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sinofwriting · 5 months

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I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

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Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t now. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #I ❤️ MILFS verse #I was on something when I came up with this idea and the name of this fic #sins fics

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gorejo · 1 year

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▸ A SOUVENIR FOR THE MORNING - GOJO SATORU. - forbes gojo!au

synopsis: you’ve avoided him for the last eight years, only for him to pop back into your life, leaving you with no room to run away as he asks you to kiss him. catch is, he now has a golden ring on his promise finger.

content: 9.2k words (idk how this happened, and it's unedited bc it's too long to go through) afab!reader, she/her pronouns, cursing, explicit smut, light angst, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, and anxiety triggers (picking at nails), pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, angel, good girl). minors do not interact.

The room is packed with people when you walk in. It was hard to recall some faces from the mirage of dimmed lights making you feel mildly dizzy and it didn’t help how the buzzing in your head from the smell of champagne and the loud chatter from the already drunk almost thirty-year-olds that can’t seem to contain their liquor-like novices, made you want to go home increasingly more.

“It’s only 9:41, and they’re drinking like they’ve never tasted alcohol before,” you heard Shoko mumble as she searched through her purse to reach for her perfume, “you want some?” Your best friend offered with a smile as she looked at you through the bathroom mirror.

“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “can’t have all the boys following me around with that,” you teased.

Shaking her head in disapproval, “If you see me go home with any of these drunks, I give you full permission to hit me, no, in fact, I’ll pull up to your apartment every morning with coffee and take you to work for a week if I do,” Shoko shuddered while furrowing her brows only to quickly soften the moment she saw you lightly picking at your thumb – an anxious habit you’ve picked up throughout the years, only but the keenest of eyes being able to notice your anxiety.

“You okay love?” Her voice was sweet as she leaned against the restroom sink.

“Mhm, of course,” you faked a smile, “I guess I’m just a little nervous seeing everyone, you know,” lightly chuckling as you bit your lips. Little was underlying, when the knot in your stomach was building up, making you force down the urge to entirely vomit in the moment.

“People are thrilled to see you again,” placing her hand on your shoulder, “it’s literally been years for you,” she huffed, pouting as she reminisced over the years she attended alone.

“well ‘m sure one will be sure thrilled —” her voice suddenly drained from a crowd of people entering the restroom, slightly pushing you towards her, “nevermind come on, let’s go get something to drink,” Shoko muttered as she led you out, gently massaging your tense neck as she encouraged, bringing her lips to your ears, “if anyone bites, I’ll chop their dick off,” Shoko threatened with a flashing smile as she led you to a nearby table.

It’s only 9:41 — no, 9:42.

College reunions, who looks forward to that?

There was no particular reason for you to be anxious, it’s been years since. You’ve prepared yourself for this, meditating every single day since you got the notification in your email on a Tuesday evening — an invite to rsvp for a room at the Aman Hotel.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking if you’ve been consistently going out to these every year since they’ve held one. But every year there seems to be a conflict in the schedule that forbade you to go.

One year it was your boss last-minute asking your team to work overtime, when a rookie employee lost all the data when he supposedly fell asleep, accidentally losing months of all your blood, sweat, and tears to make it for the deadline on your next advertising project.

Poor kid was fired the next day.

The following year, you were determined to go, going as far as walking to the restaurant, when the sudden nausea of socializing plagued your mind. The joyous welcomings and celebrations annoyingly muffled in your ear as you groaned past a familiar voice that seemed to call out your name from a distance. Your feet walking on their own volition through your sleep deprivation. Only to wake up in your bed with countless text messages from your best friend asking what the hell happened.

No wonder it was so fucking loud that night.

Another was simple, not your fault this time. Shoko couldn’t make it because of her rounds at the hospital.

Never in hell were you going to show up alone.

And the last one, well your taxi got a sudden flat tire. That in itself was a confirmation for you not to go, nor did you have any dying wish to go. Quickly texting your best friend, huffing out a sigh of relief as you pressed send.

<< sorry… can’t make it tonight. I promise, next year!!

Today, well things seemed to have aligned. No overtime, no flat tires, no sleep deprivation, no nothing.

Maybe it was an excuse?

Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding it?

But ironic is it, that life seems to protect you when most fragile, only to push you out into the void when least expected making you feel even more vulnerable, feeling so exposed in such a cruel world.

Or maybe the universe was waiting for this moment, that despite your consensus or approval, it was determined that you were ready to confront it — well it, being the owner of a pair of brilliant light blue eyes that sparkled like an aqua jewel, shining brighter than when you’ve last seen them clouded in tears as you let go of his trembling hand for the last time, crushing his pure heart as you left him with, “i’m sorry.”

Was that already eight years ago?

But whether it was the consequence of your selfish choice or a blessing of choosing to be selfless, luck was on your side today…

… well, you hoped at least somewhat on your side.

“My … look who it is,” you heard a voice from behind you.

Turning around, though the shame of suddenly cutting him off enticed your heart as you faced him, you couldn’t help but smile at his familiar face walking over with two drinks in his hand.

Holding the same gentle eye smile, with a lock of his black hair falling down on his left side, donned in a white dress shirt with his sleeves cuffed at the elbows, no tie but buttons loosely opened with a pair of dark slacks and shined dress shoes. Geto Suguru walked over.

“Aren’t you still handsome,” you complimented with a sweet smile.

“Don’t feed into his ego like that,” Shoko chimed as she nudged your arm, “his head is already big enough.”

“Who me?” Exaggerating his response, only to soon level down to the same amiable smile, calm cadence you’ve remembered him to have as he offered you a drink, “I have to take all the compliment I can get, don’t know when you’ll go awol and go missing for another eight years.”

“Funny…” you muttered, rolling your eyes while taking the drink by the stem, “and thank you, Suguru.”

“Where’s mine?” Shoko jabbed while shooting a glare at his nonchalance.

“Not here,” Geto flashed a smile, innocently shrugging.

“Whatever, I’ll get my own,” shaking her head in disapproval, grumbling while making her way to get a drink, but still making a point to stop in front of the man to warn, “Don’t say anything weird Suguru, I barely got her to come today.”

“Relax, ‘m just trying to catch up with an old friend,” Geto countered, making a point to whisper while smiling at you.

“I won't hurt her, that I promise,” Geto affirmed.

Your best friend walked off only to turn around for a brief moment as she worriedly looked back at you “Text me for anything okay?”

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry,” you reassured.

“And don’t forget what I said, I’ll even cut his,” deadpanning while looking at your male counterpart, “I got no problem doing it, I’m medically certified anyways, there’s nothing that a sharp scalpel can’t fix, ” Shoko stated with an innocent smile while walking off.

“So,” releasing a sigh as he pushed the strains of his hair back, “how’ve you been?” Geto smiled.

“I’ve been… okay,” you confessed while placing your lips against your glass before taking a sip, “could be better.”

“Thought you were living your life,” Geto teased, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Shoko wouldn’t tell us much about you.”

“I… I told her not to,” you confessed while leaning against your table, the pain of your heels starting to ache up your back.

“How come? Weren’t we your friends too?”

“I just didn’t think it was best to keep myself in the circle when I —” biting the inside of your mouth to stuff the suffocating knot forming underneath your lungs.

“ — When you broke up with him?” Geto finished your hesitation.

Nodding yes, you softly whispered, “I thought it was for the best for him.”

“For the best huh?” Geto chuckled, “well I guess you didn’t know him too well then.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as your mouth started to feel dry, “I did it because we weren’t compatible, I would’ve been a stumbling block for him,” you stammered as your voice started to shake, “I- I would’ve halted his growth, and he would’ve hated me in the end if I selfishly held onto him when he was worth so much more than being with me,” you confessed with lips quivering as a tear fell, only to quickly brush it away before Suguru could notice.

But nothing passes with him, he reads right through you. His voice softened, “Was this your insecurity you’ve decided for him or — ” turning his body to face you while his body leaned on his arm against the standing table, “Was this something he actually would’ve struggled with?”

“I can’t change the past Suguru.” You shamefully avoided his gaze, “I still stand by my decision.”

“I don’t doubt that,” shrugging as he exhaled, “I mean, you did avoid him for almost a decade.”

“H-he seems happy,” you let your thoughts slip.

“You think so?”

“Shoko would tell me about everyone, you, him” you unnoticingly spewed out your thoughts. “Of course not in full detail, but that you’ve established your own studio, and that you’ve finally released those photos.”

“Mhm, that’s correct, would’ve loved to have invited you to the exhibition, it was quite… a moment,” he chuckled while playing with his fingers.

“That Megumi’s in high school and that he’s gotten in trouble for beating up the school bullies,” lowly laughing as you remembered how cute yet scarily mature he was for his age.

“Nanami hates corporate life, but still listens to what he has to say even if it’s outrageous.” Taking a sip of your drink, the sparkle of the beverage mildly burning your throat, “... and that he’s traveling the world living his life.”

Mumbling under your breath, “he’s even recently gone to Paris and had a night picnic with —”

“You stalked him?” Geto teased as he huffed out a laugh when he caught your shocked expression

“No — I mean, Shoko would tell me,” you stammered.

“Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Geto teased, "but just to let you know, he just got back. And from what I know, they haven’t met since he arrived. His plane should’ve landed,” while dramatically looking at his watch, “I don’t know like an hour ago? He’s probably on his way over here,” Geto handsomely winked as he suddenly placed a gentle hold of your waist and brought you near his side.

“You know… he’ll look for you, now knowing that you’re here” Geto whispered into your ear.

“How does he know… I told Shoko to not tell —”

Blinking innocently at you with a smile, while playing with his phone, “can’t avoid the poor guy forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you sighed knowing what Geto had done, “just didn’t have a chance to run into him.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” releasing you with a smile, “ if you’re really sure about where you stand, then don’t run away from him.”

Geto's eyes flash to the entrance doors for a split second and land back on you.

“But would you look at that,” humming as he pointed to his empty glass yet his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. It was the first in a while that you felt your heart sinking, all the blood in your body rushing out, making you suddenly feel lifeless and queasy.

“Gonna get another glass, you want one?” Suguru suggested.

“I’m okay, but thank you Suguru,” you quickly stated as your heart started to beat faster by the second.

“Sure, just don’t be a stranger again,” Suguru teased as he started to walk off, but your hand immediately reached out to catch his arm to quickly reinforce, “I- I mean it… thank you.”

Knowing your implication, smiling as he received your thanks, “No need, as fucking cringe it is,” chuckling as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder and back at you, “he’s my best friend, of course, I’ll be there for him.”

Letting go of his arm, your hands anxiously balled into a fist as you quickly turned around to avoid him, doing anything to hide from his sight. You felt your breaths becoming increasingly more difficult to inhale, and stagnant as your palms started to sweat.

“I’m not avoiding him… I’m not avoiding him” you quietly mumbled to yourself, your words contradicting your actions as you walked further away onto the balcony, texting Shoko,

<< I’ll be outside getting some fresh air (: let me know when you want to leave.

Closing your phone, as you let the night breeze wash against your face, leaving light chills around your body, you nervously sighed, “It’s been eight years you say…”

—

Your story was nothing short of the typical — difference in class and status, trying to make things work just for the convenience of love. It wasn’t hard at first to situate yourself into his life, nor was it any difficult for him to become accustomed to yours.

They say time will change things, circumstances will get better. Be patient with your season, and you’ll be rewarded for your hardwork.

But somethings never change no matter how hard you try to alter the dice. He’s rich and you’re just average.

Money works for him, while you had to take on multiple jobs just to make your next rent at the start of your career.

He was bound for greatness at a young age, trained by the best professionals and tutored by an exquisite league of mentors. While you had to settle for things, simply dreaming of the what can be. Thus, you worked even harder. You pushed yourself to keep up, to become of the level of who he’s supposed to be, and what he could accomplish.

When he dozed off in class, you stayed up. You studied, pulled all-nighters, chugged caffeine, and oftentimes had to push back dates with him for simple study sessions — he didn’t complain, said he liked to just sleep with his head rested on your lap while he cuddled into your stomach while you studied.

“Don’t mind me, I’ll be your personal radiator,” he would chime with a boyish grin on his face, taking off his sunglasses as he stretched his long legs before latching behind you like a koala, “wake me up when you’re done, I’ll drive you home,” Gojo peacefully murmured without forgetting to place a kiss to your shoulder, while you stressed over your next exam.

With him, even the coldest days always felt warm.

And on the next day, he’ll always take you to class with some soup and hot tea, murmuring about your poor dietary choices and how you often neglect your health to study. But at least he’ll be gentle, and wish you the best on your exam with a light kiss — an innocent kiss that lasts a bit too long, his hand always gracing your body as he reluctantly releases you, brushing off the saliva that linked your lips together — his good luck charm he’ll argue, a little tease of what he’ll reward you with later when you got home for being his good girl.

Gojo will always try to convince, “Life isn’t always about studying, baby,” stating with a pout, after your fifth time canceling a date he’s planned to instead go on a simple walk outside your flat, “you gotta live life to the fullest! And why stress when you’ve snatched me?”

“Well, I can’t live life to the fullest if I don’t study now, Satoru. And who’s gonna pay for all that ice cream you eat? All the sweets you stock up on?”

“What do you mean?” Deadpanning as he stopped in his tracks, “you have me, what more else do you need? I'm a double threat — I’m rich and handsome.”

“Satoru — I… never mind,” rolling your eyes, as you were hit with his puppy eyes.

“Just promise,” his tall frame blocking you, “that you’ll always stick with me.”

“I’m not a piece of gum to just stick onto you, Satoru,” pushing him away, only for him to reach out to delicately hold your hand, “You know, if you’re a gum, you’ll be the sweetest one.”

“Yea, why so?”

“Because every time I eat you, you taste so sweet,” he teased with a flirty wink, “if you get what I — ow!”

Rubbing his forearm that barely hurt, Gojo loved to exaggerate when he was with you.

For Gojo, things came easily for him, as if the universe highlighted his life as a thousand-year blessing, nothing was out of his reach — that is, nothing but you.

Shocking to many, he pursued you first. When asked about how you guys met, or what’s the story behind you two, or even if no soul asked… he’ll blabber on with an outrageous story, saying he fell in love the moment he laid his eyes on you, that you were the apple of his eye — an over the top fanfiction of you and him of how he just knew you were the person for him when you stumbled into the library, arms full of books and coffee in the other, and you magically just happened to just bump into him. And if it wasn’t for that encounter, then he would’ve never gotten your number.

And without your number, he wouldn’t have been able to woo you with his charm, he’ll always add with a wink.

“You can say it’s fate,” he’ll proclaim, “I never went to the library, you know,” as he munched on his icecream with Megumi and Tsumiki savoring theirs, both unbothered by the story he’s told them countless times, “and the one day I chose to follow Suguru because he was simping over someone, I get coffee spilled all over my clothes and meet her? Damn, the heavens just wanted us together.”

All you remember of that day was that your precious coffee went to waste, with your books embarrassingly spread out on the floor, and you were stuck having to dry clean his ridiculously expensive clothes.

But with him, you experienced all your firsts.

Your first handholding — Satoru confidently took your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, his palms engulfing yours entirely, “don’t be scared baby, I’m not scared,” flexing his muscles as he proudly smiled, “I’ll protect you!” as he leads you through the haunted mansion, jolting through every jump scare, absolutely refusing to scream.

You remember his palms felt particularly clammy that day.

Your first kiss — on a spring picnic as he laid on your lap, his eyes sparkling a little more than usual as he looked up at you, innocently asking, “can I kiss you?”

Your first argument. Ignoring him for a whole week, only for your resolve to quickly break when Suguru urgently called you to his house stating that Satoru was deathly ill — dark circles under his eyes, cheeks frail from not eating, wrapped up in his blanket as he dramatically announced his dying wishes while sneaking obvious glances at you.

Geto’s diagnosis: pure insanity.

To your first cuddle buddy, to innocent make-out sessions, to wonton looks and lustful touches for more. leading to your first sexual experience, both unknowing and inexperienced as he groaned into your ear in the back of his car one rainy night as you struggled to take his girth.

He was your first taste of goodness — like a forbidden fruit, you increasingly wanted him more. In soul, mind, and body, you etched yourself into him, making the tear even more painful to rip apart.

Sure, loving him was easy — but loving you, the version who was so lacking compared to him and insecure was hard.

You tried to ignore it, you did your best to brush off the insecurity that came with each day of choosing him. But having the message that you were worth less than he was being constantly blasted to your face — the blatant discrepancies between social classes and the nature of how you both grew up, to the constant side glances you’ll get wondering how someone so normal like you, got with such a high net worth — gradually, it all made you dissociate from him.

So you worked even harder. You stayed up longer than anyone else just to get that better grade. You worked that extra shift just to prove that you were capable. You doused yourself in knowledge, yet tried to stay humble to be seemingly perfect… but in that, you unknowingly pushed him further away, losing parts of yourself while at it.

And your final straw? It was a text message you accidentally read on his phone while he silently napped, cutely dozing off as you massaged his scalp.

From: Mom.

>> Remember the girl I talked to you about? Nitori-chan’s family requested that we set up a date for you two. The faster the better, no need for our families to meet, it’s all settled.

To: Minako.

<< Let’s meet. When are you free, Minako?

From: Minako.

>> Whenever! I can meet now!

>> Is this about our potential engagement?

To Minako.

<< Yea, let's meet tonight to talk about it.

You remembered, that night you couldn't reach him.

The final trigger that blew it over. The rambling of your thoughts paralyzes you from thinking rationally.

You didn’t need to search up who she was. Nitori Minako, the youngest daughter of Japan’s leading technology company that rivaled to that of America’s fruit. A girl that was a year younger than you — smart, adamantly cute, cunning and rich — always following him around a bit too closely for your liking, preaching about how “Gojo-san promised he’ll marry me when we were young! Isn’t that so cute?”

how long was this going on for?

Has he always been going on secret dates like this? Was he always just willing to let it slide when you rejected his dates because he had other options?

Was he leading you on this whole time before he’ll leave you for what he rightfully deserved?

Was all of this a lie? All of what he said?

The pinnacle of your sanity breaking as your thoughts became corrosive and brittle the more you dove deeper into the pitfalls of your insecurities — of course what people said was right, there was no way someone like him can settle for any less.

... Ultimately, everything led to you quietly blurting out as he rambled about his day.

Playing with your hand, smiling like a loser as he intertwined your smaller fingers with his, “Geez, there was this jeweler that I wanted to take you to, but dammit, the store closed early today. Maybe we can go — ”

“Let’s break up,” you suddenly announced, looking straight ahead.

The room suddenly felt quiet, so quiet that the thumping of your heart felt like loud sirens blaring next to your eardrum, and your body felt numb.

After a few seconds, Satoru stammered, “w-what?”

Sighing as you closed your eyes, “I said, let’s break up, we aren’t — ” you reiterated.

“I heard you the first time,” Gojo hissed, still playing with your fingers but his grip now harsher, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t bullshitting right now.”

“I’m not joking, Satoru,” your voice stripped of any emotion, “we aren’t good for eachother.”

“Says who?” the man challenged.

“It’s something that’s been on my mind,” you responded back while trying to pull back your hand, “l-let go, Satoru, it hurts…”

“Is it because of the text?” Gojo refused to let go, even more so gripping even harder, “Fuck... I'm sorry I should've explained earlier," his voice pleading for you to listen.

"I swear nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen, b-baby look at me,” your boyfriend’s — now, ex-boyfriend's — voice elevating and shaking.

“Gojo,” softly pausing after his name, “let’s end it when things aren’t so bad… I can’t have you hating me more when we have no other choice but to break up,” finally pushing his grip off, “it’s inevitable, we’ve been walking towards a destined finish line from the beginning, let’s just call it quits a little earlier.”

“no... you can't do this, you can't do this to me,” he vulnerably uttered, his body noticeably trembling as a tear dropped onto the back of your hand as he reached over to touch you, hoping it'll mend whatever hatred you had towards him, “you.. we promised,” his voice shaking.

“I’m sorry Gojo,” you dodged his grasp, “guess promises are only good if you can keep them, and I can’t.”

Days of him begging at the forefront of your door, crying as he asked for an explanation, his missed texts and calls that would go straight to voicemail, to Suguru stepping in to ask what the hell was going on… all leading you to cut off every aspect of Gojo Satoru out of your life, except Shoko.

After two years of dating, at the ripe age of 20, you experienced your first heartbreak with Gojo Satoru, marking the end of the final chapter of your love story with him.

To you, he’ll be the greatest warmth you’ll ever experience.

To him, you’ll be the heartless bitch that left him cold.

—-

“Hmm,” looking at your empty notifications, “guess she’s a little busy right now…” you hummed. Despite your outwardly calm demeanor and the stillness of the serene summer night, juxtaposed was your mind with wandering thoughts that wrecked havoc in your head.

Shoko would update you occasionally about him, not going too far into details. You knew he was successful in his craft, excelling in it as he ranked 11th in Forbes 30 under 30 list, losing the tenth spot barely to a Zenin. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious about him, your mind wandering and weak during the quietest of nights, making a burner account to stalk his socials, only to immediately regret the moment you see photos and stories that presumably show that he’s in a relationship — with a gorgeous one in fact.

You’ve briefly heard of his dating history, hearing it from Shoko directly, as it mindlessly slipped through her tongue as she complained that he’s broken up with another girl.

Throughout the years, you’ve concluded maybe this was your punishment for leaving him. Damnation to feel stuck in the same perpetual regret of hurting his heart, of choosing to look at your fears instead of maybe trusting in him.

But, at least he looked happy. and you clung onto that reserve.

Maybe it was for the best that things happened this way —

Your ears perked up as you heard the tapping of shoes coming towards you, your stomach suddenly dropping to the floor.

“Were you planning on avoiding me the whole night?”

You were sure, there was no denying that was his voice.

Yes, it was a bit deeper from when you last heard it. The decibel of his voice is now infused with power and confidence, yet still with the underlying tone of softness from what you remembered.

“Ah, sorry… how rude of me,” you mumbled, the pounding of your heart beating through your ribcage. You quickly placed an arm over your chest, a hand over your heart, doing anything to muffle the harsh pulsing, terrified that he was going to hear, “it’s been a while Gojo,” you offered him a light smile, “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me Ieiri is waiting for me,” you tried excusing yourself only to be met with his stance unchanging, unmoving.

You felt his eyes pierce into your skull, “Gojo?… ah that’s right,” his voice guarded as he looked over in another direction, his face pointing specifically elsewhere, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features.

“I think she’s pretty busy, don’t you think?” he shrugged.

Dammit she was your ride home. Guess coffee is on her for the next week.

“Oh sorry,” you muttered under your breath.

Grinning as he licked his lips, “You’re awfully saying sorry a lot over nothing,” Gojo chuckled, “guess old habits die hard,” his last words spewed with a hint of bitterness as he clenched his jaws.

Only to relax seconds later, placing his drink on the railing, softly grunting as he pulled off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders, “It’s cold, don’t want you getting sick now,” the smell of his cologne filled up your lungs, hypnotizing your senses — a bit strong but nonetheless intoxicating.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling a sense of security from the weight of his heated jacket, and in response, you started to immediately pick at your thumbs.

“It’s okay!” You tried to object, trying to take it off only to be met with a stern yet gentleness of his voice, his large hand stopping you, now calloused and thick yet the warmth of his palm brushing against your smaller one felt nostalgic and sinful, as your eyes immediately noticed a gold sparkle on his ring finger, “it’s fine. my body runs hot, remember?”

“T-thank you,” you muttered, the harsh beatings of your heart quickly making your cheeks feel hot.

A ring? you wondered.

“So, what made you come today?” Gojo huffed as he looked off into the distance.

“Had no excuse not to come.”

“I see,” his voice deep, taking the last swig of his drink, deeply inhaling to release a long breath, “It’s good to see you though.”

“Yea, me too,” you quietly responded, the awkwardness of the conversation eating at your bones, the tightness of your stomach knotting increasingly more.

Laughing as he turned around, his long legs crossed, showing a bit of his socks peeking out of his slacks as his dress shoes reflected the moon's shine. Surely, they were expensive, probably equaled to a month of your rent on his feet. With his arms crossing his chest, leaning against the railing, the quiet winds brushing against his soft hair, lightly masking his cerulean eyes as he faced you, “Liar, you were always good at that.”

Taking you off guard, your eyes immediately connecting with his, your breath stopping as if a sudden load was pushed onto your chest, you felt a wave of sadness rush over you as you ventured into his empty eyes.

Since when did he have that ring?

Did he find someone at Paris? Shoko told me — no, there’s no way he found someone so soon.

Or maybe he’s trying to settle down —

“Are you happy?” His question brought you back into reality.

“What?” you whispered.

“I don’t think I’ve asked a hard question,” he responded, his voice now harsh and impatient, “I asked if you were happy.”

Your finger pricks at your thumb, “I guess so…”

Rolling his tongue against his teeth, his finger playing with his ring.

Taking no regard for catering to your comfort, he jeered, “Why’d you do it?”

“What are you talking —” you stammered.

“You know damn well what I’m referring to,” Gojo spat.

“Excuse me,” You muttered, your eyes refusing to disconnect despite your whole body fighting against it.

“I- I got to go, Ieiri is waiting —”

“No, you already used that excuse,” pulling you in by your wrist, immediately caging you in between his arms, with you now leaning against the railing, your eyes level to his broad chest — has he always been this big?

“Answer me, at least you can have the courtesy of honestly telling me why you left me like that eight years ago.”

“I don't remember,” you stated with eyes threatening to spill.

“Liar,” his body leaning down, the hurt in eyes even more apparent than before, “you’re a fucking liar,” Gojo spewed with no resolve to withhold a solid tear from falling, his face now dangerously close — lips even more threatening to touch.

All you wanted to do was say sorry, to cup his face and kiss his tears, to say it was a mistake that you’ve never intended to let him go — you selfishly tortured him by continuously keeping him in your heart without giving him a chance to prove you wrong.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could respond.

“Did you not trust me?” Hurt was apparent in his voice, “Was I that untrustworthy for you to just leave like that and just disappear for eight years?”

“No, no… it’s not like that,” you tried comforting, unknowingly placing your hands on his chest, “it was never like that.”

"then tell me why," he forced out through gritted teeth while furrowing his brows.

"I just thought it was for the best," you quietly whispered.

"you thought it would be for the best?" Gojo scoffed, "And how the hell did you come to a conclusion to just leave like that?"

" 'm sorry, Gojo... I - I truly am," you pleaded while clenching his shirt.

"You must've really enjoyed watching me beg huh," Gojo challenged, "absolutely thrived knowing this was all for my own good, right?" Gojo spat out his anger.

"It wasn't like that, i'm so sorry, I was hurting —"

“Stop fucking apologizing! you don't get to do that," His voice shattered the serene night. Chest heaving as he clenched onto the stone railing, "I didn’t go through shit these past eight years just to hear your selfish sorry's,” he stated with gritted teeth, as he threateningly moved even closer, “d-did you even love me?”

“Yes, of course!” You immediately cupped his face, finally letting go of the years you craved his touch, your heart shattering as you felt him melt into your wicked hands.

“Then kiss me,” he suddenly whispered, the slight scent of alcohol mixed in with cologne altering your judgment.

“Y-your drunk, Gojo,” you pleaded, immediately letting go of his face as you tried to push him off.

His voice elevated, "Why not?" Gojo growled, "Like you said, it's not like you left because you didn't love me. Or are you lying about that too?"

“don’t make this hard, we — I can’t do this with you anymore,” guilt running through your veins as the image of his ring blared loudly in your head.

You couldn’t do this to another girl, he wasn’t yours anymore…

“stop the bullshit,” Gojo growled before his lips slammed into yours, his large hands cupping your face, leaving you no room to run away. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, teeth painfully clashing yet you didn’t mind. because against your resolve, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to taste the sweetness of his saliva and feel the warmth of his tongue.

The groan of his voice vibrated against your lips, as his clothed hip bucked into your pelvis, his lips trailing down from yours to your neck, tongue sloppily trailing down with it as his hands wandered down to hold your hips.

“Tell me you missed me,” he moaned out as you gripped the ends of his hair, his tongue teasing down your sweet spots, pecking kisses as he inhaled your scent.

“Say you loved me, I don't care anymore if it’s a lie,” your ex now pleaded, his hot breath heating your cheeks.

“… I love you,” you confessed.

Lowly laughing like a maniac, staring deep into your wanting eyes, the man whispered back, “aren't you fucking heartless.”

...

You don’t recall how you made it into the hotel room. In a moment your lips crashed with his on the balcony, and only a second later you found yourself with his large hand securely wrapped around yours, silently waiting for the elevator to bing on the twentieth floor as your ex-boyfriend led you into his hotel room.

Now, currently, you’re pressed against the wall, shoes thrown aside groaning with your hands tangled in his soft hair, as he hurriedly stripped you out of your dress, lips hungrily moving against each other as he growled into the kiss.

Though its been years, his touch never faltered from remembering your body — immediately tracing over your sweet spots that he’s located in your early twenties, now with more experience and strength he dove deeper in.

“Fuck, missed these beauties,” he groaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumb playing with your hardened nipples as he quickly released the back strap of your bra, promptly latching his lips onto your swollen ones again right before you released a moan.

Your body had a mind of its own. Fallen into sin, your hands unbuttoned his shirt, quickly revealing his toned, muscular build as your hands ran against his pecs. You felt his stomach flex as you started to unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants, his lips hungrily chasing after yours as he caressed your body, hands slipping down further into your inner thigh, his index starting to play with your swollen clit — his fingers have always been so pretty, especially with his ring

“G-gojo stop!” Your eyes immediately shoot open.

“What,” annoyed, the man hissed, looking into your eyes with his pupils dilated, hair absolutely disheveled, until moments later his lips are impatiently back onto yours again.

“We.. we can’t,” you cried out as you melted in his touch, “y-your ring,” you gasped out, suffocating as he stripped you of oxygen.

“Ring?” he stopped for a brief moment, chuckling as he brought up his finger, “you worried about this?” he teased.

Intoxicated in his touch, you were willing to throw away your pride and dignity just for one night — one night can’t hurt, right? So you take the ounce of courage you had left, placing a tender kiss on his lips as a sign of surrender as you gently cupped his face, “take off your ring,” you whispered as you guilty looked away.

Chasing after your kiss, pushing you further into the room as you yelped at his force, your arms entangled around his neck and fingers around his hair as you tried to stabilize yourself, “I promise you it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he coaxed with his sharp canines flashing through his wickedly handsome smile.

And running his lips against your chest, leaving small denture marks on your skin that forced moans out of you, with his pants now pooled at his ankles before shimming them off, his cock fully erect, unapologetically twitching in his briefs.

“For you, I guess,” Gojo hummed as he watched the thin line of spit that connected you both dissipate away, existing as a sign of proof of the situationship he currently had with you.

Taking his ring off, he set it down near the bedside table, "there it's gone."

At least for this night, he was yours.

You’ll repent for your sins, and receive any punishment the gods had to give you tomorrow, but today, you chose him.

And right now, you also chose to kneel in between his thighs, hooking your finger under his waistband to pull his briefs off. Satoru immediately lifted his hips to help you while releasing a sultry groan as he felt the cold air elope his sensitive tip.

Was he always this thick? You remembered his cock being pretty, but also what the fuck were those two veins running down his shaft? And was he always this… groomed?

“Are you just gonna stare at it… or do I need to use your mouth to get some action?” Satoru impatiently asked with his cock twitching, his finger brushing against your heated cheeks as he palmed his member.

“It’s just been awhile,” you murmured, licking your lips before you opened your mouth to have him enter.

“Fuck, " Satoru shuddered as the base of your tongue brushed against his frenulum.

"i must be dreaming,” Gojo murmured under his breath, your head rising up as you released his cock with pop! With your hot tongue swirling against his head, there was no chance for Satoru to stay strong. and you enjoyed every second of seeing him slowly unravel in your power.

“j-just like that,” he ordered while placing his hand on top of your head, guiding your momentum.

His precum tasted salty but pleasant. Hell, he wasn’t even close to the other men you’ve been with, incomparable starting with the size of their dicks to his.

Hallowing your cheeks and expanding your throat to take in his shaft, with your hands gently playing with his balls, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat the moment you saw his head fling backwards, gasping as he pushed down his spit down his dry throat.

“You like that?” Gojo hissed as he bucked his hips into your warm crevice, “you missed my cock, angel?”

You honestly agreed, tears staining your vision with his length stuffed into your orifice, only to get a spiteful laugh in return, “well, guess that makes two of us,” he huffed while crowning over your body, pushing himself deeper into you, his stomach hitching as he groaned out your name.

“Fuck this shit,” he moaned, as he urgently pulled himself out of your mouth, sacrificing his impeding release for abstinence.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped when your thumbs swirled around his pulsing head, “you always do,” he purred as he nibbled on your lower lip, promptly pulling you onto his lap, one hand straddling your waist while the other mounded your ass.

And looking up at you, with his blue eyes now darkened in full blown lust, his hot breath sending chills down your spine, “tell me what you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“Y-you,” you shamefully confessed, gasping as his cock grazed against your sensitive folds, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you started to grind against his length, “I want you inside me again, Satoru” you whispered into his ear, lightly moaning out his name.

“Shit,” Satoru croaked, pulling himself down as he gently released you to lay on the bed, “I dont have a condom,” he confessed as he gently kissed your cheeks, “ you gonna be okay without it?” he asked.

“Mhm, j-just hurry… please,” you murmured.

“Good girl, now come here,” he coaxed as he placed a soft pillow under your head.

Taking a brief moment to observe your face, reading any sign of forced emotion that you might try to hide, only to ease himself into the kiss when he feels you impatiently desiring his touch, “relax, baby,” he cooed as his kisses traveled southward.

Placing each delicate kiss on your body as his soft hair trailed behind, lightly tickling you as your thighs gently caged his waists into you, “you know they wanted me to thank you,” Gojo breathed out as he split your thighs open, settling himself in between your legs.

“W-who?” you whimpered as his calloused hands massaged your muscles, his soft lips easing out the tension boiling in your core while your hands immediately went straight to grip his hair.

Lips drawing closer, closer and closer until his breath knocked against the frame of your dripping cunt.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” blowing air onto your sensitive nerves, looking up to watch your body shiver at his power as he slid his finger down your folds, pushing in one finger, two, and eventually three into your tight hole as he watched you stretch, your viscous juice soon dripping down his forearm.

“They wanted me to thank you for how good I eat pussy now,” Gojo smirked before he took a swipe of his tongue against your womanhood, spreading out your cunt as he purposefully flicked his tongue against your clit, lightly sucking on the bud thereafter.

…

How many times as it been, you wondered? More than once or twice, maybe four… five — you moaned out when you felt your legs hitching up to his shoulders, his cock hitting just at the right spots he remembered from years ago.

“Angel,” Gojo huffed as sweat dripped down his temple, grunting as he felt your tight walls fluttering against his length at the call of his sweet pet name, “you have that much leisure to be thinking about something else when I’m fucking you?”

Kissing your ankles, his pelvis showing you no mercy as his wet skin slapped against your ass, the sound and sultry smell of hot sex filtrating your room, “still so fucking tight,” Satoru grunted as he pushed his body onto you, your legs hooking against his shoulders, his strong arms holding you from under.

“G-gojo!” you rasped out, barely audible and inable to breathe from his heavy weight and humidity of the room, “it’s too deep! Slow down!”

Growling into your ear, his teeth nibbling against your earlobe, his hot breath stinging your face as he scoffed at your choice to call him so mundanely.

“you gonna be so impersonable,” his thrust going deeper, harder into you, “when I’m so deepily inside you?”

“Ngh,” gasping, “it’s too much,” you sobbed with his face planted into your neck, and his ass clenching with every push he drove into your gushy walls that still wrapped so perfectly around his — just like how he’s last felt you around him, just like how he’s molded your insides just for himself.

“You let anyone else fuck you?” He suddenly hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath, the sweat on his back making it difficult for you to hold onto him, “you let anyone else see this side of you?”

“It’s too much —” you pleaded, avoiding his question.

“Answer me,” he lowly ordered.

Unable to withstand his power, absolutely willing to fold for him and his desires, you fastidiously nodded, “only a couple,” you shyly confessed.

"how many," he growled, disappointed in your answer, "how many fucked this."

"o-one or two, ngh I-I don't remember," you panted.

“One or two, you say,” he cooed as he pulsed his cock swiftly into you in rhythmic motions, satisfied seeing his length disappear inside you. his pace driving you to the brink of insanity as your lower belly started to fire up again as he knowingly pressed his palm down on your stomach.

“Then I gotta fuck you twice more to force out all memory you have of those stupid fucks,” grunting as he cupped your face to look at him, lips swollen with his skin marked by your nails, hips unapologetically thrusting into you as he watched you unravel in his lead, “because this pussy’s always been mine.”

Seven.

He’s definitely made you cum seven times. you remembered the count just before he groaned out your name, his thrusts sloppy and strained, gasping as he pulled you tighter into his embrace, face caved into your neck as he finally released his thick loads into your abused walls, sobbing out cursed moans as you held him, expending out every last ounce of energy you had for him in mere four words,

“I’ve always loved you,” you whispered before completely passing out.

You failed to notice a tear fall from his eyes drop to your face. He hoped that it’ll stain you, wished it would reach all the way through to your heart to burn you. But he couldn't, so instead he carefully wiped it away as he gently kissed your face — inch by inch of your canvas before he chose to face you again.

“you’re so heartless,” Gojo chuckled as he pulled you in for a tight hug, straight into his chest as he laid beside you, refusing to pull out and have his cum spill onto the sheets — a feat he’s never dared to do with anyone else, he’s always fucked protected.

“what am I going to do with you," he breathed out.

"even with all this time, I’m still so weak for you,” he quietly confessed, reaching over to the side, reaching for his ring to put on the empty finger, before he too fell into the abyss of another dimension with you in his arms.

—-

Lowly groaning as you opened your eyes, your body felt oddly heavy and aching, but yet warm and safe despite feeling on the absolutely verge of possibly snapping in half and breaking with any force.

Blinking a couple times before you started to register the room, you felt a slight huff next to your ear and the tightening around your waist as your back leaned against something hard.

Gojo Satoru, in all of his glory, was sleeping so soundly next you.

Carefully turning around to face him, you observed his features as you ran your fingers against his skin.

His lashes were still so long and soft, you giggled when Gojo twitched his nose at your touch.

His cheeks were still so smooth, without a spec of a blemish, but you can see the little bags under his eyes and the small creases on his skin. he’s probably tired from traveling.

Your finger travels down to his chiseled jaw, and defined collar bones, examining the light scratch marks on his pale skin, and the bruising of his nipple — wait… his lips are chapped and swollen, and his cock… oh god, his cock was brushing against your stomach — hard and pulsing.

Immediately gasping, you felt the blood in your body drain at the revelation that you’ve fucked your ex — no, you fucked your ex of eight years, that you were still crazily hung up over that most likely had a girlfriend waiting for him to respond back to.

Before you could think, your adrenaline pressed forward to act before your mind, immediately unlocking his hands from your naked waists, standing up too quickly only to stumble from your trembling legs. You felt something drip down your thighs — white viscous slowly running down your legs, your face heating up at the memory of last night.

“I- I need to leave,” you whispered, quickly gathering your discarded clothes and undergarments as you rushed to the restroom, forcing down your whimpers as your sensitive cunt brushed against your thighs with every step you took.

“I can’t be here, t-this was a mistake,” you stammered while putting on your dress, quickly stuffing your used panties into your purse.

You looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter because you needed to get the hell out of there before he woke up, but somehow your feet didn’t move in the direction you wanted them to — out the door — but instead towards him unknowingly sleeping.

And quietly sitting against the edge of the bed, carefully pushing away the edges of his bangs that covered his handsome face, you decided to take a minute to absorb the last images of what you’ll have of him. And there you decided to let a tear or two drop from your eyes as you said your last goodbyes, gently kissing his lips before you made your way out the door, whispering, once again,

“I’m sorry…”

—-

It’s been close to an hour since your walk of shame out the door. Since then you quickly checked out of your room and made your way out of the hotel.

You immediately called for a taxi to get home, groaning as you were hit with the realities of your mistakes last night.

Treading up the stairs your legs quivered with every move. It's been a while since you've been fucked that hard, nor even had a partner that lasted so long.

You needed to text Shoko, you prayed that she didn’t blow through your notifications when you suddenly went missing last night. Sighing, you absentmindedly tried to find your phone in your bag as you punched in your door keys.

You started to think, maybe the whole fucking universe was now against you, for your sins, because your phone wasn’t in your purse.

You tried to retrace your steps to where you’d last used it as you made yourself over to your bed, stripping off your clothes as you walked over to the shower.

And to your last memory, you texted Ieiri out in the balcony… and then,

“Shit,” you hissed, remembering how your bag was tossed to the side when you were being feverishly stripped of your clothes, “it’s probably under his bed or something.”

“I hope no one calls… or tries to contact me until he leaves his room,” you groaned as the hot water massaged your tense shoulders while your fingers ran down your body.

Washing every crevice as you also tried to erase away the memory you had with him, you forced yourself to retract your tears. This was your punishment you repeated, this was the outcome of your selfishness. You lathered yourself in soap, trying to scrub away the pent-up guilt until you noticed something flash under the light.

You never wore your jewelry into the shower, you’ve always had a habit to take them off to not tarnish.

But there was a golden ring, a ring that fits a little loosely on your promise finger.

Unable to understand why, all that circled through your mind was to go back.

Quickly washing off, throwing on any pair of clothes before running to your door, you could feel your anxious heart beating loudly in your chest as your ears started to feel plugged from the tension. And just when you’re about to open your door, you hear a buzz that silenced every chaos around you.

Looking through the peep hole, you felt faint, your heart entirely about to burst — is this reality or am i still dreaming?

“It’s me,” you heard his calm voice.

Your hands trembled as you slowly opened up the door, your eyes taking a moment to quickly scan his body — donning the same clothes as yesterday with the top buttons of his white shirt undone and ends stuffed into his slacks, his hair lightly messy and eyes a little sunken.

“How’d you get here?” you gasped with your ringed hand clenched, hidden behind your back, while the other pricked at your thumb.

“You left your phone in my room, and I found it because Ieiri was blowing up your phone," Satoru calmly stated as he handed over your phone, "so I asked where you lived to drop it off.”

“She didn’t say anything?” you warily asked

“Well, she did ask about us."

“And… did she threaten you or anything?”

“No, why would she? But,” stretching out his arms as he released groan, “I told her we fucked,” he boyishly smiled.

Afraid to confront your messy rendezvous with him, you nervously bit your lips, and you avoided his gaze. Noticing your tendencies, you felt his hand cup your face to meet his while his thumb gently soothed your aching lip, "hey," he whispered, "don't do that."

And stepping closer to you, the mild fragrance of his shampoo dancing in your nostrils, “Did you see it?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you acknowledged, “I saw it just now while showering,” you looked into his eyes to seek an answer, tears starting to cloud your vision.

“You know, I’m not the same anymore,” he confessed, “I have power, I’m strong, and I’m able to do things now,” pressing a kiss onto your forehead, “but the only thing that stayed the same about me," chuckling as he shook his head — as if he couldn't even believe it himself.

"is that I didn’t change my number since we’ve broken up,” he stated before taking a step into your apartment, the click of his shoes hitting the tile floor echoing throughout the hallway, “I just hoped maybe one day you’ll call.”

"why?" you honestly questioned, unable to understand why he would choose to do that.

"I don't know," Satoru shrugged while pulling away, "guess I really tried to subconsciously manifest the we were fated to be bullshit that I preached."

“But that girl,” you quietly muttered while you unknowingly pouted when you saw his arms cross against his chest, the tightness of his sleeves about to burst from his muscles bulging.

“Girl… what girl?” Your comment took him aback.

“The one you were in Paris with,” your face feeling hot, embarrassed that you outed yourself for stalking him.

“You stalking me?” He chuckled while leaning against the wall, "it's not what you think," Gojo sighed as he pushed back his hair, "that girl, it was Suguru.”

Raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, sighing as he saw the unbelief in your eyes, “Here look,” he commented while pulling out his phone to show you pictures, “we went for his art exhibition or some shit because his girl couldn’t make it with him.”

“B-but you came late to the reunion.”

“Yea, because I wasn't going to pull up looking mid when I needed to make you regret ever dumping me,” he joked while pinching your cheeks, "I didn't have plans on attending until that jerk sent me a photo of you," he shamelessly confessed.

“You’re stupid,” you grasped his hand to check his finger — ringless.

“But it was worth it, no? Got you to indirectly confess,” emphasizing his last few words, “that maybe you still love me."

"Whatever," you mumbled, "I said I loved you."

"fine by me," Satoru accepted, " but the fact is that you still think I’m hot, no? Or maybe you just missed my cock? ”

“You’re crazy,” you stated while wiping your tears.

“Yea, I know,” his gaze softens as he sees you playing with his fingers, your small ones wrapped around his.

“and this ring is too big for me,” you cried as you melted in his touch, his right thumb gently rubbing against your cheeks.

“That too, I know,” he smiled stepping closer into your house, and slowly closing the door behind him, “we’ll get another one together soon, only if you'll let me.”

"I'd like that," you whispered.

“I just couldn’t get it for us when you heartlessly broke up with me eight years ago," Satoru confessed while brushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’m so sorry Satoru,” you snuggled your face into his strong chest, his arms tightly wrapped around you, cooing as he steadied your breaths, “Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”

“I’ve hurt you, I’m the one that caused all this,” you heaved as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

“Through everything,” kissing your swollen eyes, taking his time to savor your touch as his lips traveled their way back to its home, briefly kissing your ringed finger as he looked into your eyes.

And sealing his final destination, he whispered before locking his lips with yours once more,

“I’ll always find you even if you run away because you’ll always be mine.”

author's comment: sheesh, I didn't expect this to get this long... but here it is! I wanted to write the typical exes-to-lovers trope, but I was stuck on the quote with Satoru teasing how his past partners wanted to thank the reader for teaching him how to eat pussy... and here we are over 9k words later.... oh wells

again, i hope you enjoyed it!!

p.s. i might just have one exes to lovers in the drafts for geto, as well.... hahahahaha but you didn't hear that from me, nope (,:

#ae.writes #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #darkmode.#forbes30!gojo

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jamminvroomvroom · 7 months

Text

no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

whoops? lol

taglist

@thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @charli123456789

(run outta space on my taglist lol, lemme know if u wanna be added or removed)

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