#she kept this under wraps from him for so long. but like he gets it bc it's also not safe for her kid

[theonottsbxtch]

THE FINAL CURTAIN | LN4

an: im so pissed i didn't get to post this when i wanted to but my fucking cunting stupid fucking boss made me work overtime, so i now deliver you this piece i've been working on my breaks. i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as @amyelevenn did.

wc: 6.1k

summary: it was now, time for the final curtain in his career. being a mob boss was never easy, a mob boss in love was harder.

mob boss!lando au

THE VILLA SAT AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, where land turned to cliff and cliff fell to sea.

It wasn’t large, not in the way the rich built things, no sweeping glass or steel, no guards at the gate. It was older than any ambition. Whitewashed walls, cracked with time, curled around shuttered windows and ivy-choked archways. In the evening, the place glowed with the softness of memory. Dust hung like incense in golden light.

The sea below breathed in slow rhythms, waves slipping over jagged rock like silk over bone. Somewhere inland, a dog barked. A radio flickered in a neighbouring farmhouse, too far to hear the tune. Here, there was only the hush of salt wind and the occasional groan of old wood cooling under a dying sun.

Inside, the house whispered stories.

Paint peeled from the edges of doorframes. Furniture sat with the posture of things long untouched, leather cracked, velvet worn thin. A bottle of Armagnac stood half-finished on the sideboard, next to two crystal tumblers that hadn’t seen lips in years. The piano in the parlour was missing a key. He never replaced it.

Lando kept to the back of the house now, in a room with high ceilings and faded frescoes, angels half-erased by time. A gramophone spun something low and moaning, a voice you could taste in your chest. Smoke curled from an ashtray like a ghost unsure whether it was welcome.

He'd left the front gate open.

Not out of carelessness, but invitation.

Outside, the sun kissed the edge of the water. The sky was turning the colour of old bruises, plum and ash and blood-orange. And somewhere out there, beneath that bruised horizon, she was coming.

He knew she would.

She always said he was impossible to resist when the world was ending.

It was the summer of ’42 when he met her.

He’d just come off some business, nothing elegant, nothing worth remembering, something bloody in the Bronx that left his knuckles sore and his suit a little too stiff at the collar. He walked into the bar to wash it down with bourbon and jazz.

It wasn’t a grand place. One of those smoky joints where the ceiling sweated and the lights were low enough to forgive anything. But the music was gold, and the whisky was older than most of the clientele.

She walked onstage in a blood-red dress, cut so sharp it hurt to look at her. The fabric clung to her like a secret. Her name was plastered everywhere, neon outside, on the drinks menu, murmured between men with their ties undone.

And yet, for reasons he never dared to ask, she looked at him.

Not just a glance. A full, measured look. As if she’d been waiting. As if she recognised him from a dream or a mistake she hadn’t made yet. Her eyes didn’t linger on his suit, or the way he nursed his drink. No, she looked at him like she was reading him.

And he knew right then, he’d been read.

She sang something slow and cruel, something that wrapped around the ribs and tugged. Billie Holiday, maybe. Maybe something older. Her voice wasn’t just beautiful, it was dangerous. It made promises it never said aloud. It was the kind of voice a man could drown in with both eyes open.

Lando didn’t believe in fate.

But that night, something shifted. Something ancient and inevitable.

She sang three songs. He stayed for all of them. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right until she stepped offstage, drink in hand, and walked straight up to him like a question he hadn’t prepared for.

“Lando Norris,” she said. Not a guess. A statement. Like it was written on him somewhere.

And he, cool, clever, unreadable Lando, had nothing to say.

Just a smile. Just a low, “You always open conversations with names or only the ones you already own?”

She smirked, slow and lethal. “Just the ones worth remembering.”

And that was how she greeted him, many years later. In a tone so soft he was certain he didn’t deserve it.

“Lando Norris.”

Her voice hadn’t changed. It still slipped through the ribs like music, low and velvet and dangerous in the quiet. Only now it carried something else, something older, heavier. Like she was already reminiscing the present, narrating it in real time as memory.

He hadn’t opened the door all the way. Just enough for her to exist in the threshold, haloed by the last of the dying light. The sea wind toyed with the ends of her scarf, red silk clinging to her body like it had known it once. Her heels clicked softly against the old stone, and for a moment, she didn’t move, just stood there, letting the moment breathe.

She wore red again. Not the same red. Deeper now. The red of wine-stained lips and wounds that never scabbed. The neckline wasn’t as daring, but the effect was the same. She stole the air from the room before she even entered it.

He opened the door wider without a word. Stepped back like a man caught in a dream he wasn’t sure he was ready to wake from. She walked past him slowly, deliberately, like she owned the air, the walls, the silence between them.

Lando watched her the way men watch fires they started long ago with awe, guilt, and an aching pull they’ll never quite escape.

She turned once she was inside, fingers trailing the spine of an old piano as if greeting an old friend. The corners of her mouth curved, not into a smile exactly, but something gentler, something forgiving. Something that said she knew.

“I thought it might be you,” she said, eyes moving lazily over the room. “No one else leaves a door open like an apology.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forced his voice into the shape of calm.

“Would’ve left you a key, but what if the wrong people found it.”

She tilted her head. “And who are the wrong people?”

He didn’t answer. Just moved toward the drinks cabinet, hand already reaching for the crystal tumblers.

“Whisky?” he asked.

“Only if it’s not a peace offering.”

He chuckled once. Quiet. Almost hollow.

“Nothing that sentimental left in me, I’m afraid.”

She walked to the window. The sea below was black now, trembling with the last embers of gold. She leaned against the frame like it remembered her, like she belonged there.

He handed her a glass.

She didn’t drink.

Just looked at him over the rim, her eyes the same sharp, unreadable mess of colours he used to love like a bad habit.

“You’ve got that look,” she murmured. “Like a man waiting to die.”

Lando didn’t flinch. Just raised his glass in mock salute.

“Waiting to remember, more like.”

She finally took a sip, slow. Thoughtful.

“Then let’s remember.”

They sat in it for a while, the quiet. It wrapped around them like a silk robe left too long in the cold. Outside, the sea pressed its rhythm against the cliffs, a slow, patient tide. Inside, the record had long since stopped. The needle scratched softly in its own rhythm, like a clock with nothing left to count down.

He stood by the fireplace, drink in hand, gaze flicking between her and the dark. She remained by the window, silhouetted, a ghost too vivid to be gone.

“You look tired,” she said gently, not accusing, just noticing.

“I’m not sleeping much these days.”

“You never did.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“I dream too loud,” he said finally. “And the nights are getting longer.”

She nodded, sipping. “And the end?”

“Closer than I’d like. Further than I deserve.”

Her eyes slid toward him. No pity. Just understanding.

Another silence bloomed between them, ripe and aching.

He shifted, fingers tightening slightly around the glass. Then, a faint grimace ghosted across his face, something brief but telling, a crack in the armour.

She saw it.

“Lando.”

He raised a hand, waving it off, but the weight of her name in the air had already opened something.

“You know…” He hesitated, voice lower now, rougher. “This kind of talk, it’s not my strong suit.”

She turned fully to him then, her expression softened by candlelight and history.

“Then don’t talk,” she said. “Play.”

She moved across the room, slow and sure, hips swaying like a memory he still hadn’t earned. At the piano, she didn’t sit on the bench. She sat on the piano just like she had years ago, back in that New York club. Red silk pooling around her thighs, one leg crossed over the other like punctuation.

“Tell me what you have to say in song.”

He stayed still for a breath, maybe two.

Then, without a word, he set the glass down, walked to the piano, and ran a hand gently across the keys, as if waking something old. The instrument wheezed softly under his touch, out of tune, like him. But alive.

He played slowly at first, testing muscle memory, coaxing the melody out like a shy thing.

Then it came.

The song.

The one she sang that first night in her blood-red dress and lights in her eyes. 

“You Go to My Head.” Slow. Wounded. Longing.

Her breath caught, not dramatically, just enough to still the air between them.

She didn’t ask how he remembered. She simply joined him.

Her voice slid over the notes like silk slipping off skin. Older now, smokier, but richer. Full of ruin and tenderness. She sang low, for him only. A song not meant for stages anymore, just for this room, this hour, this ending.

Lando didn’t look at her while he played. He couldn’t. He kept his eyes on the keys, on the trembling between chords. But his fingers didn’t falter.

She leaned back slightly, her palm resting behind her on the polished wood, her head tilting as she sang, watching him, always watching him.

The lyrics curled between them, thick with meaning.

You go to my head And you linger like a haunting refrain And I find you spinning ’round in my brain Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

By the time the last note faded, the silence that returned wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Heavy with everything they hadn’t said, everything they didn’t have to.

She exhaled. Not quite a sigh. More like release.

And he still didn’t look up.

But he whispered, “I shouldn’t have left you.”

And she whispered back, “You never really did.”

He let the last note hang between them, then finally met her eyes, tired, haunted, but honest.

“You should have moved on,” he said quietly. “I had nothing good for you.”

She shook her head, hopping down and stepping closer until the space between them was nothing but breath and old wounds.

“You were my everything,” she said, voice breaking just a fraction. “Why now, Lando? After all this time?”

He looked away toward the window, where the dark sea swallowed the last light. “The FBI will be here at dawn. I’ve been tipped off, given a chance to run. But…” His voice cracked, just barely. “I think I’m done running.”

Her fingers found their way into his thick curls, rough and tender all at once. She pulled his head down to rest against her palm, whispering softly, “My dear boy.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch like it might hold back the coming storm.

“I guess,” he murmured, “I came to give you closure. To talk. To live the nights of the late ’40s again. Just one last time.”

She held his head a moment longer, fingers threading through the curls like a prayer whispered in the dark. The faint scent of sea salt and whisky clung to the air between them, mingling with the heavy heat of years left unspoken.

“Tell me,” she said softly, voice barely above the whisper of the waves beyond the window, “what made you stop running, Lando? After everything, all the blood, all the ghosts?”

He sighed, a slow exhale that seemed to carry the weight of too many nights spent alone. His gaze drifted to the flicker of candlelight dancing across the cracked plaster walls.

“Maybe I’m tired of pretending I’m someone else. Tired of hiding behind lies and shadows. Or maybe,” he smiled, but it was a ghost of something that used to be, “maybe I just wanted to see you one last time.”

She stepped closer, searching his eyes like a diver seeking pearls in murky depths. “Do you regret it? Leaving me all those years ago?”

He hesitated. Then, with a rough edge to his voice, “I regret the way I left. The silence. But not what we had.”

Her breath caught.

“And the rest? The life you chose? The things you did?”

He looked down at his hands, scarred, worn, but steady. “I did what I had to. That’s all any of us do.”

She studied him, her fingers still tangled in his hair. “You want to relive the late ’40s again?”

He nodded slowly, eyes finally meeting hers with a flicker of something fierce and fragile.

Without a word, she let the silk of her dress slip from her shoulders, the fabric pooling around her waist like a tide retreating from shore. The soft rustle echoed in the stillness of the room as she turned and walked toward his bedroom, each step a silent invitation, a promise wrapped in shadow and memory.

Lando followed, the air between them charged with the weight of the past and the fleeting urgency of the present. Tonight wasn’t just a reunion. It was a reckoning.

The room hadn’t changed. The bed was still wide and low, the sheets a faded ivory tangled from restless nights. A candle flickered on the dresser, casting slow-moving shadows over the worn walls. The windows were open, letting the sea in, soft and rhythmic, like breath.

She stood at the foot of the bed, red silk still pooled at her hips, bare from the waist up. Her skin caught the light like porcelain kissed by flame, warm, alive, scarred in places only he would ever know. Her eyes were steady as she watched him cross the threshold.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze devoured her with reverence, not hunger, a man reacquainting himself with something sacred. When he reached her, his hands hovered first. She didn’t rush him.

His fingers brushed her collarbone, feather-light, as though he were trying to memorise the shape of her again. She shivered, not from cold, but from the unbearable tenderness of it. His touch moved downward, over the swell of her breast, across the soft curve of her waist, until he found the silk at her hips. He dropped to his knees, pressed his cheek to her stomach, and breathed.

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said, voice thick with ache.

She said nothing. She just cradled his head with both hands, thumbs stroking the line of his jaw. When she bent to kiss him, it was slow, long and warm, with the salt of old tears and new want.

They undressed in silence.

She let the silk fall. He unbuttoned his shirt, each movement deliberate, eyes never leaving hers. When he lay back on the bed, she followed him down like a tide returning home.

Their mouths met again, slow, lingering, lips parting like they were trying to remember how the other tasted. His hands were everywhere and nowhere, mapping her skin with soft insistence, his thumbs circling her hips, his lips trailing down the line of her throat, over the hollow of her collarbone.

When he slid inside her, it wasn’t rushed or rough, it was a reunion. A prayer in motion. She gasped quietly, fingers threading through his hair again, like she couldn’t bear to let go. His name slipped from her lips like something half-said in a dream.

“Lan…”

He moved slowly, reverently, like every thrust was a confession, every breath a surrender. Their bodies moved in rhythm, not urgent, but deep, like they were reclaiming time, rewriting the silence of years with touch. He held her face as he moved within her, foreheads pressed together, sweat beading at his temples, and in his eyes was nothing but her.

She arched against him, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in, grounding him, as though she could anchor them both to this moment.

They didn’t speak while they came, just breath and skin and something that felt like grief breaking open into pleasure. Her body trembled beneath his, soft moans melting into his mouth as he kissed her through it.

When it was over, they didn’t part.

He lay beside her, one arm draped across her waist, the other stroking her back in slow, endless circles. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the quiet thunder of his heart.

For a long time, there was only the sea, the soft rustle of sheets, and the scent of her skin on his.

“I wish we’d had more of this,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “We still have tonight.”

The candle burned low on the nightstand, its flame trembling slightly with every shift of the sea breeze. The sheets were tangled around them, warm and heavy, holding their bodies together like a secret too long kept.

She lay with her head on his chest, one arm draped lazily over his ribs, tracing circles against his skin. His fingers moved slowly up and down her spine, a rhythm so gentle it could’ve been mistaken for dreaming.

For a long while, they didn’t speak.

The quiet was honest. It didn’t need filling.

Then, finally, her voice broke through the stillness. Soft. Careful.

“So what happened, Lando?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just sighed, the kind that feels like it’s been sitting at the bottom of the lungs for years.

“I rose too fast,” he said at last. “Too young, too clever. Thought I could play both sides, keep my hands clean while the world around me turned red.”

Her head tilted slightly, listening. Watching his mouth move with the kind of reverence one gives to confessions.

“I dealt in information. Moved money. Knew where to be, where not to be. I was never a saint, but I was never the butcher they whispered about. I never killed a soul.”

She blinked, long and slow. “Never?”

He turned his head toward her then, the amber light casting shadows along his jawline. “Not once. I gave orders, yes. Turned my back. But I’ve never pulled a trigger. Not even when I should’ve.”

There was something raw in that. Not pride, guilt, maybe. A kind of quiet shame that he hadn’t been braver, or crueler, or something in between.

“I walked away when it got too bloody,” he added. “Disappeared. Took what I had and vanished to the coast. Bought silence, bought safety.”

She nodded slowly, her fingers still moving across his chest like they were keeping time.

“And now?”

He looked past her, toward the open window. The sky was still dark, but it had changed. It had that look, the edge of morning.

“When they raid here,” he said quietly, “they’ll find a marriage certificate in the drawer. English and Italian for your family, signed and sealed.”

She looked up at him, lips parting slightly in question, but he didn’t stop.

“And a codicil, handwritten, notarised. Tucked inside my will. Lawfully, everything I own that they can’t trace back to crimes, the house, the accounts, the paintings, it all belongs to you.”

She stared at him, breath caught in her throat.

“Lando…”

He reached behind him, into the drawer of the bedside table. Pulled out a folded sheet of cream paper, slightly yellowed at the edges, stamped in red wax.

The codicil.

He placed it between them on the bed.

“I didn’t bring you here to watch me fall,” he said. “I brought you here so that when I do, something of me still stands.”

She sat up, the sheet slipping down her chest, bare in the candlelight but unflinching. The look she gave him was full of fury and heartbreak and something dangerously close to love.

“You think I care about your bloody house?”

“No,” he said simply. “I think you care about me.”

She swallowed, hard.

Then she reached for the codicil with one hand, and for his cheek with the other.

“My love,” she murmured again, this time not as comfort—but as mourning.

And Lando, lying beside her, naked in body and in truth, closed his eyes.

Not to sleep.

But to remember.

To feel the weight of her hand on his face.

And know, for the first time in years, what it meant to be seen.

“Can I read it?” she asked, voice hushed but steady.

He rose slowly, tugging on a pair of worn boxers as he moved toward the desk. The faint scrape of his chair echoed in the stillness. “Of course.”

She unfolded the codicil carefully, as if it might crumble if handled too roughly. The handwritten letters were clear, deliberate.

CODICIL TO THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LANDO NORRIS DATED 13/11/1954

I, Lando Norris, of sound mind and memory, do hereby declare this document to be a Codicil to my Last Will and Testament dated 13/11/1954. In full knowledge of the consequences I now face, and in clear conscience, I amend my Will as follows:

I acknowledge her as my lawful wife in both spirit and intent. A certificate was executed on 28/10/1954 reflecting our union. Regardless of its recognition under civil law, it is to be honoured in accordance with my wishes.

I bequeath to her the whole of my remaining estate, to the extent legally permissible, including:

The residence situated on the northern shore of Lake Como, registered under the name of L. Norris, held in trust since 1949, the penthouse apartment located on 41st, purchased in 1951 via E. Travers & Co, and Harbourfell House on Ocean Drive, Newport, Rhode Island, acquired in 1947 and held by Cormorant Holdings Ltd.

Any safes, contents, valuables, or documents held therein,

Any business interests, holdings, or financial accounts not currently under investigation or subject to seizure.

Personal effects of sentimental or religious significance, including, but not limited to, family heirlooms, religious items, letters, and personal belongings are to be retained by her in full.

Let this Codicil stand as my final word in these matters.

Let no authority deny her what I have freely given.

She is entitled to what remains of me, what little they haven’t already taken.

In the eyes of God, she is my wife. In the eyes of the law, let her be shown the respect due such a title.

This Codicil is executed of my own volition, without duress or coercion, this 13th of November, 1954.

Signed, Lando Norris

She folded the paper slowly, eyes still locked on his face, searching.

“And what of Oscar, Max?” Her voice faltered slightly as she asked the names that meant everything beyond this moment. “Will they be looked after or am I to be?”

He sank back onto the bed beside her, a quiet certainty settling in his gaze.

“They know what’s happening,” he said softly. “They’ve been taken care of. And they’ll look after you. You won’t be alone in this.”

She let his words wash over her, a fragile comfort amid the storm gathering just beyond their door.

For now, in the amber light, it was just them, two souls clinging to what little time they had left.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind only two people who’ve weathered storms together could share. Their bodies still warmed by the fire of their reunion, but their hearts heavy with the knowledge of what was to come. Outside, the faint murmur of the sea was a distant lullaby, gentle and unyielding.

She moved closer, her hands reaching out without a word. The touch was tentative at first, as if afraid to break the fragile stillness, then firmer, wrapping around him like a lifeline. He folded himself into her arms, the quiet weight of his body grounding her in the present.

Her breath was soft against his ear as she asked, “When do you think they’ll come?”

He whispered back, voice low and rough with exhaustion, “In three hours, give or take.”

She pressed a kiss to the curve of his neck, her fingers threading through his curls. “Then let me hold you. Let me remember how you feel.”

And so they stayed, wrapped in each other’s arms, the candlelight flickering gently as the night deepened, holding onto what time they had left.

It began, as endings often do, not with chaos, but with a whisper.

A noise, soft, deliberate, threaded through the walls like a needle pulling silk. The crack of gravel beneath a foot, the low metallic scrape of a vehicle door closed too carefully, the hush of men breathing through their nerves.

Lando’s eyes opened at once.

Not startled, not panicked, just aware. He lay still for a moment, his body instinctively attuned to the sound of inevitability. It had arrived. Right on time.

Beside him, she stirred, her brow creasing faintly as sleep began to slip away.

He turned his head, watching her wake, the faint glow of the candle’s dying flame playing against the softness of her bare shoulder.

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against her forehead. His voice was the sound of something old and broken trying not to break further.

Her eyes fluttered open, confusion chasing the edges of her gaze.

And then—

It began.

The door below shattered inward with a brutal thud, the wood cracking like bone. Boots thundered against tile. A man’s voice barked orders, muffled through radios and adrenaline.

Glass shattered.

The piano in the lounge screamed, an ugly, discordant wail as something heavy crashed into it. That beautiful thing that had once filled the air with music now reduced to broken strings and splinters.

Lando rose quietly, calmly, the way a man does when he’s long since made peace with the moment his past comes calling.

She sat up, holding the sheet against her chest, eyes wide, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

“Lando—”

“Don’t say anything,” he said gently, pulling on his trousers, his shirt already half-buttoned from earlier. “Don’t give them your voice. They don’t deserve to hear it.”

Footsteps pounded up the staircase now, measured, disciplined. The sound of men trained to move through darkness.

He reached for the codicil on the bedside table and slid it into the drawer, hiding the draft in his desk. Just as planned. Just as rehearsed. A paper shield, if nothing else.

The bedroom door splintered on the first hit.

Dust and wood flew inward as armed men in navy jackets poured through, their eyes sharp, their weapons raised not in fear, but in protocol.

“Lando Norris!” one of them shouted, voice flat and cold. “Hands in the air. Do not move. You are under arrest.”

He turned toward them slowly, hands lifting, palms open. There was no resistance in him, no fire. Only a man too tired to run, too full of memory to beg.

Behind him, she stood, wrapped in a random shirt she’d just picked up and moonlight, chin held high, her face unreadable.

He glanced at her, just once, a look that said remember this.

Then he spoke, not to the agents, but to her.

“This is how the curtain falls, love,” he said, quiet and clear. “But let them know, let the world know, I went out with your name in my heart.”

And then the cuffs clicked into place.

One of the agents stepped forward, his voice clipped and authoritative. “Ma’am, I need you to step back—”

She didn’t even glance at him. Her eyes were only for Lando.

They tried to block her, a firm hand pressing to her shoulder, but Lando shifted, saying with a sharpness they hadn’t yet heard from him: “Let her through.”

The agent paused. Hesitated. Then stepped aside.

She stood before him now, the amber light casting her in gold, his shirt wrapped carelessly around her frame. Her eyes searched his face, those carved cheekbones, the tired set of his mouth, and the tears.

God, the tears.

Silent and shining, they clung to his lashes like dew, catching in the small creases by his eyes. He hadn’t sobbed. He hadn’t made a sound. But they fell, all the same.

She reached up, cradling his face with both hands, the way a woman does when she’s trying to memorise something before it’s gone. Her thumbs brushed the tears from his cheeks, slow and reverent.

Then, softly, she brought her lips to his.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t a goodbye.

It was a promise.

She pulled away, barely an inch, and he looked at her like he was seeing something he couldn’t bear to lose again.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Just like that.

No flourish. No apology. Just the truth, laid bare between them.

It was the first time. All these years, after laughter, after loss, after nights spent tangled in breath and devotion, and only now had the words left his mouth.

Her eyes filled, but she didn’t let a single tear fall. Not yet. Not in front of them.

She mouthed it back, lips trembling.

I love you too.

And then they pulled him away.

In the years that came, people speculated endlessly about what became of Lando Norris’s wealth. There were whispers in darkened bars and murmurs in courtrooms, but no one ever truly knew the truth.

Only she did.

She moved quietly into the house in Newport, Rhode Island, Harbourfell, they’d called it in the deeds, though the brass plate on the gate had long since faded to green. After the raid, it had been boarded up, the garden overrun, the sea-facing windows clouded with salt and disuse. But she took her time with it. She restored it slowly, carefully, as though rebuilding more than just walls.

At first, they’d contested the will. The codicil. Everything.

Too convenient, too romantic, too well protected, they said. But somehow, and no one could quite explain how, she had lawyers who made things vanish, turn pliable, bend like old vines. When the dust finally settled, Harbourfell was hers. So was the flat on 41st. So were a number of quiet, unassuming holdings that never bore Lando’s name on paper.

She never flaunted it. Never spoke much of it at all.

Oscar and Max turned their backs on the lives that had bound them, boys once swallowed by shadows now softened by domesticity. Oscar took up photography in Vermont. Max opened a bakery in Queens, of all things. She adored them, visited when she could, but what she truly loved were their children.

She became the sort of aunt that children trusted immediately. The kind who kept sweets in her handbag and always remembered what each one was afraid of and what each one dreamed about. Every two weeks, without fail, she went to the penthouse in New York, not to haunt old memories, but to watch new lives unfold. She’d giggle quietly as they played, her voice often drowned out by the squeals and stomps of tiny feet, marvelling at how not one of them had inherited their fathers’ accents.

“Auntie,” they’d say in their broad little New York voices, tugging on her skirt. “Come see!”

And she always did.

She rarely saw Lando.

Rikers Island was no place for a woman like her, and besides, he hated the thought of her walking into that concrete oubliette, hated her seeing him with shackles at his ankles. When she did go, it was brief. His eyes always lit up, but his voice would drop to that same old hush: “You should be out there, not here.”

He urged her to move on. Build a life. Fall in love again.

But she never remarried. Never even came close.

She lived in quiet comfort with her Labrador, a gentle beast named Freddie, and three orange cats who ruled the place with haughty entitlement. She joked to the children that she was outnumbered and outranked. Sometimes she thought about getting a horse, a ridiculous notion, really, but the fields at Harbourfell did stretch out like something from a painting, and the idea of watching the sun rise from a saddle had its charms.

She didn’t mourn him. Not in the usual way.

Because Lando Norris wasn’t gone. Not entirely.

He lingered in the records she still played on rainy afternoons. In the coat she refused to part with. In the warm terracotta tiles she’d laid herself in the kitchen, because he once said he missed Italy. In the letters, god, the letters, that still arrived from time to time, written in his unmistakable hand, always ending with my love to you, in whatever sky you’re under.

She lived quietly. Laughed often.

And every now and then, at twilight, when the sea air turned a little cooler and the cats curled around her ankles, she’d close her eyes and remember the feel of his lips against her forehead, the weight of his voice saying I love you, too late, but somehow right on time.

The scent of almond and cardamom curled through the air as the oven ticked softly behind her. Flour dusted her hands, her nose, a bit in her hair where she’d pushed a stray curl back too quickly. The kitchen windows were open, letting in the sea breeze and the dull crash of the tide. Somewhere in the back garden, Freddie gave a lazy bark, more out of principle than necessity.

She didn’t hear the front door open, not until footsteps creaked on the old oak floor.

“You know,” came a familiar voice, dry and teasing, “leaving the gate open and the front door slightly ajar will one day bring you issues.”

She looked up from her mixing bowl with a grin already tugging at her lips. “Can’t help it,” she replied, turning to face Oscar. “That’s how he greeted me home. Left it open, every bloody time. Said locks were for men with secrets.”

Oscar stepped into the kitchen, his coat speckled with summer rain, a newspaper folded under his arm. He looked older these days, lines deeper around his eyes, hair going grey at the temples, but he still had that same tired mischief in his expression, the look of a man who’d lived a thousand lives and remembered them all too well.

They hugged, briefly and wordlessly. The kind of embrace that said I’ve missed you without needing to.

“Coffee?” she offered.

He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve not come to interrupt your baking without cause.”

She gave him a look. “You never need cause.”

“This time I do,” he said, pulling something from inside his coat.

A letter.

Sealed. Official. Heavy in the way certain pieces of paper can be, the kind that carry more than just ink.

She frowned. “What’s this?”

“I come with news.”

She dried her hands and took the letter from him carefully, her fingers suddenly cold despite the oven’s warmth. She broke the seal with cautious hands and read the contents once. Then twice.

Her brow furrowed deeper. “Sentence... shortening?”

Oscar nodded.

“But how?” she whispered, eyes scanning the words again, as if another reading might make more sense of it. “He’s meant to have years still. Decades.”

Oscar leaned against the kitchen table, arms crossed. “You were a fool if you ever underestimated him, my dear friend. He may have been ready to live the rest of his life behind those bars. But watching you live yours out here, still in that shirt of his, still setting a place at the table some nights, has made him restless.”

She blinked, stunned. Her heart fluttered like something had startled it from slumber. “So he...”

“He made arrangements. Fought for an appeal, reopened some old accounts. Got the right people to owe him the right favours. The paperwork’s been a nightmare, but it’s done. Or nearly.”

She sank slowly into the chair nearest the stove, the air around her shifting like something inside had cracked open just a little.

Oscar smiled gently. “He might be coming home.”

And for the first time in years, properly, unmistakably, she felt her breath catch. Not with pain. Not with fear. But with hope.

Because her baby was coming home.

the end.

@rebelatbay @fictionalfanatic123 @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine @papayainsectorone

[bm571158]

Burnout- MV1

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen

'Champagne, Celebrations & Chaos'

(smut warning from the 🔥 onwards)

The paddock was buzzing come race day. The neon lights of the Vegas strip lit up the track. It was chaotic, the pressure was on and Max hadn't slept a wink the night before. Not because of the pressure of the fact today was the day he might clinch his fourth world championship. No, he'd been awake all night thinking about her.

The way she'd looked on stage, the smile on her face, those mile long legs and the way her body moved to the music. It was all he could think about. All he could see every time he closed his eyes. Then he'd had to go back and share a hotel bed with her like it was nothing. When she'd turned over in her sleep and curled her face into his neck, his hands had been almost twitching trying to stop himself pulling her in closer.

The lack of sleep had left him tense and grumpy, but she'd put it down to the pressure he was under to perform after a less than ideal qualifying. The team hadn't commented at all. They were used to him by this point.

He'd parted ways with Talia when they'd arrived at the track. She had commitments with the film crew, and he had meetings with the team and the drivers parade to get to ahead of the race. He didn't like to dwell on the fact that he missed having her around when he got a few minutes between meetings and was left in Red Bull hospitality on his own.

It was just after the drivers parade when she did eventually catch up to him. He'd spent the entire drivers parade dying inside as everyone questioned him about his relationship with Talia, Lando making jokes about him living every man's dream getting to share a bed with her. Max had been redder than Charles's Ferrari jacket and nothing had even happened.

But they didn't know that. The way they'd taken the piss out of him had been absolutely relentless.

She was still in her race suit from filming, the suit hanging around her hips as she leaned against the wall waiting for him. Her eyes bright and a smile on her face despite the long days.

"Hey." She grinned. "I've been looking for you."

"Missing me already?" He joked. "You done and coming back to Red Bull?"

She nodded. Her clothes were in a bag in his drivers room that she'd left there earlier so that she could change ahead of the race when she was done with filming.

"I'll walk with you."

He called out a quick goodbye to the others, ignoring the comments he could already Lando and Charles making behind them as they walked away. As they made their way into the crowds of the paddock he reached back and grabbed her hand to keep her with him without a second thought. It just felt right.

Lando was still taking the piss out of him for it as they stood on the grid for the anthem ahead of the race.

"Lando, I swear to god if you don't shut up I'm going to kill you." Max hissed under his breath as the anthem finished.

Lando didn't say anything, just laughed and walked away like he knew that he was right.

.🎥

When the lights went out at the start of the race, Max was in P6. Talia was in the back of the garage, wrapped in his coat as it was surprisingly cold, with her fingers cross tightly like it might actually be doing something. She was more nervous for him than she had been for anything in her entire life.

He needed this, he deserved it. She'd been watching him work so hard for this championship all year, and she wanted nothing more than for him to finally do it and them to be celebrating. He'd earned it.

He stayed surprisingly calm on the radio compared to how he'd been in the last few races when he was struggling with the car. The on board showed him wrestling the steering wheel to keep it going the right way on more than one occasion, but he kept calm and didn't complain. Just got it back on the racing line as quickly as he could and set off up the road after the next car.

The overtakes were a bit scrappy, but mainly because the car was so unpredictable, he kept himself out of trouble and didn't take any unnecessary risks. Once he'd got past Lando he seemed to accept that he just needed to make sure he brought it home. He didn't need to win, just make sure that he finished ahead of Lando.

The last ten laps after he got himself up to P3 just seemed to last an absolute lifetime. The entire garage was holding their breath, like no one dared to move just in case. Lando was right behind him, close enough that if Max made a mistake he might just capitalise on it and the title fight would continue on to the next race.

But Max used all his skill and experience to keep

Lando behind him right up to the chequered flag, even when it had looked like it was impossible. As he passed the chequered flag Talia finally let out a breath, relief and excitement flooding through her simultaneously. A cheer broke out in the garage, champagne being opened and people drifting out into the pitlane to head down to the podium to meet him.

She'd followed after them, running down the pitlane in her heels as fast as she could manage.

He was just pulling in behind the board that had been put out, the one that declared him the 2024 world champion, when they arrived. The red bull team that were already there ushered her up to the barriers at the front to wait for him, and her face almost hurt from smiling as she watched him celebrating with his team.

They'd hoisted him up in the air, spinning him around, before he'd even got as far as taking his helmet off. But even through the gap where he'd lifted up his visor she could see enough of his eyes to know he had a huge smile on his face.

When they eventually set him down and he managed to take his helmet off he'd made his way over to the barrier. The team had wrapped him in hugs, patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him with huge smiles on their face.

And then he'd reached her.

Thrown his arms around her and hugged her so tightly that he very nearly dragged her over the barrier with him.

"That was amazing!" She grinned, voice muffled against his neck. "I'm so proud of you."

"We're celebrating tonight." He grinned, pulling back a little to look at her. His arms were still wrapped around her, and he looked at her with a silent question for a moment that she didn't really understand.

And then his lips were on hers. Fingers tangled through her hair. Kissing her like she was the oxygen that he so desperately needed.

He pulled away eventually, not because he wanted to, but because not only did he actually need a second to breathe, he was being given the hurry up for the cool down room by the FIA.

"I've gotta go." He mumbled, blushing, as he finally released her. "I'll come find you as soon as I'm done with media?"

And then he walked away and left her there, lipstick smudged halfway around her face, hair a mess and absolutely zero regrets.

She'd done more than enough fake kisses for a script in her life to know when something felt real and that... that had felt like it meant something, even if it really shouldn't.

She'd wandered back to the Red Bull garage with everyone else as he'd gone off to do media. Looking in confusion as someone tossed her something when she walked in, only to realise it was one of the T-shirts that the team had made for the occasion.

She pulled it over her head with a smile, grabbed a glass of champagne that was offered to her and perched on the counter at the back of the garage to wait for him to return with the rest of the team.

When he did return, it was with a gin and tonic in his hand, her lipstick still smudged on his lips and a huge grin still on his face. The garage had cheered for him again, he'd found himself picked up and spun around as they chanted his name.

Then, when they'd finally set his feet back on the ground for a couple of minutes, he'd spotted her still sitting on the counter at the back of the garage, legs dangling and watching him with a fond smile on her face.

"Hey." He grinned, walking over to her and stopping in front of her. The hand that wasn't cradling his gin and tonic landed gently on her thigh as he looked at her. "I like the shirt, looks good on you."

"How many of those have you had?" She joked, gesturing towards the drink in his hand.

"Nowhere near enough." He grinned. "I just... I didn't overstep the mark earlier, did I? I got a bit caught up with all the celebrating and then I stood there on the podium thinking oh fuck why did I do that."

"Max." She laughed, placing her hand on his chest to stop the nervous rant he was about to go on. "It's all good, I promise."

He gulped down the rest of his drink and set the cup on the side next to her. "So you don't mind if I do it again then?"

She didn't get an answer out, his lips were already on hers, hands on her waist this time and pulling her in closer to him.

He pulled away suddenly at the sound of someone calling his name, as though he'd suddenly remembered where he was.

"I need to do this team photo." He explained, adjusting the front of his race suit before he turned to the front of the garage. "Then we're going back to the hotel for get ready to celebrate properly."

Something about the way he said it, and the wink he shot her as he walked back out to join the team, sent a shiver down her spine.

.🎥

By the time that they got back to the hotel, Max had managed to down another two gin and tonics, and Talia was a couple of glasses of champagne in. They weren't drunk, but the mix of alcohol and adrenaline was definitely giving them a buzz. Neither of them could stop smiling.

"You're coming out to celebrate with me, right?" Max asked suddenly as they walked into the room, as though it had just occurred to him that he'd never really invited her and just assumed that she was coming with him.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." She smiled. "I bought a new dress especially."

"You were expecting to be celebrating?" He asked.

She nodded. "I knew you could do it."

The words seemed to linger in the air between them. He was looking at her intently, fingers flexing at his sides like he was trying to remind himself to be still.

"Do you mind if I shower first?" She asked. "It'll take me a little while to do my hair after."

"Sure, go ahead." Max nodded. He kicked his shoes off, stripped out of most of his layers of team kit and flopped down on the bed as she headed off to the bathroom.

His phone was going off like mad. A mix of people offering their congratulations and Lando who'd taken it upon himself to organise the after party. Max replied to Lando quickly to let him know they'd be ready in an hour or so. Then he tossed the phone back down. He'd reply to everyone else later.

His thoughts were too consumed by the way Talia's lips had felt on his. The way her body had melted into his as he kissed her. It might've been captured from all angles and plastered all over the internet by the team and the media but it wasn't for them, it had just been went felt right in the moment.

The same way he wanted her there with him while he was celebrating.

When she came back out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel that only just reached the top of her thighs a few minutes later, it almost undid him there and then. He didn't know where to look, and rather hurriedly made his way into the bathroom. He stood under the spray of the shower willing himself to get it together and stop acting quite so weird.

But after all that time trying to convince himself that he was fine and he could be normal, he came back out to find her stood in front of the mirror styling her hair, and still wrapped in that tiny towel that he'd been trying so hard not to think about.

He took a breath, walked over to the mini bar and poured himself another gin and tonic.

"Do you want another drink?" He asked.

"Sure, I'll have whatever you're having. Thanks." She smiled. "Where exactly are we going anyway?"

"Uh... Lando was organising it. I can't remember which club he said. I think the same one we went to last year." Max told her, making them a drink each and carrying it over.

He walked up behind her and went to reach around her to put the glass down on the counter in front of where she was standing. As he did so, his chest pressed into her back, his hand automatically falling on to her waist as he stood up straight and he lingered... just for a second.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Her heart pounding in her chest. There was a quiet clink of glass as he put his own drink down next to hers. His other hand dropping on to her waist, pulling her back a fraction closer to him and her breath hitched.

"You know... I think I might be the luckiest guy in the whole of Vegas tonight." He murmured.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, his breath brushing over the skin as he spoke, his lips tantalising close to her skin as he spoke.

"Oh really?" She questioned. "Why's that?"

"Because I just won the championship and I've got the prettiest girl in the whole of vegas here to celebrate with me." He said softly.

"We're not going to be doing much in the way of celebrating if you don't start getting ready." She joked.

He took a breath, hesitated for a second. The hand that was resting on her hip tightening its grip on her towel a little. "Maybe I had a different kind of celebration in mind?"

His words were absolutely dripping with suggestion, and the way his eyes locked with hers in the mirror had her weak at the knees and already leaning back against him.

"And what does the world champion have in mind exactly?" She smirked.

A slow smile spread across his face as he realised that he wasn't being told to keep his hands to himself. She wanted this just as much as she did.

"Been thinking about kissing you again since the podium." He murmured, lips dragging down her neck as he pulled her more firmly back towards him.

Her body melted into his. A quiet whimper escaping her as his lips and teeth nipped at the skin of her neck, her head dropping back against his shoulder to give him better access. He couldn't take his eyes off their reflection in the mirror. She flush on her cheeks, the way she leaned back into his touch... her towel riding further up her thighs.

She looked like sin, and he wanted nothing more than to ruin her.

.🔥

His lips were all over her neck, nipping at her skin in a way that was almost certainly going to leave a mark but she simply didn't care. The hand that had been splayed across her stomach, holding her tightly against him, slid into the opening of her towel, his palm meeting her bare skin and sending a wave of desire through her.

"Look at you." He murmured in her ear, bringing her attention back to the sinful reflection in the mirror infront of them. "All flushed and worked up and I've barely even touched you yet."

He was right. She looked at herself in the mirror, cheeks red and eyes wide. A trail of marks he'd left down her neck, his hand disappearing under her towel. He stood behind her, eyes dark with lust and looking like was ready to ruin her in the most delicious way.

"You want me to touch you?" He murmured, hand toying with where the towel was secured. "You out here walking around in nothing but this stupid little towel hoping I'd finally snap and give you what you want?"

"Please, Max." She nodded, pressing herself back against him. It hasn't been entirely on purpose, she maybe hadn't expected him to snap quite as quickly as he had, but she'd definitely been thinking about since long before he kissed her.

He unfastened the towel and it dropped to the floor at their feet with a satisfying thud. It left her stood completely naked, trapped between him and the mirror. His eyes devouring her reflection in a way that made everything inside her clench.

His hands slid over her skin, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her chest. They left a trail of goosebumps in their wake, sent a shiver down her spine.

"All those people watching you dance like that the other night... but I'm the only one that gets to see you like this." He smirked. "A special treat, just for me."

"Just for my winner." She panted, his hand sliding slowly down her stomach.

"Look at you." He murmured again. "All worked up, desperate for me to touch you. Want me to touch you here, darling?" He asked as his hand sliding slowly lower down her stomach.

"God, please Max." She whimpered, adjusting her stance to spread her legs a little for him. As she did so she realised she could feel him hard against her back, the way she moved making him stutter a little as she ground back into him.

His eyes stayed focused on the mirror, watching as his hand trailed lower down her body. His fingers dropped to her thighs, tracing slow tearing patterns against the soft skin that had her shifting restlessly against him.

"So worked up already." He murmured against the skin of her neck. "It's not just me that been thinking about this, is it?"

"Max, please." She gasped out as his fingers crept hire. "Need you to touch me. Please."

She saw the smug smirk on his face in the sinful reflection in front of her. She'd probably have kicked him in the shin for looking quite for proud of himself had she not have been completely taken aback by the sensation of him suddenly running his fingers through the slick mess at the apex of her thighs.

"Fucking hell." He let out a groan that almost sounded like he was in pain. "All this, for me?"

"You looked...." The words were punctuated by a gasp as his fingers found her clit. "So good on that podium and celebrating with the team."

"Think the way I'm celebrating now might be my new favourite." He murmured, lips brushing over her neck again. "Bet you look so pretty when you cum, shall we find out?"

She let out a strangled moan, hips grinding down as he slid two fingers into her, thumb circling her clit.

"Fuck.... Max." She choked out, the sensation overwhelming. She was almost embarrassed by the state of her reflection in the mirror, her hands gripping at his strong arm that was wrapped sound her waist to keep her upright. She was almost embarrassed by how completely fucked out she looked already and he'd barely touched her, but she also couldn't tear her eyes away.

"Oh god... right there." She moaned as his fingers thrust into her at just the right angle.

"So sensitive." He murmured. "You're going to feel so good wrapped around my cock." He hips jerked, grinding against her ass of their own accord as he said it and she let out another desperate sounding whimper.

"Shall I make you cum like this?" He asked. "Or bend you over the bed and make you scream my name so everyone knows how I'm celebrating?"

He smirked as he felt her clench around his fingers. "Second one it is then."

He pulled his hand away and she let out the neediest whimper that she had ever heard at the sudden loss of his touch. She didn't get time to protest. He spun her around so fast it almost made her dizzy, lips pouncing on hers like he was starved.

It was so much more intense than the kiss at the podium earlier that day, the intensity of it sending a buzz through her veins. His strong hands gripped her hips, picking her up like she weighed nothing and carrying her across to the bed.

Her legs locked around his waist as he carried her, and she couldn't help but rock herself against his bulge as she searched desperately for some kind of friction. His step faltered for a second, a quiet groan slipping from his lips and muffled by hers.

His phone buzzed repeatedly on the night stand. A dozen missed calls from the people he was supposed to be celebrating with wanting to know where he was. He didn't pay any attention to it. The celebration he was currently engaged in a thousand times more appealing than a night out in a club. He'd get there when he was done, they'd wait for him. It was his party.

He set her down at the edge of the bed, and the minute her feet touched the floor she had he hands on the waistband of his shorts and boxers, yanking them down his legs like they had absolutely no time to spare. He kicked them off when they reached his ankles, turning his attention back to her.

"Better than champagne." He murmured, leaning in to kiss her again.

Then he spun her around so she was facing the bed with her back to him, the two of them still visible in the mirror that she'd been stood in front of earlier. One hand grabbed her hip, pulling her back towards him, the other between her shoulder blades pushed her shoulders down until her forearms were braced against mattress.

She leaned back a bit more, pressing into him needing in an attempt to get him to do something, and it worked. He grasped his aching length, dragging it through her slick a couple of times in a way that had her gasping, before he pushed into her achingly slowly.

"Oh... oh my god... Max." She moaned out.

"Fuck... you feel so good." He groaned, pulling back and thrusting into her harder this time. His pace slowly building.

She let out a particularly filthy moan as he hit just the right spot, and she sincerely hoped the rest of the team that were staying on this floor were already at the club because if not they were going to know exactly why their champion was so late showing up to his own party.

Her cries were sort of muffled by the duvet as she dropped forward, face pressed into the bed sheets. He continued to hammer into her with some incredibly athletic stamina so she couldn't even manage to catch her breath. Then his hand found its way back between her thighs, fingertip grazing over her clit again and it was so good it was like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs.

Her legs were trembling, she was babbling absolute nonsense as she clenched around his length. Her body wound tight like a spring as he continued to thrust into her.

"You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?" He asked in her ear. "Let everyone hear how good it is?"

"Fuuuck..." she groaned into the duvet, hands twisting into the bed sheets for something to ground herself as her orgasm washed over her.

Max let out his own broken moan, and with a couple more erratic thrusts he was hurriedly pulling out and spilling over her back. The two of them silent for a moment except for their ragged breathing as they tried to compose themselves.

He placed a sloppy kiss on her shoulder. "Best celebration ever." He declared.

She couldn't say anything, couldn't actually form a sentence. Her knees bucking as she leaned against the bed.

"I think I might need another shower after that." She joked eventually.

She caught sight of his grin in the mirror.

"I'd say I'd come and help you but we're late enough as it is." He laughed.

"Maybe tomorrow?" She smirked, straightening up to walk to the bathroom.

"Now that, sounds like a great idea." He grinned.

Tag list: @littlewhiterose @dontsupressthejess @idontknow0704 @vinylphwoar @katyniss

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 58: Always

prev

The rest of their honeymoon flowed like the tide—calm, rhythmic, sometimes playful, always intimate.

After the lunch incident, the week began to blur into sun-kissed days and moonlit nights. They explored sandbars in the middle of the ocean, snorkeled in reefs so colorful they looked painted, and spent quiet afternoons reading under palms with their legs tangled on a shared sunbed. Sunghoon discovered a new addiction to mango smoothies, while Y/N kept stealing his sunglasses, only to claim they “looked better on her anyway.”

They laughed often—hard and loud, over dinner, during board games in the villa, while floating side by side in the infinity pool, or while doing nothing at all. The joy between them didn’t come from grand gestures anymore. It bloomed in the in-between moments. Like when Sunghoon tied her hair up after a long swim, or when Y/N sneakily left post-it notes on his side of the bathroom mirror: My hubby is hotter than the Maldives sun.

He’d write back beneath it: I know. That’s why you keep staring.

Their last night on the island came too quickly. A gentle breeze rolled in as they lay on a lounger under the stars, a shared blanket thrown over their legs. The waves crashed softly below, and the air smelled faintly of coconut and salt.

Y/N shifted slightly, her head resting on his chest, fingers playing with the buttons on his linen shirt. “I don’t want this to end,” she murmured.

Sunghoon’s arm tightened around her. “We can always come back.”

“I know. It’s just… this has been perfect. You’ve been perfect.”

He smiled, turning his head to kiss the crown of hers. “You know what’s even better?”

“What?”

“We get to take this feeling home with us. You and me, our life—this doesn’t stop at the island.”

She smiled, slowly pulling back to look up at him. “You really like saying stuff that makes me emotional.”

“I like seeing you smile,” he shrugged simply. “Also, you’ve been calling me ‘hubby’ like twenty-five times a day.”

Y/N chuckled. “Too much?”

“No,” he admitted. “I like it. But…”

“But?” she tilted her head.

“…I still like Lolove better,” he said softly, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “I was literally about to say the same thing.”

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“It just…” she laughed, biting her lip shyly. “It feels more like us. Special.”

Sunghoon nodded with a playful grimace. “Even though it was born from a typo.”

Y/N broke into full laughter. “It was! You were trying to type ‘my love’ but instead said ‘my lolove.’ And then I called you that back and it stuck.”

“I was tired!” he defended, poking her side. “It was after one of our late-night calls. My thumb hit ‘l’ twice.”

“And now,” she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you’re my Lolove forever.”

He softened at that, kissing her back gently, pulling her into his lap. “You too, Lolove.”

They stayed like that—limbs tangled, hearts full—as the sea hummed around them and the stars twinkled in soft applause above.

Tomorrow, they’d return to the real world. But tonight, in their own little paradise, it was just them. Still newlyweds. Still best friends. Still laughing about typos that somehow turned into the most endearing nickname in the world.

And wrapped in each other’s arms, “Lolove” echoed in the breeze, a silly mistake that became the sweetest promise of forever.

The next morning, the Maldives felt softer somehow—gentler, like it knew it was their last full day in paradise.

Y/N and Sunghoon took their time getting ready, opting for something simple. She wore one of his loose button-downs over her swimsuit, and he wore his usual sun-kissed look—hair slightly tousled, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a relaxed smile that hadn’t left his face since they landed on the island.

They decided to take one last walk around the resort after breakfast, hand in hand, barefoot along the quiet stretch of white sand. The air was warm but breezy, the waves slow and rhythmic, like a lullaby to the soul. Neither of them said much at first—they didn’t need to. The silence between them had always been comfortable.

As they turned down a shaded path lined with palm trees, a small figure came running from around the bend—a blur of curly hair and sunblock-covered cheeks.

The little girl couldn’t have been more than five years old. She crashed gently into Y/N’s legs with a surprised “Oof!” and immediately stepped back, wide-eyed and gasping.

“I’m sorry!” she said in perfect American English, blinking up at them.

Y/N smiled and crouched down. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Are you alright?”

The girl nodded furiously. “Yeah! I was just running to my mommy. But—” Her eyes flicked between Y/N and Sunghoon, who had stepped closer and offered a kind smile. Then she grinned, cheeks dimpling. “You’re a really cute couple.”

Sunghoon chuckled, surprised. “You think so?”

She nodded. “Yeah! Like… a prince and a princess. You look like the people in fairytale books.”

Y/N laughed, eyes crinkling. “That’s so sweet. What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

“Well, thank you, Lily. You’re adorable too.”

Lily beamed. “Are you married?”

“Yes,” Sunghoon said proudly, glancing at Y/N. “Just a few days ago.”

Lily gasped, her tiny hands flying to her cheeks. “Like a real wedding?! With cake?!”

“The best cake,” Y/N confirmed, giggling.

Lily squealed. “I wanna be married one day too!”

“Make sure you find someone who loves you as much as I love her,” Sunghoon said with a wink. “Okay?”

“Okay!” she chirped, then waved. “Bye, married couple!”

As she ran off, her curls bouncing, Y/N straightened up slowly, still smiling.

“She was adorable,” she said, her voice soft.

Sunghoon nodded. “Very.”

They resumed walking again, the sand warm under their feet. The laughter faded into something quieter—more intimate—something contemplative.

Then, almost shyly, Y/N asked, “How many kids do you want?”

Sunghoon glanced at her, surprised but not caught off guard. He let the question settle before replying, voice gentle but certain. “I should be asking you that.”

She looked at him.

“You’re the one who gets to carry them,” he continued, “go through all the hard parts I can never fully understand. So whatever number feels right for you… that’s what I want too. I’ll support you, love you, help raise them every step of the way. Whether it’s one or five or… just us and a dog. You’re the one I want a future with—whatever that looks like.”

Y/N’s heart swelled, tears pricking unexpectedly behind her eyes. His words didn’t feel like a script—they felt like promises. And green flags. All of them.

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. “I think… two,” she murmured. “Maybe three. I don’t know yet. But I know I want it with you.”

Sunghoon kissed the top of her head. “Then two or three it is.”

They kept walking slowly, the sea humming beside them, the breeze catching pieces of their laughter.

And in that moment, between a child’s innocent words and the dreams they gently stitched together under the sun, everything about their future felt exactly right.

The sky outside their villa’s window was slowly painted in strokes of orange and rose gold, the sun dipping low on the Maldivian horizon. After one last walk along the shore, hand in hand, hair tousled by the salty breeze and sand sticking to their toes, Y/N and Sunghoon reluctantly made their way back inside to prepare for their flight home that night.

They didn’t say much at first, both of them holding a sort of quiet melancholy that always came after a perfect dream ended — except this wasn’t an end. Just the beginning of a new chapter.

Back in their private villa, they showered and packed their suitcases in between soft giggles and sneaky kisses. Y/N folded their clothes, her white flowy dress from the yacht dinner tucked neatly beside his linen shirts. Sunghoon zipped up their bags with a dramatic sigh, “Can’t we just live here forever? I’ll start fishing or something.”

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, “You? Fishing? You’d get sunburned within ten minutes.”

He looked at her with faux offense before walking over to wrap his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Then you’ll have to take care of me.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“But I’m your hopeless,” he whispered, placing a kiss just under her ear.

By the time they arrived at the island’s private airstrip, the sun had disappeared, the moon casting silver shadows over the water. They waited quietly in the VIP lounge, sipping tea and cuddled on one couch. Y/N rested her head on Sunghoon’s shoulder while scrolling through the photos from the trip. Their engagement. The proposal. The private dinners. The little girl who had bumped into them earlier that day.

“She really thought we were a prince and princess,” Y/N chuckled softly, remembering the child’s innocent fascination.

“She has taste,” Sunghoon grinned. “You did look like one.”

“And you looked like my royal guard,” she teased, poking his side.

“I’d guard your heart every day if I have to.”

“Okay, Shakespeare.”

Their plane was finally ready, and they were ushered into a luxurious private cabin. As they settled into their seats, Y/N leaned back with a tired sigh. “Married life feels like a dream.”

Sunghoon looked over, his hand finding hers. “That’s because I’m dreaming too. But this one? I’m never waking up from it.”

During the flight, they kept it simple — changing into comfortable clothes, sharing a quiet meal, and watching a movie while curled beneath the provided blanket. At one point, Sunghoon whispered, “This might be my favorite part. Just us, flying back to our life.”

“Our real life,” she echoed. “Home. Work. Planning everything.”

“And loving each other through all of it,” he finished, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand.

Hours later, just as the city lights blinked below them through the cabin windows, Y/N drifted to sleep curled against his side, and Sunghoon stayed awake a little longer — just to watch her.

He smiled, kissed the crown of her head, and whispered so softly, only the stars could hear, “Thank you for choosing me.”

They landed as the sky began to lighten with dawn, the quiet promise of everything ahead glowing in the horizon.

TOBIOSBBYGHORL - 2025

taglist: (open) @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @heekolazz

permanent taglist:(open) @justwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh @ramenoil @laylasbunbunny @kirakun @aishigrey @multicolorfandoms

a/n: they are coming back! 😗😗 feedbacks and reblog and highly appreciated!

[diablasuenos]

desert eagle | solo sikoa

pairing — solo sikoa x reader | genre — smut, mdni 18+ authors note — oh solo, the man that you are!! hope you guys enjoy this. i just couldn’t get solo off my mind.

soft to the touch, let you hold somethin', let you get a handful, baby, she's a whole lot of woman, soft kisses on some fat lips, It's yours, baby, you can crash here, come here.

Solo wasn’t sure how or when it started but he knew damn well he didn’t want it to end. Somewhere in between the hundreds of flights and millions of screaming fans, his mind — truly, his heart — had grown used to you being there for him. It was in the late nights, the sensual brushes of skin against skin that really did a number on him. You were a giver, through and through and it kept Solo coming back for me. Even now, when he should’ve been in his own hotel bed, asleep and preparing for the next day, he was content to lose sleep if it meant more time with you.

He was pinned down by your gaze as you climbed atop of him, your eyes holding his. You took your time scanning his features before you let out a soft smile broke out on your face. You leaned in to kiss him something fierce — hot, humming, full of energy. He moaned into your mouth and your core ached in need. You palmed him desperately as you continued to kiss down his neck, savoring the soft spots that you knew would make him spiral.

It had only been two days but it was two days long enough to drive you both crazy. You were attached at the hip and damn near feral when apart. People teased you endlessly for the new badly sprung version of Solo — his usual brooding demeanor had been replaced by yearning. It was a sight to see.

Solo’s hands found your ass, squeezing, gripping, pulling at the soft flesh that he adored so much. You happily accepted his hunger fueled touch as you swirled your hips against his.

“You’re killing me,” He muttered lowly and a laugh bubbled out of your mouth. You knew you had a hold over him but it never got old hearing it.

You peeled your shirt off and he did the same with his, his skin warm against yours. His hands roamed all over your body and you reveled under his touch. You weren’t certain but you could only imagine that this is what heaven felt like. His mouth found the soft skin right about your breast and you sighed at the feeling.

“God, Solo,” You moaned, arching your back into his touch. There was something so sweet about the way he touched your body. He hummed against your skin and the vibrations shot right through your heart and down to your stomach. “I need you.”

Solo made quick work of going from underneath you to above you, lying you back on the edge of the bed and when he slid into you, you gasped at how natural it felt. His thrusts were smooth and slow, almost teasing to you. You grabbed at him with desperation and captured his mouth with your own. With each thrust you felt yourself fall to pieces underneath him. There was something so raw and visceral about the way he touched you. His head dropped into the crevice of your neck and shoulder and he began to mumbled about how tight you were and how good you felt. You wrapped yourself around him and urged him to keep going, to not stop, to go deeper — to keep his pace just the way it was.

“Fuck,” He cursed lowly, his thrusts becoming jagged and rough.

You could feel yourself tensing underneath him and you welcomed the high that was coming. You begged him for more as you felt the tingles begin at the bottom of your spine. There was nothing that could compare to it. You chased this high in every moment of your life and he was the only one that could give it to you. Despite all the bullshit you two endured, the one thing that prevailed was your undying desire and chemistry to be with one another.

Your orgasm came in a rush, taking your breath away and knocking you off your kilter. You sobbed out his name like a prayer as the stars developed in your eyes and arched your back as he continued to thrust into you. You knew he would hate it but you couldn’t help but dig your nails into his soft skin and drag them downward as you rode out your high and he began his. He bottomed out in you and you struggled to catch your breath, the sensitivity from your orgasm leaving you reeling.

Solo collapsed beside you and for a moment, neither of you said a word. Simply breathing in and out into the hotel room. The city was wide awake despite it being three in the morning and for that you were thankful because you were a bit louder than you anticipated being. You knew you’d have to do the walk of shame but at the moment, you were shameless. You peeled yourself off the bed and straddled him, a smile breaking out on his face.

“We aren’t done are we?” He laughed and you shook your head.

“Not even close.”

[pinacoladamatata]

another from the archives🥲 She's a menace <3

[landossnorriss]

Pairing: lando x she. Summary: nine months after they celebrated on the podium at silverstone, lando and his gf show off their little surprise to the world. Word Count: 2k Warning: just fluffy stuff. AN: thank u to the wonderful @rosesvioletshardy for the inspo in this one! have not proof read whoops.

silverstone felt like a lifetime ago , but it had only been nine months. nine months since he took that checkered flag , since the confetti rained down and the world saw him at his highest . nine months since they slipped away that night , when the cameras stopped flashing and it was just them, two kids wrapped up in victory and possibility , making promises they hadn’t even said out loud yet.

he could still remember it like it was yesterday , even if his entire world had changed for the best since they had celebrated his victory in style.

now she was back in the paddock for the first time in 6 months and eyes were on them. all three of them.

lando could feel her tiny fingers curled around his thumb as they stood near the motorhome, tucked away from prying eyes for just a moment . the baby was asleep against her mother’s chest in a soft wrap , her little face hidden from the world . no one knew. they’d kept the bump hidden under oversized hoodies and clever angles, slipping out of the spotlight when the rumours got too close .

it felt almost unreal for lando, to have them here at his side, to let more than his immediate world in on the secret he had guarded with his entire being since they had found out seven months ago. he wondered how long it would be until someone was brave enough to ask the question , would they go around oscar to get to him ? would they raise their brows at zak ? the world champion didn't care . his girl might not have been around when he had been crowned the best in the world , but now people knew why.

she caught him staring and smiled warmly at him, offering him the same look his daughter had inherited. the same smile she gave him when she found him in the garage that night nine months ago , still drunk on champagne and adrenaline , tugging her into the shadows just to hold her close .

they didn't say much , they didn't need too. the whispers were saying it for them as people slowly pieced together the time line. lando bent down, pressing his lips to the baby’s forehead, careful not to wake her. this paddock was his home, home to roaring engines and ruthless seconds , but now it’s home to her too — this tiny reminder that there’s more to him than a perfect q3.

nine months ago, he had thought that win would be the highlight of his life. lando just hadn't known it would ever give him this. the driver would have been content to keep himself like that for the day , his world in his arms as he tucked the mother of his child into his arms , but he should have known the hustle and bustle would find him soon enough. he heard the footsteps before he saw them: a quick, excited shuffle of feet, then a familiar voice. george.

“ mate! ” the excitement was genuine and though lando had given some of the grid a heads up was on the way , only max, carlos and oscar were privvy to the exact surprise lando was planning . there was no time to brace himself before he had an arm thrown around his shoulders. “ so it’s true! you’ve been hiding her from us all this time? ”

the love of his life laughs, shifting the baby in her wrap . the little one stirred but didn't wake. his friend leant in, eyes wide, all the bravado gone for a second .

“can I—?” he asks, pointing at the tiny bundle. “keep your voice down,” she says gently . “sorry, sorry,” he whispers, grinning like an idiot. “ she’s so small. She’s… wow.”

another driver appears behind him, charles, holding his phone out like he’s about to snap a picture — then thinks better of it and tucks it away. “congrats, mate. cidn’t think you had it in you,” he teases.

lando rolled his eyes, unable to help the smile that formed on his face. he watched them fawn over the baby: two of the fastest men in the world, reduced to awkward coos and gentle pats. charles sticking out a finger, his daughter gripping tightly in a way that only made the grown man soften more.

“oh, you’re in trouble, lando. ” alex offers as he arrives to the party . " she's as cute as her mother and already has the grid wrapped around her finger, i can only imagine she has you all wound up."

“ yeah. " he offered , voice as soft as his friends. " she does."

“lando!” another familiar voice sounded, one that made them all wince, the voice was warm, amused , but over all relentless. natalie pinkham, a woman on a mission, weaving through the small circle of drivers. “well, well, well . I heard a rumor, but I didn’t think you’d be brave enough to bring her here so soon!” lando supposed if he was going to speak to any reported about his daughter, it might as well have been the one that cried with him as he won the championship.

he felt his girlfriend stiffen slightly, and he was ready for this, the protectiveness she held that rivalled his own but so was natalie, who lowered her hands and any cameras, her smile warm and voice gentle as she looked at his baby girl. " is it okay if i say hi?"

lando nodded, a little embarrassed, but natalie just beamed at him, taking a moment to take in the driver and his family . she could still remember the awkward 18 year old that had been so excited to be interviewed when he had first joined the paddock. now he was a man with a family all of his own . beyond her work, she was more proud of him than she could put into words.

“oh, she’s beautiful,” natalie offered simply. “and look at you — daddy duties and quali on the same day. you ready for that?”

he shrugged fighting off a blush , " one’s harder than the other.” “i bet. mind if I grab a quick word before you get whisked away?” she glanced at his girlfriend. “ and I promise — no pushy questions. just the good bits.”

signalling for a camera to join her, careful to get the side frame of the bundle in and nothing more, natalie lifted the mic, giving him that playful, knowing look she always dis when she was about to ask something that made them both laugh.

“so, lando…” she begun, glancing at his girlfriend with a conspiratorial grin. “i have to ask — the timing. silverstone was just a little over nine months ago and momma over here disappeared from our paddocks a few months later. should we assume your big win was… extra celebratory?”

lando let out an embarrased laugh, this time loosing the fight with the blushing on his cheeks. he glanced at his girlfriend, who shook her head with an exasperated but amused smile, like she’d heard this joke a thousand times already.

“well…” how did he say this in the most pr safe way? “you know how it is, emotions are high, adrenaline’s up… we were… celebrating pretty hard that nigh ."

natalie rose a brow, trying not to laugh. “ clearly! so we can say this little one is your real silverstone trophy?” lando glanced at her perfect sleeping angel, then back at natalie, grinning. “yeah i guess. she’s worth a lot more than any trophy, though. no offense to the constructors’ guys. ” his girlfriend could only roll her eyes at that, but the way she looked at him, at their baby, said everything it needed too to the cameras.

natalie beamed at them both, dropping her voice just a touch, so it felt more like friends gossiping than an official interview. “did you two ever imagine it’d happen like this? keeping her a secret must’ve been so hard.”

the driver shrugged, and for a moment his boyish charm gay way to something soft, a little raw. “it was. but it was ours, you know? after all the noise, the headlines — it was nice having something just for us for a while. ” they had made the choice together , and neither of them regretted it.

the reported wasn't sure she could be anymore touched if she tried, even the boys that had stayed to watch lando squirm were watching their friend with unfiltered admiration and respect. “ and now you’ve brought her here, first race weekend for the littlest Norris in monaco, how does that feel? ”

he looked over at his daughter, one tiny hand peeking out from the wrap . he wondered if she had the slightest idea of all the ways she and her mother had turned his world upside down in the best of ways.

“feels like starting line all over again ,” he muttered, voice low, almost to himself. “ but better. ”

lowering her mic and nodding to the camera that they were done, natalie offered the young family a nod of her own. “ you’re going to do just fine, dad.”

he grinned brightly back at her, cheeks still pink. “ yea, i think so.”

the quesitons didn't stop there for lando though , just as he had suspected they wouldn't.

he heared it in snippets: did you see?he has a baby!they kept it secret this whole time?

when he arrived at the fanzone? it was impossible to miss. dozens of faces pressed against the barriers, phones out, some fans practically bouncing on their toes to get a glimpse.

a kid in a bucket hat, shoving a handmade sign at him: congrats lando! with a tiny cartoon baby drawn next to his car number. damn these guys were quicker than he was. nothing was going to keep the smile off of his face today , not as he closed the space between him and the people cheering his name , beginning to sign things .

“do you really have a baby?”

the question isn't a surprise by how and lando could only nod at them, pride visible on his face . “i guess you could say my biggest win last year wasn’t just on track. " a ripple of laughter and cheers sounded through the crowd. “boy or girl?” another fan shouted.

“ girl!” he offered. " she's gunna be my little good luck charm this weekend what do you reckon? " a tiny papaya onsie was offered out, his number penciled on the back in glitter . " who made this?” lando puzzle, and how so quick? spotting the shy fan who was half raising her hand , lando offered her another beaming smile . “it’s adorable,” and he meant it. “ thank you. she’s gonna love it. her mum too. "

“ silverstone baby, right? " the question was followed by snorts and giggles of the girls around him and lando rose a brow.

“yeah, alright, i’ll admit it. silverstone baby. let’s keep it PG though, alright? ”

glancing over his shoulder, landos eyes took in richard where he knew he was looking over the two tucked just out of sight , his girlfriend, his daughter. His family. tapping the onsie against his chest once more lando beamed back at the crowd signing the few last things he could get to. " aright, i’ve gotta get to work,” it was time to run whilst he still could. “ wish me luck — for both my girls".

they had both been so scared of the world , of how cruel it could be but as he welcome his little secret into his world , he knew that really he shouldn't have had anything to worry about. people would be happy for him , a few people would make their feelings known . but either way it didn't matter, because at the end of the day, this win was the one he would carry with him forever.

landonorris just posted:

liked by, maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, herusername, mclaren and 456,789 other people.

the best trophy we’ve ever kept secret #silverstonebaby

see all comments:

@f1thirstposts: A BABY?! A WHOLE BABY?! LANDO YOU SNEAKY LITTLE MF I’M SCREAMING 😭😭😭 @paddockwives: so you’re telling me silverstone wasn’t the only thing that got lapped up that day??? @softlando: THE GRID GIRLS ARE CRYING BLOOD RN 😂 @f1feralclub: NOT YOU TURNING A PODIUM INTO A PERSON. BREEDING KING 👑 @carlossainz55: congrats hermano! can she come to the next driver dinner? i will bring gifts. @chaoticgoodf1: so who had ‘Lando dad era’ on their 2026 bingo card? NOT ME @maxverstappen1: you know there are easier ways to get a championship point, right? 😂 Congrats. @papayadefense: silverstone baby’s first words gonna be “box box.” @mechanicmoms: obsessed with the fact that this man was dodging grid walk interviews to go rub her feet. Soft king. @landoismybaby: If he can keep a whole baby secret for 9 months, imagine what else this man is hiding. 👀 @charlesleclerc: happy for you mate!! but you owe us the whole story in the drivers’ briefing 👀 @wagsunhinged: she said i’m taking a piece of my man’s win HOME — we respect the hustle @georgerussell63: congratulations! she better be wearing ear defenders. priorities, mate. @charleslecats: imagine growing up and finding out you were the result of a podium celebration, iconic behavior only @f1editqueen: Her paddock pass hits different 🍼✨ @nataliepinkham: she’s already my favorite paddock pal. congratulations, you two! 💛 @lando4life: bro was hiding a WHOLE BABY while fighting for podiums, king energy 👑

herusername just posted:

liked by, landonorris, vouge, charlesleclerc, carlossainz55 and 235,890 other people.

From celebrating a win to holding our biggest one 🧡 ps - lando tried to name her after stowe corner pps - her grid uncles are already very annoying. pps - imagine growing the most perfect human for nine months only for your boyfriends feral fans to nickname her silverstonebaby #sigh. #iloveyouall.

see all comments:

@landonorris: you’re my hero. she’s my everything. love you forever 🤍 #istandbystowe. @f1girlies: you two hiding a whole paddock princess like it’s nothing?? the power you hold 👑 @silverstonebreedingclub: SHE’S REAL SHE’S REAL SHE’S REAL SILVERSTONE BABY IS REAL 🍼🏆😭 @alex_albon: if you ever need a babysitter who’ll teach her bad jokes, you know where to find me 😆 @gridwives: your soft era is my Roman Empire. obsessed with you both. @pitwallpsychos: you’ve won the silly season and you didn’t even try. iconic behavior tbh. @papayaprincess: if she doesn’t get her own tiny mclaren race suit we riot. @danielricciardo: she’s already cooler than all of us combined. tell her uncle daniel’s bringing the good snacks. @wagsunhinged: ma’am you carried AND you kept it secret?? paddock WAG of the year. 🏆 @softlando: this baby’s birth story is already better than any fairytale. @chaoticgoodf1: me rereading this post for the 87th time like I’m your cousin 😭🧡

[onlypinkslut]

18 + warning only minors dni. this is incest. do not read if you can't handle what you clicked.

uncle toji x niece f!reader🎀 taboo, filthy, forbidden, age gap, dubcon, manipulation, cockwarming, public risk

the house smelled like baked fish, hot fabric softener, and cheap wine. your mom was in the kitchen with tsumiki, toji’s wife, both of them laughing too loud over some story about a neighbor’s divorce. they’d been drinking since lunch. your aunt’s voice had that glossy, fake warmth it always did when she was playing housewife, and your mom kept smiling like she wasn’t annoyed.

megumi your cousin was on the floor in front of the couch, stretched out with a ps5 controller in his hands, the sound of gunfire and clicky buttons filling the room. he hadn’t said more than ten words to you all day, too locked into his game. you didn’t mind. you two were close. he was always gentle with you, even now when he barely talked. it was just how he was.

you were sitting at the edge of the couch, thighs pressed together in your pale blue skirt, trying not to sweat through your top. tsumiki kept calling you cute. said you were getting so grown up, so curvy. your mom rolled her eyes and kept saying things like she’s still my baby.

toji was on the other end of the couch.

you hadn’t seen him in over a year. he looked even bigger now, thicker around the chest, arms, neck. his black hair messier, jaw heavier with stubble. the kind of body that felt too solid for a living room like this. he wore a tank top that looked like it had been washed too many times and gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. he barely talked. just leaned back with his legs spread and his phone resting on his thigh.

he kept looking at you.

nothing intense. nothing you could call out. just long enough for your skin to tighten under your dress.

and then came the baby pictures.

your mom came back from the hallway with an old photo album, cheeks flushed from the wine. she plopped down right between you and toji, flipping it open onto her lap, calling tsumiki over to come look.

look at this, she said, giggling, her finger pointing at a picture of you maybe three or four years old, smiling with your baby teeth as toji held you in one arm.

remember that day? you wouldn’t stop crying unless he picked you up. he used to call her his little baby wife, can you believe that?

tsumiki gasped like it was adorable. oh my god, toji, you were obsessed with her. look at your face.

he didn’t deny it. just leaned in, looking down at the photo with his mouth tilted into a quiet smirk.

you felt something burn under your cheeks.

there were more. you in a swimsuit sitting on his lap. you napping against his chest. one where your mouth was on his cheek and his hand was wrapped around your little body, like he owned you.

your mom nudged your arm.

you were always attached to him, remember? always climbing on him like a little monkey.

toji spoke then, low and rough.

she was clingy. wouldn’t leave her favorite uncle alone.

his voice made your stomach flip.

then he looked over at you.

his eyes didn’t move away when he leaned in and kissed you.

not your cheek. your mouth.

not long. not rough. but on the lips. slow, innocent. like it meant nothing.

your breath caught.

tsumiki didn’t blink. your mom just laughed, waving her hand.

stop spoiling her, she’s not your baby anymore.

but he didn’t say anything. just leaned back again, watching you like he was waiting for something.

you didn’t say anything either.

a few minutes later, he stood up.

gonna smoke, he said, voice deep, reaching lazily into his pocket. he grabbed his lighter and walked out through the back door, the screen sliding shut behind him.

his phone was still on the couch.

right beside you.

you glanced around. tsumiki had gone to grab something. your mom was in the hallway on the phone now. megumi your cousin hadn’t moved, headset on, muttering into the mic.

you picked it up.

you weren’t planning to do anything weird. you just wanted to check if he had games on it or maybe look something up. you opened his browser. maybe to google something random. but when it opened..

it was already on a tab.

the couch was warm from where he’d been sitting.

he always sat wide legs open, arms stretched across the backrest like he owned the room, the kind of man whose body took up space just by existing. his scent still lingered: strong manly cologne, mixed with the lingering smoke he left behind when he stepped out for a cigarette. his phone was there, screen lit up faintly beside you. he hadn’t locked it.

you shouldn’t have touched it.

but you did.

your fingers were sticky from the heat, thighs pressed tight together under the fabric of your skirt, and you just wanted something to do. you didn’t think. didn’t plan. you opened the browser to search something dumb, some makeup brand or show you heard about earlier.

but the tab was already open.

a porn site.

the name meant nothing. just a black background and cheap orange font. rows of thumbnails, low-lit videos with words like raw, rough, crying, used. your heart thudded. your thumb hesitated. hovered. tapped.

and it played.

real video. not cartoon, not fake.

a woman. she was lying back on a couch, legs lifted high, panties halfway off one ankle. the camera was too close. shaky. you could see the string of wetness stuck to the man’s fingers as he spread her open, rubbing slow circles around her clit while she twitched and cried out.

her moans were soft. girlish. a little desperate.

he pushed two fingers in. the angle was too good. her pussy stretched around them, slick and pink. she gasped, legs shaking, mouth falling open.

you stared.

your whole body went still.

then warmer. lower. pulsing.

your thighs rubbed together without meaning to. the cotton between them dampened slowly.

you turned the volume down. not all the way. just a little.

no one in the room looked at you. your mom and tsumiki were still in the kitchen, laughing over wine and fruit. megumi was on the floor playing his game. no one cared. no one saw.

you brought the phone closer, half hiding it under your skirt.

the video got louder. wetter. his fingers moved faster. the girl’s moans climbed higher. her stomach trembled, her eyes fluttered. she was so wet it dripped onto the couch beneath her.

and you could feel it in your own body. that ache.

your knees pressed tighter. your breath shallow.

your fingers clutched the phone harder.

the screen dimmed just slightly and your reflection flickered across the glossy glass, eyes wide, lips parted.

then the couch dipped.

you didn’t hear him come in. but you felt it instantly.

the weight beside you. the warmth. the shape of his body. he sat the same way he always did wide, relaxed, sweaty. his thigh touched yours. his breath smelled like smoke and mint. his tank top clung to the curves of his chest, stretched tight over his abs. his sweatpants hung loose on his hips, the fabric shifting as he adjusted.

his arm stretched out behind you, resting lazily across the couch back.

he looked forward. didn’t say a word.

your whole body froze.

he didn’t look at the screen. not right away. just sat there like it was nothing. like you weren’t sitting beside him with his phone in your lap, thighs clenched, heat blooming between your legs.

then his eyes drifted down.

just a glance.

he saw the video.

the girl was crying now. not from pain. from overstimulation. her legs were shaking. the man was kissing her inner thighs, tongue wet, sloppy, thick spit dripping between her folds. her pussy was red and raw and soaked.

you couldn’t look away.

you didn’t even flinch when he reached down casual and nudged the volume all the way down with two fingers. his knuckles brushed your thigh.

you stiffened.

he didn’t say a thing.

tsumiki called out toji, where’d you put the wine opener?

he answered without looking away from the tv.

drawer by the sink.

his voice was steady. bored.

but his hand dropped down again. fingers light, resting near your knee. not moving. not touching you. just there. hovering close.

you kept watching.

the man was fucking her now. slow strokes. deep. you could see how much of him slid inside. her pussy stretched open with every thrust. she couldn’t stop moaning, her hands gripping the couch, her voice broken and helpless.

your thighs rubbed harder. your breath caught in your chest.

his hand moved.

not far.

just slid over your knee. rested on the hem of your dress. fingers curling in slightly.

he still didn’t look at you.

just leaned back. pressed a slow kiss to your cheek.

you okay, sweetheart?

his voice was soft.

you didn’t answer.

your hands were shaking slightly, holding the phone like it was an anchor.

the video ended.

he reached down again. warm fingers brushing yours. swiped.

another one loaded.

a girl on her knees this time. eyes wide, mouth open. drool sliding down her chin. mascara smudged. her thighs trembling as a man pulled her hair back, fed her inch after inch of cock with both hands. her throat bulged. she moaned around it.

Toji’s voice didn’t change.

you ever done that?

he asked like it was small talk.

you didn’t reply.

his thumb stroked your leg, slow, low, almost lazy.

you should learn, he murmured near your ear.

you’ve got a pretty little mouth for that, baby.

the living room was quiet now.

the sliding door was half open, letting in the sound of voices and laughter from the garden. your mom and tsumiki were busy with trays of meat, their heels clicking against the stone patio. megumi was already outside too with your other cousins, arguing over who’d grill better, shouting over music and the sizzle of coal. they’d left you and toji inside to grab the drinks. just a minute. just long enough.

the porn was still playing on his phone in your lap.

another video now rougher than before. the girl was straddling a man’s lap, bouncing slow, tits out, eyes rolling back while her moans got wetter, more desperate. his hands were on her hips, dragging her down onto his cock over and over, her pussy slick and stretched wide around him.

you couldn’t stop watching.

your panties were soaked.

toji’s arm rested heavy behind your shoulders again, warm and solid. his fingers brushed your hair. his thigh touched yours, big and thick, the muscle shifting every time he breathed. he hadn’t taken the phone away. hadn’t told you to stop. just kept watching you watch it.

you shifted in place, thighs rubbing under your dress.

your breath came slow. you turned toward him. barely.

and whispered.

does yours look like that?

his head turned.

his eyes dropped to your mouth. then the phone. then back to your face.

he let out a low breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

what kinda question is that, baby?

you blinked. your voice even softer now.

i just wanna know. i’ve never seen one in real life.

he rubbed the back of his neck. smirked. looked toward the open door like someone might walk in.

you shouldn’t be asking that. not to me.

but he didn’t sound angry. not even serious. just… amused.

you pouted.

come on, just a little. just to compare. it won’t count.

he chuckled, eyes narrowing slightly.

nah, can’t do that. you’ll get scared.

your face flushed.

your thighs squeezed.

your fingers were twitching, aching to do something. anything.

and then you reached forward.

there was a cold soda bottle on the table one you were supposed to bring outside. condensation running down the side. you grabbed it. brought it into your lap.

and slowly quietly you pressed the bottom of it between your thighs.

toji froze.

your eyes didn’t meet his. you were staring at the screen still, lips parted as the girl in the video cried out from her orgasm, pussy fluttering around a cock too big for her.

you rubbed the bottle up. then down.

slow.

your body jerked a little.

the cold made it worse. better.

your hips rocked into it. barely. just a little rhythm. just enough to ease the ache.

you felt his gaze heavy on you.

his hand shifted. slid down your side. found your hip.

his fingers curled in your waist, slow, like he was trying not to break something.

his voice dropped low barely more than breath, right against your ear.

jesus, baby… you’re really doing it. right in front of me.

you whispered.

hurts. wanna rub it harder.

he kissed your jaw. soft. wet.

you need help?

you shook your head.

you okay, then?

you bit your lip.

mhm.

he pulled the dress fabric a little. looked down into your lap. watched the bottle roll forward again, pressing harder into your panties.

you’re soaked.

you whimpered.

he laughed under his breath.

then leaned in.

lemme see, baby. just a peek. not down there just your tits, okay? uncle just wants to make sure everything’s okay. not hurt or swollen or nothing. you’ve been watching for a while now.

you blinked up at him. dazed.

his hand was already under your top.

warm. slow. fingers dragging up.

he licked his lips.

they sore?

you shook your head.

he smiled.

good. still growing though, huh? let me feel ’em just for a sec.

you let him.

you didn’t stop grinding.

and outside your mom laughed. a bottle popped open. someone called megumi’s name.

you didnt know how long they’d been outside.

the voices were still there laughing, arguing about charcoal and skewers and who burnt what. the door was cracked open, letting in the smell of smoke and grilled meat, the late sun casting stripes across the floor. but the inside of the house felt hotter. heavier.

you were on your back now.

he’d pulled you into the corner of the couch, soft pillows under your head, legs parted and bent, your skirt bunched up high around your hips. the bottle was still there cold, wet, dragging over the soaked fabric between your thighs as you rocked against it in slow, desperate circles. and your shirt... was up. pushed just under your chin, exposing both of your tits to the warm air and toji’s hands.

his palms covered them. big, rough, warm.

he was playing with them lazily, like they were his. thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles,

sometimes flicking, sometimes squeezing. one hand held your tit deep in his palm, kneading it while the other thumb traced soft figure-eights over the tip until you gasped.

he was watching your face.

then your tits.

then the bottle moving between your legs.

his voice was low. dark.

youre such a sweet girl, baby.

his thumb rolled harder, nipple sliding under his skin.

so eager to learn.

you were panting. your eyes fluttered open, lips glossy from how much youd licked them.

mhm... i like it... you’re way more handsome than the boys at school... no one looks like you.

his smile twitched.

nah?

you shook your head.

even the other uncles... they’re old and ugly.. no one looks like you.. you’re strong, handsome, muscular.

he chuckled.

his thumb flicked again.

damn right, thats because those boys are little. they dont know how to take care of a girl like you.

you squirmed. your hips rolled again.

he leaned over your face, warm breath brushing your cheek.

sweetheart. you ever heard of the game of the cock?

you blinked.

your voice came out tiny.

no.

he kissed your nipple.

his hand dragged over your stomach, slow.

its not sex, okay? its not bad. its just a game.

his lips touched your throat. his voice stayed quiet.

s’when a man rubs his big cock on a girl’s pussy... soft. not in. not deep. just enough to touch. to feel her heat. maybe make her leak a little.

you moaned softly.

he kissed your tit again.

he doesnt put it inside. he just lays it there. like a pillow. like its resting. just kissing her pussy.

you arched your back.

you wanna try it, baby?

he pinched your nipple softly.

you wanna play the cock game with uncle?

the bottle slipped deeper between your thighs. your hips humped harder. your mouth dropped open.

your voice was thick and whiny.

mhm... mm-mm... but just a little..

he grinned against your skin.

just a little, yeah..

he kissed you.

deep. wet. tongue slipping into your mouth slow like he was taking it inch by inch.

your legs spread wider.

your dress was bunched around your hips now, the cold bottle wet between your thighs, your panties soaked through and clinging like a second skin. toji was bent over you, both hands full of your tits, licking them like he was starved. he dragged his tongue slow around each nipple, lips curling around the peaks, sucking with wet pops that made your stomach clench. his fingers gripped both breasts, squeezing them together, giving them a soft shake.

fuck. look at these. bouncing all dumb for me.

you whimpered, body melting into the couch, eyes glassy. your mouth hung open. you felt drunk,

dizzy, warm all over.

his mouth latched onto your left nipple again, tongue circling it messily while his hand rolled the other. you didnt even notice your hips movinggrinding into the bottle again, seeking friction like it was the only thing keeping you from crying.

he was licking your tits like he’d done it before. like he’d always wanted to. like he owned them.

his tongue was slow and messy, dragging long, wet strokes over the soft skin before curling around your nipple and sucking it deep into his mouth. his stubble scratched lightly, his nose brushing your chest as he moaned like it tasted good. his hands were full of you palming both tits, squeezing them together, playing with them like toys, warm fingers flicking and rolling your nipples while his mouth stayed glued to your skin.

you were laid back fully now, your shirt pushed under your chin, dress hiked around your waist, panties soaked. your legs were parted wide across the couch cushions, bent open, and the cold bottle you were holding earlier was still rubbing back and forth over your clit through the fabric. sticky. noisy now.

you were flushed and dizzy, your brain hot and slow. your words came out soft and messy, breathy little thoughts that felt innocent to say.

do you… do this to tsumiki too?

his lips paused on your nipple.

then he kissed it again. sucked it slow.

nah. she’s not soft like this.

you blinked slowly. your mouth open. your voice sounded far away.

do you… play the game of the cock with her too?

he lifted his head.

his mouth was wet. your nipple popped out of his mouth with a string of spit.

he grinned.

his eyes looked darker now. hungrier.

his thumb pinched your other nipple.

you think i rub my cock on that dry pussy just to kiss it?

you blinked. slow.

i dunno… maybe… if megumi wasn’t home…

he laughed quietly and leaned in close to your face. kissed your cheek. then your mouth.

nah, baby. this game’s only for my sweet niece.

you were squirming under him now, thighs shaking as you rocked harder into the bottle. it wasn’t enough. your panties were soaked through. your whole pussy ached. swollen. twitching.

uncle… it hurts…

he kissed down your chest. his tongue licked a long line across both tits. then he gripped them together again, rolling them under his palms and giving them a little bounce.

you need it bad, huh?

mhm… yes…

you sounded soft. whiny. your lashes fluttered and your lip trembled.

he pulled your panties aside.

your slick made a string snap between the cotton and your folds. you whined when the air hit you. your pussy was red, wet, shiny with arousal. twitching every time your hips shifted.

and then he pulled his sweatpants down just enough.

and his cock dropped out, thick and heavy, veiny and flushed, the head already wet. he gripped the base lazily and leaned over your hips.

you wanna play, baby?

he said it like a secret.

you nodded, legs trembling.

you wanna play the cock game?

your voice was so soft you barely heard yourself.

just a little…

he smiled.

then let it kiss your little pussy, makes you leak little bit, sweetheart.

he pushed his cock down. not in. just between your folds.

your breath caught. your pussy clenched around nothing.

he started rubbing it. slow. up and down. the thick head dragging over your clit, through your slick lips, parting you like he belonged there.

you moaned.

your hips jerked.

his voice stayed steady.

see? not sex. not bad. just a kiss.

your thighs twitched. his cock kept gliding, heavy and smooth, sliding through your slick like it was lotion.

you sobbed out a little breath.

don’t stop..

his thumb rubbed your nipple.

i won’t, baby. let uncle kiss it. real slow.

his cock was thick and hot, sliding through your folds again and again, slow and wet and heavy.

you were completely spread now, panties shoved to the side, your pussy swollen and slick and twitching. he pressed the tip down over your clit and dragged it lower, grinding the full weight of his cock right between your puffy lips, never pushing in, just rubbing. back and forth.

like he said.

just a game.

your back arched. your head tilted. the bottle had fallen from your hands. your thighs were shaking too much to hold anything now. you couldnt stop moaning.

your shirt was still bunched up under your neck, your tits out, bouncing softly in time with his movement. his hands were there againbig, hot palms gripping both tits, squeezing them, shaking them slightly while he groaned under his breath.

fuck, baby... your bodys perfect... made for this...

you sobbed.

his cock dragged through your folds again, slower now, like he was savoring how soft your pussy felt hugging him from the outside. he could feel every twitch. every droplet. every heartbeat.

his voice dropped lower, mouth brushing your ear.

you know how many times i thought about this? jerking off to the idea of rubbing it right here... just

like this...

you cried out, one hand gripping the cushion, the other pressed against his abs. he was sweating.

warm all over. his chest rising and falling over you, his voice staying calm.

this isnt sex, baby. were just playing. no ones getting hurt.

you whimpered.

his hips rocked forward. the thick head of his cock nudged your clit again. it throbbed against you.

your thighs jerked.

he kissed your neck.

tsumiki never made me hard like this. never. even when we fucked, i didnt get like this. but your little pussys so messy i could cum just from this. and were not even doing anything bad.

his hands squeezed your tits again, harder now, rougher. his thumbs flicked your nipples, rubbed

them in tight circles.

his cock was resting right at your entrance, fat and slick, twitching against your folds like it was

waiting for permission it didnt need.

you were spread wide, panties pushed aside, soaked and sticky, your shirt shoved up to your neck

and tits glistening from his spit. your legs trembled, open for him like youd been waiting your whole

life to be filled this way. you werent even thinking anymorejust blinking up at him, dazed, dumb,

drunk on the heat between your thighs.

you reached down and touched him. your fingers barely circled his shaft.

so thick... its so warm...

he grunted. his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling your hips higher.

feels big cause youre little, baby. thats all.

you blinked slowly. your voice was soft and slurred.

is it leaking cause it wants to go in?

he smirked, eyes on your pussy.

nah. its leaking cause it knows where it belongs.

he lined himself up.

you ready for uncle?

you nodded. breath caught in your throat.

just a little... please... just want to feel it...

his tip pressed.

and you gasped.

the stretch burned and melted all at once. your hole clung around the head, swallowing it slow, the pressure making your back arch and your moans rise up like heat.

fuck. he whispered. your pussys sucking me in.

you cried out, legs shaking.

thats it, baby. take uncle in. just the tip. no ones getting hurt.

his cock sat deep in your opening, fat head snug inside your soaked hole, not moving just. there.

pulsing. heavy.

and then the back door slid open.

your moms voice carried through the house.

toji? sweetie? whered you two go?

your blood turned to ice.

you tried to pull away.

but he grabbed your hips hard. held you down.

dont. move.

his voice was low. commanding.

you froze. still impaled on his cockhead.

his lips brushed your ear.

dont let it slip out. keep uncle warm, baby. she cant see us like this.

your pussy fluttered around him.

he kissed your neck, one hand still on your tit, squeezing softly.

you bit your lip, tears welling up.

his cock twitched inside you.

youre doing so well. holding uncle in like that. proud of you, baby.

you whimpered.

his hand rubbed slow over your belly.

you feel full, huh?

mhm...

and you know what that makes me?

you didnt answer.

say it, baby.

your voice shook.

my... my favorite uncle...

he smiled.

and youre stuffed with my cock.

he kissed you again, deep.

you stay just like this. until she go. dont let me fall out.

and you didn’t.

(〃ω〃)thank you so much for reading. your support means the world to me. every like, reblog, or comment reminds me why i love writing i’m so grateful to share this little world with you💗

onlypinksluts

[rafesangelita]

♡ “have you ever tried this one?” in which kook!sweetheart!reader convinces rafe to take her to go see one of her favorite artists, and as a ‘thank you’ she and rafe have to do whatever position sabrina demo’s for her song “juno”..

warnings: fluff, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink (?)

a/n: so sad because i didn’t get to see sabrina on tour, and she has had me in the meanest chokehold lately :( click this link to see what position i’m referring to <3

when the dates dropped for sabrina’s ‘short n’ sweet’ tour, rafe wasted no time in buying you two tickets. of course, you didn’t know this and begged him for weeks until he finally told you yes, your flight and hotel room already booked for a nice little weekend getaway. rafe helped you make your concert outfit, both of you spending hours on the whole ensemble. the end result was absolutely stunning and rafe couldn’t stop taking pictures of you.

he posted one on the night of the concert, captioning it ‘my little popstar princess <3’ and you two were off to the stadium. while you knew wearing sparkly white platform boots wouldn’t be the best choice to walk in, you stuck it through, and as soon as the lights dimmed and the music started, any kind of discomfort you felt had melted away as you were far too distracted singing along to every song that boomed through the venue.

babydoll lingerie top with pink fluffy trim, dedazzled stockings, glittery makeup, your hair freshly done, rafe swore you never looked prettier. even though he was against wearing anything that sparkled, he decided to wear a plain pink t-shirt to match with you in his own little way. he kept his arms wrapped around your waist as you two sung, having learned the lyrics to every song since you insisted on being in charge of the aux cord whenever you two were in his truck.

eventually, you two were swaying softly, rafe’s chin resting in the curve of your neck as you stroked the skin of his arm. “thank you for bringing me here.” you smiled up at him, connecting your lips as the intro to ‘juno’ started playing. rafe hummed, leaning down so you could hear him. “you know i had to bring you, baby.. what do you say you thank me another way when we get back to our room?” your cheeks heated as you laughed softly.

“yeah, i’d like that,” you pecked his cheek, “how about we do the position she does for the song?” rafe smiled, both of you fixing your attention on the stage. you waited with anticipation, your heart beating in your ears when she bent over and touched her toes. rafe cheered, making you laugh as he couldn’t wait to get you back to the hotel. luckily for him, there was only a few more songs left before the show ended and the two of you rushed out of there.

it wasn’t long after you two walked through the door that rafe had your boots thrown in a forgotten corner, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he took you roughly from behind. you struggled to keep your hands placed on your perfectly pedicured toes, your knees threatening to give out from under you while rafe thrusted into you at an unforgiving pace. “holy fuck, you’re taking it so fuckin’ good, gorgeous, ‘might just let you get off your tippy toes and put you on your back instead.”

you cried out, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as his pelvis smacked against the back of your ass. “can’t, rafe!” you shrieked, nearly doubling over before your boyfriend reached down and grabbed your arms, holding you by your wrists as you hung helplessly from his grip. he was fucking you stupid, and your lack of thoughts was proof of it. you couldn’t think, the feeling of rafe’s cock stroking that soft gummy spot inside of you made you whimper pathetically.

finally, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your knees meeting the carpeted floor. rafe picked you up, cursing under his breath as he encouraged you to get back in position. “promise i’ll have you in bed soon, pretty, you could hold out for me, yeah?” you shuddered, looking at him from behind your shoulder with that fucked-out gaze he loved so much. you had tears in your eyes, your body glitter still sparkling under the soft lighting.

giving him a little nod, you reached down once again, holding onto your ankles for dear life as rafe circled an arm under your hips, holding you up as his fingers started working on your clit. “oh!” you were in hysterics, your blood rushing to your head as he landed a harsh smack to your backside. “come on, baby, ‘wanna feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you moaned at his words, your orgasm just in arm’s reach as rafe’s thrusts grew uncalculated. “rafe?” you could barely speak, the band in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“talk to me.” he groaned, teetering the edge of pure euphoria. “make me juno?” you giggled for a split second, the insinuation only turning rafe on even more. “fuck, yeah? ‘want me to fill you up, give you a baby?” you let out a distorted “mhmm!’, the two of you gasping when your highs took you both to cloud nine. rafe pulled you back up, your chest rising and falling while your legs shook with your orgasm. pressing wet kisses to your neck, rafe did exactly as he said, his hips stuttering as hot, thick ropes of cum painted your velvety walls.

you two stayed like this, pressed against one another until your breathing slowed, the aftershocks subsiding before rafe laid you both down in bed. “we should have a ‘short n’ sweet’ themed baby shower.. we could serve espressos.” rafe laughed, draping an arm over your tummy. “we’ll see.” he hummed. your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed him in, his cologne still heavy on his skin. “you know what we should try when we get back home?” rafe traced shapes into your side, mumbling a ‘what’s that?’

“pink fuzzy handcuffs.”

[ds-angel1]

hi my love! could you do a toxic! rafe turnt into a soft rafe. maybe he bodyshames her and makes her change herself to the point where she gets seriously ill and he realises how much she’s messed up? xx

1st part

cw: body shaming, eating disorder themes, emotional manipulation, fainting, a start towards recovery

a/n: i am so so so so so sorry that this took so long

You were tired all the time now.

Not in a way that could be fixed with sleep, but in the way your bones ached when you moved. Like gravity had gotten heavier just for you. Like your body was protesting the way you treated it, and you didn’t have the energy to fight back.

But you still tried to smile.

You still brushed your hair. Shaved your legs. You still waited for his compliments like they were rations. Little affirmations you could chew on until the next day.

“Damn,” he said one night, eyeing you while you changed in the low lamp light. “I can see your ribs again. That’s so hot.”

It made your skin crawl. But you laughed. Twirled for him like you were proud. Like this was a reward, not a symptom.

It was so easy to pretend, especially when he wrapped his hands around your waist and said, “This- this is what I want. Just like this.”

You stopped eating in front of people. They asked questions. Said you looked pale. Said you looked small.

“You always say you’re not hungry,” one friend pointed out during a group brunch. “But you never eat later, either.”

You shrugged, picked at your napkin, smiled too hard.

Rafe squeezed your thigh under the table. Not lovingly. Not reassuringly.

Just… pressure. A warning.

“Some people are just disciplined,” he said, tone smooth. “That’s rare these days.”

You basked in it. That was love, wasn’t it?

Being the girl he could brag about.

But it got harder.

Your period vanished. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had it. Your hair started thinning, clinging to your brush like strands of guilt. You wore concealer to cover the purple hollows beneath your eyes, but it always creased. Your hands trembled at the steering wheel. Walking up stairs made your head spin.

You kept going.

Because when you skipped a meal, he kissed your temple. When you skipped two, he said, “Good girl.” When you skipped three, he fucked you like he couldn’t get enough. Told you you were perfect. Told you he could carry you forever.

It was working. It was finally working.

…

It didn’t happen in some dramatic moment. There was no gasp, no cry for help, no cinematic fall.

You were standing in the bathroom, brushing your teeth. That was it.

Your vision wobbled at the edges like heat on pavement. You blinked. Swallowed. Thought, Just sit down. Just breathe.

But your body didn’t listen.

The brush slipped from your fingers, clattered into the sink. And then your knees just buckled. Not hard, not sudden, like your bones had simply… given up.

You folded in on yourself, shoulder hitting the cabinet, hip skimming the edge of the tub. Not loud enough to call attention, but enough to leave a bruise. Enough to knock the breath from your chest.

And then the tile was under your cheek, cool and oddly comforting.

You didn’t black out.

You just laid there, watching the light shift on the ceiling, your heart skittering like a trapped bird. Too fast. Too light.

Rafe didn’t find you right away.

He was in the kitchen. You heard him, talking to himself, opening drawers, swearing about something stupid like misplacing his wallet.

When the door creaked open, you didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. You were afraid to.

He stood in the doorway for a second too long.

“…Baby?”

His voice was cautious. Not yet afraid. Not yet anything. Just confused.

You saw his bare feet cross the floor toward you. Then a pause. A sharp inhale.

“What the fuck are you- are you okay?” He crouched. Reached for your wrist. His fingers were warm and dry and trembling.

“Hey. Hey. Talk to me.”

You swallowed. Your mouth tasted like metal.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“You’re on the fucking floor,” he snapped, voice pitching up now, something sharp edging in. “Did you fall?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t explain it. The fatigue. The hollowness. The way your limbs didn’t belong to you anymore.

“I just got dizzy,” you said. “It’s not- just give me a second.”

His hand hovered near your face, then pulled back like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You turned your head away, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s not a big deal.”

Silence.

Then:

“How long?”

You blinked. “…What?”

His voice was low. Flat. Measured.

“How long have you been like this?”

You didn’t answer.

And that told him everything.

He helped you sit up slowly, carefully, like you might break in half. His hand pressed against your back. You were shaking. He could feel it.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re freezing.”

You rested your head against the cabinet. Couldn’t quite lift it. Your limbs felt miles away.

“I’m okay,” you murmured. “I just need water. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

He flinched like the words physically struck him.

“Not yet?” he echoed. “It’s five o’clock.”

You blinked slowly.

That felt irrelevant.

He looked at you for a long time, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched.

Then he stood, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.

You sat there alone for a while. Not crying. Not thinking. Just… still.

Then the door opened again. Softly this time.

He came back with a hoodie. A glass of juice. A granola bar in his pocket.

He knelt beside you, quietly, and pulled the sweatshirt over your head. Guided your arms through the sleeves like you were fragile. Like you were made of glass.

You didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to see what was in them.

But when he pressed the cup to your lips and said, “Please,” his voice cracked.

And that made you drink.

…

He started small.

Grocery runs with color. Fruit, bread, things with softness and warmth. No more scale. No more poking. No more comments. He made pancakes one morning and nearly cried when you ate three bites.

“You don’t have to finish,” he said, gently, when your hand started to shake. “I’m proud of you either way.”

It sounded fake. It sounded like a script.

But he meant it.

He put his phone away at dinner. Looked you in the eye. Watched your face instead of your plate.

He still touched your waist sometimes, out of habit, but now he stopped himself. Flinched like he had been burned.

And at night, when he pulled you into him, he didn’t grope. Didn’t grab. He just held. Whispers soft and shaking into your hair:

“I love you even like this.” “I’m not going anywhere.” “You’re not a mirror. You’re mine.”

You weren’t better yet.

You still skipped meals sometimes. Still counted calories without thinking. Still searched for the old praise in his eyes like an addict looking for a fix.

But he never gave it anymore. And maybe that hurt. But maybe it also helped. Because you weren’t shrinking for him anymore.

You were growing, painfully, into someone who could survive this. And this time, he wasn’t leading the way. He was just following. Soft. Careful. Quiet. Like he finally understood how close he’d come to losing you for good.

[wholoveseggs]

I have I request/fic idea that’s kind of a flip on the usual. Reader & Elijah are dating and he can tell that’s she’s been holding something back when they have sex and is determined to get her to let go so he really pulls out all the stops. Reader is a biter, especially in situations she needs to be quiet (& maybe even a bit of a scratcher ie kinda claws at his back) but a previous boyfriend told it was weird so she’s super self conscious about it and is always a little distracted during sex fighting the instinct to bite him. Elijah succeeds and she latches onto that area between the neck & shoulder and turns out, not only is Elijah totally fine with it, he really REALLY likes it.

Bites

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} You were afraid to bite him. Until he told you to do it again.

♡♡ hiii anon I love your mind && Happy day one of mikaelson week!! I've missed ya'll ~xo ♡♡

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, praise kink, riding, biting kink (the blood-free kind ... although Elijah absolutely wouldn’t mind...), overwhelmed reader, feral elijah && warm fire...

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering light across all of the ancient books lining the walls. Everything felt still and quiet, that kind of soft silence that only came when you were wrapped in warmth and safety. It was your favorite kind of evening, curled under a soft blanket on the sofa with your favorite person tucked close.

You still weren’t sure how you managed to pull a man like Elijah. You met a while ago, when he walked up to you like he already knew what you would say. All dark eyes and smooth charm, tailored clothes and quiet confidence. He had disarmed you instantly. From the first moment, you sensed something different about him. Though you didn’t know then just how true that would turn out to be.

And now, months later, here you were. Nestled against one of the oldest living creatures on earth, with his arm around your waist like it belonged there. He could have had anyone. And yet, he chose you.

You certainly weren’t going to argue.

A soft sigh slipped from your lips as you pressed in closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around both of you. You looked up at him, studying the familiar lines of his face in the firelight. His hair fell softly across his brow, his dark eyes tracking the lines of his book. But the way his hand moved, slow and precise, long fingers flexing just enough to remind you how they felt against your skin. That was what made your heart flutter.

Your gaze moved up to the column of his throat, the curve where neck meets shoulder. A place you kissed before many times, gently, reverently. But tonight, you didn’t want to kiss it. You wanted to bite it.

The thought hit fast and hot. You swallowed hard, shifting under the blanket as heat pooled between your thighs. It wasn’t the first time you had felt it. That deep, aching urge always crept in during quiet moments like this. When you felt content and safe around him, overwhelmed by love and want and intense feeling.

But just as quickly, shame curled through you like smoke. You shouldn’t want that. Not like this. It was too much. You were too much.

The last time you followed that instinct, let it slip past your lips in the heat of the moment, your ex hadn’t understood. He laughed. Pulled back. Shut down. Called you intense. In that tone people use when they mean something else. When they mean weird. When they mean wrong.

You pretended it didn’t hurt, but it stuck. It lived in you. Ever since, you kept that part of yourself locked away. Bit your own lip instead. Dug your nails into the sheets instead of skin. Avoided the feelings that threatened to swallow you whole.

And now here you were, held in the arms of the most perfect man you had ever known. Still too scared to show him the whole of what you wanted.

Elijah turned another page, but he hadn’t read a single word in the last five minutes. He could feel your body pressed against his side, warm and restless, your breaths coming shallower now. And he could practically hear the thoughts racing behind your silence.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched you from the corner of his eye, taking in the way your gaze lingered on him a little too long, the way your lips parted like you might say something, then thought better of it. Your breath caught.. just barely. But he noticed. He always did.

There was a flush rising beneath your skin, a certain tension in your frame that made his chest warm. You were trying so hard not to let it show. He could feel it in the way you tucked yourself a little closer, like you needed him to notice without asking. He found it very sweet.

He didn’t know what you were holding back, not exactly. But he could feel it, some small ache just beneath the surface. Something you thought you needed to hide.

He could wait. He would wait. But it was hard not to smile when you got like this. All quiet and shy…and clearly about two seconds from climbing into his lap.

His book was forgotten. His eyes were on you now, wearing that unreadable expression he saved for when he was studying something closely. Not judging. Just observing.

"W-what?" you asked, trying not to squirm. "You’re very distracting, you know that?"

Elijah gave you a small, amused smile. "I haven’t done anything."

"Exactly," you said, returning the smile. "You sit there looking like that and expect me to concentrate on anything else?"

He hummed, low and content, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I was under the impression we were just reading."

"I was trying," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed your skin. "Then your hand turned a page and my brain completely stopped working."

"That sounds serious," he said, voice dropping just a little, all low and velvet-soft as his fingers slipped beneath the blanket. "Should I be concerned?"

You giggled breathlessly just before he caught your mouth in a soft kiss. His hand trailed up your thigh, pausing just beneath the hem of your dress. Then, with careful ease, he dipped under the fabric. Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t pull away.

His palm slid higher, warm and steady against bare skin. He smiled into the kiss, then shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his lap. The blanket slid down, pooling around your waist as your knees braced on either side of his hips. He only broke the kiss long enough to lift your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

He hadn’t expected his evening to go like this. Elijah had planned to read, maybe kiss you once or twice and fall asleep with you curled against his chest. But now you were in his lap, bare and radiant, and all he could do was stare. The way your skin flushed under his palms, the way your fingers trembled as they touched him. It always undid something in him.

Your hands moved to the front of his shirt, fumbling slightly with the buttons. He didn’t rush you. He liked watching you like this. A little nervous, focused, so clearly wanting him. You got halfway down before he leaned in and kissed your jaw, a whisper-soft encouragement. You pushed the fabric back off his shoulders and down his arms, quickly tossing it aside.

His hand slid down your back, firm and possessive, pulling you tight against him. He was already hard, and the pressure of it beneath you made your breath hitch. He guided your hips with slow, deliberate movements, coaxing you to grind against him. The friction stole your focus, made your fingers tremble against his skin as the heat between you deepened, hungry and sweet and impossible to ignore.

You let your hands roam across his chest, drinking him in. His skin was warm under your palms, his muscles carved and defined. Your fingertips traced the ridge of his collarbone, slid up the curve of his neck, tangled in his hair. He felt like something meant to be worshipped.

You reached between you, breath shaky, and undid the fastenings of his pants. He let you, his eyes never leaving your face. You pushed the fabric down just enough to free him, and the second your hand wrapped around him, he groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest.

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the feel of him in your hand. The way he exhaled like you were undoing him. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the ways his pupils dilated, making them somehow even darker.

The firelight flickered across your back, casting the two of you in molten gold. He leaned in, breath warm against your throat, and you tipped your head back as he kissed along your neck, his mouth open, tongue teasing. His hand moved between your legs, slipping beneath your panties and pushing the fabric aside.

His fingers teased you gently, not enough to satisfy, just enough to make your hips shift, seeking more.

"Go slow for me. Let it ache a while," he murmured. "I'll take care of you."

Your body trembled with anticipation, with need, and you bit your lip, stifling a whimper. He kept his touches light, too light, just barely brushing the surface, then a little deeper, circling and coaxing until your legs began to shake.

You tried to stay in control. Tried to hold back the part of you that wanted to claw, to bite, to take. The part that always felt too hungry.

But then he pulled away, slow and deliberate, and shifted beneath you. He pressed the head of his cock right where you wanted him most and held there, unmoving, letting the need twist hot and sharp inside you.

You held your breath as he pressed against you, and then, slowly, you began to sink down. You let out a quiet moan, savoring the stretch and the way his hands tightened around you, steadying you.

You started to move, slow and careful. Lifting just enough to feel the pull before sinking down again. Every motion was thick with wet heat, achingly slow. Sweet friction that built fire with every pass.

Your muscles burned with the effort of staying in control, and your heart pounded like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. Your nails digging into the sofa.

His hands slid along your spine, grounding you as he let you set the pace. But it was not enough to hold back the rush building in your blood.

It was too much. The pleasure. The pressure. The unbearable fullness of him, deep and steady, everywhere.

And still, you tried to hold it together.

Still, you held back.

He felt it in the hitch of your breath, in the tremble that started in your thighs and worked its way through you like a current. Your heart was a wild, beautiful thing beneath your skin. Fluttering against your ribs, echoing in his ears like a siren’s call. And your scent… god, the warmth of it, the way clouded all of his senses as you eased down onto him. It nearly undid him.

You were trying so hard to stay composed. He could see it in the tension at your jaw, the way your fingers dug into the leather behind you instead of into him. It made something sorrowful ache in his chest. You were holding back. Still afraid. Still unsure if it was safe to fall apart with him.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to be. That he could take it. That he wanted it. Wanted you to be hungry, wild and unrestrained. But he didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t dare interrupt the soft, sacred rhythm you set.

One of his hands slid across your shoulder, fingers trailing down your arm until he found your wrist. He brought it forward, pressed your palm to his chest, his skin hot beneath your touch.

“Touch me,” he said softly, steady as a heartbeat. “You don’t need to hold back.”

Your pulse jumped. The warmth of his skin, the steady thump under your palm, was too much. Too intimate. Too good. Your other hand followed, splayed flat over his heart. His hands returned to your waist.

You moved again, hips rolling deep and slow. You arched into him, nails dragging red down his chest. The pleasure built and built. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Your body trembled, caught between the instinct to take and the fear of being too much. You kissed along his jaw... that beautiful jaw. Just a little bit of stubble, sharp enough to cut. You kissed along it, slowly, breathing him in, afraid and desperate in equal parts to sink your teeth in.

Your mouth lingered there. Open. Wanting. But not daring.

His fingers flexed at your hips.

"Take it," he murmured, voice wrecked. "Whatever you want. Take it."

And finally you gave in.

You sank your teeth into the curve where neck met shoulder. Not enough to break skin, not on someone like him, but enough to hurt. Enough to shake him.

Elijah’s groan was guttural, the sound of a man utterly undone. His head fell back, and hips jerked beneath you, a sudden, uncontrolled thrust, and your body clamped down around him so tight it made your breath catch.

“Fuck.”

He swore under his breath, more primal than polished now and his hands squeezed your ass, guiding your hips.

“Again,” he hissed. “Harder.”

Your chest clenched. No one had ever enjoyed your intense side. No one had ever asked for more. The shame that always curled beneath your ribs was gone, burned out by the raw need in his voice. He wasn’t tolerating it. He was loving it.

And you were helpless to resist.

You bit him again, harder, and the strangled sound that escaped him sent a thrill down your spine. Your hands were shaking, fingers pressed tight against his chest, and your heart was pounding, but everything else felt perfectly, blissfully clear.

"Yes," he breathed, and his hand slipped between you, his fingers stroking over the spot where you were joined, and then up, rubbing in insistent circles over your clit, "Yes, love, yes..."

You moaned against his neck, the sound muffled. It was too much. The feel of him moving beneath you, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his skin, the press of his fingers, his hand against your back. The sounds he made. That beautiful, wrecked voice saying yes, over and over again.

Your mouth was everywhere, rabidly moving along the line of his jaw, the sharp ridge of his throat, the flushed skin you already marked once. You bit down over and over, teeth dragging just enough to make him groan, filthy and low. You felt drunk on it, dizzy, like the whole world was spinning around you and he was the only thing that could keep you upright.

Your hips bucked hard, your rhythm lost, and he began to bounce you, lifting your hips and bringing them back down with a punishing force. Every thrust drove a ragged sound from the both of you.

“Elijah,” you gasped, already breathless, fingers curling into his shoulders.

“Again,” he growled, voice sharp now. “Fucking bite me.”

The command in his voice hit like a punch to the gut. A moan tore from your throat as you did, harder this time, the taste of his skin flooding your tongue. His pace increased, his whole body shuddered, and his cock twitched deep inside you as he cursed under his breath. He started moving you even faster, every thrust hit something perfect, something devastating, and your moans turned into broken little sobs.

Your hands scrambled for his skin, digging into his chest, his shoulders, holding on as you bounced in his lap, thighs burning, body slick with sweat and slick and spit.

“Look at you,” he gasped, voice gone completely hoarse, his dark eyes wide and wrecked. “So fucking sweet like this. Look at how you ride me…wild fucking thing-”

You didn’t even recognize the sound you made. You were too far gone.

It wasn’t even sex anymore. It was heat and hunger and something feral. You bit him again, just under his jaw this time, and he groaned, his hips losing their rhythm, and you didn't care. You didn’t care how loud you were, how your teeth tore at his skin, the way your nails left angry red marks down his chest.

The ache in you was so deep. It had been there for months, burning like an ember in your core. And now, finally, the fire was burning through you, scorching everything else away. There was nothing but this moment.

You came with a cry, body clenching down around him in waves, your whole body shaking, lips still pressed to his skin. You couldn't stop. You didn’t want to. You kept licking, kissing, moaning into his neck as the pleasure overtook you completely.

He followed you, voice wrecked and raw, hands still guiding you through it as he spilled inside you with a shudder that wracked his whole frame.

Slowly, the world came back. The crackle of the fire, the cool leather of the couch, the heat of his body, and the gentle press of his lips against your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

Your limbs felt like lead, and all the air left your lungs in a shaky exhale.

"Holy shit," you managed, still gasping for breath.

"That is," he murmured, the ghost of a smile on his lips, "One way to put it."

You laughed, still dizzy, and collapsed against his chest. He pulled the blanket back up around the both of you, his hands smoothing along your spine, soothing you as your breath came in pants.

The fire had burned low. Most of the room had fallen into shadow, and the chill of the air was starting to creep back in. Without a word, Elijah shifted, carefully disentangling himself from the mess of limbs and blankets.

“No,” you mumbled, arms wrapping tighter around his middle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He chuckled softly. “Nowhere far, sweetheart.”

You let him go reluctantly, flopping onto your side as he stood. And then … well. You definitely didn’t regret letting him go.

The firelight kissed every plane of his body in soft orange-gold. You watched as he moved to the fireplace, unhurried and utterly unbothered to be naked, every muscle flexing as he bent to adjust the wood in the hearth. Strong shoulders, defined arms and the curve of his back… he looked like he should be carved into stone. He didn’t even have to look at you to know what you were thinking.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking back.

“You’re naked,” you shot back, pulling the blanket up to your chin, flushed and smiling.

He gave the fire one last nudge and turned, smiling in that infuriatingly composed way. “So I am.”

He crossed the room with slow, easy steps, the light catching the curves and ridges of his torso. Your gaze drifted lower, and he laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “You alright?”

You nodded, blushing.

He climbed back onto the couch, leaning in to kiss you, long and languid. When he pulled back, you were grinning, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Was that alright?” you asked, voice small. “I know I can get… in my head. And the biting thing, it’s…”

He shook his head and kissed you again, gentle and certain, as if to hush every doubt before it could reach your lips.

“My love,” he said, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “You are speaking to a vampire. You think I’d be scandalized by a few enthusiastic nibbles?”

You giggled, a little fluttery in your chest. He pulled the blanket closer, settling in beside you. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then down to your jaw. He continued like that, peppering soft kisses all along the line of your jaw until he reached your ear. “I meant what I said. I want all of you. Even the parts you think are too much. Especially those.”

Your heart clenched.

You peeked up at him again, shy. “Even if I want to bite you like… all the time?”

He grinned. “Especially that.”

[fleurenese]

⠀១⠀⠀ pairing:⠀⠀bf's bsf!chris⠀⠀𝇂w/ ⠀ touch-starved!reader⠀⠀⠀⠀"HIS BESTFRIEND'S GIRL"

𝆹𝅥𝅮 ⠀۟⠀ in which . . . her boyfriend’s best friend fucks all that quiet, fucked-up affection into her, in the backseat, and she lets him.”

ㅤׂㅤ⊹ㅤㅤwarning:ㅤsmut,⠀switching,⠀pnv, ⠀mild bumbification, creampie,⠀rough sex,⠀semi public set,⠀size kink,⠀filty talking ⠀&&⠀ more..

He doesn’t even bother to lock the doors.

The party's still thumping behind them—music blaring, bodies packed inside, red solo cups stacked half full—but Chris had seen enough. Enough of her boyfriend walking off to talk to some other girl. Enough of her, standing there all quiet in the corner, pretending not to care while her eyes kept flicking toward Chris like they always do.

It was him she came to when her boyfriend vanished for too long.

It was his hoodie she tugged on, voice small, “Can we… go somewhere?”

It was his lap she ended up in—first just sitting, then straddling, then quietly grinding with her face tucked into his neck while he murmured low, dirty things into her ear like he knew how badly she needed to be touched.

So yeah—he doesn’t lock the doors. He doesn’t care.

Because right now she’s underneath him, already spread out in the backseat, and her boyfriend is the last thing on her mind.

“C’mere, baby,” Chris breathes, voice a low rasp against her jaw as he grinds down into her, their bodies flush, chest-to-chest, no space left between them. His hips roll, slow but deep—so deep—and the way she arches for him, arms wrapping tight around his neck like she’s clinging for life, makes him groan.

“God—Chris—feels too good,” she gasps, breath catching as her thighs twitch around his hips, cunt already fluttering around him like she’s seconds from breaking again.

He just smiles, all cocky and fucked-out, dragging his nose along her cheek. “I know it does. Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing his hand low between them to rub messy, tight circles over her clit. She jolts, moaning loud into his neck. “So fuckin’ needy. You get like this for him? Nah. Bet he doesn’t even fuck you like this.”

She whines, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging him impossibly closer as his cock grinds against every soaked, clenching inch of her. The backseat rocks under them, her skirt pushed all the way up, Chris’s hoodie halfway off his shoulders, and her panties thrown somewhere into the front.

She’s smaller—shorter—and he uses it. He’s all over her, covering her, fucking her with full-body thrusts that keep her snug beneath him, pinned down and stuffed full. His hands never leave her—one gripping her thigh, the other teasing her clit.

His thrusts were hard, relentless now—skin slapping wet, her thighs trembling around his hips as he kept her folded beneath him. No space, no breath, just his cock driving deep and fast, grinding through slick heat like he couldn’t stop.

“God, listen to you,” Chris muttered against her cheek, voice thick and uneven. “So fuckin’ wet—you did this, yeah?”

She only whined, face twisting, legs twitching when he shifted and hit it—that spot. Her whole body jolted, hips trying to wriggle away from the pressure.

He caught it instantly.

“Hey—no,” he breathed, dragging out of her slow until just the head kissed right against it again. He started rubbing there with soft, brutal precision. “Where you goin’, baby? You were takin’ it so good.”

Her breath hitched, a tear slipping as she gasped, “Chris—please—can’t—”

“Shhhh,” He leaned in, kissed her open mouth, slow and greedy while his hips rolled again. “C’mon,” he rasped, forehead pressing to hers. “Gonna fill you up, baby… fuck, feel so good like this—don’t squirm—stay right there—”

Chris shifted her leg higher over his hip, angling them slightly sideways, just enough to grind in deeper. The new angle had her gasping, body twitching as he fucked into her harder, rougher, cock dragging right over that spot.

He was holding her thigh tight as he kept rutting into her, slow and messy, lips brushing her cheek.

Chris fucked into her with messy, desperate thrusts—hips snapping hard, chest pressed to hers, his breath hot against her lips. Every push was deep and thick, dragging a wet gasp from her throat as he kept her pinned, her leg hooked high around his waist.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice low and strained, kissing her temple as she squirmed. “Don’t move, baby… that’s it—just take it.” he breathed, with eyes of fucked-up affection

She whimpered, body trembling beneath him, her back arching when he rolled into her deeper. His hand caught her hip again, holding her still, eyes fluttering as his pace stuttered—messy, losing rhythm.

His mouth dropped open, breath catching as he pushed in deep one final time, cock twitching hard as he came inside her, thick and warm, hips pressed in tight as if he could spill every last drop into her. His brows pulled together, lips parted in a broken moan, face soft and fucked-out like he was drowning in it.

He stayed there, still shaking, then slowly pulled back with a groan, eyes dropping to the mess leaking between her thighs.

“Shit…” he breathed, grabbing her panties. He slipped them back up with one hand, cupping her soaked cunt to press them snug. His other hand cradled her cheek.

“Keep it in, yeah?” he murmured, eyes heavy, kissing her slow. “All of it’s yours.”

ㅤ⠀ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ⠀© RENESSAㅤㅤ⠀࣭ ㅤㅤ do not steal nor copy!wanna be on the taglist? comment!

[fairy-angel222]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—geto showing gojo how to fuck you like you deserve

pairing: geto x fem! reader x gojo

content: smut, voyeurism, cuckholding, creampie, cunnulingus, cum eating (gojo eats geto’s cum out of you), praise, degradation, hair pulling, fingering, fingering, consensual cheating, overstimulation, choking

a/n: i’m really sorry for the repost, tumblr flagged the first one :’)

Geto showing Gojo how to fuck you, Gojo’s darling little girlfriend, just right. Gojo sitting on the single sofa in the two’s shared living room. With Geto on the large one and you on his lap with long fingers deep inside you, curling against your g spot as he pumped them in and out. His other hand was wrapped tightly around your neck, forcing you to keep direct eye contact with your boyfriend.

Gojo gulped hard as he felt his boner grow impossibly harder, straining against his pants as his face grew hot at the sight. Soft moans and pants were leaving your pretty lips as your body jerked with every thrust of Geto’s fingers. “See that? I’m barely even doing anything and she’s becoming a mess.” Geto scoffed, giving you no warning as he began hammering his long fingers into you at a rapid pace.

The curled digits were hitting your spot so perfectly, making you cry out loudly in pleasure. Your legs threatening to close as you whimpered, letting out a yelp when Geto slapped your thigh in warning. “Behave, slut.” You whimpered once more, teary eyes meeting your boyfriend’s as your mouth hung open in pure ecstasy.

“F-fuck.. feels.. f-feels so good,” you moaned, eyes closing as you tried to lean back against the huge man.

“Look at him. Look at your boyfriend try to contain his boner.” Geto increased the pressure on your throat, keeping your head in place as you looked towards Gojo who kept looking away. “Bet he’s never even made you feel this good,” he falsely cooed, sending Gojo a smirk before focusing his attention back on you.

A loud moan escaped your throat when Geto inserted a third finger, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. His fingers curling against your gummy walls, and you could do nothing but whimper and cry as you neared your orgasm. “A-ah—” you mewled “m gonna, ngh— ‘m g-gonna cum,” you moaned, body starting to tremble as you felt a not so familiar coil building up in your stomach.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my fingers and show your boyfriend what he could never do?” You nodded vigorously, your head empty as you babbled out little yeses and pleases. Geto’s eyes connected with his roommate’s, a teasing smirk on his face, “you know, you can get off to me ruining your girl if you’d like, there’s no shame in it,” he shrugged.

Gojo scoffed, rolling his eyes as he cussed the black haired man under his breath. Geto brought his lips down to your ear, “as for you, you don’t get to come until you’re nothing but a brain less slut on my cock.”

With that, the man removed his fingers from your now fluttering hole, causing you to whine out in protest, tears pooling in your eyes as you felt the coil slowly subside.

Geto lifted you up with ease, placing you on your hands and knees with your face towards Gojo before filling you up immediately. His length reaching deep inside you making you let out a soundless scream. Geto started off rough, fucking into you like he had nothing for you but hatred.

His hips slammed bruisingly against your ass, cock bullying its way against your g spot with every merciless thrust. Your eyes rolled back as you let him flatten your cheek onto the cushion of the chair. Drool pooling near the side of your mouth as you were rocked back and forth at a speed that seemed humanly impossible.

Your head was foggy, loud sobs and incoherent moans of his name spilling past your lips. “C’mon, you can do better than that. Let him know who’s making you feel this good,” Geto grunted.

“Y-you— fuck- you are, ahh,” you let out a loud cry, “you’re making me- nghh— making me feel this good. Can feel you so deep,” You whimpered, hesitantly looking towards your boyfriend’s direction to find him cock in hand, trying his hardest to match his fist to the rhythm of his friend’s thrusts.

Gojo groaned loudly when his eyes met yours, the sight of your fucked out face sending blood straight to his dick. Geto chuckled at the other male, gripping onto the curve of your waist as he continued to hammer into you, angling himself to hit all the right spots to drive you crazy.

You mewled as you arched your back, his cock practically pushing against the skin of your lower stomach with each movement of his hips. “There we go..” he cooed, watching as your face contorted into one of a pretty little slut who craved nothing but cock. His cock.

“See that? This is exactly what the bitch needs to look like. Like there’s nothing else in the world but your cock fucking into her, isn’t that right baby?” he groaned.

“Mhm!” you cried.

“Fucking hell- you’re so tight, feels like you’re gonna break me in half,” Geto grunted. And all you did was let out an incoherent babble in response, barely even registering his words as you were fucked into oblivion. Your eyes teary with nothing but pleasure.

Stars clouded your vision and your toes curled as you neared your release, “S-suguru.. ‘m gonna cum, please let me cum. Wanna be your good girl ‘n cum on your cock,” you cried out in between broken mewls, eyes puffy as you tried to look back at him.

“You’re an even bigger slut than I thought, I hope your little boyfriend is taking notes on how to treat his slutty little girlfriend.” his voice was deep and raspy as he neared his own high. “Go ahead- fuck, look him in the eyes and cum for me.”

You let out a string of high pitched moans when he began to rub your clit, your brain fuzzy as glassy eyes looked towards Gojo. His mouth opened in pants and groans as he approached his orgasm with you. “Ngh— ahh. Gonna cum Suguru- ‘m a good girl right? P-please tell me ‘m a good girl,” you whined.

Geto’s eyes widened, his dick twitching at the pure desperation in your voice as you begged to be praised. He smirked, watching your ass recoil with each of his harsh thrusts. He hummed, “Such a good fucking girl for me, taking me so well.” His breathing getting heavier by the second, “Fuck, you’re my good girl baby.”

You let out a high pitched cry, “T-thank you, thank you, oh god ‘m cumming— nghh.” Eyes never leaving your boyfriend’s as your body quivered, pussy tightening as you came all over another man’s cock.

Gojo did not take long to follow after you, “Oh f-fuckk.” he groaned out as his body spasmed, fist halting around his reddened cock as his cum spilled onto his stomach in hot spurts.

Satisfied, Geto pulled you up by your hair, your back arched against his chest as he continued to fuck into you relentlessly. Pulling out another loud string of moans from your swollen lips. His head fell back, never slowing his pace as he reached closer and closer to his release.

He grunted, his breath hot on your ear when he let out a long groan. “Gonna cum in you baby— gonna fuck you full and make your boyfriend eat you out.” He whispered, his dark eyes meeting Gojo’s hungry ones.

“You’d love that won’t you baby?” you nodded with a shaky whine at his teasing coo, feeling his thrusts becoming hard and slow.

Geto let out a string of curses, stilling inside you and allowing his cum to fill your tight pussy to the brim. A glare on his face when Gojo opened his mouth to protest.

“That’s it. Take my cum deep. This is exactly how pretty little sluts like you need to be treated.” he coaxed, slowly pulling out of you for the milky substance to seep out your hole in spurts.

“Now, Satoru. Come clean her up.” his deep voice demanded. Sitting back with you on his thighs. His rough hands spreading your legs open towards your boyfriend.

Your folds glistened with your wetness, his cum slowly dripping out of you as you clenched around nothing. “Come on. You know you want to.”

Gojo stood up. Being stopped by Geto who grinned.

“Crawl.”

Gojo huffed lowly, getting down on his knees and crawling his way over to you. His tongue swiping over his lips before he found his head buried between your thighs. A soft whimper sounding from your throat at the light overstimulation to your sensitive clit.

Gojo licked up your folds, sucking both your sweetness and geto’s saltiness onto his tongue. You moaned loudly when he latched his mouth onto the small bud, his tongue swirling around it making a string of cries fill the room.

Geto watched in amusement as his friend devoured your sopping pussy. His long tongue dipping into your hole and curling into your painted walls. You let out a mewl, your head resting on Geto’s hard chest as your boyfriend used you as his meal.

“O-oh, S-Satoru baby,” you mewled, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging with every movement of his wet tongue. “F-fuck— so good.” you let out a broken cry when Gojo thrusted two of his slender fingers into you. Lewd squelching sounds echoing the walls as he fucked them into you.

Your pussy gushed onto his hand, the man’s skilled tongue unable to keep up with your leaking juices. Your eyes rolled back when he sucked on your clit once more, body shaking lightly at the sensitivity.

Geto smiled, kissing down your neck while running his thumb along your bottom lip. Slipping it inside and pressing it at the back of your tongue. He hummed, “Think we should feed his lil ego?” Your head tilting to the side to let him graze the skin of your neck with his teeth. “Make a mess on his tongue?”

You twisted and turned as your second orgasm washed over you. You were so sensitive, trying to squirm away but having your legs held tightly opened by Geto. “O-oh fuck— ahh, ‘s too much.”

Gojo moaned into you, his face becoming more drenched by the second as he feasted on your wetness. Hungrily lapping up everything you had to give. Your pussy squirting messily against the force of his fingers inside you.

“Look at that,” Geto teased, “Finally made your girlfriend squirt.”

Gojo kept on with his torture, loud whines and mewls falling past your lips as he became drunk on your pussy. His eyes closed and his mouth latched onto you tight. His face moving along with the movements of your hips trying to escape him.

“S-satoru— nngh- too much.” you sobbed, your legs twitching and your hips jerking as your back arched, your boyfriend getting back to almost painfully licking at your clit. “Satoru, ‘m too sensitive- fuck.” Gojo only looked up at you with half opened eyes, the only thing on his mind being how fucking good you tasted on his tongue.

Geto groaned, your teary face making his dick rock hard again. “Give him one more yeah? You can take it.”

Your second one did not take long to engulf you whole. Your legs trembling once more as you cried out loudly. Mewls of Gojo’s name falling from your tongue as your stomach tightened, pussy spilling even more onto his face. Gojo kept his face buried in you, tongue still making its final laps despite your constant whimpers.

“Okay now, that’s enough.” Geto laughed, peeling Gojo off of you by his hair. Your boyfriend letting out a groan as he tried to latch back onto you. “Gotta get our girl cleaned up now.”

[obsesssedblerd]

“Oh, Nanaminnnn!” 

At the familiar, cheery voice, Kento looks up to see no one other than Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorframe of his office with his usual grin. “Saw with my Six Eyes that you came to fill out those reports here instead of doing it from home. Been so long since you showed your face here and—” He cuts himself off with an excited gasp, then walks closer as his smile grows wider. “You brought my little mochi!”

In Kento’s left arm, his daughter—who had woken up from her nap about ten minutes ago—coos excitedly when Satoru enters her vision, reaching her hands towards him. “Well, hello there, sweetheart! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” He slides his hands under her plush arms, then picks her up, skillfully—and safely, Kento notes—holding her in his arms. Tiny hands brush against Satoru’s blindfold, and he lifts it so his niece can see his blue eyes. They immediately soften when the baby girl laughs when he gently tickles her tummy. 

It’s so cute that Kento can’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. 

“Wait—Did I hear that right?! Nanamin’s here?!” 

“Itadori, wait for us!” 

“Kugisaki, you dropped your bag—Oh, come on, guys, slow down!” 

Rapid footsteps approach, then the three first years appear at the door, gasping in unison. 

“Oh, my gosh!” Yuuji, the pink-haired teenager shouts as he points at the baby in Satoru’s arms. “Nanamin, when did you have a baby?!” 

Nobara’s question comes a split-second after Yuuji’s is finished. “Is that why [Y/L/N]-sensei quit a while ago?!” 

Megumi walks to stand beside Satoru to analyze the little bundle in his teacher’s arms. “She’s… adorable.” He mumbles, gently smiling when she wraps her hand around his finger. “Very adorable. She has [Y/L/N]-sensei’s laugh.”

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Satoru asks, proudly showing her off to the first years. “So sweet and friendly, just like her Uncle Gojo.” 

“Hopefully she won’t be as reckless as you,” Kento says as he holds his hands out, and Satoru returns his daughter to him. “[Y/N] and I already believe that she’ll be the exact opposite of me.” 

Yuuji sits beside Kento to get a closer look at her. “She’s so cute. How old is she, Nanamin?” 

“Four months as of yesterday.” 

Nobara crosses her arms and pouts. “How come only he knew?” She asks, gesturing to Satoru. 

“Well, when I had to go away on a long mission, she was only a month old,” Kento explains. “He kept an eye on her and [Y/N] for me; made sure that they were both safe. I’m very grateful. We had plans to tell you about our daughter soon.” 

“Where is she now?” Megumi asks. 

“At home. I wanted her to have the morning and most of the afternoon to herself. I’ll be heading back shortly.” 

Satoru and the students share similar looks with each other, and Kento knows what they want to ask. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. “Hi, baby,” you greet when the line connects, “how’s our girl?” 

“Hi, love. She’s amazing, as always,” he says as he looks down, playfully poking the little one’s nose. “I’m with Gojo and our students. They want to know if it’s alright to come and see you.” 

“We’ll cook dinner if you’re too tired!” Nobara chimes in hopefully.

“Actually, better yet, I can just order something for everyone,” Satoru suggests. 

“And we’ll clean up,” Yuuji and Megumi say at the same time. 

You laugh, then answer Kento, “That’s more than alright. Bring them here.” 

“Thought you’d say that. See you in a bit.” 

“Yes!” Yuuji cheers. “Alright, I’m gonna ride with Nanamin so I can sit next to the baby!” 

Nobara glares at him. “Not if I get to the car first!!” 

When they sprint out the door, Megumi groans before rushing after them. “Didn’t I just tell you guys to slow down? We’re going to the same place!” 

Satoru laughs, then waits for Kento to finish up so they can walk out together. 

—

there was an ask in my inbox requesting a cute drabble for dad! nanami ft. gojo (as a trusted friend of his) and the first years, but it disappeared. hope u like it, anon <3 

[dmitriene]

cw: baby fever, breeding, everything is emotional.

simon riley never discussed a possibility of having a baby with you, and you kept silent either, knowing that the whole family thing is hard to him, both to think about and try to accommodate to, wrap and build it up, and even if he allowed to feel the craving to start a family, take risks and give a new life together, which will rely and depend on both him and you, he'd keep it encased, in his heart, behind a chain mail.

some guy, a former soldier under his lieutenant leadership, a young guy full of future and hope, invited you both to the sip and see party to meet his and his wifey's newborn girl, simon saved him, once, not attaching any importance to it, because for him, it was a matter of his service, but he didn't know that if the boy wasn't been so lucky to have someone who will have time to drag him to the side before the bullet hits him, he would never have known in his life that his wife was pregnant.

that's why you're both here, standing in the spacious, cozy living room, a table with some homemade appetizers and some easy beverages in the corner to your right, the baby crib standing on forgotten, because currently, the little, dovey girl are held in the soothing hands of her momma, rocked side to side, even though she's calm and giggly, looking around the blurry of curious, smiling faces of the people you don't know, but sense that they are a close one to the family, as you continue to watch.

simon is calm, as much as possible, none of the guests look at him as if he's some creep, which helps to create a favorable atmosphere in advance, but he's still out of his skin, a raw nerve, being invited to an event like that, standing beside you with his heavy hand tucking you close, draped around the slope of your waist, and the touch feels like a loose attempt to anchor himself in the moment, as if knowing, that without fail, you would help him, and you do, rubbing a soothing caress over his already paling knuckles.

he felt obliged to come and support the poor guy who was so infinitely grateful to him, so easily decided to invite him into his family, to show him his child, whom he was able to see and will be able to raise only because simon saved him then, smiled understandingly and warmly when he refused to get too close, to try and hold the newborn, although the nervous tremor in his scarred hands was uncontained, as was the slight glint of deep lodged uncertainty in his copper amber eyes.

little by little, the guests begin to talk to each other, mostly with the mother, sitting down on the big sofa in the middle and around, asking easy, curious questions and sharing endless congratulations, leaving the father with the child, he holds her carefully, kisses the top of her head and smiles brightly in response to her deciphered babbles, before he moves, heading towards the kitchen, near you before stopping, almost shifting from foot to foot before looking at simon, stretching out his arms along with the baby.

simon is confused, gazes down to meet the wide, curious eyes of the little girl, her lips pouty as she babbles something giddy and gasps some random sounds, and his eyebrows knit, almost menacingly, with his jaw working along the instinctive clench, yet, the guy doesn't backs away, smiling calmly, murmuring that he has to leave to the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and does not want to interfere with his wife's conversation, so he asks for a small favor, to hold the baby, as she already reaches out with a grabby fists, leaving no other chance.

that's when everything seems to change course, like a jammed hand on a clock, when he takes her in his arms, and she settles in the crook of his elbow, over the twiney muscle that is wound tight from his wrist to his bicep, sinewy, sculpted out of steel and made to break, yet, the little pea lays there as if on feather cushion, curled, glancing up through her long, fluttering lashes, smiling toothlessly up, and you both seem to be blinded out.

meeting each other's eyes, only to see the same kaleidoscope of unnamed emotions reflected upon you in simon's widened eyes, wavering, blinking rapidly over something he can't even comprehend, looking back down, and his scarred hand moves to thumb over the round tummy of the baby girl in his arms, coming up her pinky, full cheeks, marveling at the smoothness of her milk smelling skin, as she giggles to him, pleased and happy, in his arms.

it's overwhelming, out of a sudden, the want, untamed need, to see simon holding a baby that would be yours, to wake up in the morning to her babbles coming out of the crib, with her tiny body curled against his ample chest, sleeping in the protective circle of his scarred, roughened hands, with you leaning over from his side, cradled as close, cooing at her and then seeing the pooling, sun resembling warmth in his crinkled eyes, blanketing over you both.

the drive back home goes hand in hand, grip tight around each other's fingers, as you look out in the window, lost in the unexpected, but somehow welcomed fantasies of the future you didn't knew was that appealing, but you hesitate to voice it out, the images that flash in before your eyes, the clench you feel deep in your gut, something pulling, pooling, reminding of itself with wetness that seeps in through your panties, and even then, you keep silent.

getting back in the house, taking off shoes, outerwear, going further inside, out of the narrow hallway and into the living room, spinning around and letting simon follow you, press up against your back with hands that curl around your waist and sweep over to your stomach, stubble tickling jaw nuzzles in the back of your neck, searing breath stuttering, lips vibrating over a growl that makes you gasp and tumble his name as a needy, shattering, trembling whisper.

you should discuss it better than this, sit and talk, weight it all, but there's a fever, an unbearable pull that makes his fingers rip off your clothes, splay you down and over the cold, rumpled linen beneath your bowing, snapping back, a whisper, plea, coming from his chapped, bitten lips as a rumbled question, to let him get you full, tonight, pump his cum in, with pushing, working thrusts in the gripping, tight clutch of your needy, weeping cunt, and you agree.

between the wide open thighs, supple skin tingling with bruises and muscles cramping, cunt pulsing, gaping around simon's battering movements, rocking back and then ramming in, plunging back the escaping globs of cum your cunt tries to waste out, too full to hold in more of his warm seed, but your hips roll to coerce him deeper, indulging in every inch, pleading, moaning, sobbing, falling in note with his gravelly, wrecked vows to make you pregnant.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ccupcakeyss]

༝     .   MAMA SANDWICH ! .  ✿

SUMMARY: after a long day, cuddling is just what you need from your husband toji. or... your child megumi? both? oh great. here comes war.

WC: 852

NOTES: I HAVE BEEN ON THE BIGGEST TOJI BRAINROT so incoming; toji fics are on its way

Evening in the Fushiguro household was always a soft sort of chaos.

Dinner had been eaten. Megumi’s tiny face had been wiped clean (after much squirming and pouting). Pajamas were on, teeth brushed—though Toji insisted, “The kid’s only got like three teeth, what’s there to brush?”—and now it was finally time for the best part of the day.

Cuddle Time.

You were curled up on the couch, warm and cozy under a big blanket, reading a book and half-listening to the quiet hum of the night. You’d barely blinked when a familiar weight crashed beside you.

“‘Kay, move over.”

Toji’s gravelly voice. Grumpy, low, but unmistakably pouty in that way he tried to hide.

You shifted just enough to make room as he flopped beside you with a groan, throwing one arm around your waist and pulling you in with that effortless strength of his.

“Rough day?” you asked, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Always,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck like a heat-seeking missile. “Missed you.”

You smiled softly, fingers carding through his dark hair. “I’m right here.”

You should’ve expected what came next.

Tiny, stompy feet. The quiet pat-pat-pat of your son’s determined little march.

Megumi waddled into the living room, wearing his favorite wolf-print pajama pants and dragging his own little blanket like a warrior preparing for battle.

He stopped in front of the couch. Squinted.

Frowned.

“…Papa, move.”

Toji peeked one eye open. “No.”

“I wanna cuddle Mama.”

“Too bad. I got here first.”

“Not fair!” Megumi huffed, cheeks puffed out, hands balling into tiny fists. “She’s my mama!”

Toji didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

“She’s my wife.”

“But—!”

Megumi stomped once more, then—with all the dramatic flair of a bedtime soap opera—climbed on top of you, shoving his way between your chest and Toji’s arm like a chubby little wedge.

“Toji—” you started, laughing as the blanket slipped down your shoulder.

“No. Nope. He’s not allowed in here.”

“He’s your son,” you reminded, trying to wrangle the squirmy toddler now making himself at home in your arms.

“He’s a traitor.”

Megumi smirked triumphantly, curling into your chest and patting your collarbone like he’d just conquered a new kingdom. “My Mama.”

Toji let out a dramatic sigh, glaring at Megumi like he’d just been dethroned. “You get her all day. I get her at night. That’s the rule.”

Megumi looked up at you. “Is that true?”

You blinked. “There’s a rule?”

Toji grunted. “There should be.”

But Megumi wasn’t budging. He threw one leg over your stomach and settled in like a cat, kicking Toji’s side lightly in the process.

You were wheezing from trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay—stop. You both can cuddle me.”

“No.” They said it at the same time.

Toji tugged you closer, trying to reclaim his space. Megumi clung tighter, glaring up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“She loves me more,” the kid mumbled.

Toji’s eyebrow twitched. “Wanna bet?”

Before you knew it, Toji had hooked one arm around Megumi and the other under your knees—and in one smooth, annoyingly strong motion, he hoisted both of you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

Now you were in the middle. Megumi pressed to your chest. Toji wrapped around your back, legs caging you both in.

“Aha,” he muttered smugly. “Cuddle sandwich. I win.”

“This is not winning,” you said, laughing. “This is kidnapping.”

Megumi was too busy snuggling into your hoodie, mumbling something about how warm you were and how he wanted you all to himself. Toji kept his arm slung heavy around both of you, his big hand on your thigh, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you warned.

“That’s the plan,” he muttered, eyes already half-lidded.

You could feel Megumi relaxing, his breathing slowing. And Toji—despite all his grumbling—was gently running his fingers up and down your side in soft, rhythmic strokes.

“…Love you, Mama,” Megumi whispered, voice already heavy with sleep.

Toji grunted softly, his mouth brushing your neck. “Tch. Love you too.”

“Who are you saying that to?” you asked, smiling.

“…Both of you.”

Your heart ached in the best possible way.

Toji—fierce and dangerous and built for anything but softness—was now the anchor of this small, sleepy pile of warmth and love. His son clung to you like you were the sun, and he held you both like you were his whole damn world.

Which, honestly, you were.

Later that night, when you were half-asleep and Megumi had long since started drooling on your chest, you felt Toji whisper into your hair.

“I used to think I was gonna die alone,” he murmured. “Now I’ve got you two, and I’m fighting a four-year-old over cuddles.”

You smiled, eyes closed, hand resting over his on your waist.

“You lost, by the way.”

Toji snorted quietly. “Nah. Still got you in my arms, didn’t I?”

And just like that, the house fell into peaceful silence—wrapped in blankets, love, and the kind of warmth Toji Fushiguro never believed he’d ever deserve.

But now?

He wouldn’t give it up for the world.

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 7:

Summary: Your escape from Joker doesn't go unnoticed, and you bear the consequences of attracting the attention of the bats.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

----

Burning green blinded him, searing his veins and twisting. His very breath was strained, broken and turning into what he could only describe as boiling rage.

He did the only thing he could do.

Murder the clown.

Strike after strike bore down upon the clown’s heaving body, his guns left behind on the floor, long forgotten. Any little trick up the clown's sleeve was swiftly discarded by Jason’s primal force.

The clown’s leg was held in his gloved hands, he twisted, pulling and pulling until there was an abrupt snap. The other leg was subject to the whims of his iron toe boots, breaking under the pressure.

He itched and burned to do more, fists turning into a flurry of blows upon the now unconscious clown. The clown could still cry out in pain, and that satisfied him.

Jason kept going, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not until he wrapped his hands around and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and the clown finally popped.

Jason let out a breath, hands forming into an instinctive fist and aimed, until hands wrapped around his arms to pull him back.

He struggled, trying to jab out with his elbow to no avail. A voice interrupted the Green, calling out to him.

“Jason! Jason, come on!” The voice called out, demanding and desperate and somehow just enough for him to break through.

“Steph…?” He mumbled, regaining focus of the world around him. There was blood on his gloves.. his boots too. 

The clown as if a train had run him over- several times. Every part of his face was bruised, green, purple and black. His limbs were in no better shape, twisted and broken into pieces that seemed like agony for doctors to put back together.

He didn't envy Joker’s recovery period.

“Shit..” Batgirl muttered, at his side. “Batman won't be happy about this.” 

“Fuck Batman.” Was his instinctive response.

“Indeed..” She replied. “Well… I’ll take him back to Arkham, or actually, to the nearest doctor that won’t try to finish him off. Cass?”

A sudden movement in the shadow (that definitely didn't make Jason jump) revealed Cass, as she walked closer, a golden cage in one of her hands and Jason’s soul form in the other.

“Hurt.” Cass stated, pointing down at his soul form. Jason whistled, looking at the damage. 

His soul form had always been a durable little thing, no doubt a result of his own upbringing, but this amount of damage was definitely rare. The bird’s wings were twisted, a sign that they were broken, and its breaths were slightly ragged, indicating some internal injuries.

It’d be alright, ultimately. Soul animals healed much faster than humans, as a result of them being magic. 

He was mostly just glad he had bond distancing training, feeling those injuries wouldn't be fun at all. There was a dull pain in his back already, no doubt a result of his soul form’s injuries.

He sighed, kicking at the clown a bit as he did so. “Well that’s a problem.” 

“Your soul animal shouldn't be out of the cave Hood, how did it get here?” Batgirl spoke, turning to look at Orphan, as the hero unlocked the cage a bat was glooming in.

“And how did Bats get here either? Out of all of us, he's had the best training, his soul animal should know the most about how important it is to our identities for them to not leave.” Batgirl frowned, confusion painted on her face.

Batman’s soul animal flitted up to rest on Orphan’s shoulder, a vision of silent solitude. Orphan gave it a little scritch on its ears.

Jason paused, considering how to word what he was about to say. The Green had mostly cleared up, but it still fogged him a little, especially as he thought of the scene he witnessed.

“There was a civilian, Joker’s victim. Tied to a chair and about to be smashed on the head by a crowbar. My soul animal appeared and took the hit.” He stuck to the facts, they were wasting too much time as is. Damn, if not for the pit rage he could have found them by now!

Batgirl gasped. Orphan shifted a little. “Wait, do you think..?” Batgirl struggled to voice the question, knowing how much it meant to them all.

“Yes.” Jason answered, blunt. “That was our soulmate.”

Abrupt movement from the window interrupted their shock, as Red Robin swooped in with a brisk move. 

“Hey.” Red Robin called out, taking in their depressed faces. He paused. “What happened?”

—-

You were not having a good night. Your head hurt, your feet ached, and you would basically give anything at this point to get back home and collapse on your bed. Nothing had gone the way you had hoped for. In fact, it was now the absolute worst case scenario, other than being dead.

Now you have been exposed to two of your soulmates, potentially all of them now if they were feeling like sharing that information.

Oh and of course, you couldn't forget the Joker. Your newly acquired head injury certainly wouldn't be forgetting about it anytime soon.

You groaned, the world before you turning into brief spinning fuzz, as you trudged on. 

“Why me…” You muttered, narrowly avoiding stepping in some rain water. You walked through an alleyway, vaguely guessing the direction of your house. In all honesty, you had barely the slightest inkling of where you were at this point, but you had to try.

The shadows behind you stirred, and you whipped around, making eye contact with one of your worst nightmares. Nightwing.

You shifted backwards, aiming to run away, but he caught onto the fleeing posture of your stance.

“Hey! Hey, calm down.” He spoke reassuringly, as if he was talking to a scared citizen. “I'm not going to hurt you. The inmates of Arkham Asylum have broken out, and it's not safe to be roaming the streets right now.”

He smiled, a charming little gesture, and held a hand out to you. “I can take you home, you'll be safer indoors.”

You shook your head, words failing to escape in your fear of this new problem.

He frowned. “I’m sorry but, I'm going to have to insist. It's really not safe. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” He perked up a little as he spoke the next few words. “Are you injured? I know someone who can help, her name is Leslie, she's a very safe doctor. Or if you don't have anywhere to go, I can escort you to a safe place?”

You shook your head desperately. You wanted nothing more than to get away. Your legs were shaking.

Any further time spent in the presence of your soulmates was a risk. At any point one of them could tell him and you'd be doomed. Hell, he might already know!  

“I… I want to leave.” The words tumbled out, clumsy. “But not with you.”

The smile stayed on his face this time, plastered on. “It won’t be an inconvenience-” He tried.

“Please leave me alone.”

“It's really unsaf-”.

“Please leave me alone.”

“It will only take five-”.

“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!” You screamed, frustration and agony eclipsing into a fearful shout. You regretted it immediately, as it echoed through the streets. Tears welled up in your eyes. Your breath ran short.

Nightwing stood there, finally looking unsure. A part of you reveled in it, finally seeing how you always felt around them reflected on their form.

A fluttering sound broke the uncomfortable silence, a little robin flying down onto Nightwing’s shoulder.

“Robin..?” He muttered, more to himself than you. “Why are you here?”.

You meant to take the opportunity for what it was, to turn and run while you had the chance, but beady eyes turned towards you at the first movement you made.

Robin fluttered towards you, landing on your trembling hand. It gave a little coo, tilting its head a bit to stare at you. It seemed like it noticed your anxiety. It was admittedly a very cute gesture, something that acted like a balm to your scratched and raw mental state, but it didn't last for long.

“Wait…”. 

Your blood froze in your veins. Everything stopped.

“Are… are you…?”

You couldn't respond to his question. Your head spun, an undercurrent of anxiety questioning every option you could make. Your shakes increased. It was noticeable.

“Ah, hey!” It seemed he spotted it. “Don’t worry so much, I know you're so terrified because of what's going on, but now I know I can keep you safe.” His hands grabbed yours, a constricting grip. You tried to take a step back, but he kept you there, not budging from his grasp. Robin shifted a little in displeasure.

“We… can keep you safe.” His eyes beamed into yours, trying to convey a feeling of safety, of reassurance.

You were numb to everything but terror.

“I've told you this once.” You muttered. “And I didn't want to say it again.” You ripped his hands from yours, pushing him away. You grabbed Robin.

“JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY!” You screamed, primal agony laced in your tone, your last efforts giving out.

Then, in a moment of desperation, you grabbed Robin, your littlest soul animal. And you threw him at Nightwing’s face.

His startled scream was music to your ears, as you raced out of the alleyway and down the street. If you were lucky, maybe Robin would be startled enough to give him a few scratches.

Things were finally, finally looking up. It had taken a lot. Gosh, it has taken so much from you. You couldn't go home anymore, both vigilante and villain now knew your name, but at the very least…

You could escape.

It was a mantra you chanted to yourself.

“I can escape. I can escape. I can escape.”

It remained in your brain as you ducked under windows and hid behind cars.

I can escape I can escape I can escape.

A slip of blue in the shadows was your only warning, before cruel pain pierced your arm. 

“Ack!” You clutched at it, noticing what could only be a dart now embedded in you. You ripped it out as you ran, hoping that would be it.

IcanescapeIcanescapeIcanescape-

The world started falling to pieces before your very eyes, a black void stealing the places of buildings, cars, wherever you looked.

Your rush turned into a stumble.

Escape-escape-escape-

You were limping through an alleyway when your limbs finally gave up on you. The adrenaline finally losing to the tranquiliser.

“Escape…” You mumbled.

You glanced up.

A dark shadow was the only thing you could see. A giant figure, clad in a long cape.

A resentful part of you thought that the cape would be a rather warm thing to snuggle up to.

A hand reached out from the darkness.

You passed out.

----

Happy Halloween!!

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Actually, there won't be too many chapters left now, we're coming to the end of Reader's struggle. Ofc, I will be going extra's that aren't actual chapters, and they'll have some extra details that are excluded from Reader's pov.

Also, I definitely have to apologise for how long this one took. I do have my reasons! Had an ear infection, then a holiday (that was pretty neat actually) and currently I have COVID lol. So I was a bit busy there.

But Halloween deserves to be celebrated just as much as everyone deserves another chapter, so here you go!

It is a bit of a shame I won't be able to make an actual Halloween piece. Maybe I'll make something a few days after Halloween? How do people feel about a coraline inspired DC oneshot?

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Tumblr just told me I can't tag anyone else, so the list ends here. I'll add the others in a comment!