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celestie0 · 2 days

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)

“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you, “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand.

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing.

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips.

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement.

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously.

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation.

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up.

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief.

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite.

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly.

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short.

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.”

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away.

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine.

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean.

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug.

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip.

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???”

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation.

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.”

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively.

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think.

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens.

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl!

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears.

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it.

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you.

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him.

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs.

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from???

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door.

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara.

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too.

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by.

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles.

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces.

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it.

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail.

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence.

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?”

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar.

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated.

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll.

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round.

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.”

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him.

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years.

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie.

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?”

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him.

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did.

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store.

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish.

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle.

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments.

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily.

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it.

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave.

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again.

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you.

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance.

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance.

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is.

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more.

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat.

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word.

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–”

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs.

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.”

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience.

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion.

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up.

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease.

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit.

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says.

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you.

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome.

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way.

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jun,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jun has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jun. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jun chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jun who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jun states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jun that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jun asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jun exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jun glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jun than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

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moonstruckme · 2 days

Note

Are you going to continue the roomate James series? I’m actually in love with it😍

Yes! Thank you for reading <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 804 words

“Honey, I’m home!”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you roll your eyes to yourself. James has become more and more fond of these pet names, and of announcing his comings and goings like he’s worried you’ll miss him. (He’s never gone long enough for that, though you might actually miss him if he were.) If you don’t respond in some way or another, he’ll—

“Hey.” He pokes his head through your cracked door. “You alive in here?”

You pause in folding your laundry to give him a deadpan look. “I could have been in my underwear.”

He looks mildly horrified. “I’d hope if you were, you’d close the door all the way.”

“You know, I did manage to stay alive even before you moved in.”

James leans on your doorframe, giving you the sort of lazy grin you have to pretend doesn’t scare butterflies into flight in your stomach. You really hope that wears off soon. “See, but now I’m convinced if I don’t check on you, you really will die and it’ll be my fault.”

“How would it be your fault?”

“Classic case of roommate neglect. I smell the rotting coming from inside your room, the police come, they ask How did you not know your roommate was dead for a month? I reply, Well, officer, she said she could be galavanting in her underwear at any moment. They put me in handcuffs and I spend the next five to fifteen years having Sirius bring me cigarettes I don’t want so that I can trade them for ramen noodles in the yard.”

You scoff, fighting a smile. “As if you would ever eat ramen.”

“That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart. You’d be forcing me upon desperate times. But hey,” he raises his hands in a show of surrender, “I didn’t come in here to discuss prison currency. Would it be alright with you if I had friends over tonight?”

“Of course,” you say, looking back down to match a pair of socks. “You don’t need to ask every time, it’s always alright.”

“Thanks,” he says warmly, “but it makes me feel better to ask. What do you want on your pizza?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” He smiles. Butterflies all over again. “You don’t have to hang out with us to eat it—though we’d love to have you—but I’m not just going to order pizza to your own apartment without having any for you.”

“It’s your apartment, too,” you remind him. “That’d be a very normal thing to do.”

“Irregardless.” James waves you off. You wrinkle your nose at the word choice. “What do you want?”

You swallow a sigh. There are some things, you’ve found, James is nearly impossible to argue with about. If you really dig your heels in, sometimes you can make him move first, but you don’t feel like it right now.

You do the next best thing you can think of: choosing the least obtrusive option. “Cheese is good with me, thanks.”

His eyes narrow like he knows what you’re doing, but he says, “Got it. I’ll let you know when it’s here.”

“Thanks.” You turn your attention back to your laundry. James lingers in the doorway.

A month ago, you would have kept ignoring him, working on the (unfounded) hope that he’d go away. Now, you look up.

“Do you think you might come downstairs and hang out?” he asks. He has a strange look on his face, one you can’t quite decipher. “You know you’re always invited.”

You give James a terse sort of smile. He’s not stopped inviting you to do things since the day he moved in. Your open invitation has been made very clear, and you’ve been accepting it more often lately. James is someone who makes it easy to feel close to him. He tosses pet names at you like they’re nothing, comes to check on you when he gets home, pretends he needs to go grocery shopping just because you need a ride to the store. Last week, you’d sat down to watch a movie with him and woken up to a black screen, your cheek smushed into his shoulder and his head resting atop yours.

Somehow, you’ve let him spill into your life without meaning to, and now you have these childish, crush-like reactions whenever he smiles a certain way or calls you pet names with that familiar bent to his voice. You know you just need time to sort these feelings out. It’d probably be ideal to keep yourself from spilling into his life as much as possible in the meantime.

But it’s hard to deny James anything when he’s so sweet to you. And he’s nice. His friends seem nice.

“I might,” you say.

“I’ll take the win,” James replies, smiling. These butterflies are seriously inconvenient.

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tojisun · 2 days

Note

Poor poor hockey! Simon :(

he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj

this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!

!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)

the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.

it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.

you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.

"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.

sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.

you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.

"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.

she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.

“i am too.”

you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.

you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?

simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.

they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.

it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit.

simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.

they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best.

the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.

simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.

back home, anguished. defeated.

he–

simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room.

he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again.

he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love.

simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home.

there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—

“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.

he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.

and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.

“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”

he shakes, his words failing him now.

you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.”

his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat.

you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken.

he feels so raw.

you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.

“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach.

“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”

“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.

he’s missed this, alright. he’s—

“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”

“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”

simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate.

you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.

“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”

you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him.

it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.

the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed.

simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.

jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.

but this? fuck.

simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe.

“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”

“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.

his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.

simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily.

if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone.

“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice.

he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.

“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”

he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”

your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.

“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”

there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—

“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.

he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.

and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.

you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.

because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.

simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of.

he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.

he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—

“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”

simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.

he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.

simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly.

“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.

yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home.

hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!

#anon #hockey au #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley #hockey player simon #cod smut #ask #suns

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pathologicalreid · 1 day

Text

orange juice | S.R.

you and spencer have an announcement to make, but you're not quite sure how to do it

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: bau!reader, pregnant!reader, nausea and pregnancy symptoms, slightly protective spencer, mentions blood tests and doctors, not proofread word count: 906 a/n: this week has been so atrocious and awful and stressful!!! fuck cancer!! fuck student loans!!! i need spencer reid fluff!!!

“Drink it,” Spencer murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the file on his desk in front of him while noting the way you hadn’t so much as budged in his periphery. You were leaning a bit too far to the left, and the more he observed you, the more he worried that you were going to topple over. “It’ll make you feel better,” he prodded.

Your head jolted as he continued to watch you as if he had woken you from a deep sleep, “What? Sorry,” you mumbled, eyes focusing on the bottle of orange juice that he had placed on your desk upon your arrival at the BAU.

A laugh caught your attention as you slowly turned your office chair around, “Late night, pretty girl?” Derek quipped, winking in your direction before turning back to his own work.

Turning back around, you shared a look with Spencer while rolling your chair closer to your desk, hoping to be able to better prop your head up. The real answer was that you had an early morning, woken up by a roiling stomach courtesy of the first trimester.

Spencer had gotten up with you at five this morning and your queasiness showed no sign of faltering. Your stomach had nothing left to give by the time you went to your doctor’s appointment, but you assured your husband that you were fine when you arrived in Quantico after having your blood drawn.

The issue was that no one knew. Other than Hotch – for obvious personal safety reasons – no members of the BAU were aware that you were pregnant. It started as wariness, wanting to reach a certain milestone before letting your team know, but it quickly turned into a different form of anxiety. You hadn’t let your team know you were even talking about having a baby. Neither of you were entirely sure how to broach the subject or announce your pregnancy, so you didn’t.

Hidden in plain sight, resting on Spencer’s desk was a sonogram, a three-by-five, black-and-white photo of your baby, the two of you were simply waiting for a profiler observant enough to notice. You weren’t showing, yet, as you encroached upon the second trimester, you worried you were running out of time.

His theory was that your nausea was being exacerbated by low blood sugar, which is why he made sure to give you orange juice – you weren’t so convinced, orange juice was brutal coming back out.

You heard the familiar woosh of the glass doors to the bullpen swing as someone entered, the click-clack of Garcia’s heels snapping you back to attention, it was almost time for morning debrief. If you were lucky, you’d remain at your desk for the rest of the day. If your luck ran out, you’d have to pop a Zofran before getting on the jet.

Sighing, you rested your chin in your hand before going back to clicking through your emails, pausing for just a moment when Spencer reached across the short barrier between your desks and opened the bottle for you. To appease him, you took a small sip of the orange juice, pleased when you saw him settle in his desk chair.

“What’s that?” Garcia asked, nearly stumbling to a stop behind Spencer’s desk as her eyes snagged on something on the surface. “No, no I know what that is,” she continued, stammering and flicking her eyes between you and Spencer.

Penelope’s rising voice garnered the attention of other people in the bullpen, bringing them to your and Spencer’s adjacent desks. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” Derek piped up, making his way over and setting a hand on the back of your chair.

Pointing at you, the technical analyst wagged her finger as she made the connections in her brain. The doctor’s appointments and the sudden aversion to girl’s night made sense to her now, and you could see it in the way her gaze softened when she stepped around the desks in order to give you a hug, “Is that real?”

As you reciprocated her hug, you nodded, glancing over at your husband as you knew your secret was now out. “Yeah,” you mumbled into her blonde hair, “It’s real.”

“Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Morgan said, looking around, sharing a confused look with Emily but earning a ‘dude, really?’ look from JJ.

Releasing you from the hug, Penelope reached over the acrylic barrier, plucked the sonogram off Spencer’s desk, and presented it to the rest of the team Vanna White style, “Baby genius is imminent!” She announced, beaming at you and Spencer as you snuck around them to stand at his side.

One by one, Emily, JJ, and Derek embraced both you and Spencer, “Wait, how long has that picture been there?” Emily questioned, arching a dark brow at you and Spencer.

“Two weeks,” Spencer answered quickly, snaking an arm around you and resting a hand on your hip, squeezing it reassuringly.

You leaned into him slightly before nodding in affirmation, “Yeah, some profilers you guys are!”

Rolling his eyes, Morgan came back at you for another hug, holding you so tightly that your feet lifted slightly off the ground. “Woah, hey, be careful,” Spencer said, waiting expectantly for your coworker to let you go.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped back to where Spencer was standing while Emily spoke again, “Oh, he’s going to be insufferable by the end of this.”

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fairene · 2 days

Text

divine / ln4

lando norris x fem!reader

reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n.

where you accompany him to a gala, but he can barely focus with you in that beautiful dress. you are utterly divine.

a/n ⋯ yes so! so! well, yes! this is a pre-established relationship, yearning lando, absolutely smitten lando. just happy and mushy, but entirely too sexy for my own good. reader's dress is loosely inspired by phoebe dynevor's met gala dress. color and style is only mentioned once. absolutely up to YOU on what you are wearing;)

music inspo ⋯ link

warnings ⋯ SMUT / 18++ minors DNI!!! language, established relationship, choking (slight), p in v (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. obsessed lando ( who doesn't love that? )

wc ⋯ 6.7k (unedited.)

the gala for this evening had been marked in your calendar for weeks. you’d be reminding lando nonstop about the event, chirping his ear off about how he needed the perfect suit to accompany your gown. what gown? he would pester and ask, but you still couldn’t decide yourself. with the gala only a few days away, you were cracking down on the little bits of time you had left.

post races in imola were always fun. italy was always fun. but you knew this stretch would be more important for lando. it was a public appearance at a charity event that mclaren was sponsoring, one that helped the youth get involved in karting and motorsport all together. lando had been excited to go, but more elated to have you at his side with him.

he doesn’t think that he could get through these events without you, though. your presence was the ultimate comfort for him, easing his rampant anxieties the moment the spotlight was on him. a simple hand on his back, his neck, his waist was enough to have his body relaxing into you.

you were a natural at these things. he didn’t know what world you were sent from, but he was eternally grateful for your presence at his side.

but it wasn’t easy for you either. you held a tight facade for lando, knowing how intensely anxious he would get. he wouldn’t even eat prior to such gatherings, and would often become dizzy and lightheaded.

you placed the poached eggs with toast in front of him this morning. the plate clattered on the table as you were hurried which had him perking up from scrolling on his phone. when you passed by him to grab your own food, you ran your fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair. he leant back into your touch instinctively.

“eat quick. we’ve got to be at the boutique in a half hour.” you kissed the top of his head, his hair smelling fresh with his shampoo.

“thank you, baby.”

lando reached back to grab one of your arms, kissing up your palm, your wrist, all the way up to your bicep. his lips were warm. he even nipped at your skin which had you yelping, pulling back and smacking his face lightly with a laugh.

he was tempted to jump to his feet and hunt you down, but he knew how important this event was for you. the last thing he needed was to be reprimanded and locked out of your shared bedroom because of his inability to keep his dick in his pants.

you loved it, though.

scarfing down his meal had been the easy part. when he finished washing off his dish, you were standing by the door with your casually chic outfit that made you look divine. whereas he, by comparison, was wearing just his mclaren hoodie and jeans.

you held out your hand for him to take as you left the villa and he took it. his grip was firm and warm, bringing you a serious comfort when you stepped out onto the streets of imola, cameras flashing in your directions.

the valet had lando’s car ready in an instant and the door was opened for you. you hopped in, careful not to ruin your shoes, and you were both off to the boutique in top notch time. you loved to be early for these things– it showed people you cared. that you would make time for them.

lando kept his hand firm on your thigh the entire ride while you were on your phone. you were scrolling through text chains from alexandra and lily. alexandra wanted to know what you were wearing and lived vicariously through you, and lily wanted to know the direction you were going in. you answered them swiftly with the rapid taps of your thumbs, and they kept texting back.

when lando pulled up to the boutique he gave your leg a squeeze which instantly had you dropping your phone in your lap, head perking up to your destination. he opened the door for you, letting you out with your hand in his.

he brought your palm to his lips, gracing it with a sweet kiss. you blushed.

“ever the charmer, you are.”

“only for you, my love.” his smile was wide, cheeky as he squinted.

the boutique manager was hasty with his gowns, ready for your picking. you had told him in advance that you were looking for a longer gown– more airy and flowy versus a heavy fabric in this on-coming summer heat. you didn’t want to be a sweating mess. ew.

lando, admittedly, had been far too excited to see you in a gown. he sat languidly on the couch in front of the dressing rooms, watching as you would go through dress and dress, rejecting some of them before you had the opportunity to try them on. you were so determined in what you wanted, it drove him absolutely fucking mad.

the first dress you had tried on was beautiful– though that was his answer for all of them. to him, there was no possibility for you to look bad in anything.

you stood in front of the mirror, shifting. “can barely breathe in this thing,” you uttered, pulling at the fabric that was practically glued to your frame. lando liked this one especially because he could see your body, but you were clearly uncomfortable with it. even if he wanted to twirl you around for a kiss, his hands itching to find their place on your hips, you comfort was his biggest concern.

“well you know i like it,” he commented with a smile which had you spinning around, barely able to shift your legs beneath the tight fabric.

“pervert,” you teased, sticking your tongue out.

he had nothing to say to that except a shrug of his shoulders and his fingers running over his stubbled chin. he looked so good here, tanned and bulky. you’ve been dating him for a few years now, and you would never get used to the sight of his blistering emerald eyes, the way his arms flexed against the fabric of the couch. he yearned to touch you. you knew it. you craved it.

the next dress was an absolute no. it was far too fanciful– a large, poofy skirt with a high neckline, sleeves– too hot for this weather. you’d be tripping over the skirts the entire night, instead making yourself out to be a fool.

“fit for a queen, isn’t it?” lando said, shifting where he sat, adjusting his pants. you looked at him from the pedestal mirror, sheepish when you looked down at the bedazzled hemming.

“yeah right,” you scoffed, hating the way it looked.

but lando didn’t. you looked absolutely regal. if you asked him to bend the knee, he wouldn’t hesitate to drop to both. even with a ring for your finger.

“looks great from the back…”

“lando!” you snapped, putting a finger to your lips to beg for his silence. his hands were thrown up in defense, although he didn’t feel an ounce bad about the truth.

the final dress you tried on was…well, it was…

“look at you,” lando stood to his feet this time, entirely too enamoured to stay seated patiently like a dog on the couch. he approached you from behind on the pedestal, his fingers careful as he traced up the fabric around your hips, your back. you shivered into his touch.

the dress had been a light pink, blush tone, sheer fabric with embroidered flowers. it had a long train behind it, fabric over a shoulder, sewn and stitched in a myriad of ways that you couldn’t follow. it was utterly perfect against your skin. it wasn’t too tight, but it was form fitting enough to be appropriate. around your breasts was where the embroidery thickened, covering your nipples from the light breeze in imola’s air.

“do you like it?” you breathed, turning your head over your shoulder to lando who was dazed as he stared at you in the mirror. he turned his head to look up at you from your heightened position on the platform. there were no words that could convey the look in his eyes– sheer heat, desire, love– that he had for you.

he swallowed. his pants were painfully hard around his cock.

you were the most beautiful thing he ever laid eyes on. the only one who could make him turn his head, make him drool, have him fall to his knees. and in this dress, especially.

“baby,” he sighed, controlling his hands the best he could from wanting to rip it off of you, fuck you in this wardrobe. “you’re divine.”

you blushed, turning your head away from him. he always had you like this. speechless, puddy in his hands. you were entirely susceptible to his charm, and it had you melting at every twist and corner of his beautifully shaped lips.

“i have something for you,” he whispered, getting your attention back on him when he offered his hand for you to step down from the pedestal. you took it, eyes widening with wonder at what he could possibly have. you raised a brow, letting your same hand grip onto his forearm.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. the chain was long, but modest, and had a glowing diamond emblem embellished at the center. stable so it didn’t fling around the entire chain. you gawked as he held it out for you. you shifted closer to him until your body was perpendicular to his, your shoulder brushing into his chest.

it was a necklace that had his “ln4” logo on it. imbued with diamonds.

your fingers reached out to trace the beautiful charm, the weight of the diamonds alone was absolutely intimidating. you felt undeserving of such a piece, but prideful that he wanted it to be yours.

“lan,...” you were breathless when you turned to look up at him, his pupils dilating with yours meeting his. “it’s beautiful.”

“you said you’ve been looking for necklaces,” that was true. your neck had been far too bare. “and i’m too selfish to let you walk around without a part of me.”

you smiled. his honesty was always refreshing. his devoting nature was so unnatural, but it was so homely. you loved him. every part of him.

“turn around for me, love.” he kept a hand on your hip when you spun, chills flying up your spine when you felt his fingers around your neck. you gulped, arching your back when you felt the contact. so receptive, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

he was swift with the clasp but he let his fingers trail down your exposed back, sheathed lightly by the fabric. you bit your lip to consolidate any noise, but were becoming riled with his hands on you.

the necklace glimmered in the mirror when you stared agape. it sat perfectly at the center of your chest, unable to be missed by any passerby. you were his. lando norris’ girlfriend. his entire life.

“i love it,” you murmured, your fingers gracing the pendant. you turned around and threw yourself into his arms. he caught you like he always did, arms wrapping around your waist with a deadly grip. but you would die happily here, you thought. in his strong arms, loved, and content.

“you’re sure?” he questioned when his head burrowed into the side of your neck. he was nervous that you wouldn’t, thinking that he may have gone too far.

your hands found his cheeks, raising his head to meet your eyes.

“i love it.” you smiled. “want everyone to know ‘m yours.”

god

he was going to fuck you right there. right here.

if not here, then tonight. tonight he would ruin you. bring you to tears around his cock, his fingers, his tongue. if there was one thing about him, it's that he knew how you worked. it would only take you minutes to come, record time for any man that’s laid his hands on you. no one compared to lando.

and he was going to fuck you so you knew it.

“is this the one?” the tailor popped in which had lando turning to see who’d interrupt at a time like this. as if you weren’t in public.

“i think so…” you said, hands detaching from lando’s warm face and down the stretch of fabric that cupped your body.

lando didn’t hesitate pulling out his credit card.

—------

“lan–” you said into his lips when you made an effort to breathe from his kiss. he shook his head, groaning, as he refused to let the both of you out the door. you had only minutes to get into the car on the way to the event, but he was too busy wanting to make a mess of you to focus.

“lando.” you said again firmly, this time putting your hand to his neck to halt his advances. you squeezed his skin, the muscles there tensing beneath you. he let his lips brush your nose before he let out a scoff.

“just too damn beautiful. can’t help myself,” his hand stroked down your neck coming to cup your chin between his fingers. you brushed your lips down, kissing his thumb. he couldn’t help but stare at the necklace–his necklace– so plainly on your chest. it was a beautiful piece, one that you knew you’d never take off. even if he broke your heart, you feared even then it wouldn’t be enough to discard.

“‘ll help you later,” your fingers held onto the bottom of his black jacket, the fabric thick against him. but he still felt your touch.

“will you, now?” he teased, finger coming down from your chin to your collarbones, dragging them to the pendant. he twirled the chain once around, then leant down to kiss it. you gasped at the action, light air warming the presence between you two.

he glanced up at you from his position, the bruises beneath his tired eyes resonated a feeling of prowess inside of you. you didn’t like that he was so exhausted, you constantly asking him if he wanted to lay down or skip the days events, but he insisted. your thumb came to caress beneath one of his eyes and he leaned into the touch.

“always, my love.” you said softly, voice hitching in your throat when you saw his tongue rake over his lip. you almost decided there that it would be best if the two of you stayed home, but the amount of money that he spent on this dress alone made it a necessity to show off.

“come on now, don’t want to leave oscar waiting.” you raised your brows, squeezing his cheek with your thumb. he raised his head to latch his teeth over your digit and you let him, biting your skin beneath his gapped, perfect, teeth.

“he’ll be fine,” lando retorted, standing up straight. “lily’s with him.”

you rolled your eyes, grabbing your clutch and fixing the adornments on your head. “but who’s with lily?”

you were met with a laugh and a shake of his head. always the jokester. a good laugh. that’s why he fell in love with you in the first place. you may be one of the funniest people he’s ever met.

arriving to the gala had more attention than expected. it was a private event, but since the drivers were in attendance, as well as some higher up wealthy civilians, it gained traction. traction that you were ready for. at least, prepared for every waking moment that you had. media training wasn’t something that you were ready for– why, you weren’t the driver. but being a girlfriend was a different story alone. you were representing lando on all fronts. how you dressed, how you acted, how you managed yourself in a crowd all reflected on him. quite the amount of pressure, wasn’t it?

lando’s hand found a home on your lower back, warming your skin beneath the thin fabric. he guided you up the steps to the high end establishment. the ground was made of marble, the rug a bright red up the colosseum of stairs. you were sure not to trip, and lando did the same with the long train behind you.

you made sure to keep your posture straight–neck back, hands in front of you, straight face. but you could do all of those except one– straight face.

there was nothing but a smile on your features when lando was bragging about you to his fans.

“she’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he’d ask one paparazzi. “there’s no way i’d be here, tonight, without her.”

ain’t that the fucking truth, you thought, knowing that dressing him was the hardest part about your evening.

the paparazzi called your name from beside him. you turned, taking a step forward.

“tell us about your dress, your accessories!” a man shouted.

“the dress is by victoria beckham,” you said, twisting your hips to show off the sheer look of it. “and the necklace,” you placed your hand atop of it before letting it fall to your side. “a gift from lando. isn’t he the sweetest?”

the paparazzi made a move to respond, but he was interrupted when lando cleared his throat at your side.

“pardon me, gentlemen,” he wrapped his arm around your waist. “but i think we’re going to be late.”

you knew you weren’t.

you chuckled anyways, saying a polite goodbye, and let lando guide you up the steps and inside the grandeur building of tonight’s event.

once you were inside you immediately stared up at the ceiling– it was a renaissance era style with gold rimming, low hanging chandeliers, and pillars made of the finest limestone in all of imola. you were floored by the interior, never thinking that you’d seen such a beautiful place before.

you were pulled back when you heard your name being called from in front of you. it was lily– oscar trailing behind her.

“you look absolutely beautiful!” lily squealed, her own dress was a dark shade of red and had no sleeves. it suited her so well.

“oh, please, you more so!” you gave her a hug while lando and oscar greeted one another.

“oh…!” lily ran her fingers over the pendant on your neck. “new jewelry, i see?”

you nodded, blushing. lando’s hand returned to your back, rubbing light circles on your skin.

“so that means no milan, huh?” lily chuckled, disappointed that your potential outing with her in the nation’s capital may be ruined. you shook your head.

“of course we can still go!” you held onto her arm whilst you talked. “but let's sit down. i’m starving.” lily and oscar led the way hand in hand to your table. you latched onto lando’s arm as you walked, feeling entirely too attached to him this evening. but he’d never mind. your affections were the only thing he craved.

you sat down when lando pulled out his chair for you, blessing him with a small ‘thanks,’ before he seated himself beside you. the meals tonight were already preselected by the chef they brought in, so there were no menus.

“do you remember what they’re serving?” oscar asked lily, but it was open for your circular table of four for discussion.

“fish, i think.” she said, still settling in by placing her bag onto the ground beside her.

you could feel lando’s grimace a mile away.

but you were already prepared.

“don’t worry,” you whispered to him, placing your hand on his thigh. he glanced from your hand to your eyes, raising a brow. you knew he didn’t like fish. as soon as you received the email about what was being served, you rang the venue. they were happy to oblige to your request of no fish for mr. norris, insisting that they had other meal options to serve him. you were entirely too grateful and thanked them a million times.

“why not? they’re so slimy…” he began to ramble, complaining like a small child. you squeezed his leg.

“i said don’t worry.” you reaffirmed, but he didn’t understand.

the attendant at your table was quick with your drinks and plates of food. the order of the event had gone: food, auction, gallery walk. but you had to admit, you were rather excited to get home instead, even though you loved a good art show.

the fish dinner was placed before you, well seared and mixed with all kinds of vegetables. lily and oscar got the same, but lando did not, it appeared.

“and…i have a medium rare steak for mr. norris.” the waiter placed down the beef in front of lando which had him turning back to face him with a smile.

“how did you know?” he asked him.

“your girlfriend called about a month ago. said you winced at the mention of fish.”

lando looked to you, puzzled, surprised, and oh-so-full of love. you batted your lashes, shrugging your shoulders with pride. you knew him well. of course you did. he wasn’t sure anyone could know him as best you did.

the waiter took his leave and his arm slung around the back of your chair. “you did that for me?” he said, bringing his lips to your ear.

“of course i did, lan.”

“i love you,” he said into your hair, kissing your scalp. “love you so much.” he repeated, slower this time so it was engraved in your memory permanently.

you grabbed his hand that rested on his lap, entwining your fingers together. “i love you.”

the rest of the event went exactly as planned. you got a plethora of compliments on your dress, your necklace–lando was partial to those ones– and found a perfect time to escape from the festivities when his hand kept accidentally groping your ass. you had to slap his hand away a few times to avoid any wandering eyes, but eventually gave up and decided that he was getting too antsy to get home.

and it was true. lando was desperate to fuck you. he had been desperate to fuck you in that dressing room, the restaurant, hell even as soon as you woke up this morning. there was never a schedule. he always wanted you.

he yearned for you intensely. the thoughts of you were consuming day in and day out, and he loved it. the only escape he found from his stressful life was in the moments he was with you. it could be in a club, the paddock, the quiet of your bedroom and he would be entirely at ease with you at his side. nothing in the world compared to you. not even racing, self-proclaimed first love of his life.

he’d never needed you as badly as he did tonight. despite every other day you spend with him, something changed. something was different about your relationship. maybe it was you in that beautiful dress, skin tight and enough to leave interpretation, or how you nervously touched your necklace when you felt anxious, or how you called ahead in advance for this event to make sure that he was comfortable with his meal.

no one would ever think to do something like that for him. not if they weren’t being paid, anyways. your love, on the contrary, was free. your affections were free. but they were ultimately priceless in his books.

and then you were leading him to your shared bedroom in your perfect villa in imola. through the hallways with your tall heels, you were an echo of perfection. he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when he kept trying to not trip over the train of your dress. it was perfection itself with his footwork and he was rather impressed that he didn’t fall on his face.

when you pulled him through the doorway, he lurched forward to kiss you but you stopped him. he was confused at first, but watched as you went to shut the door to your room. it didn’t matter if it had been open. it was just the two of you. yet that wasn’t your concern. you were making him wait. you’ve played this game with him before and always knew how it ended– you getting the best sex of your life.

you were starving the love of your life. a hungry predator that gawked at you from your leant position against the doorframe. lando outstretched a hand for you again, and you took the bait, shimmying out of your heels and breezing over to him. he snatched you up without hesitating and began to ravage your lips.

starved.

he had never known hunger until he met you. a brazen need to have you wrapped up in him, to have you beneath him at whatever the cost. you were so nimble, so genteel with your actions that he couldn’t help but fall in love with you all the same.

lando’s kiss was firm and intoxicating. you melted into him with your arms gripping his muscular neck, shivering when you felt him pulsing beneath your fingertips. his hands were on your hips when he sucked your lower lip, demanding you to open your mouth.

you let him. you always would.

his tongue found a second home in your mouth, expertly clashing his teeth with your own and making sure you never forgot the taste of him. you certainly never wanted to.

when he moved from you lips to your neck you gasped as he sucked on your sensitive skin. you cupped the nape of his neck, tugging at the firm curls with a moan. he’d find the most sensitive parts of you and attack them. you were his prey, a trophy he intended on keeping.

“lando…” you whimpered, catching your lip between your teeth in an effort to withhold your sounds. but lando’s hand came to grip your chin, thumb prodding at the entrance of your mouth. you opened wide for him as his thumb swirled against your cheeks, your tongue.

stay loud, the message was clear enough for you.

“what do you want, baby?” he asked against your neck, deep and gruff as he slid his hands up and down the fabric of your dress.

you writhed against his hold, your hips bucking instinctually against his groin. he tsked, shaking his head against your chin. his curls tickled.

“words.” he scolded, squeezing your lower back. you whined.

“need you,” your voice cracked.

“where?” his lips were on your collarbones, peppering your chest with his saliva.

“everywhere, lan, please…” he chuckled at your desperation, taking great pleasure in that you felt just as needy for him as he did you.

and then he dropped to his knees before you.

you stared. gawked at his form. he had never been like this before you– ‘course he’s eaten you out, kissed your thighs, but it was never like this. never so…vulnerable.

but whatever it is… you loved it.

your hand traced over his cheek, his jaw, nestling in with the curls on his head. he practically purred, leaning into your touch as he caged you between his legs.

his head rested on your naval as he stared up at you with those big, sappy green eyes. they were bloodshot. you moved some of the loose curls from his forehead and traced some hairs of his brows with your pinky.

“so handsome,” you whispered, biting your lip to hide a smile. a sheepish one of pure love for him. he was truly the most beautiful man you ever laid eyes on. that fateful day years ago, you knew you had to have him. and now here he was.

on his knees for you.

his head nuzzled against the fabric of your dress, biting and nipping at your skin. lando was flustered. he made a sound in the back of his throat, then finally mustered the courage to look up at you.

“i’m so in love with you.”

you blushed even more if that was remotely possible.

“my beautiful girl.”

“lando…” you gripped the sides of his face, fingers raking through his scalp.

“never letting you go.” he muttered as he found the zipper to your beautiful dress. he undid it in one swift movement, the piece falling from your body with ease. you shimmied out of it and he pulled the rest down, throwing the beautiful piece of work across the room. you giggled, knowing that he could have done much worse, but he knew how much you loved it.

he began to kiss down your bare stomach, mumbling incoherent praises against your warm skin. his lips were hot and swollen, pulsing with the only ridicules of desire for you.

“don’t want you to.” you soothed him, pulling him by his neck closer to your burning cunt. he chuckled at your eagerness, holding you steady in place by your hips, grounding you.

“even if you tried,” he placed a firm kiss on your folds which had you gasping. one of his hands left your hip and was now slotted between your legs. he teased your entrance methodically, knowing exactly how to rile you. you wiggled in his hold. “no one could get you this wet.”

it was true. you were dripping. you caught his eye, too, staring at your clothed cunt. drool pooled in his mouth, salivating at your receptive body.

“prove it,” you whispered, challenging him. his eyes snapped up to your hooded ones. “touch me, lan. please.”

he didn’t wait anymore, tossing the idea of making you beg and sob out the window. he was simply too much of a desperate man to not have you dropping down his fingers, spilling over his tongue.

there weren’t many words to summarize what he wanted to do, so he acted. the underwear that clothed your cunt was torn from your body. thankfully you didn’t care about them anyways.

his head met your breasts, kissing and suckling around the skin of them. his fingers were on you then, stroking and teasing your entrance. you writhed again and he committed, letting one finger slip inside you. the tension was palpable. you felt relief, but there was a storm building inside your lower belly.

lando’s calloused thumb was swirling over your clit, the only man in this fucking world to ever find it. it took him no time at all when he first had you in his arms. it was magical the way he could get you to cum in minutes, and he planned on doing it now.

he pinched the sensitive bundle of nerves between his forefinger and thumb, excluding a deep moan from your chest. your hips bucked towards him, desperate for him to move his finger inside of you. he complied, curling his digit upward to stroke the sensitive spots inside of you.

“fuck,” you whimpered, almost barreling over on top of him from your weakened knees, but he supported you with his free hand, clutching your side.

there was a reason he hadn’t taken you to the bed. he wanted you to remember him like this– on his knees before you, making you shiver and shaken with only three of his fingers attached to you.

the bracelets around his wrists caught the light. one that you had gifted him was staring back at you which had you clenching around nothing. he never took it off. he was yours.

his palm was already coated in your slick, a sopping mess as it traced down his wrist. he smirked, glancing upward at your face. you were flushed, shaking, and whimpering against his hold. your knees felt like they were going to collapse any second and you were going to burst at his bare hand.

and then he added a second finger inside your cunt and you thought you’d be done for.

“come on, baby.” lando cooed, which had your release building faster and faster. you felt the heat rising. his fingers are scissoring in and out of you at a steady, hard pace. it was perfect. he curled his fingers which had you jolting, eyes rolling back automatically. you grind against him, desperate to feel more, more.

“be a good girl and come around my fingers,” he said into your chest, breathing you in deeply. you were at his mercy and a complete goner. your release came faster than you realized, coil snapping and your slick gushing from your swollen cunt. your knees gave out then and he used both his hands to clutch you upwards. he supported your body entirely as you looked down at him with your tired eyes.

his tongue poked his teeth, letting out a deep breath. “all for me baby…” it wasn’t a question, but you whimpered and nodded your head anyways. “didn’t even take five minutes.”

and then his head was between your thighs, licking and sucking at the mess you had made of yourself because of him.

the overstimulation was too much. you tried to push his head away, but your own body dejected it. instead you build his mouth closer to your cunt, grinding against his face. you felt him chuckle through your pussy, the sound having you instantly flushing once again.

“what was that?” he asked, his teeth grazing over your clit. you jumped, sharp breath inhaling through your clenched teeth. “like it when i laugh that much?” he teased, knowing it to be true.

“love it, lan.” your hands tugged at his girls which had him groaning. he continued to clean you up, swirling his tongue over your clit. “love the way you laugh.”

he was shining with your praise, taking your admission to the memory bank of his heart. you always knew the best ways to compliment him. his dress pants were wet with his dripping precum, ruining the entire set. you noticed the spot when he shifted to get more comfortable on the ground. your brows furrowed.

“bed…bed, lan,” you demanded in a desperate tone. though you were close to cumming again on his tongue, you wanted his cock even more. you knew he could take the challenge, but you wanted to feel him. wanted him to see the way his necklace shimmered on your neck. “need you… need you to fuck me.”

“all you had to say, my love.” and you were on the bed in an instant, shrieking when he began to tear his own clothes off. he struggled with the buttons on his dress shirt which had you absolutely giggling.

you helped him with the clasp of his belt, ripping the thing through the loops and onto the floor. his pants were next, his boxers, and his dick sprung free and up the curve of his naval. you were left agape, swallowing harshly at his size. it always amazed you how it could fit.

“come on now,” he encouraged with a smirk, a token trademark of his. he readjusted you by grabbing your hips and plastered your back against his front. you wondered why there was a new sudden change in position until you looked up.

a mirror.

the full-size mirror that was placed on the floor near your bed was staring back at the two of you. lando ran his hands over your breasts as you straddled him from behind, up your collarbones, and stopped at the chain of your necklace.

“look so pretty f’me, baby…” he muttered into your neck, peppering you with kisses. your head lolled back into his shoulder, his dick pulsing against your back.

“for you, just you, lan.” you reiterated and he bucked his own hips, rutting against your spine. you moaned, desperate to feel his cock through your cunt.

“fuck, baby,” he choked out, thinking that he was going to cum right then and there. but he held his breath. “ride me, yeah?”

he loved it when you were on top of him, breasts in his face so he could lather himself in you. so you raised your hips and lando’s hand came to wrap around your neck, a gesture that you found you couldn’t live without. he applied no pressure as he kept you stable, but it had you absolutely dripping onto his thighs. he felt it and shivered.

when you felt his tip slide into you, you gasped, letting out a fervent moan that had the walls shaking. your head fell back to his shoulder again as he bottom out, the imprint of his cock lucid in the reflection of the mirror.

lando’s grip on your neck tightened. you whined, eyes opening.

“eyes open, my love.” he said with a gentle tone and you obeyed, raising your head only slightly to catch the pair of you in the mirror. the sight was utterly intoxicating. you were addicted to watching his face scrunch and fall into a pattern of relief with pleasure. pleasure that you provided for him.

“so big…” you said, staring at the flexing veins of his neck. he knew you loved it.

your hips began to gyrate around his cock, over and over, until you found a steady pace at which you relaxed in. he gripped your hip hard enough to leave bruises the following day, guiding you with a gentle reassurance over his cock. in and out his severed you, the feeling so fucking good. the hand around your neck dropped to stimulate your clit, and you thought you were on a one way train to heaven.

“please, please, please…” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at this point.

“look at you…” lando said into your neck, voice strained from fucking you. you did look, and what you saw in the mirror was your disheveled form, melting into his touch. you mewled, choking out a deep vibration of a moan.

tears welled in your eyes at the sensation of watching the pair of you, the pinching of your clit, and the way he penetrated you so fucking good. you knew you weren’t going to last.

“gonna cum for me?” he grunts into your ear, kissing any skin of yours he could find. “know you can baby. look so pretty in that mirror, don’t you? taking this dick so well. it was made for you.”

that was all it took to send you over the edge. he knew that. the words of sweet praise and vulgarity had you clenching tightly around his cock, letting out a mewling scream at the top of your lungs. tears fell from your cheeks that tasted salty. lando would know. he kissed them when he turned your head to face him by your chin.

he was close to his own release, sloppily sliding in and out of your tight slit. “so tight,” he grumbled, letting out his own moan when he came inside of you. the feeling of his cum was warm and fulfilling, and you didn’t complain that he spilled into your walls. he typically wouldn’t, but you welcomed the sensation.

his head fell onto your shoulder and you leaned back, your hand coming to run through his hair, pulling him close to you. you placed a kiss on the side of his head.

“i love you.” he repeated over and over into the skin of your shoulder.

“you’ve mentioned it once or twice…” you giggle, shifting from his dick still inside of you. but you weren’t upset by it. “wanna stay like this.”

lando froze.

“don’t want this to change.” you whispered, eyes locking with his. “always this, lan, promise me.”

he didn’t hesitate on your insinuation. you wanted a life with him. a future. that was more than enough. shit, it was everything.

“always this, baby.” he promised you. his finger came to twirl the chain around your neck, the pendant glistening. your skin did too in the light, flushed and beautiful.

he kissed you this time. hard and slow. full of passion, but ultimate love. you pushed back into him, cupping his cheek. and when he made a move to breathe, “always this.”

490 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 3 days

Text

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 15

Danny was sitting on his bed, legs crossed with his blue bear set on his lap. He was stroking a thumb over it’s nose, gaze absently out the window.

Jason leaned against the door frame. “Danny?”

The blue eyes snapped to Jason. They were a different color from Bruce’s, just slightly. There was that damning green ring around the outside of the iris, just like Jason’s own, but the green bled less into the blue for Danny.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Danny said with a small smile and a duck of his head. He moved his hand from the bear’s nose to rub at the back of his neck. “I guess it’s just been a long day.”

“Makes sense, lot of busyness all day,” Jason agreed. It really had been. From meeting Steph with breakfast to games after when Tim joined them at lunch, new phone in hand, and then with Duke there briefly for dinner, fully suited up, the safe house had been full all day. Jason had worried about it being too much, but Danny seemed happy, if slightly quiet. But then again, Danny was almost always quiet. “Do you need me to stay? Nightwing will be here in about two hours to change over with B.B., but I’ll stay if you need me to.”

“No, you should go,” Danny insisted. “I’ll just be asleep, I figure I’m going to crash after today.”

Jason smiled a little. It was nice to have Danny sound more like a kid lately. “I bet. Call me if you need, O will make sure that the number on the phone patches into my comms.”

“What if you’re busy?”

“Then O will talk to you herself or pass you to another Bat. There’s always one of us around for you.”

Danny’s smile looked a little wobbly as he nodded, and Jason gave into ruffling the kid’s hair before he left to go make a much needed appearance at Crime Alley.

“You’re healing well,” Nigthwing said as he smoothed down the last bandage.

“Yeah,” Danny said softly, ruffling the towel one more time through his hair so that he didn’t have to look at Nightwing.

It was still a marvel to be touched gently like that.

They all showed such care with him and his wounds. It made everything all the more obvious to Danny. Nightwing and the others were interested to see if he was healing so that he could be well. His par— they had been interested for far different reasons.

He hadn’t seen it when he was a kid with scrapped knees from falling off his bike.

Now he couldn’t unsee it.

He was always an experiment to them, wasn’t he? He was never their kid. If he had been their kid they wouldn’t have been able to cut into— to take— to do… to do….

“Danny?”

Danny sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and tried to blink away the memories. “What?”

“There you are.” Nightwing’s smile was sad as he brushed back a lock of Danny’s hair. Hadn’t Nightwing just been wearing gloves?

Danny ran his fingers over his bear, grounding himself in the soft texture. His bear. He was on the couch wrapped in a blanket holding his bear.

He had just been in the bathroom.

Danny blinked slowly. “I, um…”

“It’s okay. You just went away for a bit. I moved you when you stopped answering me. It’s been about seven minutes. Nothing’s happened.”

“Oh.”

Hadn’t he been getting better? He hadn’t thought… Why did he have to think about them?

“Hey, Danny, it’s okay, you don’t have to cry,” Nightwing said, “or, you know, cry if you need to! That’s okay too. Just, we’re not going to let anyone hurt you here.”

Danny sniffled and turned his head to rub his face against the blanket. Nightwing shouldn’t promise that— he couldn’t promise that. They didn’t know what Danny was. They didn’t know who was after him. It was unfair to ask that of them— to make them feel like they had to promise him that.

“I’m okay,” Danny said with a watery smile.

He wasn’t.

“How about a movie?” Nightwing suggested and Danny was grateful for the out.

He tried not to cling as they settled into the couch to watch through the Jurassic Park movies.

“The newest one is stupid in all the right ways,” Nightwing said cheerfully. He must have known that Danny wanted to cling, because he tucked Danny close after everything was set up.

Danny watched the movie without seeing it.

They thought they had to take care of him.

They couldn’t promise that. They didn’t even have the whole story. Sure, Hood had died too, but he was so different than Danny in that. Hood had come back. Hood was alive. Danny didn’t count as alive anymore, not even in this form.

Did Danny ever really count as alive?

He was just an experiment.

A test.

He was never supposed to have ever been.

Danny let his eyes close. What movie were they on now? Did it matter?

Did any of it matter?

He wasn’t supposed to have ever been.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever been, but there he was. There he was, dead and alive. A child and a monster. And he knew, worst of all, because of what he was they would never let him go. Danny knew that, it’s why he had run to Gotham. He thought that maybe if he could just get the money to leave the country somehow… Bruce Wayne had to be able to do that. Even if— even though there’s no way that Wayne would care about Danny, he had hoped maybe he could get the help. A one off to be out of Bruce Wayne’s life forever and not a media scandal. He just needed to…

The gentle fingers carding through his hair started to chase away Danny’s thoughts.

But the Bats had found him.

The Bats had found him and the Bats cared.

Danny wanted that. Danny wanted that so desperately that it hurt him. He’d been just taking advantage of it too, hadn’t he? Because he wanted it he’d been taking it without them knowing what he was. And now they were acting like they wanted him to stay.

But they didn’t know.

Danny’s breath caught in his throat, feeling like it was choking him.

He had run to Gotham. He had run to Gotham but that wouldn’t stop them. They would find him here. They would find him and because of him they would find Hood. They would find Hood and take him too. And then they would find Robin. They would find all these wonderful, kind people that had been touched by death in all these ways and they would take them. They would take them and cut them apart and—

Danny bit his lip so that he couldn’t make a sound.

They would find him if he made a sound.

“It’s okay Danny, just rest.”

Danny’s eyes snapped open. The afternoon light from the window in his room was playing across his face. His heart thudded in his chest. He was afraid.

But he was afraid with a sense of certainty that he hadn’t had before.

“Go get Danny for lunch,” Jason said as he flipped the sandwich on the pan with the same intense focus that he did everything these days.

Dick had to fight back a smile. Getting to be around his little wing so much over the past weeks had been great. Sure, Jason was still mulish and snapped easily, but Dick had also gotten to see so much more of who Jason was behind that defense. Dick loved getting to see that. Giving into the urge to smile, Dick gave a little salute and swung himself off the counter.

Maybe if they were lucky all this could continue after they got Danny settled. It had to, right? Jason seemed pretty attached to Danny, not that Dick could talk, so Jason was sure to come over to see their new brother. Dick would still have time with Jason.

Dick gave a soft knock on Danny’s door before opening it a crack. If Danny was still asleep, Dick didn’t want to startle him.

Except Danny wasn’t still asleep.

Danny wasn’t even in the room.

The bed was fixed and Danny’s tablet and phone sat neatly in the middle.

“He just in the bathroom,” Dick tried to assure himself even as his instincts screamed that was wrong. Silently, silently purely out of habit, Dick approached the bed.

The tablet’s screen was on.

Dick picked it up with hands that only stayed steady from years of training.

No.

No, no, no—

“Jason!”

Thank you. Thank you for saving me and caring for me and wanting me. Thank you. You all mean so much to me and that’s why I have to go. I have to go before they find me and then find you all too. I can’t let them find you. I’ll never forget you. Don’t look for me. -Danny

--- AN: *puts on my halo* I'm innocent?

This prob could use a few more editing passes but I am still sick and tired so taaaada (no concrit needed, it will get edited before ao3). Hopefully you all still enjoyed(?) it! Stay delightful, darlings.

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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sodaabaa · 21 hours

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shadows and spirits, part two

azriel x reader reader is azriel's mate but she hasn't accepted the bond yet due to her fear of azriel himself.

tw: nsfw, smut, brief mentions of childhood trauma, edging, oral, restraint.

part one

a/n: holy shit y'all, azriel made me go feral with this one. enjoy ;)

“You won’t be able to stay away from him much longer,” Feyre teased. When one night stands and self-pleasure proved to be unsuccessful, Y/N gave up trying to satisfy herself altogether. Instead, ignoring the throbbing between her legs by staying as busy as she could – filling her days with extra shifts at the bar and frequent after-work drinks with Feyre.

“Shut up.” “That’s no way to speak to your High Lady,” She gasped, a hand on her chest in feigned shock.

Y/N scoffed, “Don’t you have places to be, my lady?”

She waved a hand, “What could possibly be more important than watching you try to ignore how frustrated you are?”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. Feyre gave her a look that said ‘sure you are’ but she didn’t bring it up again. The two spent the night drinking, Y/N listened as Feyre drunkenly ranted about Rhys and Nesta’s most recent topic of debate – and by debate, she meant they nearly mauled each other to death. Y/N couldn’t help the curiosity nagging at her.

“What’s he been doing?” She finally asked.

“Sulking. Brooding. The usual.”

Y/N nodded, for some reason she was unconvinced that the Spymaster hadn’t been up to anything.

“He doesn’t show it – much less say it – but your fear, it’s messing with him,” Feyre confessed.

She didn’t say anything, opting for another shot instead.

“He’s been waiting for a mate for five hundred years, Y/N. And he’s had a hard life. He shares your complaints about Illyrians because he was subjected to their cruelty just as you and your mother were. I know he can be intimidating but if you trust me at all, trust that you would be in good hands with him as your mate.”

They finally parted, a dangerous amount of alcohol in their systems as they walked off. Y/N stumbled her way to her apartment. She could’ve sworn the alleyway between the buildings were darker but she chalked it up to being drunk off her mind. When she finally reached her destination, she collapsed on her couch, exhausted. The alcohol had done a good job at dulling the incessant throbbing – so much so that she finally got a few hours of rest before dreams of a man entrenched in shadows, head between her legs, startled her awake.

Damn you, Shadowsinger.

She rubbed her thighs together, the images of her dream flashing before her eyes. A hand traveled down her stomach, trailing to the spot between her legs she was beginning to resent. She slipped her fingers underneath her panties, giving in to the nagging arousal as she worked the spot. His face flashed before her eyes and she cursed, removing her hands and sitting up. Y/N decided to take a cold shower, if only to punish herself for thinking of that damned Illyrian. Shadows shifted in the corner and she stilled. She had no idea how his shadows worked but she had a creeping suspicion he used them as his eyes and ears.

“What happened? Too scared to come and see me yourself so you send your shadows instead?” The shadows went still and Y/N thought maybe she had imagined their movement. She shook her head, and just as she was about to walk away, a tendril of shadow reached for her hand, reluctant to touch her but it looked curious. She reached out, fingertips brushing the shadow before it retreated through the cracks of her door, disappearing into the light.

After a long, scaldingly hot shower, Y/N decided to stay home for the day because of the pounding headache thanks to her and Feyre’s drinking session the night before. She sighed as she sunk into her bed, wearing only a fluffy bathrobe, content to lounge in bed the rest of the day. Unfortunately, someone had other plans. A knock at her front door startled her from her relaxed daze. She groaned, unwilling to get up and answer the door. Another knock, this time accompanied by a velvety voice.

“What happened? Too scared to come and face me?”

She muttered a curse under her breath and she stood, wrapping the robe just a little tighter around her body for good measure. She cracked the door open, just enough to peek through.

“What do you want, I’m in the middle of something.” He looked down at her, brows quirked up in amusement. He was holding a brown paper bag against his torso.

“In the middle of a bad hangover?” He motioned to the bag, “I have the world’s best cure, right here.”

She pulled the door open, ever so slightly, “I’m listening.”

“Let me in and it’s all yours.”

She considered his offer for a moment, lips twisted in silent contemplation. The two of them together, in a rather small apartment. Alone. What could possibly go wrong? “Fine – but no funny business. Keep your hands to yourself,” She pointed an accusing finger at him to which he responded with raised hands in mock surrender. She let him in, the door much too small to accommodate his tall frame and those absurdly large wings but he wiggled himself in anyway.

She snatched the bag from him and plopped down on the couch, not waiting for him to find a seat. She opened the bag and her mouth watered at the smell of the variety of greasy, fried foods he brought her. He must have seen the way her shoulders dropped in relief as she dug into the food, emitting a laugh from the normally stone faced man. She placed the bag on the table between them and pulled out the cartons of the fragrant food inside.

“What, I’m starving and hungover,” She said, in between bites. In the midst of her feast, she realized this was everything she’d usually order from Rita’s. Wedges of spicy fried potatoes, garlicky bites of chicken, and onion rings.

“You should drink some water,” He pulled a bottle of water from the bag.

She shook her head, “Nuh-uh, I’m not done yet.” His eyes narrowed, “Water. Now.”

Her eyes widened at the sudden change in tone, authoritative and stern (she didn’t want to admit it made her knees go weak and her stomach flutter). She reached to take the bottle from him but he pulled it back towards himself, causing her to stumble forward

“Dick,” She spat.

“If you want some, it’s right here,” He motioned downwards.

She leaned forward and snatched the bottle, taking a few dramatic gulps to ensure he wouldn’t pester her about drinking more later.

She sat back, hands over her stomach as she groaned, “I ate too much.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a genuine smile. She hated to admit it but she was beginning to enjoy hearing his laugh – and being the reason behind it. His shadows swirled around him, some of them pulling away from him but not quite able to reach their desired destination.

“How do they work?” He quirked an eyebrow in question.

“The shadows.”

“Ah. They obey me,” He said with a nod, the shadows slithered over his form and across the room. They hovered over her legs as he watched.

She gave him a look, “Well I could see that. But are they – alive? Do they have a mind of their own? Or are they just an extension of you? Did you capture them or were you somehow born with them?” She rambled.

He smiled at her sudden interest in him and his shadows. The shadows returned to their master.

“They’re sentient – if that’s what you mean by alive. They can feel things, sense things to an extent. Sometimes they slip from under my control but it’s easy to reign them back in,” He paused, contemplating how to answer her other questions. “My father used to lock me up in the dark. I would talk to the shadows, to feel less alone. One day, I suppose, the shadows decided to talk back. They became a part of me, tied to my pain – insistent on protecting me, helping me,” He explained, he was looking down at his hands now. She winced at his confession, at the suffering he must have endured as a child.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He smiled again, “Don’t be. It was centuries ago,” he waved off.

She held his gaze, entranced by those hazel eyes. She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were, only a small coffee table separating them.

“Thank you for the food,” She said, flustered under his gaze, “You didn’t eat anything–,” He cut her off before she could finish.

“I’m not hungry for food.”

She stilled. Her heart pounded in her ears. “I should go, I only wanted to make sure you were okay after you and Feyre drank your weight in alcohol,” He said. She sighed in relief.

“So you were spying on me!”

He shrugged, “You can’t expect me not to, especially if you’re drunk out of your mind.”

He stalked over to the door, wings tucked in tight to avoid bumping into anything.

“Don’t dream too much of me,” He said with a knowing smirk. She shoved him out the door and (semi) slammed it shut, exhaling as she slumped against the door.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to ignore the throbbing between her legs any longer. She sat up, thinking about the man who brought her food just a few hours ago. It wasn’t his dominating presence or his flirty comments that riled her up anymore – it was his vulnerability, his honesty. He confided in her, paid attention to the little details, made sure she was safe and taken care of. She peered at the corners of her room, looking for the shadows that writhed with life. When she spotted movement in the corner, she reached a hand out to it. The shadow moved like smoke, twisting and curling towards her outstretched hand, weaving in between her fingers. She giggled, it felt odd – the shadows weren’t solid, it felt almost like a cold breeze, she couldn’t quite grasp it but she could feel it there, real.

“I’m ready,” She spoke softly. The shadow twirled around her fingers before slipping out of the room to return to its master – eager to relay the news.

She sat in bed, knees to her chest as she waited anxiously for Azriel’s arrival. She heard the door unlock and saw the shadows pool into her room before he walked in. He looked at her with pure hunger in his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” She confessed.

“I think I can help with that,” He stalked over to her, body pulsing with energy. She scooted back, making space for him on the bed.

“Don’t I have to feed you first? Feyre said–,” He grabbed her feet from under her, yanking to straighten her out onto the bed. The force caused her to fall back against the bed.

“I have all I need right here,” He kneeled at the edge of the bed while his hands trailed up her bare legs.

Heat rushed to her face as he left a trail of kisses down her stomach, making his way down to her thighs – and Oh. He nipped at the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to the pulsing heat of her core.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his breath tickling her skin as he looked up at her.

She nodded, “I accept you as my mate, Azriel.”

That was all he needed. Azriel ripped off her shorts and panties in one motion, shadows thrumming to life behind him as he devoured her. His mouth found her core, his tongue lapping at the wetness that had already formed. He chuckled, causing vibrations to shoot up Y/N’s spine.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re soaking.” She whined in response. His tongue made a slow, tantalizing trail up her core before he settled on sucking that aching spot, instantly bringing her close to the edge. His hands roughly gripped the flesh of her thighs, keeping her spread open to his deliberations. She moaned his name, signaling how close she was to tipping over that blissful edge. He pulled away, causing her hips to buck up at the sudden interruption.

She whined, “Azriel?”

He placed gentle kisses moving up her stomach, hands roughly grabbing her breasts eliciting a gasp from Y/N. His tongue circled her left nipple before sucking on the gentle bud – electrifying her even further.

He pulled away, finally reaching her lips as he devoured her.

“Didn’t I say,” he broke the kiss, “that I would make you beg for mercy?” His lips returned to hers briefly, “that I would remind you of your obstinance?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say.

“Have you resigned to your fate?” She nodded.

“Good girl,” He whispered.

He pulled back from her, lifting his shirt off and sitting up to undo his pants. She swallowed as her eyes trailed down his body. He was made of pure muscle, tattoos black as night swirling across his torso made his muscular form even more prominent. Her eyes trailed down to his hips, licking her lips involuntarily.

“You’re drooling,” He said.

Her eyes shot back up to his, taking in the amusement written across his face.

“I was not,” She defended herself (rather pathetically). He only hummed, unconvinced and amused at the flustered girl before him.

She looked down at him once he finally revealed himself. Her eyes widened — in fear? Apprehension? She nervously wiggled her hips underneath him, unsure of how he could possibly fit.

“I don’t think—,” She was cut off by Azriel’s dangerously low voice. He leaned down, hot breath trailing up her neck, “You’re gonna take every inch like the good little slut that you are,” He whispered against her and then placed a few burning kisses behind her ear, causing her stomach to churn.

He smirked against her skin, pleased at how timid she suddenly became. He lined himself up against her, Y/N’s breaths now rapid in anticipation. He pushed himself forward, ever so slightly, allowing her to adjust to his tip. Her eyes rolled back at the sudden invasion, unable to control the lewd sounds that came out of her mouth. He pushed in deeper, drawing out another moan from the girl beneath him. She put a hand on his chest to stop him from going deeper, already overwhelmed with a wave of intense pleasure, it rolled through her core and nearly broke her. And this was just the beginning. He leaned his head down, lips finding sensitive spots on her jaw, her neck, trailing down to her collarbone while he waited for her to adjust. She clenched around him involuntarily, eliciting a snarl from the man. His shadows snaked up her legs, holding them apart as he sunk deeper. She gasped as he went deeper, inching closer and closer to her wall. She screamed out in pleasure, legs struggling against the shadows, hips bucking underneath him.

“Az! Please, it’s too much,” She gasped.

He hit her walls, pleased with her loss of composure. He pulled out and with a kiss on her lips, sunk right back in, all in one swift motion that had Y/N gasping for air. He continued to push into her as she writhed and moaned and clawed at him. Her brain had effectively shut off, the only thing she could feel, the only thing she could think about was his cruel, punishing cock pounding in and out of her.

“You were made to take all of me, you know that? The Cauldron created you, just for me,” He growled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts, “To be my plaything, my mate,” another thrust, “I bet you hate the idea of being bred but look at you, your cunt is milking my cock, going against everything you thought you believed in, desperate to be filled with my cum.”

She arched her back as he continued brutalizing her. Overwhelmed, she tried to push him off, give her space to breathe but he responded with shadows snaking up her arms, holding her against the bed, entirely at his mercy. She was fully restrained now, legs held wide apart, arms above her head. Her moans increased in pitch and pace, her body on the brink of total, ecstatic relief. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, Azriel kissed them away as he increased his rhythm. Her mouth agape, in a silent scream as he tore into her.

“Should I let you cum, hm?” He watched her intently, taking in every moan, every whimper, all the ways her face contorted in response to his hands on her body, his cock buried deep inside her.

“You’ve been such a good girl, taking me so well, and you’ve been on edge for weeks now,” He looked at her with a devilish grin. She whimpered.

“Beg for it, baby,” His voice was tauntingly soft. She scrunched her face, unable to make any sound let alone speak as he fucked her. He knew this as he slowed, bringing Y/N ever so slightly down from the high she could almost feel.

“No!” She called out desperately, “please, please Azriel. Don’t stop. I need to cum, please let me cum!” She screamed, her voice hoarse.

He picked up the pace again, rewarding her obedience.

“I’m sure that pretty mouth can do a lot better,” He chastised, ��What do you need, Y/N, who do you need?”

“You! I need you Az, please! I need you to make me cum! Please, I’m begging you,” she pleaded.

“Who am I?”

When she didn’t answer, he pushed into her with an especially rough thrust.

“My mate!” She moaned in response.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You! Az, I belong to you!” Her voice strained as she inched painfully close to release.

He groaned as he picked up the pace, at this point Y/N saw stars, her teary eyes shut as Azriel’s final thrusts drove her over the edge, unable to make sound or focus on anything but the excruciating pleasure possessing her body. Her back arched as she panted through her orgasm. She felt a hot release inside her as Azriel groaned against her, his pace slowed and his body going taut as he finished too. The pleasure hadn’t stopped, it rolled through her like aftershocks of an earthquake, drawing out soft whimpers and moans.

“What do you say?” A hand gripped her chin.

“Thank you,” She said meekly.

He smiled and finally pulled out of her. His forehead resting against hers as their breaths came in and out. His arms snaked around her waist as he rolled them over to the side. His wings cocooning over her like a blanket, shadows resting lazily across their bodies. He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into his chest.

“I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow,” She whimpered.

“Good. It’ll teach you not to mouth off or deny me of what’s mine ever again,” He chuckled against her.

She didn’t have the strength to reply with some witty comment, she merely snuggled in closer, basking in his warmth and drifting off to the most restful sleep she’d ever had.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Azriel woke up to his shadows lazily trailing over his mate’s bare body. He admired her sleeping form, grateful for the moment of peace before he was forced to head off to work. His shadows heard this thought, sulking against her body possessively, unwilling to leave her so soon.

I know, I don’t wanna leave her either.

The shadows tickling her skin caused her to stir but not quite enough to wake up. His face turned stern, the shadows begrudgingly returning back to their master. She’d need her rest for when Azriel returned so he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and hastily wrote a note to explain his absence. The shadows reluctantly followed as Azriel left her room, but they stopped in the kitchen — insistent on starting a pot of coffee to brew along with some sliced fruits they set out on a plate. Azriel chuckled lightly at the shadows' instant attachment and show of affection to his mate.

She’s mine, he teased.

He felt the shadows bounce against his chest, trying to knock him off balance. He shook his head, exiting the apartment with the shadows rushing to keep up behind him.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar series #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction

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ratingboomercomics · 3 days

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So I wanted to post a gay comic for pride month but when I looked up “gay boomer comic”(and I cannot emphasize enough)the only results were either homophobic or furries(idk what this was about but there was so much furries). Luckily Gary Larson came through. My friend in trying times

I gotta give this one 9/10 I think, I love Gary Larson obviously, it’s a solid pun, and I love the cow lesbian bar, that’s iconic(I always get a kick out of the cows)but it’s not the best Far Side out there. The best one is Cow Tools obviously

#boomer cartoons #boomer comic #9/10 #I do adore this something vaguely back to the barnyard about it I can’t quite explain #I feel like that show would’ve done this joke I guess #remember how the main cow was accidentally trans rep #one of the funniest things ever to me #I love Gary Larson and generally think his stuff is like 15/10 #I still remember before I could read ‘reading’ the far side and just loudly saying my own made up captions #I didn’t know what sex was obviously but I knew the word and I remember I just kept trying to make the captions sex jokes #my dad and older sibling were present for this and I got the sense I was saying something wrong because they were just looking at me like 😐#I remember one of my captions on a picture of two cows looking at each other: ‘we should have sex’#’why?’#’because we’re stupid cows!’#I was a comedic talent from a young age #gary larson

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 1 day

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when people look at some wheelchair user who can move legs / stand / walk / ambulatory / etc, n they respond with “not all wheelchair user paralyzed,” then if do “educational” post, often go on explain how don’t have (traumatic) spinal cord injury / SCI

often with attitude “paralysis / SCI (to them same thing) so well known well understood accommodated accepted visible”

which. in isolation, “not all wheelchair user paralyzed” & “not all wheelchair user have (traumatic) SCI” objectively true.

but it’s like. the utter confidence in their complete ignorance of paralysis and SCI, & ignorance of their ignorance, conflating paralysis always = SCI, & that both always mean cannot move leg at all. all while treating paralysis & SCI as this most understood disability / wheelchair using reason they a victim of.

as in like. if someone give you shit about be in wheelchair but move leg & you want educate. tell them some wheelchair user can move leg. not “not all wheelchair user paralyzed” because some people paralyzed can also move leg. saying latter only show your ignorance about paralysis, while throw ppl w paralysis under bus

don’t have any kind paralysis so maybe worst person make this post but

did you know SCI & paralysis not the same. did you know can have leg paralysis without traumatic SCI through some sort physical injury. multiple sclerosis, ALS, FND, tumor, paraneoplastic syndrome, cerebral palsy etc can all cause paralysis. n many more

did you know paralysis can be monoplegia (one limb), paraplegia (both legs), diplegia (same area both side of body), hemiplegia (one side of body), & quadriplegia (all limbs). as in, yes, some people may have paralysis but still can move legs because at least one leg not affected.

did you know (depending on how categorize) there two types of spinal cord injury. complete & incomplete. people w incomplete SCI, brain can still send some signals below SCI site & so have some feeling and/or function.

did you know some people w SCI can move legs, including involuntary spasms (tho sometimes can be on purpose triggered by doing certain things if learn trigger).

did you know some w incomplete SCI can voluntarily move legs. can walk with mobility aids. can walk without mobility aids. can be ambulatory wheelchair user. some use their spasm to stand. n they still considered have (incomplete) SCI & paralysis.

if you didn’t know these then maybe SCI & paralysis not as well understood well accepted disorder as you think & treat it as.

(also did you know, can be non ambulatory wheelchair user without have paralysis. suprise)

(tried double triple confirm facts, but, people w paralysis, if say anything wrong please do kindly correct. cognitive + language communication disability often mix up things)

#wheelchair user #loaf screm #disability

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the-dendrophile-bookdragon · 3 days

Text

Braids

Pairing: Aemond x child OC/his daughter, Aemond x fem!reader

Warning: Pure full

Summary: Aemond had always dreaded this day, yet his fears were unfounded.

Aemond heard small feet hurrying through the library.

The corner of his lips turned upwards as he heard giggling. Small bodies hurrying from bookshelf to bookshelf. Giggles grow louder.

He pretended to read at this point, knowing sooner rather than later his daughter would demand his attention.

The small heads of his daughter and niece peaked from the last bookshelf corner. Two sets of lilac eyes stared at him with mischief.

“I can both see you.” He spoke behind his book. More giggles erupted from their throats.

He put his book down and stared directly at them.

Little screams filled the large library before Alysanne and Jaehaera came out of hiding. Running up to him.

“Kepa, you know so much.” His daughter began. “Can you teach us how to braid our hair, kepus?” Jaehaera finished.

Aemond huffed out a laugh. He wanted to ask where their mothers were. But Helaena was probably occupied with either the new baby. And his wife was with his mother if she couldn’t be with their daughter.

He put his book down and smiled as both girls stretched their hands forward seeing the various hair ribbons in their hands. He preferred black leather but these were little girls of only five years. Colours, especially favourite colours, mattered to them immensely.

He knew his daughter’s hair better. Seating her on the carpet in front of her while his niece watched from beside him.

“You take the hair and divide it into three strands.” While Jaehaera watched him, Alysanne took three ribbons and did what he told them.

“Now you lay the left outer strand over the middle. Yes just like that, good Aly.” He praised his daughter. “And switch the middle. Did you see Jaehaera?” The small girl nodded.

He showed them more ways to braid. He had some experience himself. He hated his hair sticking to his neck when he worked or read. And the warm weather didn’t help with his dislike.

He once wore a braid to training. But with one swift turn, he whipped it onto his scarred cheek. It hurt like hell.

Aemond was a good observer too. Watching his sister braid her hair sometimes. Or when maids braided his mother’s hair. His wife liked to braid his hair in the safety of their chamber.

After the braiding lesson, both girls sat in front of him and braided each other’s silver-white tresses while he read on.

The giggles erupting now and then made his heart flutter. A smile was permanently etched onto his face.

At the later family dinner, everyone praised their hairstyles. Jaehaera had a fish braid while Alysanne had her hair braided into two long braids and put into a bun at the back of her head.

His wife leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder. He leaned closer to her. “And you panicked you would never be able to braid your daughter’s hair. Or teach her how to braid.”

Aemond chuckled. “I had a patient teacher who showed me how to braid.” He smiled down at her, kissing her forehead softly.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #dadmond

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adriennebarnes · 1 day

Note

Heyy can you write an oneshot of charles dating andrea (his personal trainer) daughter and how andrea would react

Ooh YES!! Imagine the drama, I love it. I hope this is what you wanted and if I wasn’t, hope you liked it anyway!

My Trainer’s Daughter

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ferrari! Reader

Summary: Charles is dating Y/N Ferrari, the daughter of Andrea, in secret

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors.

A/N: i have loved getting requests from everyone, feel free to request any more ideas. And yes, the title is unoriginal, I know, I couldn’t think of anything.

The day Charles met Y/N Ferrari was a day he would never forget. It was when he was doing his winter training for the 2023 F1 season. He was supposed to meet Andrea at the training camp so he was surprised when he saw a woman he has never seen before on the treadmill.

“Excuse me, did you know you are trespassing?” Charles asked, Y/N stopped her treadmill and took off her headphones.

“Che cosa?” Y/N asked

“Stai sconfinando, vattene prima che chiami la sicurezza.” Charles threatened in Italian. The woman rolled her eyes and when Charles was about to say something, Andrea appeared.

“Ah Charles, i see you have met my daughter, Y/N.” Andrea said, gesturing at Y/N who smiled like she has won.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter. What is she doing here?” Charles asked.

“She was in Italy, I haven’t seen her since she moved out so I invited her. I hope you don’t mind.” Andrea said.

“But I’m supposed to film some shots for my blog.” Charles said.

“Calmati, bambola, i promise not to get in the way. You could always crop me out if that’s what you want.” Y/N said.

“Oh so you do speak English.” Charles said.

“Yeah I do,” Y/N said.

“Okay, let’s focus on your training, Charles. You’re doing great, cuore, ti amo.” Andrea said.

“Ti amo anch’io papà.” Y/N said, before she put on her headphones and continued to run on the treadmill.

Charles was staring at the woman, she was as fiery as she was beautiful. There were moments where he had to stop himself from staring too much because he was positive that Andrea would kill him. Y/N didn’t fall far behind, she was also staring at Charles during certain exercises, who wouldn’t stare at the beautiful monegasque? Both finished their exercises after 2 hours (I’m assuming)

“Great work, Charles. Y/N, you want to go grab food?” Andrea asked.

“Sure, papà, let me just pack my things. They have a shower her?” Y/N asked.

“Yes. Charles, show her please, I have to change and get my wallet from my room.” Andrea left the hotel gym which just leaves Charles and Y/N.

“Sorry about threatening you. It’s just this gym was booked for my session so when I saw you here, I thought you were a fan.” Charles explained.

“A fan on the treadmill? Why the hell would a fan be on the treadmill if they so desperately wanted to meet you?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t know, to appear normal. Anyway, I’m sorry, I had no idea Andrea was your father.” Charles said.

“Don’t worry about it, bambola.” Y/N said.

“Why do you call me bambola?” Charles asked.

“Because you have a pretty face like a doll, hence the name bambola. These are the showers?” Y/N asked, pointing to the door.

“Yep, these are the showers.” Charles said,

“Alright, thank you, I’ll see you around Charles.” Y/N said, before entering the shower room.

“See you around, Y/N.” Charles said.

From that moment on, every time Charles had a training session with Andrea, Y/N would always be there. There were moments where Y/N and Charles would hang out alone and one of those hang outs led to a very important question.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Charles asked as Y/N was eating her pasta. She finished chewing and swallowed.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Y/N asked.

“Would you like to go on a date with me? A proper date.” Charles clarified.

“Oh bambola, my dad would kill you. His top client going out with his daughter? Can you imagine the drama that would ensue?” Y/N asked.

“Which is why it will be a secret.” Charles said.

“A secret? Oh yeah, because that always turns out so well,” Y/N commented sarcastically.

“Think about it, we can go out on a few date, if it doesn’t work out, we never have to tell Andrea.” Charles said.

“Okay, I can live with that, my dad would never have to know.” Y/N said.

“What do you mean he would never have to know? Are you saying you’re positive this won’t work out?” Charles asked.

“You literally said the same thing!” Y/N exclaimed.

“I was convincing you to go out with me!” Charles exclaimed back.

“Fine, we’ll go out. Tomorrow night sound alright for you?” Y/N asked.

“Yes it does.” Charles said.

Well that first date turned out to be such a success that they have actually been dating for 4 months which means it was time to tell Andrea. They were in the gym, Andrea was sitting down, scrolling on his phone.

“Good morning, Andrea, are you ready?” Charles asked.

“I am but i have one question.” Andrea stated. Charles nodded for him to continue. “Why the hell were you on a yacht with my daughter?” Andrea asked and shoved the phone in Charles’s face. “Care to explain?”

“That’s what we are here to tell you. Charles and I have been dating for 4 months.” Y/N said.

“Four months?!? And you’re telling me now?!?” Andrea exclaimed.

“I wanted to know if we would work first, he’s not really my type.” Y/N said.

“Excuse me, I’m not your type?” Charles asked offendedly.

“I’m trying to make him feel better, chill out bambola.” Y/N said turning to face Charles. She then faces her dad. “But charles has been a perfect gentleman. He holds the door open for me, he carries my bags when we go shopping, picks me up with flowers when we go on dates, he’s a great guy, papà.” Y/N said. Andrea stands up and goes over to Charles.

“If you hurt my little girl..” Andrea started

“I won’t, sir, I swear, I would rather quit Ferrari than hurt Y/N.” Charles said.

“Good answer. Now let’s get to training.” Andrea said

The moment Andrea found out they were dating, it was hilarious. Charles’s training sessions became more difficult.

“Can’t have my princess dating a weak man, now can i?” Andrea says and Y/N just watches as her father tortures her boyfriend. After Charles’s workout, Y/N goes to him.

“How you feeling, bambola?” Y/N asked him, rubbing his back.

“I’m fine, ma belle, your father is right, if I’m going to be your boyfriend and protect you, i can’t be weak.” Charles said,

“Ha ha, get up so we can get some food.” Y/N said,

When they travelled together, Andrea would give them a curfew, not just because of the race events Charles had, but because he’s such a protective dad.

“I want you two back here by midnight.” Andrea said.

“Yes papà.” Y/N said,

“Yes sir.” Charles said before the two left the hotel to go somewhere. “Your dad took us dating way better that I thought.”

“Tell me about it. I guess it comes with you two knowing each other for a long time since you started F1.” Y/N said.

“You’re right. So Mon ange, am I your type now?” Charles asked and Y/N laughed.

“My god, bambola, let that go already.” Y/N said, charles laughed with her until she placed her hands on the back of his neck. “You have always been my type, I like boy with brown fluffy hair and blue green eyes.”

“And I like girls with (your color) hair and (your color) eyes.” Charles said before they kissed. “Can’t believe I’m dating my trainer’s daughter.”

“And I can’t believe I’m dating an F1 driver. I am wishing you luck on tomorrow’s qualifying session.” Y/N said,

“As long as your there, my good luck charm, I’m sure quali will go well.” Charles said, they kissed again before walking to a little bar near the hotel.

The End

Hope y’all liked it. I thought it turned out well

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic

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gurugirl · 20 hours

Text

The Trio

A/N: just a little something quick I wrote up based on this request! Plot light, smut heavy.

🏳️‍🌈 Happy pride month babes! 🏳️‍🌈

Summary: Three strangers meet at a club and things get sexy. Featuring a MMF threesome.

Word Count: 3k

Warning: smut, oral sex, anal sex, strangers fucking (safe and consented), double penetration

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Harry went for a night out with no expectations for anything in particular. It was always in the back of his mind to find a hookup but it wasn’t a priority. If it happened, it happened.

The club entry was only $5 and the DJ spinning that night had exceptional taste, he thought. The space was dark, only illuminated by flashing colorful lights over the crowd of half-naked, sweaty bodies gyrating together.

Harry took a shot of tequila and then found a spot for himself to dance with the crowd of people. Letting the stress of the week wash away as he moved to the beat he felt himself loosen up bit by bit.

It wasn’t long before an attractive guy began to dance with him closely. Their chemistry was good, Harry could tell.

“I’m Roy,” he leaned in close and spoke into Harry’s ear, hand on his shoulder.

“Harry,” he smiled, continuing to move with his eyes on the handsome man in front of him.

. .

Y/n spotted the pair on the dancefloor from her place at the bar. She was working up a bit of liquid courage to get herself out there to dance when she saw them.

They were extremely attractive, both with wide grins, looking the other up and down. She wondered if they knew one another or if they were strangers who’d just met. She wouldn’t mind having them let her join. If they were into girls that is.

But she wasn’t at the club to feel insecure about herself or question anything. She was there to get laid. Girl, guy, anything in between… it didn’t matter. Y/n was a single woman who liked everyone and everything. But she did want to try something new and two hot men could be a bit of fun.

Working her way through the human sea of erotic dancing she got in close enough to the handsome duo. They were both about equal in height and quite fit. One had tattoos up the length of his arm but both were brunettes.

The one with tattoos locked eyes with her as she swayed her hips and his raspberry mouth turned up in a grin aimed at her.

And then they were all dancing together. She didn’t know how it had happened but the other had found his way behind her and the beat seemed to move them all together. Her short dress was riding up her thighs as she moved with the music but she didn’t care. That was the point; to show off what she had and if they might be interested then even better.

Clearly, they were both interested. When the one with tattoos placed his hand on her hip and he was just inches from her she could see his green eyes and smell his cologne. The man behind her pulled at her waist and spoke against her earlobe, “This okay?”

She nodded and turned to look at the man over her shoulder, “Don’t stop,” she smiled at him.

So they didn’t. Their bodies moved together and the brunette with tattoos and the one without took turns dancing behind her, touching the exposed skin on her arms and thighs and touching one another, where she enjoyed watching the men as they began to kiss before they tugged at her to join and the trio smeared lips and tongues and slippery skin together as they continued writhing to the beat.

Y/n already had her pulse up from the attention but when she felt warm lips on her neck she was a goner. That was her on switch. All the way on. And he didn’t just give her a soft peck, he began to suck and felt him nip at her sensitive skin as she moaned.

The tattooed one ducked down to her other side and began licking her flesh before she felt his lips pucker and dot wet kisses on the opposite side of her neck. With her eyes closed she gasped at the feeling of being between them until a strong tattooed arm wrapped around her waist and she felt his mouth at her ear, “You taste good.”

Her mind was swirling and her panties were getting damp as he pressed his lips against hers before the other began to pull at them both until they were away from the swaying, steamy ocean of beings.

“I’m Harry,” the one with green eyes spoke and the other licked his lips and dragged his gaze down her body, “I’m Roy.”

“Y/n,” she spoke loudly so they could hear her softer voice over the music and that seemed like all anyone needed to agree to move their little trio elsewhere.

Roy’s apartment was nice with a good view of the city and a big open kitchen with high ceilings.

He poured shots for everyone before Harry’s big hand found the back of Roy’s neck and he dragged him in for a sloppy kiss. It only turned Y/n on even more. Their mouths and tongues wound together as Roy moaned and drew his arms over Harry’s shoulders.

Y/n could see by the way the front of their pants were bulking that they were ready to go.

Roy parted from the kiss with a soft gasp and he looked at Y/n, “Let’s go into my bedroom and get naked.”

The men watched as Y/n’s body was bared to them, soft hips and round tits, plush tummy and ass. She was gorgeous. Harry had removed his shirt and unbuttoned his pants but when her breasts bounced from her bra he stopped everything to palm at her and lick her nipples into his mouth.

Roy stepped in behind and she felt his hands on her bum, spreading her ass as he tucked his crotch against her, “What do you like?” His finger smoothed over her anus and she knew what he meant.

“Everything. I like everything.”

Harry stood tall over her before he pushed his pants down his legs and his cock was swollen and thick the moment she looked down at him. He hadn’t been wearing underwear.

She felt Roy slide his tongue down her neck and then he moaned, “Fuck that’s a pretty cock, Harry,” as he reached around her frame to grip Harry’s fat dick.

It was true. Harry’s dick was nice and big and his body was a work of art. Inky tattoos scattered over his chest and arms and on his thigh, firm pecs, and broad shoulders.

When Roy let go of her he pulled Harry in by his hips and she watched the men frot against one another before Harry wrapped his big hand around Roy’s length and began pulling at his shaft.

Y/n sat down on the bed and watched for a moment as they stroked each other, lips slotted together. They rutted in together and then Harry parted from the kiss, hooded eyes and wet, pink lips as he knelt down in front of Roy and licked his wide tongue upward.

“Fuck…” Roy growled as he watched Harry wet his cock.

Y/n hadn’t had the chance to watch two men going at it in person before. But it was hotter than she expected. She leaned back onto one palm as she let her fingers stroke over her pussy. Harry took Roy like a pro, deep-throating him in one go and gagging slightly as he bobbed and drool dripped down his chin and neck.

Roy had his hands on the back of Harry’s head as he sucked him loudly. Smacking his lips around his cock and looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“Good boy… just like that…” Roy’s voice was hitched.

Y/n couldn’t resist but to climb down to where Harry was and take him in her hand, she stroked his thick cock up and down causing him to pop off Roy and look down at her, “You gonna suck me off, pretty?”

With a nod, she spat over his tip and smeared the saliva down his shaft before kneeling and wrapping her lips around his warm tip.

Both men were moaning and whining as they got their cocks sucked. She could taste Harry’s precome as she swallowed around him and coughed. But then she felt fingers on her ass before they slid around to find her pussy. She moaned when his fingers dragged through her wet crease and then he found her entrance, pressing inward to finger her.

She was already dripping and Harry’s long fingers inside of her easily pumped in and out and back into his knuckles.

“Mmm… let’s get in the bed. Get some condoms out…�� Roy offered as he pulled at Harry’s hair, lifting him off. She sat up, spit pooling in her mouth as she swallowed it down.

Y/n and Harry climbed into bed as Roy brought out a box of condoms. Harry dragged her into his lap and pressed his mouth against hers softly before she felt Roy’s hands on her ass again and then felt his mouth, wetting her crevice before spitting over her anus.

“She’s got two really pretty holes here, Harry.”

Harry moaned into her mouth and parted from the kiss, his eyes on hers, “I bet she does. You like having all your holes filled up, Y/n?”

She nodded, “I think so. Never had it before but I know I’d like it. I love anal.”

Roy pulled at her middle, dragging her from Harry’s lap into his own, her back pressed into his chest as he groped her tits and Harry leaned down to attach his mouth to her wet pussy.

She felt Roy’s fingers circling around her anus, dipping his middle finger into her ass as Harry slid his tongue over her clit and slurped it into his mouth.

It wasn’t long before Roy had two lubed fingers deep in her bum while Harry had two of his fingers in her pussy as he sucked on her button. Harry had more slide since he was on the pussy side but the full feeling Y/n loved, having something inside of her ass, had her moaning gutturally into the room, head dropped back against Roy’s shoulder.

She could hear Roy panting in her ear as he worked her ass open, the lube bottle lying next to them on the bed had been put to good use. She was glad for it too because with everything slick and warm her body was buzzing in pleasure.

Her orgasm was unexpected. But it zipped through her body coming out in spurting gushes into Harry’s mouth as he fucked her with his fingers, stroking something inside that had her squirting and she’d never been with a man willing to drink it all up like him.

Her body was positioned on the bed gently as she came down and watched the men wrap their cocks in condoms before they began to make out again, both lay facing one another as Y/n recovered from her orgasm.

When she felt the bed rocking she turned to see Roy behind Harry, mounting him from and Harry had his face in the comforter as he moaned pathetically, hands gripping the blanket tight.

Roy slid in and out, his sight on the space where he was connected to Harry’s ass.

It was fucking sexy. Y/n watched the men fuck and she felt the need for more, getting turned on by the sounds they made together.

Roy grunted and pulled out as Harry whined at the loss of the cock that had just been stuffed in his ass.

“You want in?” Roy asked Y/n, his hand cupping her face gently.

She nodded, “Sure.” It was exactly what she wanted.

Harry donned a condom of his own as they had Y/n get in the front on her hands and knees before his girthy crown nudged into her aching hole, splitting her open as he thrust in.

Harry began to fuck into her, an easy pace that spread her open as she gently fingered at her clit and then she felt him still his hips as Roy pushed back into his ass, a desperate whimper falling from Harry’s mouth as he squeezed Y/n’s hips tight.

Roy groaned, “Fuck that’s a nice tight ass, Harry. Bet that feels good huh? Getting bottomed and topped at the same time, yeah? Like having a pussy on your cock and getting your ass filled up?”

Harry let out a choked moan and it almost sounded like he was in tears as he gasped, “Yes. Fuck yes…”

Harry fucked into Y/n in shallow thrusts, he didn’t need long strokes to reach deep, he was already so lengthy and thick she felt every inch of him as he rutted into her, but the hottest part was the sounds falling from Harry’s lungs. He was in heaven. Getting his cock worked and his ass fucked at the same time was going to go down as the best thing ever.

The men grunted and panted as Y/n moaned and her sloppy pussy was gushy with every plunge of Harry’s cock. When her thighs started to quiver Roy pulled back and grabbed Harry’s hips to slide him from her.

“You want two cocks in one, baby,” Roy asked her as he tore his condom off and reached for a fresh one.

She had been so close to her second orgasm and now all she wanted was her release. She nodded, “Yes. Sounds so good. Please.”

Harry got onto his back and pulled Y/n with him to straddle his lap, as Roy came up behind her, hands on her hips.

She stared down into Harry’s moony eyes as she lowered back down on his heavy cock and gasped, “Fuck you’re so big. God…”

Harry lifted his hips up with a smirk as she panted, her palms pressed into his chest when she felt Roy drizzle lube all over her anus and spread it inside. She began to ride Harry gently as Roy fingered her ass. But then she felt him shift and his fingers were gone before his cock was pressing into her backside, the initial stinging ache of him filling her up had her halting her hips and gritting her teeth.

Harry lifted his hand to her face and cooed at her, “You okay? Is it too much?”

Shaking her head no she dropped her mouth open, “Oh… it’s… shit… fuck me…”

Incoherent strings of words fell from her mouth as she pushed back against Roy and moaned. She loved anal. She’d done it plenty, but the feeling of having both holes stuffed at once was something on a different level.

And once they got moving her brain was melted and she began to drool warm puddles of saliva over Harry’s chest as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Both men panted and moaned as they fucked into their respective wet holes. Gushy and soft and warm, the sound of skin smacking together, stunted moans and garbled gasps, a gentle creak in the bed.

It wasn’t like anything she’d experienced before but now she was hooked. Getting fucked by two men was going to be a necessary indulgence from now on. She loved the feeling of being nothing but a wet, warm hole.

Roy’s fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her flush against himself, balls glued against Harry’s cock as Harry thrust upward. Harry moaned and she felt his hands on her face, pulling her down so he could kiss her as he fucked into her from below.

Her guts and her insides were mush as they used her holes to find their release. Everything was so full and so wet as Harry lapped into her mouth and sipped at her tongue.

“Oh fuck, she likes this Harry. Got her clenching around me tight…” Roy cooed.

Both her cunt and her anus were clamping down on the separate cocks moving in and out as she quivered and moaned into Harry’s mouth. She writhed her hips, dragging her clit into Harry’s pelvis sending sparks through her spine and her limbs.

“Oh my god…” she moaned loudly, lifting her mouth from Harry’s as she inhaled. Both men were grinding into her deeply, her clit being worked and nudged at every thrust of Harry’s hips.

When the men felt her tense up as she started to come they both began to rail into her little holes a bit faster, chasing their own orgasms. Y/n arched her back as her ears rang and she felt Harry inside of her pussy throbbing before she felt Roy’s cock pulsing.

The trio moaned together as they each came. The men pumped into their condoms, Roy threw his head back when he could no longer keep his eyes open and pinned on the space his cock was taking up inside the pretty girl.

Chests heaved and slippery genitals slowed inside of her as she collapsed onto Harry’s chest and Roy leaned over her back to kiss her shoulder blades. Hearts beat in unison as they came down and caught their breaths.

She felt a hand on her ass squeezing, “You okay?”

She nodded into Harry’s muscled pec, “Mmhmmm…”

Harry’s laugh vibrated into her cheek and she felt Roy slowly pull himself from her.

She was rolled to her back like a rag doll as the men cleaned themselves and helped her wipe up. She could hear their deep voices whispering, a bright laugh filled the space before she felt a warm hand on her hip and another on her tummy, “Do you need to call anyone before you fall asleep?”

Blinking her eyes open she shook her head, “No. Is it okay?”

Roy rubbed her belly, “You can sleep if you need to. We’re just gonna crash here together if you’re alright with it.”

She turned to see Harry on his side next to her, hand on her hip with his eyes closed, a faint smile on his mouth.

Placing her palm over Harry’s hand and her other over Roy’s she closed her eyes and nodded before she drifted off to sleep, the exhausted men following right behind.

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formulawolff · 2 days

Text

x. bringing the heat in miami - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, lewd humor, age gap relationship, ANGST, naughty text messages, banter, light flirting, toto being down astronomically bad (like actually in the trenches) yadayadayada

prev. | next.

party in the city where the heat is on

all night, on the beach till the break of dawn

“welcome to miami”

“bienvenidos a miami"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

will smith’s infamous track fills your ears as you stroll in through the main gate of the track, fans clustered in thick waves. your name is called more times than you can count. posters, caps, shirts, you name it, wave about, begging to be signed.

the sun shines overhead, casting bright, fiery light all around. although it was only around eight in the morning, humidity clung to the air, creating a sticky, dewy sensation on your exposed skin. fluffy clouds drift along, carried by a breeze as it rolls through.

god, the weather was perfect.

hopefully it would be like this on race day.

“welcome to miamiiii,” alex bobs his head, singing along to the music, “are you excited? it is your home turf, after all.”

“if we were in phoenix, i think i would feel a little closer to home,” you suppress a giggle, “but yes, i am really fucking excited. everyone loves a race in their home country.”

“we’ll be in austin soon enough in october,,” alex shrugs, “when we’re in austin, i need you to show me how to ride a bull and teach me how to perfect that smooth texas drawl. i want to be like one of those little aunties who always say, ‘y’all come back now!’ like dolly parton! ”

“you’re ridiculous,” the giggles blossom into a full-on laugh, “you don’t just start speaking with a southern accent. that’s not how that works.”

“sure it is,” alex nods, “hey, your parents are coming out for the race, right?”

“yes sir! they will finally get to see their baby girl in action!”

“they didn’t come out for a single grand prix last year?” alex raises a brow.

“i wasn’t winning races last year,” you counter, “i told them not to worry about spending that money during my rookie year. not everyone’s parents are loaded, you know.”

which, was a true statement.

your parents had invested their time, hard-earned cash, weekends off, and a portion of their lives to get you here. you didn’t expect them to fly out for every single grand prix, make every event, or pay another dime towards your expenses.

unlike many of the drivers, you were not born into an extremely lavish lifestyle. your parents were modest people, who happened to have a child later in life. ever since you were born, they lived in the same house, drove the same vehicles, and got by adequately. since they both worked full-time, getting you into the racing world was no simple feat.

yet, they were determined to make your dreams become a reality. after years of careful coordination to the karting tracks, weekends devoted to races, and thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, you were offered a contract with williams racing. of course, you accepted that offer graciously.

now, you were steadily paying your parents back for their dedication. once you signed your contract and those zeroes hit your bank account, you went out to the nearest dealership, purchasing a suburu wrx. with the premium package, at that.

you would never forget your dad’s face the moment you pulled into the driveway, beaming as you placed the keys in his hand.

that was one of the only moments you had ever watched him cry, wrapping you up in a tight, loving embrace.

“you didn’t have to do this. being your father is a gift in itself.”

“but you deserve it. you’ve sacrificed so much so that i could be in this position.”

“and you deserve nothing but the best, baby girl. you are going to be one of the greatest drivers formula one has ever seen. you make us so proud. keep making us proud. keep defying those odds. keep making history, baby girl.”

keep making history, baby girl.

as you stroll into the paddock, greeting the engineers, pit crew, and other team members, you can’t shake that feeling brewing deep within.

it’s is a fiery desire, setting you ablaze with determination.

you were going to keep making history.

you were going to be the first american to win the miami grand prix.

you were going to be the first woman to win two consecutive grand prixes.

you were going to be the first woman to earn that title of world champion.

you were going to chase that high. by any means possible.

and nothing was going to stop you now.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“look at him,” lewis hamilton shakes his head, “he looks absolutely pitiful.”

“you think his little relationship is on the rocks?”

“quite the contrary mate,” lewis remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i think it’s more like the poor man is depraved. obviously the euphoria has worn off. he’s come down from that high. the man is craving more. plain and simple. a hand can only do–”

“i don’t need the mental image of my team principal wanking off,” george russell scoffs, rubbing his temple, “fuck, that is disgusting, lewis.”

toto wolff stood a few meters away from the drivers, engaged in deep conversation with bono and members of the crew. now that lewis knew the truth, he couldn’t help but notice how much power that american girl held over the team principal. it was almost as if he were deep in a trance, under some sort of spell.

it was pitiful, really. just the sight of her was enough to send the team principal spiraling, intoxicated off her alluring aura. not like lewis could blame toto, though. there was no denying that the woman was extremely breathtaking.

with her stunning features, witty mouth, unapologetic personality, and angelic presence, she was practically miss america.

well, not practically.

she was miss america.

everyone adored her. lewis could barely go throughout his morning without hearing her name being mentioned. whether it was fans, journalists, social media, even members of the mercedes crew, she was the hot topic of formula one, taking the world by storm.

toto was a lucky man. an extremely lucky man.

if only she was into men her age.

“my apologies mate,” lewis nudges george with his elbow playfully, “did we have anything going on today? any obligations?”

george’s brow furrow, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, “if we’re being honest, i can’t really remember. i think something to do with monster energy, maybe.”

“perfect,” lewis licks his lower lip, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

time to text that little assistant.

in all seriousness, he felt horrible for taking advantage of that young girl. she was only nineteen for fuck’s sakes, a fresh face to mercedes at the start of the 2024 season. that made her the perfect target to do his bidding.

well, it wasn’t really bidding.

more like investigative journalism.

at least, that’s what lewis told himself to feel a little less guilty for what he was about to do.

hey, do you by chance know toto’s schedule today?

seconds later, little text bubbles appear.

he was meeting with you guys this morning, then he has an interview with the press around two-thirty p.m. it’s nothing super serious, just a brief session entailing his thoughts for the weekend. at four, he has a zoom call with a few of the mercedes execs. after that, he told me he was going to be out for the remainder of the evening. why?

hmmm. how convenient.

i was just curious. thanks for letting me know! i appreciate you, natila.

of course, mr. hamilton! let me know if you need anything else! :)))

it was now or never. go time.

after the meeting with the mercedes executives, lewis hamilton was going to knock on toto wolff’s door. he was going to stroll into that office, settling into one of those plush leather chairs. and before toto had the opportunity to speak, lewis was going to confront him about that american girl.

how he was going to start that conversation, he had no idea. that would come to him in time as he went about his day, meeting with sponsors, flashing that lovely lewis smile, flirting with the reporters just a little. not too much so that it was obvious, but enough to make them blush a tad, giggling as they scrambled to stick to their script.

but for now, it was time to focus on the matters at hand.

across the track, a dutch driver strolls through the crowds, a jersey in one hand, phone in the other. glancing down at his screen, he curses under his breath at the throng of people. why were there so many people? where did they all come from?

pausing for a moment, he taps his screen, thumb gliding through his contacts.

“hey, where are you again?”

“we’re in the williams paddock!” her voice is an octave higher than usual, more than likely from anticipation, “we’ll see you soon!”

“sounds good,” max verstappen stifles a chuckle as he hears a voice on the other end, the words firm, demanding almost.

“honey, who are you talking to? who’s coming over here?”

“mom, please, just let me be on the phone for two seconds,” she exhales, “okay, i have to go. i’ll see you soon!”

the walk to the williams paddock was excruciating, as max had to bob and weave through the masses to avoid reporters, potential sponsors, and any individual who called his name. it’s not like he didn’t like the fame that came with his success, it’s just that he didn’t like the constant cameras in his face. the prying questions. the intrusive comments.

sometimes he wished he could just blend in, be like any other face in the crowd. yet, how could he when he was max verstappen?

yet, as he steps into the paddock, he makes out the williams driver, her parents hovering around her as she introduces them to various members of the crew. at the sight, max can’t help but feel the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he notices the sheer and utter pride plastered across their faces.

and they had every right to be proud of you.

you earned it.

“goedemorgen,” max clears his throat, raising his hand for a small wave, “i just came to stop by.”

the instant your mom realizes who is standing before her in the paddock, her eyes widen, lips parting, “oh my gosh – honey. look who it is!”

“good morning max,” your laughter rings like bells as you cross over to the dutch driver, “how are you?”

“pretty good,” he nods, sticking out his right hand, “hallo, i’m max.”

your dad shakes his hand, squeezing it firmly, “nice to meet ya, max. i’m tony. this is my wife, heather.”

“pleased to meet you,” max beams, turning to your mom, “i brought something for you today. your daughter mentioned that you were a big fan of mine. so, i brought this jersey for you. she let me know your shirt size, so it should fit perfectly. my signature is on there somewhere, but i just can’t quite remember where.”

graciously, heather accepts the jersey, her eyes glossy, shifting to you as she wipes a tear, “oh, honey, you planned this?”

“of course i did,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you pull her in for a hug, “i couldn’t bear the thought of you guys attending the race without meeting any of my friends. besides, you deserve an all-inclusive experience at your first grand prix.”

“besides,” max shoots you a wink, “i wanted to meet the woman who crafted such a talented driver.”

at max’s compliment, your mom’s face flushes, “oh please! i can barely make it on the freeway without having a nervous breakdown. i don’t know how she can drive these things. it amazes me how confident she is and–.”

“i could show you,” max offers, “i have some free time tomorrow. i’m sure we could all meet up somewhere and i could take you for a spin, show you the ropes. how does that sound?”

“oh max,” your mom waves a hand, “you do not–”

“but i want to. it’s no issue. no issue at all.”

“then it’s a plan,” you can’t help but grin as your moms’ eyes light up, “what time works for you, max? since it’s only thursday, we’ll have some time in the morning before the practice laps. or, we could go after. whatever works for you.”

“let’s go in the morning,” max suggests, checking his phone, “i think i can make a few calls. have someone bring in a car. we’ll take it out on the track.”

“is that allowed?” your mom arches a brow, “i just don’t want you two to get in any sort of trouble.

“oh mom,” you roll your eyes playfully, gesturing to max, “that is max verstappen. whatever max verstappen wants, max verstappen gets.”

“she’s not wrong.”

“okay fine,” your mom nods, and you feel a giggle forming at her overprotective nature.

“just don’t give me a heart attack out there, max. i have a very important race to watch on sunday.”

as your parents talk to max, alex making his way into the conversation, you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. carefully, you fish it out, ensuring to shield your screen from your mom’s wandering gaze.

this is unbearable. i need to see you tonight. are you going to have any free time? i vaguely recall you mentioning that your parents were going to be here. i will take no offense if you would like to spend time with them. i know you do not get to see them often.

i need to be inside you, schatzi. i can’t think straight right now because the only thing i can think about is fucking that perfect pussy of yours.

i miss my golden girl. more than anything.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“lewis? this is a pleasant surprise.”

“how’s it going mate?” lewis hamilton bears a quaint smile as he settles into a chair, face-to-face with the team principal, “things going well?”

“eh,” toto shrugs, his head bowed as he types away on his phone, “same old shit, you know.”

“things going well with the horseback rider?”

oh, so he wasn’t going to drop it. silently, toto curses the attentive nature of his british driver, “they’re fine.”

“so,” lewis leans back, folding his arms across his chest, “when were you going to fess up and admit that your little girlfriend doesn’t ride horses?”

“i don’t understand what you–”

lewis scoffs, clicking his tongue, “i know exactly who your little girlfriend is because she’s a few spaces ahead of me on the grid.”

shit.

the expression painting lewis’ features is brimmed with satisfaction, his gaze piercing right through the team principal as he shifts uneasily in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair.

toto was well aware that lewis had completely blindsided him, pinning him in a corner. it was quite literally perfect timing, as the team principal was merely minutes away from organizing his things, shutting down his computer, and heading out the door, well on his way to his golden girl.

well played, lewis. well played.

yet, he had to maintain his composure. he had to maintain that poker face as lewis cocks his head, prompting him to formulate some sort of witty retort.

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“bullshit,” lewis shakes his head, “you’re not a very good liar, toto. you of all people should know that i can read you like a bloody book. how long has this been going on?”

well, he had to fess up now. lewis would continue to call him out on his shit if he kept up with the lies. letting out a shaky breath, the team principal hangs his head in defeat, his heart thumping against his rib-cage, wiping his damp palms on his slacks.

no going back now. time to come clean.

“since she won in jeddah. but if we’re being technical, it started in bahrain.”

“wait,” lewis sticks his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut, “pause. this has been going on since the start of the season? for weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting up with her in secret or something? was she the one who came to brackley between melbourne and suzuka?”

with all of the questions pouring from lewis’ mouth, toto’s mind reeled, a swirling torrent of anxiety, fear, and disappointment. his cheeks burn with shame, tinged pink.

“yes, she was.”

tilting his head, lewis’ lips purse, “you like her?”

“well isn’t that blatantly fucking obvious,” propping his elbows on the desk, he massages his temples with his fingers, “how did you find out?”

“it wasn’t hard,” lewis shrugs, “i mean, i see the way you look at her.”

toto’s eyes narrow at lewis’ vague response, “how. did. you. find. out?”

“natila texted me about it,” lewis coughs, averting the team principal’s beady stare, “she may have heard a conversation or two.”

“regarding?” toto presses, satisfaction pumping in his veins as lewis starts to crack, shifting in the chair, “come on, lewis. you can’t just march in here and demand answers from me without sharing your sources. what did natila hear?”

“she heard the entire conversation you had with the drive to survive crew while we were in suzuka. they mentioned that they had footage of you walking over to her motorhome. that’s all natila heard. don’t fire the poor girl,” the words were rushed, breathy, “it was my fault. i asked her what she heard. i told her i would pay her if she told me what she knew.”

“well,” toto blinks, swallowing thickly, “did you end up paying her?”

“only like five thousand.”

“that’s quite a large sum over something you could have just asked me about personally,” clasping his hands together, toto raises a brow, “why didn’t you just come to me instead?”

“because you got so fucking defensive the first time i asked about it!”

lewis did have a point.

a good point, at that.

it was not like the team principal would have withheld information regarding his developing relationship with the williams driver. it was more like he feared what would ensue if he did share what had transpired. he trusted lewis, he really did. additionally, it wasn’t like this was just some average woman. his career, her future, and so much more were at stake. the benefits of keeping it all under wraps greatly outweighed the risk of discovery.

more importantly, he was protective of his golden girl.

she was his little escape from it all. a breath of fresh air after excruciatingly long nights in the paddock or disappointing days on the track. she was his sun, shining her vivid, warm, golden rays into his dreary and dull life.

sure, toto was a billionaire. but money was not everything.

nearly every day, toto’s mind wandered to their time spent together in brackley. the way she felt against his skin. the way her shy smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the way her fingers felt intertwined with his. the way her lashes fluttered as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly. the way his hands roamed her curves, relishing the softness of her.

that memory alone was worth far more than the number of zeroes in his bank account.

“you’re falling in love, aren’t you?”

lewis’ voice is low, dangerously quiet. yet, there’s a curious glint in his eyes, the bitterness and anger no longer present. his body language is more relaxed, legs crossed, the driver fiddling with his thumbs.

“i –” toto stutters, scrambling to find the right words, “yes, i am.”

“does she know?”

“no,” he inhales sharply, “she doesn’t.”

“you want to tell her though, don’t you?”

“it would just feel rushed,” the team principal dismisses lewis’ inquiry, his voice hardening, “i have to be realistic here. no one falls in love that quickly. that’s just petulant.”

“well look at it this way,” lewis offers, “if you’ve had your eye on her for some time, then it’s really not that rushed. clearly, if you’re feeling those emotions so deeply, then it’s accumulated over time. i don’t want to pry, but how long have you been attracted to her?”

“you don’t want to know,” a chuckle rumbles in the team principal’s chest, “it’s embarrassing, really.”

“no, no, no,” lewis tuts, “tell me, toto. how long?”

“december 2022, when she signed her contract with williams. when i saw that photo of her, i knew i had to have her. last summer, in monaco, i may have slipped up and approached her at the afterparty. i flirted with her, but she dismissed me. so, i kept my distance. however, it was just growing harder and harder to stay away. it was impulsive, that night in bahrain. but i wanted to make a move before anyone else got to her.”

as toto finishes, he can’t help but notice lewis’ smirk, “holy shit, toto. you’ve been wrapped around her finger for quite some time then, yeah?”

“i wouldn’t say that–” toto begins, clicking his tongue, yet, he’s swiftly cut off as a new figure cracks open the door.

george russell leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. his lips are pressed together, forming a tightly wound frown.

“way to include me in the gossip session, guys. what did i miss? clearly, quite a lot. if you don’t mind, i would like to join the conversation. toto, would you start from the top? even though i’ve already heard most of it, when were you going to bring it to my attention that you were fucking that bloody williams driver?”

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