tighter. He senses as well, and raises his peace once more. But, again, your legs push him away. Nanami doesn’t like that, he comes back quick, wet fingers anxious to reclaim their place inside you, but you sign no, and he halts. That’s it. The man that controls everyone, and he is at your mercy.

“I want to cum on your cock.” Maybe is the sweet and diabolical way you say, or the tilting of your head with a charming smile. What matters is, he complies right away. His pants fall, he takes off his blazer, and not a second later you are presented with what you’ve been craving for months.

Like a pregnant lady, you almost cry and fall on your knees, finally having your desire attended. He doesn’t want that either, instead Nanami takes a condom from his wallet. Before he puts it, his waiting fingers touch your cunt again, grabbing a bit of your liquid and smearing it on himself. You nearly ask him to throw the condom away.

Is a sinful sight. All of this. You on the desk, legs wide open. He in front of you, adjusting himself on the condom. Both groaning when he, fucking finally, align with your entrance, and slowly gets in. He is largue, and thick, and preparation might have been necessary had you not been daydreaming of this moments months ago.

Had he not been himself, that man that makes you drip with just a “good morning”, this might have hurt. Instead, it’s exhilarating to be parted by his cock. The condom does not stop you from feeling his veins tickling your walls, or his tip finally setting near your cervix. That was fucking new. Pleasant and scary, and fucking welcome as well.

“Say it again,” He asks, hands on both your hips and eyes looking over yours. Waiting for the stars to fall over the two of you. “tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck m──” He doesn’t wait for you to end before he removes himself, and going back with a gushing sound. You nearly scream out of pleasure, but in the last second, you bite your lips strong enough to draw some blood. “Mmh, you fucking a-asshole.” He snorts at that, before slapping your thigh.

Seems that Nanami can do all the noises he wants. He groans against your skin, head hanging low to stare at the way you pussy suck his dick in and out. You have always been a good girl ── his good girl. Taking all the he gave you. Mostly work related, and now his cock. You truly were made just for him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” A moan scapes your hands, and he doesn’t bother spanking your leg again. He called you baby, and you’re strangling his dick perfectly. You can shout at this point, he is pussy fucked.

Removing your hands from your mouth, you decide to do something much better than guarding your pleasure. Instead, you open his button-up blue shirt. A dream come through, is what this day will be remembered as. Specially now, where he lets you do as you pleases, and you have the sight of his pecks ── bronzed from a beach trip he took last week, and glistening with sweat for your recent activities. You moaned again, before going for it, and marking him.

Nanami allowed you to do so. He only cared about holding your hips and raise your lower body, so he could make you meet his thrusts halfway. He didn’t hold a care in the world about his groaning getting louder, or the burning on his neck and chest caused by your eager mouth and teeth. Fuck that. Fuck everyone. The only thing he truly wanted was to be inside of you forever. To be planted in this moment of his life, on loop, being marked by you, having his cock milked out by your dripping cunt. That’s what his life was made for.

Nanami Kento had this aura that made everyone scramble for him and his left-overs, as a way to keep close. To say they have something that once was his. Because everyone knew that Nanami was no one’s property. This moment, this fuck, this pussy proved that statement to be contraire ── he was yours. From the first day he saw you and specially one hour ago, when he had eaten your cookie and you told him to fuck you. He knew right then that he would shift the whole balance of the world to give you what you want.

And if that’s his aching cock, fucking be it. It’s yours. You’re taking it so good, and barely paying attention to it. He keeps bruising your cervix, and you respond with little whimpers and more bites. He quicken his peace, you close your legs around his waist, as if giving him more opening.

A perfect synchrony.

“Wan’ to cum.” You mumble just right after he senses your wall get tight.

“C’mon, baby, ugh, cum f’me.”

“Mmh, fuck, ngha.”

You do right after, going limp on his arms, he slow his thrusting with a snort and laying you down on the desk. He shuffles something by your dazed-self side, before he brings a black sharpie near your cleavage. He kisses and licks and sucks on it, before opening the pen with his mouth, and signing a straight line.

“How many more can you give me, pretty?” You don’t answer in words, but with more quiet whimpers, when his thrusts go back to pounding you in a maniac pace. He holds your neck down, leaning to kiss you through your beautiful moans.

You’re sensitive, he knows. Because you keep closing more and more around his length, trying to make him cum, unknown to you that it only makes you closer to coming again. You hit your head on the desk when trying to follow his departed lips, Nanami has your neck again on his mouth, tasting your sweat and lotion, and all you can give him. It’s only when he bites it slightly, you release yourself once more.

“Mmph, fuck, fuck, argh.”

Nanami keeps jerking his hips onto yours, not even having cum once. He takes pleasure in yours, you can see. With a proud smirk, he grabs the sharpie once more, but this time, he makes a diagonal line that touches the top of the first.

“Mhm──!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. Just a bit more.” He cooed at you, sweet tone diverging from his animalistic movements.

You’re not complaining, not even regretting. So you keep yourself down and let Nanami control both of yours fun. He is ruthless in his pace and fantastic with his kisses, he doesn’t mind your moaning anymore, or the fact that everyone on your floor already knows. What can they do? Stop you? Nanami will rip everyone apart and just return to your pussy. Threaten him? No one would dare. He is still their sweetheart, their most sacred prize, beautiful and shinning to look at. Never to have.

“I’m, ugh, I’m yours.” He grunts.

This time, you sense a shift in his thrusts. So methodical now sloppy, and his cock kept twitching inside of you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. Yes, fucking finally, he was near.

“All fucking m──mine.” You agreed with his words, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming your lips together. “I’m yours, always had been.”

Nanami can’t even control himself anymore. He groans and pants as he releases himself inside you. With a mist of swearing and praises you could barely decipher. After all, his own release had triggered yours.

When you both had come back from the high, Nanami raised himself from your chest, and kissed you, tongues intertwining, teeth clashing and biting. When he parted, leaving you breathless, he had then pen in his hand again. It touched your skin, once more, connecting from the bottom of his last line, going up straight.

It’s a “N”.

“You think we can spell my name?” He asks, leaving your inside to throw his condom out. He opens a drawer, where a box with more is presented.

“That would be more 17 fucks.” You support your weight on your elbows while counting.

“It’s that a no?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, before beckoning him closer. He does right away, kissing you hungrily once more. As if he is trying to record forever the taste of your mouth. He has your hair in his fists, pushing it back so he can go back to your, now, heavily marked neck.

“Let’s see how far can we go.” You indulge into his crazy erotic idea.

Nanami smiles triumphantly. He removes himself from your body, but doesn’t put condoms, instead, he falls on his knees, diving straight for your pussy.

Hours later, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, you leave his locked office with a smug smirk and timid eyes. Both accompanied by messy hair, flushed cheeks, marked neck and… “Nana” written on your chest.

“We’ll finish this later.” He comes behind you, closing his shirt, but letting the top buttons opened enough to catch a glimpse of your love marks on his chest. Specially the one with “Mine” marked in it.

[yawnderu]

ANGEL — Simon Riley x Reader

cw: toxic situationship, emotionally unavailable Simon, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Simon is canonically in his late 30s).

wc: 2,027 | Part II

“Shh, shh.” Simon can feel his heartstrings being forcefully pulled, the image of you crying, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cling to him for dear life, your fingers gripping his black hoodie.

“S'okay. I can introduce you to some o' my mates.” The look of exasperation you shoot his way is enough to make him try to hold back his laughter, knowing it's not appropriate. Part of him feels bad, but the other part defends itself by telling him he warned you.

Simon Riley doesn't do love. He doesn't do feelings— he's a dog, too tainted and dirty for someone like you, too doomed. He doesn't deserve you, and yet he can't stop crawling back to you despite the heartbreak he sees in your pretty eyes the moment tells you he has to leave.

“I don't want 'em.” His attention is dragged back to you, the whiny tone making his gaze soften despite himself.

“Can you just... fuck me like you love me? I don't care if it's fake, I just...” Another choked sob escapes your lips, soft fingers tightening their hold on the fabric of his hoodie. Simon doesn't say anything— there's nothing he can say to make it better for you. The one condition to your situationship was broken, yet he couldn't find it in himself to abandon you, not when you look up at him like a lost, needy puppy.

“Y'can pretend it's love...” He offers, his tone lacking any mirth or empathy, not when his lips are busy going down your neck, trying his best not to leave any marks or be too rough with you, fighting his own nature for your sake.

His scarred, pink lips travel down your bare body with a gentleness meant to soften the blow of his emotional unavailability, trying his best to counter the heartbreak, secretly hoping that he can slowly mend your broken heart.

“I'll be nice to ya.” His hot breath hits your bare stomach, making your muscles tense up at the sensation, an unwilling shiver running up your spine at the tenderness of his words and actions, something he never showed you when he used to fuck you.

“Treat you like the proper angel y'are.” Simon's guilt is pushed to the back of his mind the moment his lips plant against your clothed mound, his calloused hand going up to your stomach to gently push you down the moment your back arches, wanting to keep you nice and still for him. To take care of your needs, for once.

Simon is a patient man. A patient man, who runs his warm, wet tongue over your clothed cunt, paying especial attention to your hardened clit, only making the knot in your stomach tighten by the second, fingers lacing on his short blond hair, pulling him closer. The display of pure neediness makes Simon's lips tilt up into a small, soft smile despite himself.

His hands explore your soft legs, squeezing softly every once in a while just to reassure you that he's still there. That he's not going away for once. He can feel your muscles twitch beneath his palm, almost mirroring his neglected, throbbing cock.

Simon's warm hands sneak to the back of your thighs, subtly feeling up your ass with the pads of his fingers, slowly sinking into the fat and muscle before he's pulling your legs up, soft kisses planted on your pretty inner thighs, even going as far as to give them gentle love bites, knowing you don't care if he leaves marks— not when your slick is seeping through the fabric of your panties, ready as ever.

“Needy fuckin' girl.” His touch is as gentle as it could be for someone whose hands are used to responding with violence and aggression, sneaking up to the waistband of your panties, pulling down enough to reveal your glistening cunt, not minding how the black cloth was left neglected, hanging on your ankle.

Just like a man starved, Simon's wet tongue darts out of his mouth to give a long, sensual lick against your folds, savoring the taste of your slickness. His rough hands grip your hips to steady you, no longer minding the way your back arches from the pure pleasure he's giving you. He takes a second to admire the sight in front of him, his hot breath fanning against your cunt.

“Good girl.” His skilled, hungry tongue delves between your folds, lapping at your wetness with a need that matches your own. He explores every single inch of your pussy, his tongue flickering and swirling over your hard, swollen clit. His free hand reaches up to fondle one of your tits, his fingers digging into the fat as he devours you.

Simon's hips rock softly against the mattress, looking for any sort of possible relief for his hard, throbbing cock, neglecting it until he can't handle it, hesitantly letting go of your sweet cunt, crawling on top of you and caging you in with his strong, muscular arms. Your soft hand goes to his tattooed arm out of pure muscle memory, earning you a small smirk back.

“You want it, angel? This fat fuckin' cock inside you?” His hips jerk involuntarily, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen, his hand going down to his zipper out of habit, lowering it just enough to pull out his cock— until he realizes that he promised to make love to you, not to fuck.

With slight hesitation in his movements, Simon gets up from the bed, brown eyes watching your reaction with such focus you'd think he's a predator ready to pounce on its prey... and in a way, he is.

His chest rises and falls heavily as he starts to discard his clothes until he's completely bare and vulnerable, something he's never done before for anyone. The way your gaze softens as your eyes examine his scars almost makes him want to put his clothes back on— to leave and to never come back. Simon doesn't deserve your empathy, not when he keeps making you cry, yet he swallows his discomfort back down, his body resting on top of yours, lifting himself up with his arms.

“Y'always take me so well, don't you?” Simon teases in a whisper, his breath hot against your ear. The sound of your wetness mingling with his leaking tip fills the room, dragging a small whine out of you as he teases your entrance for a few seconds, his eyes on yours the moment he sinks into you, giving you time to get used to his thickness before starting to push in deeper, a low groan leaving his lips the moment he hits your sensitive, spongy cervix.

Simon leans down, his lips pressing against yours as he starts to thrust into your needy, sopping cunt, every single inch of him stretching you out like you were made for him. A small shiver runs down his spine when your hand goes up and down his back, caressing the scars from the torture he suffered at the hands of Roba. He pushes the bitter sensation away, putting his entire focus on the feeling of your tongue wrapping around his, tiny strings of saliva staining the corners of your soft lips.

He pulls you closer, his grip possessive yet still so gentle and tender, his touch becoming more intimate. Simon buries his face on the crook of your neck, open-mouthed kisses planted all over your soft, warm skin.

“Y'like this, princess?” He rolls his hips against yours, pushing himself as deep as possible into your pussy.

“Bet my mates could fuck you better.” Simon silences your protests with a quick kiss, thrusting faster into you just so you become willing to hear him out.

“Could treat ya better, too.” His forehead leans against yours, staring deep into the pleading look you're giving him, silently begging him to stop talking about it— to love you, begging for something he can't give you even if he were to force himself.

“My captain's a good man. Y'like older men, don't ya?” His breath is hot against your cheek, his eyes finally screwing shot as your cunt tightens around him at the mention of Price, a low, deep groan making its way out of his throat.

“'Course you do.” He says with a small chuckle, planting tender kisses all over your cheeks, feeling your breath against his face as more whiny, needy moans leave your lips, your velvety walls tightening around his hard cock.

Simon's back bends slightly as he rests his cheek against your chest, your fast-beating heart giving him a slight sense of comfort he's never found anywhere else. His thrusts grow more desperate— faster and deeper, feeling your tits vibrate with each loud moan you're letting out, pretty legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

“My pretty girl.” Even if he's just playing pretend, the words coming out of Simon's lips feel right, his thumb massaging your cheek while he admires you from beneath him, looking just like an angel. Part of Simon pities you, knowing that he'll never be able to love you back, but he can keep pretending for as long as you need.

The knot in your stomach starts to slowly come undone with every single thrust, feeling his meaty cock throb inside you. Your head leans back against the pillow, pretty eyes closing as you allow the illusion of love to set in— to imagine what it's like to be loved by someone like Simon, to get fucked like this daily, with such tenderness and care.

Simon can feel your walls gripping him harder, only encouraging him to slam his hips against yours the way he knows you love it, the upwards curve on his veiny cock allowing him to hit your spongy cervix over and over, low groans and loud pants escaping his lips. His grip tightens around your waist, fingers digging into the skin as he gets closer to the edge, his heavy balls tightening.

Simon lets out a shaky breath as you hold him closer to your sweaty body by the waist, the arch of your back allowing both of your hearts to be against the other's, both beating wildly with the heat of the moment. His face goes back to the crook of your neck as he lets out a loud, throaty moan as he spills his hot cum into you, riding out your orgasms, feeling your tight cunt grip him like vice.

He waits a few seconds before slowly pulling out of you, cupping your cheek just to have those pretty eyes look up at him with nothing but pure trust and love— so lovely, so pure, so untainted, unlike him. He lays down next to you, wrapping his burly arms around you and bringing your exhausted body against his, cuddling you up.

He plants gentle kisses all over your pretty face, basking in the afterglow of the intense love-making, admiring you like you're a piece of art... and truly, in Simon's eyes, you are. His phone vibrates against your bedside table, reaching out for it and letting out a small sigh at the message. Duty calls, and unfortunately, Simon can't get out of a deployment, even when part of his heart stays with you.

“My mates need me for a mission.” He says softly, planting one last kiss on your forehead before getting up from bed, putting his military-provided clothes back on. He stares at the sticky notes on your desk, giving you a small glance before leaning down and writing something on it, ripping the paper away from the rest and putting it down on your bedside table so you won't forget.

“'S my captain's number. Give 'im a call, yeah? He'll answer.” He promises, not daring to leave until you give him a small nod in confirmation, shooting you one last glance before leaving your room, the entrance door slamming shut soon after.

Your already teary eyes stare at the number written down on the sticky note, looking more enticing by the second.

John Price.