#the idea of leaving something to fill a gap

[thou-shall-fucketh-off]

Sometimes I go back to the stories I’ve written and abandoned and I read it as I contemplate why I dropped it (I always do drop it) because it’s decent enough, and it’s good enough, but then I realize as I read them and thought about them, the same inspiration didn’t reach me. So I close it off, left for good until someday I get the urge to look at them again randomly, or maybe not have internet to do other things, and think, “Why didn’t I finish this?”

[sinofwriting]

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)

Taglist | Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund

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 know. 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

[sttoru]

toji never celebrates his birthday and thus learned to treat it as any other regular day. well, until you came into the picture and did the unexpected.

☀︎｜tags. dom!toji fushiguro x female reader. smut mixed with fluff & sprinkle of angst. implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji late 20’s /early 30’s) implied size difference, p in v -> unprotected, cowgirl position, toji actually being a soft dom kinda, praise mixed with tiny bit of degradation, slight corruption kink, dirty talk / teasing, biting, creampie, reader gets called ‘princess, little girl \\ pretty, innocent, small'. not beta read. happy bday hubby!

“i told ya — fuck jus’ like that — not to buy or do anythin’ for me on m’birthday.” toji’s head lolls back against the pillow while his rough palms explore every inch of your gorgeous body. the word ‘birthday’ rolls off his tongue in a bitter manner. the assassin never celebrates that dreadful day, as he calls it.

he’s never found it to be worth remembering. his family couldn’t care less about that day when he was a child, so why would he?

but, that changed when you came into his life. toji flinched when he heard a loud ‘pop!’ sound upon opening the front door to his apartment. he was used to those noises being one of danger and thus swiftly reached for the spare weapon in his pocket. . . only to notice you standing behind the door with a party popper and a homemade cake.

the older man froze in place for a good few seconds, though was quick to realise the situation and relax. after the initial shock died down, you excitedly dragged him off to the living room to show him the presents you bought.

toji's first reflex was to scold you for spending money on him. he had never gotten anything for his birthday—it was weird to finally receive something from someone who actually cares for him. it somehow made him feel guilty as well. was he worth spending money on?

toji’s impressed reactions when unwrapping the presents showed you exactly how foreign the moment was to him: he’s never opened any gifts before. that much was even more evident after witnessing his inexperience in peeling off the tape from the boxes.

eventually, after opening around seven gifts, toji got to unwrap his final present. the present which was you.

the way you innocently yet seductively whispered words of affection in his ears made his mind go blank. even if it were simple ‘i love you’s and ‘happy birthday’ wishes. the red dress you had on and how your figure looked in it made everything ten times more sexual to the assassin. anything after that was a complete blur. his body moved on its own and yours followed right after until you finally landed on top of him — riding him.

toji’s half-lidded eyes couldn’t get enough of the sight he's witnessing. maybe his birthday wasn't such a bad day after all; the loving memories you're currently creating would surely outbalance the negative ones.

you shake your head at toji’s earlier sentence and tighten your grip on his shoulders, nails lightly digging into his skin and leaving faint red marks. you almost can’t talk due to the overexertion—your hips continuously rising and falling back down for the sake of your lover, “i- mph, wanted to get you all those things. you deserve them, toji.”

the view of your small body trying its hardest to not give in to its need of an orgasm made the assassin dizzy. his large hands settle on your waist and his eyes watch your every move from behind his black bangs. toji silently hisses as he feels your tight cunt clenching around him, “. . . f-shit. easy there.”

your pretty face is his weakness. especially when your usual innocent look gets replaced by one filled with carnal desire. toji can easily get off to the idea of him having that effect on you—his words, body, looks and actions that corrupted your every being in intimate moments like these.

“such a sweet thing,” the dark-haired man coos, brushing the stray locks of hair away from your face with his index finger. his other hand rubs up and down your inner thigh, each time getting dangerously closer to your clit, though never getting a single touch in. the scarred corner of his lips twitch in an amused grin at your whines, “oh? want me to touch you there, princess? that what ya want?”

you nod without a second thought. you were trying your best to hold out for as long as your body allowed it — desperately wanting to reach your climax at the same time toji was going to — but the idea seems impossible the longer this continued.

your boyfriend grins smugly, raising his eyebrows before entirely removing his hands from your body. his arms rest behind his head as he reverts to simply enjoying the view of you riding him so well. toji can never not be mean to you. your little pouts only drive him to tease you more and more, “hm, well, ya see - i thought you were gonna spoil me today, not the other way around.”

“t-toji! tha's mean. . .” you huff, bottom lip trembling. your arms circle his neck and your upper body leans forward to rest against his chiseled chest. you stop your hip thrusts and instead grind against his pelvis, trying to stimulate your clit on your own.

toji clicks his tongue, but figured it was best to leave you be. he didn't want to be too rough on you today - you had been nothing but sweet to him the entire night. you had blessed him with his first, proper birthday experience as well.

“aww, my little girl ‘s pouting,” the older man snickers and his hands return to their place. he allows you to grind against him, the sensations being amazing for him as well. the tip of his cock almost reaches your cervix from the current angle and your bodily fluids smear all over his thighs and lower abdomen, “shh shh, ‘tis alright.”

your needy whines and moans are music to his ears. toji rubs your lower back and pats your ass every now and then, squeezing the soft flesh gently just to hear another whimper spill from your lips. there was no way you could hold back now. especially when your bodies were rubbing together and you could feel toji’s defined abs and hardened muscles underneath you.

“toji - nngh - can i? wan' — wanna cum.” your small hands tighten their grip around his broad shoulders. you earn a low, breathy chuckle from your lover. the increasing sensations in his lower stomach were an indication to how close he was to his orgasm as well. he wasn’t going to deny you any further.

toji sighs in content and presses a soft kiss to your temple, thumb rubbing your cheek gently. it was a rare occurence to see that vulnerable and affectionate look in his piercing green eyes. the little smile plastered on his face only added to the soft and intimate atmosphere.

. . . well, toji wouldn’t be toji if he wasn’t going to add catch you off guard in any way or form. your eyes widen and your body jolts forward as he suddenly starts putting work in—his hips ramming into yours from below, the skin-to-skin sounds resonating throughout the room once again. it was like the wind got knocked out of you for a good second, “fuck! w-wait, toji! tojitojitoji!”

the older man holds tightly onto you — cradling you in his arms as he lightly lifts your hips to have free reign over the pace and movements of your two bodies — thrusting up into you over and over. he lets out a series of small, silent groans as he feels his climax nearing;

“shit, yeah - ‘m gonna stuff this pussy of y’rs full, princess.” toji's callused fingers curl around your hip bones, using them as leverage to increase the intensity of his thrusts, “think you can take it all?”

you mewl and nod again and again. you’re on the brink of tears when the waves of pleasure reach their peak. your eyes roll back and your body convulses, legs shaking and squirming during those few seconds of pure bliss. your adorable babble in the form of toji’s name was all your lover needed to push him over the edge—

“fuck. ‘m gonna cum,” toji groans and firmly bites your shoulder to hold back any more noises when he finally decided to let go. a choked sob leaves your lips the instant you feel the hot spurts of cum seeping into your senstive cunt. the older man continues to thrust in and out sloppily, riding out his orgasm and fucking his cum deeper into you at the same time, “so good — i love you s’much.”

you smile exhaustedly at the love confession from your boyfriend. toji’s grip on you loosens up after he completely emptied his balls deep inside your cunt, his jaw finally unclenching. he plants a few wet kisses along the bite marks on your shoulder in attempt to soothe the pain.

you catch your breath as you rest on top of toji's body. he didn't put the slightest effort into pulling out of you — even as a tiny puddle of your mixed juices stains his skin.

“i love you too, toji,” you reply and earn another lazy kiss to your forehead. he rubs the back of your head and massages your plush thighs in a tender manner. nothing could make this moment even more perfect, you thought to yourself.

you smile as you pull your head back to look into toji’s eyes. he was already looking at you — admiring your gorgeous looks as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking. you capture his lips in a delicate kiss, “happy birthday.”

[arminsumi]

♡ 𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲!

🔞 mdni / 18+ content

Pairings : fem reader / bully!Gojo Satoru / bully!Geto Suguru

Synopsis : college boy Satoru bullying you around with his best friend

Warnings : bullying kink, degradation, dacryphilia, dirty talk, bl*wjob, p*ssyjob, semi-public s*x, rough s*x, perv behaviors, namecalling (wh*re, sl*t, b*tch), getting caught, threesome, +++

Bully!Gojo who asks Suguru to trip you down the corridors as you walk past them, so that you can fall right into his arms.

"Oopsie..." Suguru says, grinning like a jackass and sticking his leg out. Your face plants into the muscular chest of that white-haired freak, and then he pulls out one of his awful pick-up lines on you; "Fallin' for me, sweetheart? I knew you would eventually." he blatantly stares straight down at your cleavage. "What!" you give them a repulsed look and pull back. Your reaction elicits giggles from your two bullies, and they check out your ass as you walk away in a fit of anger. "... I'd give her backshots 'till dawn." Satoru says, and Suguru shakes his head at his best friend, "You're insane." he says, but Satoru says, "She looks like she needs to get fucked hard."

Bully!Gojo who grumbles and folds his arms, sat in the principle's office after pulling a water-dumping stunt on you just to see your nipples go hard.

He glares at his spiralbound notebook. Instead of writing an apology letter like the principle instructed him to do within an hour, he ends up writing your name over and over and drawing hearts around it, filling the page with little doodles of you as if he's some obsessed high school boy.

Bully!Gojo who loves the squeaks he elicits out of you when he slams and pins you against the wall.

"I bet you get so wet for me when I do this." he taunts, whispering lowly into your ear. "No I don't!" you lie, glaring up at him. He arches his back and bends his knees to level himself with your face, "Liar." he says, lips grazing your cheek. "F—feel for yourself, freak. You'll see I'm not wet..." you bluff. He arches a brow and dips his fingers between your thighs, making you gasp as he presses against your hole through your panties. He just grins, backs away, cockily lifts his chin, and leaves you standing there embarrassed.

Bully!Gojo who muffles your moans on his big hand while caging you with his body in the cramped closet at a college party.

He grinds his crotch against you, making you aware of the size difference between your bodies as his big, heavy cock divides your tiny pussy lips. "I know you need me, baby." he lowers his voice, cautious about getting caught with you in here, "Just say the word and I'll take you to heaven, I promise." he murmurs almost romantically, but before he can fully cast his spell over you, your classmate Nanami Kento draws back the closet door. "Wow. We're at a party, what's wrong with you two?" he scolds. Satoru chuckles guiltily while you just crumble in embarrassment, "Out, out! Stop fucking in my damn closet...!"

Bully!Gojo who loves it when you try to retaliate by spitting on his uniform. It gives him a brilliant idea for the next time you visit his dorm room for a class project.

"Spit on it. Make it sloppier. Good... now choke on me." he shoves your head down on his cock, big hand firmly holding the back of your hair. He makes you take as much of his meaty cock as your tiny mouth can handle. He groans and cums so hard after just a few shallow thrusts into your mouth. "Hey, don't let it fucking spill out, you whore. I want to see you swallowing every. fucking. drop." and damn, his cum is so thick and so much that you nearly choke on it. But that just makes his ego swell.

Bully!Gojo who stalks you like a cat in school, following you down corridors, cornering you in quiet classrooms, getting up in your face.

He doesn't let you breathe, he always closes the spaces and gaps between you and him. He'll be chewing you out for something, calling you a dumb slut while grazing his lips over yours. Arguments always lead to him growling "Shut up..." before slamming his lips onto yours. And when Satoru kisses you? He starts moaning real quick, something about you just makes him weak. Next thing you know, his fingertips are rising up your thighs and daring under your skirt, and your fingers are exploring under his shirt, feeling over his muscles.

Bully!Gojo who fingers you into ecstasy... in the middle of class.

He'll sit himself next to you, and you'll squirm uncomfortably under the scowls you receive from jealous girls. Thirty minutes into the lecture, you whisper-shout under your breath, "Satoru, you're embarrassing me!" and he murmurs back, "No, baby, you're embarrassing yourself with how fucking wet you are. Just listen to that pussy..." he goes harder, the sounds get louder and you can hardly think with how his fingers rub in and out of you. Satoru makes you orgasm on his fingers right there, grinning like a bastard at the feeling. You bet he taunts you afterwards, "I can't believe how slutty you are... you'd be a slutty girlfriend, huh?"

Bully!Gojo who has Suguru apologizing on his behalf all the time.

"I'm so sorry... I swear Satoru's not usually this much of a menace. He's just got a thing for you, haha..." it hurts his lil' heart to see you getting pushed around... sike. Lots of Gojo's gutsy plans originate from his nasty best friend. Satoru can only come up with the most basic shit; stealing your lunch, tickling your back, pinning you to the wall, bluffing how he'll "ruin your life". But Suguru? He's the one with the good ideas; dumping water on you from the balcony to see your cloths sticking to your body, persuading explicit pics out of you, and smirkingly staring at them with a wide-eyed Satoru... who thanks him.

Bully!Gojo who's got the most foul, nasty dirty talk.

"I'm gonna cum, don't stop!" you squeal in the backseat of his car, feeling him pound into you from the back. "Of course you are..." he humiliates you, pounding you harder and harder into your orgasm, "... tell me you're my little whore." he grunts. "I'm your whore!" you squeal, "Again..." he smiles sadistically, "I'm your whooore!" you reply weakly. He pulls you to his chest and grinds deeper inside, "Yeah that's right. You're just my little cock whore."

Bully!Gojo who gets off to you crying.

Tears streak your cheeks and your body shakes; trying to adjust to his size is impossible. He's always too deep, too thick, stretching you out and fucking up your guts like a pornstar. "Aw, can't take it? What a fucking crybaby." Satoru groans, slapping his hips into you back and forth like an animal. He hears you sniffling and moaning for more, "Keep crying; it's gonna make me cum so hard..."

Bully!Gojo who bets your pussy on a basketball game with Suguru and makes you sit and watch.

"Aw... princess, 'guess it's a draw. You don't mind if we share you, right? After all, sharing is caring. And we all care about each other, don't we?" Satoru smiles. They're sweaty and exhausted, but still have enough stamina in them to pound you. "Come on, show Suguru how sweet your holes feel."

Bully!Gojo and bully!Geto who literally bully their cocks into your pussy one after another, taking turns and telling you how good you feel and how good of a slut you are for them.

"Whose do you like better...?" Suguru asks, but you're too dumbed out, "I dunno! Both!" you squeal. He gives you a dangerous smile, "Aw... well, let's go another round and see." he says, making Satoru laugh, "Oh, I don't think she can handle another round. She's too weak."

Suguru just pushes your legs back, slides too deep inside, and coos, "You're right, Satoru. She takes cock like a bitch... we should train her into the perfect cockslut. Aw, look... she's smiling."

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[buckys-wintersoldier]

His innocent girl | Ari Levinson

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> DBF!Ari Levinson x Innocent!Virgin!Female!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> He can’t stand the desire you’re causing with your little outfits and the innocence you show him. Ari needs you — he needs to ruin you for every other man.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 5.349 (a lot smut, almost only smut)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI, smut, age gap (Reader in her early 20’s, Ari in his early 40’s), innocent!Reader, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, loosing of virginity, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, crying during sex, pussy slapping, belly bulge, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasm, degradation, praises, bit of dirty talk

𝐀/𝐍 -> The idea for the Oneshot is filled with @amathslutsguidetofandom and my dirty thoughts about Ari. So thank you so much. I also wanna thank my best friend @imtryingbuck for proofreading. I love you so much, thank youuuuu.❤️❤️

Masterlist | Ari Levinson Masterlist

The pink, fluffy bunny ears fit perfectly on top of your head, making your outfit look perfect. You're standing in front of the mirror with a pink little skirt, overknees, and a short pink top covering most of your body. You turn to the left, then to the right, letting the skirt slowly fly higher and revealing the sweet, white cotton panties you're wearing underneath. You're smirking at yourself and sliding your hand over your skirt before you turn around and open the door of your room.

When you do so, you hear the voices of your parents and another familiar voice. Deep but soft, and you already know who is sitting downstairs in the kitchen with a coffee in front of him and a big grin on his lips. Ari Levinson - your dad's best friend.

With a grin on your lips, you walk downstairs, slightly jumping up and down, when you enter the kitchen, where Steve — your dad — and Ari are sitting. Your father turns his head toward you, smiling when you walk closer and kissing his cheek softly.

"Good morning, daddy," you say in your sweetest voice.

"Morning, sweetheart."

Then you turn around to face Ari, and he smiles nicely at you. His blue eyes are glistening, and he licks his lips with his tongue. His hand is gripping the cup of coffee in front of him, and his knuckles are turning white. The little skirt that covers just a bit more than half your ass and the tight top, the pink you're always wearing — Ari can't stop his fantasies even though your outfit doesn't give much to his imagination. And the sweet, fluffy bunny ears you're wearing make him go crazy.

"Hello, Mr. Levinson," you say, smiling before you turn around to make yourself breakfast.

Ari needs to hide the groan that is creeping up his throat. You can't just look innocent and talk to him while you call him by his last name. He feels his pants tightening, his dick is pressing uncomfortable against the fabric, to the point he needs to lean back in the chair. It gets even worse when you bend down to reach for the cereals on the counter. Your skirt is sliding up and revealing your panties, Ari's eyes are focused on your ass and on your cunt, and he can't bring himself to look somewhere else. Luckily, Steve is sitting in front of him, so it looks like Ari is looking at him.

You're taking the cereal and the milk, and with a bowl your dad gave you already and make your way to sit next to Ari, putting everything into the bowl while you sing quietly. Steve tells Ari something about the barbecue later, but Ari's eyes are focused on you. He looks at you while you eat your cereal and sing quietly.

"I need to go shopping for that. Do you wanna come with me, sweetheart?" Your dad asks, but you shake your head.

"I have to do a speech for uni," you say with a nice smile.

Ari licks his lips once again. He told your dad to prepare everything while he goes shopping and to know you're there with him. He feels his dick twitch in his pants; he wants to bend you over the table right now, ruining your innocence. He wants to hear those sweet moans leaving your lips when he slides his dick in and out of you.

When your dad goes shopping, you're alone with Ari. He smirks at you, running his fingers through his long-brown hair and looking at the counter for everything you need for the barbecue. You're looking at Ari, your arms resting on the table while you have your hands under your chin. Your legs are swining forward and backward.

"Do you want to help me, babygirl?" Ari asks.

"Yes, Mr. Levinson."

Ari feels his dick hardening once again while you're walking around the kitchen island. Ari is tall; he has high-defined muscles, and you need to look up to look into his face. He smirks when he points to the bowls he needs from another counter. You nod and give them to him, then you turn around once again and bend over to look for some sweets you want to offer him. Your dad loves them; you love them, so maybe Ari loves them as well?

When you bend over, Ari's eyes are immediately focused on your ass once again. He groans softly, and when you grab the sweets and turn back, you see the way his ocean-blue eyes darken. You're not sure why he groaned, but Ari just bits his lips and looks your body up and down, then back into your eyes. His hand reaches out for you, grasping your waist and pulling you close against him.

"A sweet little pink diamont plug would fit perfectly into your pretty little ass."

"A- A pl- What?" You ask, and you narrow your eybrows.

Ari closes his eyes, swallowing the low groan. How can someone so sweet be so innocent at the same time? His grip tightens, and he slides his other hand along your side until his hand is placed on your ass.

“A plug, baby. Making you feel good here,” he says, slapping softly with his palm on your ass.

You gasp, looking up at him with a confused expression. Ari slips his hand underneath your skirt, caressing the soft skin of your ass. You whimper. Ari leans closer, kissing your nose and your forehead softly, while he slides his other hand to your ass cheeks as well. He then grabs them, pulling them apart and groaning when you press yourself more against him.

“Mr. L— Levinson, what are you doing?” You ask.

Your eyes are widening, and Ari can’t stop himself from groaning once again. His dick is leaking and pressing against his pants. You’re feeling something against your lower stomach; it’s big, and you wonder if he has his keys in his pants.

“Do— Do you have your keys in your pocket?”

“No,” Ari says, chuckling about your innocence. “That’s my dick. Feeling how hard it is just for you?”

You shake your head. Why should his cock grow because of you? You didn’t do anything, so why should there be something he is getting hard from? He leans down closer to your lips, and you can feel his hot breath on your lips. You close your eyes instinctively, and Ari chuckles. You whimper when he doesn’t break the distance between your lips. When you close your eyes to look into his steel blue ones, he just grins at you.

“Please, Mr. Levi—“

“Call me daddy, can you do this?”

You nod, confused about why he wants you to call him like you call your daddy but you don’t mind. You just want him to kiss you like you have always seen it in those romantic movies.

“And what do you want, babygirl?”

“C— Can you kiss me?”

He smirks, leaning in and capturing your lips with his. It’s a short but sweet kiss, and your knees are suddenly weak, and you feel a tingling feeling in your stomach. One that slides down between your legs and causes you to press your thighs together.

“You’re oke, baby?”

“It’s tingling,” you mumble, blushing.

“What’s tingling. Tell Daddy, where is it tingling?”

Ari knows what you mean, but he wants to hear it from you. He wants to hear that innocent, sweet girl say that she is dripping her panties because of the big, broad men in front of him.

“Down there,” you say quietly, and turn your head away.

He lets go of your ass with one of his hands and grips your chin, making you look up at him again. His blue eyes piercing in yours, he smirks, while his thumb slides over your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth. You take it and twirl your tongue around his thumb, causing more tingles in your stomach. Ari removes his thumb with a plop and licks his lips.

“Do you need help with that tingling feeling in your belly?”

You nod, your eyes pleading. Ari grabs you by your waist and lifts you up, placing you on the surface of the counter. His hands slide up and down your thighs, closer to your pussy and he pushes your skirt up, revealing your wet panties. Ari groans, getting on his knees and pushing his head between your legs. He inhales deeply when his nose touches your covered pussy. You shiver slightly, moaning about the sudden feeling of him between your legs. Ari brings his hand to shove your pants away, and a low chuckle leaves his lips when he sees your dripping cunt.

“You’re so wet for me,” he says, kissing your pussy.

You moan softly. His tongue glides through your folds, and you can’t help but grip his long hair, tugging at it. You’re not sure if you want him to continue or stop; it’s a new sensation and feels good and weird at the same time.

“D— Daddy, what are you doing?”

Ari lets go of your pussy for a moment; this innocence of yours makes him so fucking desperate that he just wants to bend you over the counter and fuck you. He knows he would ruin you for everyone else.

“I have a taste of your pretty little cunt, babygirl.”

He lowers his head between your legs once again, lapping at your pussy, making you moan and arch your back in pleasure. Ari’s beard is scratching your thighs and clit slightly, masking the feeling even more intensely. A feeling you never had before grows in your stomach, and you worry for a moment since it feels like you really need to pee. But Ari’s grip on your thighs is so strong that you can’t move away to get down the counter and go to pee.

“Daddy—“ you moan, your eyes watering.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?”

“I— I need to pee.”

Ari looks confused for a moment, removing his tongue from in between your folds. Instead, he shoves his chunky fingers along your folds, circling your entrance before he pushes a finger into your tight entrance.

“Don’t worry, baby. You don’t need to pee; let go for me. Can you do it?”

You nod, and Ari pumps his finger inside of you. He hits your sweet spot, still tasting you on his tongue and lips. Your moan shamelessly, his finger moving slowly inside of your tight pussy, and he can’t help but imagine his cock in your pussy.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

“Nu—uh.”

Ari almost comes in his pants when you tell him that you never touched yourself. You’re so fucking tight that he just wants to burry his huge dick into you, splitting you open. He pushes his finger deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot and making you almost scream. Ari smirked, feeling you clench around him. He speeds up slightly, pushing another of his thick fingers into your pussy.

“Daddy, feeling that tingle so much.”

“Let go; come for Daddy.”

And you do. You arch your back and come all over his fingers, creaming them in your slick while he fucks you with his fingers through your high. Your pussy is squeezing him violently, sucking him deeper into you.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he praises.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt, making you whimper about the sudden emptiness. Your legs are shaking, and your breath is heavy while you look at Ari. He brings his fingers to his lips and takes them into his mouth, sucking them clean while he groans about your sweet taste. You look at him, whimpering softly about the feeling growing between your legs. Something like desire, where you need Ari to take care of your cunt.

“Daddy, that tingling—“

“Shhh— Daddy’s gonna take care of his pussy.”

You nod, pouting slightly, and Ari chuckles. He gets off the floor and leans closer, capturing your cheeks with his big hands and pressing his lips softly on yours. His tongue glides over your lips; you part them slightly, and Ari pushes his tongue into your mouth. His hands slide along your body, removing your panties. Then he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants before he slides them down, revealing his boxers with the outline of his fat, hard cock and a little spot where his tip is pressed against the fabric already wet from his pre-cum.

“Wanna see daddy’s fat cock, little girl?”

“I—“

Ari doesn’t give you much time to answer; he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and shoves them down his thick thighs. He would love to take off all your clothes, would worship every bit of your body, and kiss every inch of your skin, but he is so desperate to feel you. And the outfit turns him on beyond belief. You look at his weeping cock, which just springs free; the tip is red, and you see the veins running along it. He sees the struggle in your eyes. What should you do know? Touch it, or let himself touch it?

“You can touch it; just be careful,” he says, holding out his hand to place yours into his.

When your small hand is placed in his big one, he walks a step closer, letting his fingers slide over the soft skin of his cock. You follow every movement of your fingers with your eyes, furrowing softly while you’re concentrated on the way his tip feels. When you swipe your thumb over the slit, Ari pushes his hips forward and groans.

“Do— Does it feel good?” You ask innocently and look into his eyes.

He nods, smirking when your smile grows. You wrap your fingers around his huge length, pumping his cock slowly into your hand. Ari throws his head back, thrusting it into your hand. When you see the way he reacts to your touches, you use your other hand and take his balls into it, grinning when he groans and hums in response.

When Ari feels the pleasure in his belly growing, he takes a step back and pushes you by your shoulders down. You whimper, and when his cock taps your pussy, he is smearing his pre-cum all over your pussy. You’re wiggling your ass, earning a slap on your thigh. Tears build up in the corner of your eyes, and Ari captures your cheeks with his hands, kissing you softly.

He then takes his cock into his hand, giving himself a few strokes and slapping the tip against your pussy. You moan softly, and he does it again. Then he pushes his dick between your folds, still not entering you. With his thumb, he holds his dick in between your wet folds while he thrusts slowly forward. Your eyes are almost closed when his cock always hits your clit whenever he pushes forward. Your lips are slightly parted, and you whimper, gripping the surface of the counter to steady yourself. Ari grinds against you over and over again until you’re a moaning mess underneath him. Sweat is covering your forehead, and your hair is messy, but for Ari, you’re beautiful as always. You mumble his name and ‘daddy’ over and over again.

So cock drunk, and he hasn’t even pushed in yet. Ari loves the way you’re whimpering for more, pushing yourself against him even though you’re such an innocent little girl. Not really knowing what you're asking him for — for a fat cock that will ruin her tiny pussy for everyone else — just the thought makes Ari come almost immediately.

“Do you want Daddy to make you feel good? Are you daddy’s little slut?” He asks, and you nod, slightly confused about him making you feel good and calling you a slut.

You don’t even know what the word means, but when he uses it, it’s probably nothing bad, right? So you just nod, and Ari smirks, still thrusting his dick through your folds and hitting your clit. Your moans grow louder, your back arches, and your legs are shaking when the feeling in your pussy appears once again.

“D—Daddy, so tingling down there.”

“‘S oke, come for me; make a mess,” he says, smirking when you throw your head back.

Your walls are clenching, and your whines are needier when you come a second time. Ari still moves his dick in between your folds, pressing his tip against your clit, causing you to inhale deeply and push your hips up to get more of his cock.

“Such a slut, trying to get my cock, huh?”

Your legs are shaking, and your chest raises and falls while you slowly clam down from your orgasm. Ari didn’t come yet, and you wonder why he didn’t; maybe he doesn’t feel as tingly as you do?

“Daddy?”

“Mhm?”

“Don’t you feel tingly?” You ask, pouting slightly.

“I do. But my cock needs to be warm and wet, babygirl,” he explains with a grin.

Ari’s hand is still holding his cock in between your folds, slapping it a few times on your pussy before he moves himself further down to your tight entrance. Even when it’s an odd feeling, it gives you at the same time pleasure when his dick touches your entrance. Ari tries to push the tip of his cock into your pussy, but it doesn’t really work, and he immediately slips out of there.

“Aww, babygirl. Don’t you wanna have Daddy inside of you?” He asks, amused.

“I want, Daddy,” you whimper, feeling the tears falling down your cheeks.

“Shh— it’s fine. I will make it fit, baby,” he coos, caressing your cheek.

Ari tries again, pushing his cock slowly into your tight entrance. You grip his muscular arms, digging your nails into his skin while he stretches your entrance with his dick. You squirm, trying to escape the slight pain he causes in your pussy. Ari’s just pushing a tiny bit into you before he pauses, your walls already clenching around him, squeezing his cock.

“Do you know that you make me go crazy with that little outfit? Or with all your outfits, showing almost your ass,” Ari says and smirks when you blush about his comments.

“I— It’s so big, Daddy,” you mumble, digging your fingers even more into his arm.

Ari smirks, leaning closer to capture your lips with his, soft and warm. When he leans closer, his dick slides deeper into your tight hole. You bite into his lip, causing him to chuckle. When he leans back, your eyes are almost closed. You moan, arching your back, and he pushes his tip completely into you. Ari groans about the sudden tightness around his cock; you’re squeezing him, and Ari just wants to push deeper into you, getting more of your warm, tight pussy.

“Breathe deeply, oke?”

You do, inhaling deeply, but it gets interrupted when you suddenly scream in pain. Tears are building in the corner of your eyes, and they roll down your cheeks. Your eyes are red, watering even more when Ari doesn’t stop from pushing inside of you.

“Pl— Please, stop. M—My belly,” you whine, trying to get away from him while you’re still holding his arms.

“Sh— It’s oke, it feels better when I’m inside of you,” Ari mumbles, smirking when you nod.

He didn’t know that your tears would make his cock twitch, but they do. You’re pretty when you cry because of his cock. When it’s because of him splitting you in half with his fat dick, turning you into his own little sex toy. He knows he shouldn’t ruin you for another man, but he just can’t hold back when you’re underneath him with that cute outfit, the bunny eyes on your head, and the tears all over your cheeks while you take his cock like a good girl. And when he is the only one who fucks you, when he is the one who loves you, then he doesn’t ruin you for others because you’re his — and only his.

Ari is just a bit deeper inside of you than he was before, with most of his cock still outside of your cunt. He wipes the tears on your cheeks away, kissing the tip of your nose, and continues to push into you. He is stretching you open in a way you never thought it could be possible to stretch something. Ari is huge; you feel the vein of his cock inside of you, and even though it burns, it kinda feels great.

“Doing so well for Daddy. Daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod; the pain gets worse once he pushes himself faster into you. He just can’t and doesn’t want to wait to be completely in the warm wetness of your pussy. Ari needs you to be inside your pussy, to clench around his cock, and to see more of those pretty tears of yours while he fucks you senseless. He wants to hear you screaming when you come all over his dick, making a mess and squeezing him even tighter.

“D—daddy,” you squeal when he grips your waist harshly to guide his dick better into you.

Ari laughs, pulling you closer against him and shoving his cock deeper. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you squeeze your eyes shut while he rams his dick in your pussy. He is rough this time, not giving you time to adjust to his length. Ari needs all of his control to not come immediately; you fit so perfectly around him, sucking him in, and the warmth that surrounds his cock makes him go crazy. He digs his fingers into your soft skin, bringing his cock completely into your tight hole. You squirm, clenching hard around him, while he splits you open. You pussy burns, and you feel like your tight cunt just can’t get used to his fat cock.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just couldn’t hold back any longer. Shhhh— breathe; you’re doing so well. Taking Daddy’s cock like a good girl. You’re so pretty when you cry on my cock; you’re so pretty, baby,” he coos, leaning closer to kiss the tears away.

Even when you’re still crying, he kisses them away, making sure you’re feeling better with his dick inside of you. He knows he should pull out, give you time to adjust slowly, and work you open with his fingers, but he was holding back for so long, and he just wants to feel the warmth around his cock. The clenching feeling of you and the tears that cover your cheeks because he is just too fat for your baby cunt to take him.

“Daddy, I— I can feel you so deep in my belly,” you whimper.

“Yes. See that?” Ari asks, pulling your shirt up and revealing your soft belly with the bugle of his dick. “That’s my cock.”

You whimper, sliding your head down to where his cock is visible. You slide your fingers over it and make him smile even wider. He adores the way you’re looking so innocent and now with his cock inside of you, seeing him poking in your belly and touching the bulge he is causing with his cock. Ari slowly pulls out of you, making you hiss about the sudden feeling. You whimper when you feel every inch of his cock moving inside of you.

“Nuuu—Daddy, please stay there.”

"Aww, do you need my cock inside of you? Pretty little slut for me,” he says, smirking when you nod eagerly.

He pushes back inside of you, and you immediately sigh in relief. His dick stretches you painfully, but when he pulls out, you feel so empty, and when he just stays like that, the pain slowly fades away. Ari just pushes slightly forward and backward, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“Don’t! Daddy!”

“Oh— baby, not like that; be nice,” he says, bringing his hand to your pussy and slapping softly on it.

You gasp, your eyes watering, and Ari does it again, causing more tears in your eyes. He then presses his thumb against your clit, circling it softly. You wiggle underneath him, and his dick slides deeper into you until he is balls deep inside your pussy. You squeeze him even more, and when he rubs circles on your clit, the feeling you had earlier appears once again in your stomach.

“Daddy— tingling.”

“It’s oke, come for daddy; come all around his fat cock, little slut.”

And you do, your walls clenching violently around his dick. You’re moaning loudly, throwing your head back and pushing your hips more against him, and his fingers continue to circle your clit. Ari starts thrusting into you slowly and only a bit, but you feel every tiny movement of his cock and every vein along his shaft. His eyes are piercing in yours while he fucks you through your high.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking good, pretty girl.”

Ari throws his head back when you look through your lashes at him. Your eyes are still filled with tears, but the desire in his eyes makes him thrust into you. You’re sucking him in every time he pulls out of you. When another sharp pain suddenly appears in your skin, you look at the place where the two of you are connected. He slaps your pussy slightly, but enough to cause a sharp pain in your overstimulated pussy. Ari moves his hips at a steady but faster pace against yours. His balls are slapping against your ass whenever he thrusts forward. Your arousal is covering his dick; the sound when he pushes back into you makes him feral, and his thrusts are harder. The juice that is dripping out of you lands in his balls. They are heavy, and it gets even worse when he thinks about the way he is pushing his seeds into you.

“Feels so good—“

“Yeah? Are you daddy’s little slut?”

You nod, pushing yourself against him when he tries to pull out of you. Ari chuckles, slapping on your pussy once again, causing you to squeal and look at him with widening eyes.

“D— Faster, please.”

Ari groans, but obeys. He is thrusting his dick faster into your tight cunt, making you cry on his cock even more. Your pussy slightly hurts, but the feeling of his cock inside of you feels just too good.

“You’re such a little desperate slut, so cock drunk, aren’t you, baby? Asking your dad’s best friend to fuck you like a little fuck toy.”

You whimper, and Ari smirks, fucking harder into you, getting more of those sweet moans from you. Ari feels his dick twitch, your walls clenching and making it almost impossible for him to move inside of you. He circles your clit with his thumb once again, making your eyes shut up, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“D— Please, I need to come,” you shout, your hands gripping his arm.

Your nails dig into his skin, and you’re feeling his grip on your waist tighten while he fucks you closer to your orgasm. Ari isn’t far behind you; you feel just so perfect around his dick.

“It’s so sensitive, daddy,” you whimper.

He grins, pushing his thumb further down on your clit. Making you gasp and making eye contact with him.

“My pretty little slut. See, I’ve ruined you for every other man. You’re mine, aren’t you? Tell me you’re mine, and you can come.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Daddy.”

He speeds his thrusts up, pushing harder into you. Ari loves to hear the soft whimpers and moans slipping over your lips while he fucks you like his little slut — the little slut you are for him. His dick is pulsing, and he is moaning low when you clench more than before. Your legs are shaking, your bodies are covered in sweat, and his breath is just as heavy as yours. You’re just about to come, and Ari knows. He rubs his fingers over your clit, your eyes widen, and you come. Squirting all over his dick and making a mess. Ari laughs, looking at your juices all over his dick and lower belly. He just comes a moment after you, pushing his cum deep into your tight hole and painting your walls with it.

“So— so sensitive, Daddy,” you mumble, letting your head fall down on the surface of the kitchen counter.

Ari pushes his dick slower into you, riding both of your orgasms out while you try to catch your breath. His hand slides from your clit to your sides, caressing your soft skin while his dick softens inside of you.

“You’re doing so well. Squirting all over me. You’re all mine,” he says, leaning closer to kiss your lips. “But that’s our little secret, baby. I love you, my pretty girl.”

“I— I love you too, daddy.”

Ari smiles; he helps you sit up and slips his cock out of you. You whimper about the emptiness inside your pussy. He then looks at your pulsing pussy, admiring the way your cum is dripping out of your cunt. He pulls you closer and grasps your tights to pick you up. He carries you upstairs to the bathroom, placing you on the toilet.

“You need to pee,” he says, turning around and walking out of the room.

He closes the door behind him and lets you pee. After you finish, you open the door quietly and look at the broad man who is standing with some new clothes for you in front of the door.

“Take a seat, and I will clean you, oke?”

You nod, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and look at Ari, who gets on his knees in front of you. He has a wet washcloth in his hand and spreads your legs, cleaning your thighs. Ari moves his hand higher to your pussy, cleaning your folds and wiping your mixed juices from your pussy. You whimper, your cunt still sensitive from his dick inside of you.

“Daddy’s so empty down there.”

“It’s oke. Let’s just dress you, and then Daddy needs to clean himself. But I will put my dick into your baby cunt next time your daddy isn’t home,” he says, kissing the pout away from your lips.

After cleaning the two of you, you changed your outfit, still wearing similar clothes and the cute bunny ears on top of your head. Ari was grabbing your ass when you walked past him out of the bathroom, smirking when you squirmed in surprise.

Now you’re sitting on the kitchen counter while Ari stands between your legs, kissing your lips softly. His hands are on your waist, and his finger is digging into your soft skin.

“All mine, my little girl, my pretty girl,” he says, smirking when you blush softly. “Now let’s get the barbecue ready; otherwise, Steve is going to ask what we did the whole time.”

You giggle, grasping his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him again. Ari chuckles, then he pulls away and gets the barbecue ready.

“You’re so beautiful, my pretty girl,” Ari tells you.

When he walks through the kitchen and reaches you, he kisses you softly while his hand trails along your thigh.

“I’m home!” Steve shouts and walks toward the two of you.

You smile at him, your cheeks red, and Ari smirks widely, but Steve doesn’t say anything. It’s pretty warm in there, so he doesn’t even recognize what’s happened between you and Ari. You had sex together, and he took your virginity and claimed you and your pussy as his. And even better, Ari loves you; he really fell for you.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your ear while he walks outside with your dad.

“I love you too, Ari,” you say, jumping off the counter.

Ari’s grin gets wider when his name slips past your lips. He is a lucky man to have such a pretty girl like you by his side.

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @cevansbaby-dove @patzammit @bigtreefest @hawkeyes-queen

[suguann]

SAY YOU'RE MINE—GOJO SATORU.

✎.You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. | wc. 1.4k+

tags. fem!reader, age-gap, very shy reader, exhibitionism, reader wears glasses, a/b/o, 18+ only

masterlist

The big, awful truth nobody tells you about hosting your fortieth birthday is how the shine of the day wears off once you see your friends and acquaintances laughing with their loved ones, talking about their kids, showing off pictures of newborns swaddled in soft linens, and making plans for upcoming holidays. 

Gojo sips his drink, pretending to understand. He’s never given much thought to settling down, to take an omega as a mate and fill his big empty house with the sounds of pealing laughter and little feet racing down the many halls.

Forty years old, and he’s ready to admit that living the life of a bachelor doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. That returning from a two-week-long business trip might be better if there were somebody to go home to.

Forty years old.

Instead of cozying up in the living room with a family he longs to have, he’s going to spend the rest of his night picking up plates and champagne flutes after everyone leaves because he forgot to hire a cleaning company—all alone in his big empty house, wondering if his secretary remembered to pick up his dry-cleaning for the week.

An unmated Alpha—the reminder chafes as much as the fact he’s getting older.

He finally understands why his late aunt divorced and got married again twice in the same year, why people buy nice vacation homes on white sandy beaches that make the crow’s feet around their eyes worse, and spend too much money on sports cars even though they stay parked for three-fourths of the year. He gets it now.

It’s more or less an epiphany of a sad, pathetic truth that he swallows down with something cold and bitter.

In the middle of his backyard, standing between his neighbor and his pregnant wife, Gojo wishes he were anywhere else. Inviting everyone he knows within driving distance no longer seems like the well-thought idea he’d presumed it’d been.

He makes a few more rounds around the garden before sneaking inside, escaping another conversation about engagements and wedding dates to hide away in his study.

That’s until he sees you out of the corner of his eye, looking through the bookcases in his living room.

A pretty slip of a girl in your modest cocktail dress and wide-framed glasses slipping down the slope of your nose. An Omega, alone, just like him; your clean, sweet, floral scent sticking to the back of his throat like syrup until it settles in his stomach. Enough to make him dizzy.

You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. Not that it really matters because his back straightens, no longer wallowing in self-pity, and he studies you with interest.

After a few moments, you finally glance his way, only for you to hastily return your attention to the book you pulled down from the shelf. Cute.

Gojo adjusts the tie around his neck and feels his lips twitch.

“Sorry,” you say softly, long lashes fluttering against the top of your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—I was only—My friend invited me, and she—”

You are too busy working yourself up over an explanation that you don’t notice when he sidles up next to you and reads over your shoulder. "I have more in my office if you want to take a look.”

“E-excuse me?” You make this breathy, choked sound and peer up at him from under your lashes. This visibly timid type of girl who bashfully looks away at the sight of his smile. For some reason, that makes his mouth go dry—makes his teeth ache. 

It’s rare to be so driven by instinct and rarer to actually listen to that instinct.

“Books,” he says. “Do you want to see them?”

His words take a second to sink in, and he smiles when he sees liquid clarity in your eyes. You blink owlishly, scent spiking, pleased. He stands there patiently, finding how you start rambling endearing, a slight, private grin splitting across his face—silently amused.

He thinks you'd bolt if it weren’t for the fact that he’s probably standing much too close, trapping a mouse by the tail.

“I–I g-guess,” you finally stutter.

It’s too easy: You letting him usher you up the stairs toward his office. 

If Gojo were a better person, a less lonely Alpha—a better man—he might feel bad for how well it works.

It’s no small thing to work the tiny zipper at your back and watch your dress pool around your feet. He barely gets the top three buttons of his shirt undone before you are—delightfully, inexplicably—up on the tips of your toes, timidly pushing your hands through his hair, mewling into the hollow of his throat, close to where his gland sits.

By the time he has you pressed against his office window, you’re this flustered little mess with crooked glasses, fingers streaking the once pristine glass to keep your balance, and breasts sticky and wet with spit.

“Good girl,” he mutters, pulling back to look down at where he’s splitting you open. “Such a good little Omega for me, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, and he crowds you closer to the window, grasping your chin and tugging your head up until you’re looking at him upside down. He squeezes your cheeks together, your pouty, supple lips pushed out, and kisses your mouth, tasting you—unimaginably sweet.

“Tell me—tell me what a good girl you are,” even though he knows you can’t with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but you try anyway.

“U-uh but—people c-can see.” 

The base of his cock tingles as he catches a line of drool spilling from the corner of your lips. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, soothing, and you steadily melt against him when he slips that same finger underneath the elastic of your underwear, lightly nudging your clit with the tip of his finger until you’re shivering beautifully again.

“That’s it. Don’t worry about them,” he coaxes lightly, but it comes out muffled because he says it with his mouth wrapped around the gland at the base of your neck, teasing himself with something he’s never allowed himself to have. Not yet. “Just you and me, okay?”

Gojo doesn’t let up until your back arches and shoulders tighten, his knot caught inside your cunt until all he can do is grind the tip of his cock against that spot that makes you squirm and whine. 

He smiles to himself when you hide behind your hands after realizing you ruined his pants, and he carefully falls back into his office chair, pulling you with him so you’re both looking out across the garden, where his guests walk around wholly unaware of the breathtaking little Omega who made his birthday worthwhile.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he muses, taking great pleasure in the way you start stuttering again.

On his forty-first birthday, he doesn’t throw his own party but still hides in his office, his pretty wife in his lap, flustered because he never turned the lights off this time. If anyone happened to walk by on this side of the house, they’d be able to see everything—his omega, soft and swollen from a piece of him taking root inside you.

Families are about making traditions, he thinks, and he’d like to start a few traditions of his own; leaving his party to fuck his wife in the quiet of his office being one of them.

[katiexpunk]

Fuck Me, Fill Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~4K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. You spent years successfully avoiding one. Except things are different now, you're ready for more. Your husband Joel is more than happy to oblige.

Warnings: Joel has one mission in this one -- knock you the fuck up (if that's not your thing, kindly move on). Heavy on the breeding kink. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). So much dirty talk. Fingering. Dry humping/grinding. Praise kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V. Rough sex. Semi-public sex. Sex in front of a mirror. Multiple creampies. No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I have no excuses for this one except that I have Joel brain rot and baby fever. Shoutout to the Capital One Lounge at IAD for the idea. Written on a plane.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. 

It’s inevitable, really. A known fact of life. Call it Murphy’s law, bad luck, or just plain stupidity… 

You’ve spent the majority of your teens and 20s successfully avoiding an accident. 

If it can happen, it will happen your superstitious aunt used to say, and you were a believer. 

Lord knows you've had more than enough evidence in your life to back up her words. From the tummy ache after eating way too many cherries, to the conspicuous brown stain that ruined your pristine white blouse. A blister on your heel from shoes that were supposed to be 'broken in' but never quite were, and the painful crack in your skin that followed. Proof was everywhere, and you learned to expect the unexpected.

You hold tight to that belief, while Joel does the same to your hips, fucking you within an inch of your life in the airport lounge bathroom.

But how you both ended up in this position was no accident. 

++++

It never seemed like the right time—you had so much more to explore, achieve, and experience. Becoming a mother would complicate everything; at least, that's what you convinced yourself. You were content to rely on that little orange pill each day, despite its own set of side effects, because it kept your options open. 

You weren't sure you'd make a good mom anyway. Your own mother certainly wasn't a shining example, and you had no reason to think you'd be any different. You couldn't even keep a cactus alive—how could you possibly care for a child?

But something changed not long after you and Joel got married. Maybe it was maturity slowly finding its way in, like warm honey filling the spaces you once closed off. It softened you to the idea of chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, gentle coos, and quiet lullabies sung in the deep southern drawl that had become so familiar.

Initially, you weren't sure how Joel would take the news, but when you told him you'd reconsidered, his reaction was beyond anything you'd expected. He was over the moon, filled with an urgency you'd never seen in him before. It was like you'd handed him the key to his deepest desires, and he was eager, almost desperate, to turn it and bring new life into your world, yours and his.

He made it clear just how eager he was when he took you in his arms and twirled you around the kitchen in joy. Then, without missing a beat, he bent you over the counter, yanked down your jeans, and made his intentions unmistakably clear. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you that night that you felt the warm dribble of him the next morning. 

++++ 

Good things come to those who wait.

The words seem almost lifeless as they peer back at you, the paper they're printed on showing signs of age and Scotch tape keeping it glued to the break room wall above the microwave. The optimism they once held has faded, leaving behind nothing but cynicism and wear.

Yeah. Right. 

The shrill beep of the microwave snaps you back to the present, your shoulders tensing. You shake off your irritation, clutching the warm coffee that’s been reheated three times, its heat barely reaching the chill of your underlying pessimism. It’s a small comfort, but enough to soften the ache of disappointment that nags at you every month when hope fizzles out.

Back at your desk, you bury yourself in work, flipping through emails and juggling various applications. Headphones in, you’re almost lost in your own world when a notification on your phone pulls you back. It's your cycle tracking app, reminding you that you're due to ovulate in a couple of days. But wait—

No, no, no. You quickly count the days in your head, then scramble to open your work calendar. The schedule's a blur until your eyes land on the words "Work Trip: Jackson, Wyoming." They jump off the screen, almost mocking you. Looks like timing won't be on your side this month. Unless —

Would it be too ridiculous to change an entire work trip just so you could make love to your ridiculously hot husband, and let him fill you again and again? You think not, but you know your boss might say otherwise. 

You spend the rest of your workday figuring out Plan B. The irony is not lost on you that you’re seeking out an entirely different kind than you used to. 

++++

As you settle into the couch, your legs draped across his lap, he begins to massage the soles of your feet in that soothing way that sends a ripple of warmth up your spine. You can't help but glance at his side profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the chiseled cut of his jaw, and the effortless curls of his salt-and-pepper hair that rest at the nape of his neck. He's undeniably handsome, a sight that never gets old.

His touch spreads a slow heat across your skin, your stomach fluttering in response. It's always been this way—the world could be crumbling outside, but with Joel, in your shared cocoon, you feel entirely at ease, wrapped in safety and affection.

“You're really gorgeous, you know,” you murmur, almost too quietly to be heard. You swirl the wine in your glass and meet his gaze as you take a sip.

“Nah, that's you, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, his touch transitioning to featherlight kitten caresses as his fingers trace a path up your shin. He's not trying to seduce you, not really,  but his touch and the intent gaze he holds on you are enough to ignite a slow burn under your skin.

You relax into the cushions, your head sinking back into the pillow, reveling in this moment. When he pauses, even for a second, you squirm, and he chuckles softly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't cha?” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he resumes his gentle strokes. “Mhm, sure am,” you hum, your eyes closing as you melt into the sensation of his skin on yours.

He slowly journeys upward, callused palms gliding along the smooth skin of your thigh, alternating between soft strokes and firm squeezes. Each touch seems to awaken a deeper need within you, and you're all too aware of the growing bulge beneath your calves, a silent but potent reminder of the desire simmering between you. It's enough to make you ache for him, crave his closeness, the kind of closeness only he can provide.

You lift your head, and he's already adjusting, his broad frame looming over you. He locks eyes with you as he takes the wineglass from your hand, placing it on the coffee table with care, then shifts his full attention back to you. You push your hips upward, meeting his, and he presses down just enough to make it clear that he’s in control, his body holding you firmly but without discomfort. You know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt—this is happening. He props himself up on one forearm, his other hand tangling through your hair, his knuckles brushing against your cheek with a tender touch. He thrusts his hips into you with more urgency, his lips descending to capture yours, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you.

“Fuck sweetheart, feel what you do to me?” he groans, pressing his lips harder against yours. He tastes the wine on you, and your tongues intertwine, each movement slow but deliberate. You work your arms free from your sides and slide your hands into his hair, tugging gently, your nails grazing his scalp. The deep groan that escapes him tells you he's feeling everything—the pull, the scrape, the heat. It rumbles from his chest, reverberating through you, and it's intoxicating.

With your lips pressed firmly to his, he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a teasing bite as he thrusts against you. The rough denim scrapes against your inner thighs, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs. His mouth leaves yours, tracing a path of soft kisses down your jawline, lingering at that sensitive spot just behind your ear before he pulls the lobe into his mouth. You moan, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand explores the broad expanse of his back, craving the feel of him, unable to get enough.

“Joel,” you whimper, his name almost a question on your lips. 

He doesn't pause, thrusting with just the right pressure, almost ignoring your plea. You move your lips to his shoulder and whisper, “I’m ovulating.”

That makes him stop. He props himself up on one forearm, his free hand on your ribs, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes darken, pupils eclipsing the rich brown you know so well, and he groans deeply. Fuck. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Mmm, big mistake telling me that, now I’m just going to pump you full of my cum all night, gonna fuck you again and again, keep you so full of me that it’ll have no choice but to stick this time.” 

You whimper at the thought, and his words go straight to your already wet core, your pussy fluttering around nothing, practically begging to be filled. 

You want him so bad, but right now, he wants you more — wants every part of you, wants to change you forever. His head dips back to your neck, and he's practically grinding into you, the pressure so intense it feels like he's already fucking you through your clothes. His beard rasps against your cheek, leaving a trail of red marks as he works his way down to your chest, hastily undoing buttons, uncovering your breasts, and teasing your nipples to hard, eager peaks.

It would almost be embarrassing how turned on you are right now if it were anyone but him, how easily he can fluster you, turn you into a babbling mess. 

“Well, not right now, but I am next —” you start to say, but quickly lose your train of thought as his whole hand comes down to cup your sex and the feel of his palm pressing against your dripping center. 

“Sorry darlin’, what was that?” He asks, doing little to hide the smug tone behind his voice, obviously pleased with the effect he has on you.

“I am next week, while I’m supposed to be in Jackson for work,” you manage to get out, the words coming out soft, a barely there thought, your attention mostly on the sensation of his thick finger that has now curled its way deep inside of you, your panties pushed to the side as they should never have been there in the first place, not with him in the room. 

“Come with me,” you ask, your words a tad breathless as he adds another finger to your dripping center, your slick coating them completely, and when he doesn’t answer, you’re not sure he heard you behind the haze of his arousal, the blood thrumming through his veins. Not that you can blame him, it’s so hard to fucking think, to breathe, to string together a rational thought that isn’t dirty when you’re together like this. 

“Gotta feel this pussy first,” he rasps, the words slightly muffled against the tenderness of your breast. His words sober you for a brief second, as you playfully push against him in protest. 

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," you laugh, and he can't suppress the goofy grin spreading across his face. He loves this—the playful banter, the way you bring out his lighter side, the perfect blend of passion and humor that flows between you. It's always been like this, effortlessly flirty, endlessly fun. You’re the perfect combination of sexy and cute, and better yet, you’re all his. 

“Alright baby, I’ll come with you, on one condition,” he says, adding a third finger, and the stench of him is intoxicatingly delicious, perfect, and intense in the best way. You already feel so fucked out, you’re not sure how he’s managing to find the will to set fucking conditions right now, but still, you humor him — 

“Conditions, huh?” You moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingers grazing at the soft spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, conditions,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and come all over my fingers, and then I’ll make sure that you’re full of me all week, whenever you want it baby, I’m all yours,” he rasps, his breath coming a bit more ragged now at the thought of your proposition and his. 

His fingers are still deep inside of you, he positions his wrist just right and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit. Your slick, combined with his filthy fucking mouth, and his thick cock pressed against you, creates the perfect conditions for the inevitable. He’s never not made you come, and you sure as hell know he’s not about to change that narrative now. 

If it can happen, it will happen. 

“Come on pretty girl, show me how pretty you come on your husband’s fingers,” he says, not really asking, but rather ordering in the tone that lights every nerve in your body on fire with arousal. 

The warmth in your lower belly spreads outward, wrapping you in a blanket of pleasure. Your limbs tingle, your vision blurs, and your toes curl as the intensity builds. For a split second, everything goes hazy, and you let go, surrendering to him completely. He takes control, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy, pulling you into a bliss that only he knows how to reach.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You are so perfect.” 

He makes you come once more soon after and then fucks you deep and slow. It’s all whispered praises in your ear, a firm grip on your hips, and his cock barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible. 

Come with me, you moan, and he knows exactly what you mean this time. 

“Shit, baby, I can feel you squeezing me, taking me so good —” his words break with a moan as you come for the third time, falling apart on his cock, before he adds “gripping me so goddamn tight.” 

His thrusts slow and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, and paints your insides in thick ropes of cum, holding your gaze as he throbs inside, not daring to move and risk any of his spend coming out before he wants it to. 

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and tells you that you’re going to look even more gorgeous with his baby inside of you. 

++++

The delayed flight to Jackson was just another reminder of life's unpredictability.

What started as a simple 30-minute delay quickly turned into an hour, then two, and now you're both three hours past your original departure time. 

You find yourselves in one of the newer airport lounges, sitting in overly posh chairs. It's surprisingly uncrowded given the chaos that usually comes with airport delays. Your luggage is safely tucked away in the lockers, your bellies are full from the free snacks, and the irritation from earlier is fading thanks to the complimentary drinks. The ambiance is unexpectedly chic. Even the bathrooms feel upscale—private, enormous mirrors, fancy soap, and paper towels so luxurious they might as well be hand towels.

Joel is deep into a well-worn Western novel, its cover frayed and spine cracked from countless readings. You're scrolling through an article about the best positions for conceiving, smirking when you realize you and Joel have tried most of them, and then some. Just as you're in the middle of your read, your cycle tracking app sends a notification—you're at peak fertility, starting now. Have fun! ;) 

Shit. 

Who knows when you'll actually make it to your hotel room in Jackson tonight? You glance up from your phone, stealing a look at Joel. He's always handsome, but there's something about him in his glasses—the way the frames sit on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on the words in his book. It's endearing how he still reads with such intensity, even though you know he's revisited these same pages countless times.

Your pussy flutters and aches at the sight, giving you a cheeky idea. He did say you could have him whenever you wanted. 

You clear your throat, hoping to pull Joel's focus from his book, but he doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time a bit louder, and all you get is a distracted, "You okay, sweetheart?" without him even glancing up.

You know you’ll need to be more direct to capture his attention.

"I'm going to use the restroom," you say, and he nods, eyes still on the page. Once inside, you leave the door unlocked and hike up your dress, exposing your bare breasts. You pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they harden, then push out your chest, angling your smartphone for the perfect shot. The result is a provocative selfie that you know will make him put that book down.

You attach it to a message for Joel and quickly type out your request — come knock me up in the bathroom, Cowboy. 

He’s joining you in the bathroom faster than you thought he would, careful to avoid any curious eyes or draw attention to the fact that he’s about to absolutely wreck his wife.

Once inside, he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist, guiding you back until your hips hit the counter's edge. His hands roam over your body, lifting the hem of your dress until it's bunched around your waist. He kisses you with a desperate hunger, as if he hasn't had you in years.

"You sure you want to do this here, sweetheart?" he groans against your lips, shifting between playful nips, gentle kisses on your cheeks, and heated sucks at your jawline. The anticipation in his touch is palpable, but he's still checking to make sure this is what you want.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life except for the day I married you. Please fuck me, Joel, need to feel you stretch me out” you say, your words crossed between a whimper and a plea. 

God, just when he thought you couldn’t get any more perfect. 

“Yeah? My girl wants me to fill up her tight little hole,” he teases, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand to your dripping core and lets out a deep groan when he discovers you’ve already removed the barrier of your underwear for him. 

“Fuck baby, I’d do anything to taste you right now, wanna hear all those pretty noises you make and the way my name sounds when you moan it for me,” and you soften more under the heat of his words, letting your mind drift to thoughts of how good it feels when his head is between your legs, gently wringing orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s his fucking job. 

“Gotta make this one quick, though. Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” He asks, and all you can do is nod. 

"Good girl—c'mere, turn around," he instructs, guiding you with his hands until you've spun around, your hips pressing into the sink. His hand travels down your spine, making you arch toward him slightly, and he bends you over even more. In the mirror, you see him behind you, his eyes locked on yours as he quickly unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans to mid-thigh. The anticipation is electric as you watch him in the reflection, knowing exactly what's coming next.

He spits into his hand and jerks himself, all the while holding your gaze, admiring the way your breasts are pressed up against the counter, perky and perfect. His cock twitches at the thought of what they’ll look like all swollen and full of milk. 

He lines himself up against your wet and waiting hole, holds your hips steady with one hand, and gathers your hair in his fist with the other. He gently tugs it so your chin is angled up, eyes even straighter looking into the mirror. He loves watching you take it. 

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, sweetheart,” He rasps as he presses himself into you in one stroke. You’re so fucking wet, your greedy cunt accepts him easily, despite his size. Like it knows what it wants, and what it needs. There’s a dull delicious sting at the intrusion.

“Oh my god, Joel, you’re so bi—” You break off in a moan as he pulls out and then slams himself into you deep and hard. 

“God damn, look at you, my perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, like this cock was made for you, huh baby?” His voice is firm, but quiet, just above a whisper. He’s not wasting time, he sets a punishing pace, and all you can do is let him use you. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fill me, fill me” you cry out, and he brings his hand to cover your mouth. 

“What’d I say about being quiet, baby?” He holds you like that. You slip your hand between your thighs and rub your clit, a dangerous combination when he’s fucking you in this position. You come so fast that you think it might be a record. The tightening of your cunt has him on the precipice of his release.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls, fucking his cum into you over and over, using every drop of him to give you what you want.

It might not stick this time, hell, it might not stick next time, but one thing is for certain — Joel will keep you full and fucked either way. 

Part 2

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! On a side note, my engagement here has been really low lately. :( As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I'll love you forever.

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[popamolly]

‘DANCE WITH THE DEVIL’ ALASTOR

summary. Alastor grapples with the realization that he might actually have feelings for you, as you contend with the internal conflict of obeying your mother's wishes or pursuing your own happiness.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX

warnings. dark romance, smut if you squint, human!alastor, age gap! you’re in your early 20s while Alastor is in his early 30s, you're naive, Alastor preys on your innocence, blood, kidnapping, implied murder, 18+ minors dni

author’s note. thank you so much for 800 followers! as well as the amount of love this story is getting! i am enjoying writing for human!Alastor and can’t for you all see where i’ll take this. enjoy sinners. (also, if you saw the rough draft and all the mistakes, no you didn’t)

One moment you were on Alastor’s cluttered desk and the next you were in his spacious bed. You had no idea how you got there as it all remained a mysterious blur. The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow on both of your bodies as you two continued to move in sync with one another. Straddling his waist, the rhythmic dance against his hips had your head tossed back in pure bliss. It was a slow, deep, sensation that was vastly different from a few hours before.

His fingernails dragged across your back as he watched your face contort in pleasure, he loved the sight of you— the various marks on you caused by him stirred something within him. It made him wonder how many times can he break you before you crumbled into a million of tiny pieces.

Before you knew it, you were waking up in Alastor’s bed again, only this time you were alone just as the sun reached its peak in the sky. The sunlight was so bright you had to squint your eyes as you sat up in the bed. A delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast wafted through the air making your stomach grumble. Knowing that Alastor was perhaps in the kitchen, you pull the sheets from over you and go to stand, your legs felt like jelly and the soreness you felt in between your legs truly made it harder to walk.

You scanned the room for something to wear. All traces of modesty had disappeared since Alastor had taken you across nearly every piece of furniture in his possession, at that point what did you have to be modest about? Opting for one of his blouses, you opened his closet with the expectation of finding a more varied collection, only to discover that each blouse and pair of trousers adhered to a more monochromatic theme.

While reaching for a shirt, you accidentally knocked down another hanger. As you got on your knees to searched for the fallen garment on the floor, your fingertips brushed against a wooden box that was neatly tucked away into the shadows of the closet, sparking your curiosity. You sat down on the floor of the closet, dragging the box toward you to open it- but it was locked.

You decided to leave it be, excusing it as a mere heirloom or something of importance to Alastor. It was left in the back of your mind as you retreat from the closet, you changed into the blouse before leaving his bedroom to follow the delightful scent of breakfast- but before you left the room, you couldn't resist picking up Alastor's forgotten glasses from his nightstand.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the delicious scent of breakfast intensified. The memories of the night before lingered in your mind, a mix of passion and tenderness with Alastor. The soreness between your legs served as a reminder of the intimate moments you shared.

You found Alastor humming a jazz tune as he cooked, completely absorbed in his culinary endeavors. The clinking of utensils against pans filled the air, harmonizing with his cheerful humming. He turned to look at you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Well, good morning, my dear," Alastor greeted, his tone a mix of charm and, at least you hoped, genuine affection. "I hope you slept well."

"Goodmorning Alastor, I did sleep well, thank you," you returned his smile, feeling a sense of comfort in the domestic scene. The small kitchen table was set for two, adorned with a simple but elegant lace. Alastor had an uncanny ability to make even the most mundane tasks seem like an art form.

You took a seat at the table, placing his glasses carefully beside you. Alastor joined you, serving a delicious-looking breakfast onto your plate.

"Help yourself," he said, gesturing to the spread before you. "We had a long night so I am sure you are quite famished.”

You looked down at your silverware as you thanked him, your entire body heating up at the mention of your shared affairs last night as you dug into the meal, savoring the flavors. The comfortable silence between you and Alastor spoke volumes, a example of the connection formed between you two during the night.

Alastor sat across from you with a delighted hum, newspaper in hand while he sipped from his coffee mug in the other, "And how are you faring, my dear? I supposed I did get quite carried away." He broke the domestic silence with a grin, his eyes looking over your neck that was littered with marks. His marks.

"I'm fine," You say honestly, "I enjoyed it really, it was good...for my first time." You all but whispered the last part.

"Well that eases my worry," Alastor puts on his glasses to rest them on the bridge of his nose as he looks over his newspaper again, turning the page as he crosses his right leg over his left, “Let me know if you prefer tea in the morning, I have some brewing on the stove for the afternoon.”

Tea. You audibly gasp at the word as the realization dawned on you. You were supposed to be at home, sick in bed, and drinking tea— that was your cover for the night but the night was long since over. Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was thirty minutes until eight o’clock, which was the usual time for breakfast to be served at your house. Your mother always expected you at the table a minute before her, groomed and ready for the day ahead. If you weren’t there on time then surely it’ll cause suspicion.

“I hate to cut this short but I have to go,” You hurriedly gobble up the rest of your food before standing up from your chair, “I have to be home soon or my mother will kill me!”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at the irony in that, “Surely, you have time to at least finish your coffee?”

You spared the moment a thought but ultimately shook your head, “I’m sorry but I can’t,” you walked past Alastor to go into his bedroom to slip on your clothes from the night before. His footsteps followed, accompanied by the jingle of car keys in hand.

As you hurriedly grabbed your belongings, Alastor offered to ease your worry with a smile, "I'll drive you home. No need to rush alone in your state of distress."

Grateful for the assistance, you nodded in agreement, and together, you both left his place. You felt different now, a bit lighter, more mature as you slipped into the passenger side of Alastor's car. He held the door open and closed it for you like a true gentleman. The car ride was filled with light banter, Alastor's charismatic demeanor easing the tension that lingered from your hasty departure.

Once you reached your home, Alastor parked the car a little ways away from your estate and turned to you. "Thank you for the company, darling. I hope your mother's wrath is not as fearsome as you anticipate."

You chuckled nervously, appreciating his understanding. "I hope so too. And thank you for everything, Alastor.. I enjoyed our time together."

He leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and planted a gentle kiss on your lips. "Until we meet again," he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

With a promise to see each other soon hanging in the air, you slipped through the back door of your home, grateful for the concealment it offered. Hastily, you made your way to your room, hurriedly taking off the clothes from the night before taking a moment to compose yourself. You had only a few minutes to spare and you couldn't waste them.

After freshening up in your own personal water closet, you did your hair as neatly, and quickly, as you could— following up with a light touch of makeup. The faint taste of Alastor's farewell kiss lingered, and you couldn't help but smile at your reflection in the mirror. Now, groomed and ready, you braced yourself for the day ahead and the potential questions your mother might have about your ailment.

You rushed downstairs into the dining room, the scent of freshly brewed tea and warm toast filling the air. Just as you took your seat, your mother entered, her expression stoic. Unfazed, you greeted her with a bright smile, attempting to mask any trace of your recent escapades.

"Good morning Mother, How did you sleep?" you asked cheerfully, reaching for the toast as if it were any ordinary morning.

Your mother eyed you with a raised eyebrow, as she sat down at the head of the table, allowing the maid beside her to pour her tea, "Well enough, dear. I found myself tossing and turning all night. And you? That cold seemed to be really troubling you last night."

You laughed nervously, hoping your casual demeanor would deflect any probing questions. "It was, I could hardly get out of bed last night but thankfully sleep eventually came."

She continued to observe you, suspicion lingering in her gaze. Of course she knows you snuck out but she wouldn't reveal her cards too early. She would let you have this win for now in the hopes that when your rendezvous did come to light, your spirit would be so crushed by then that you'd have no other choice but to lean on your mother for support because she knew that this was a mere distraction for you and you were nothing but a toy to the man that wanted to use you. Your mother should know, after all she was a young girl once herself. "Mm-hmm," she responded, not fully convinced as she eyed the turtleneck dress you wore. "Anything interesting happen last night?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure. "Not really, just a quiet night. How about you? Anything exciting on your end?"

She hesitated, scrutinizing you for a moment before deciding to drop the subject. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual."

Relieved, you continued with a light breakfast, inwardly sighing at the narrow escape. Little did your mother know about the intriguing night you had spent with Alastor, and you hoped to keep it that way—for now, at least.

As you sipped your tea, hoping to steer the conversation away from any further inquiries, your mother decided to drop a bombshell. With a casual tone, she announced, "Silly me, but I forgot to mention that we're hosting a party in two days. We must prepare you for that so I have list of errands we need to run. Oh, and I've decided it's time that I take over in your matchmaking process."

Your eyes widened in surprise, nearly choking on your tea. "A party? Matchmaking? Mom, that's a bit sudden, isn't it?"

Your mother smiled innocently as she was spreading jam on her toast. "Nonsense, dearest. You've had quite a bit of freedom lately, and I think it's only fair that I take charge of finding you a suitable partner."

You were taken aback by the revelation. "Mom, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle my own affairs. I don't need you picking a match for me."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression turning serious. "And where has that led us? It's time to consider your future. I've arranged for some eligible suitors to attend the party, and by the end of the night, we'll have a decision."

You felt a sense of frustration and helplessness. The control over your own choices slipping away yet again, replaced by the traditional expectations your mother seemed determined to enforce. As you finished your breakfast, a sense of foreboding settled in—the upcoming party was more than just a social gathering. It held the potential to reshape your life in ways you may not be ready for.

As the conversation about the upcoming party lingered, a maid entered the room, carefully placing a radio on the table. You couldn't help but notice that this particular maid was new, and a quick glance around revealed that the other servants bustling about the home were also unfamiliar faces.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you leaned in and asked your mother, "Mother, What happened to our usual staff?"

Your mother, engrossed in the morning radio, responded nonchalantly, "Oh, I fired them, dear. They simply weren't meeting my standards. Now, please hold your tongue; I'm trying to listen to the morning news."

You were left you speechless, a mix of surprise and concern washing over you. The familiar faces that had been a constant presence in your household were replaced without warning. You couldn't help but wonder what had transpired behind the scenes and what might be the real reason for this sudden change. Then you realized that maybe your mother knew of your outing with Alastor and she was acting like she didn't, and if she was, why was she acting clueless?

Your mind began swirling with questions about the upcoming party, the matchmaking, and now the unexplained dismissal of the longtime staff. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about the changes that were unfolding in your once-familiar surroundings.

"Oh, what a delightful morning it is! I trust everyone enjoyed a restful night, as I certainly did!" Alastor's voice resonated through the radio, carrying a distinct weight. Despite being the renowned radio show host, he seemed like an entirely different person. Though the broadcast introduced some static, his charm remained. "Let's kick off this morning with some smooth jazz tunes, shall we? I have Louis Armstrong & His Hot Seven's top hits ready to grace your ears! We'll return shortly after this brief interlude, folks!"

Alastor flipped off one switch on his microphone and activated another. The sounds of "Potato Head Blues" filled the airwaves, spreading throughout New Orleans. While the jazz played in the warehouse, Alastor rose from his chair with an irritated groan, heading towards a locked closet at the end of the hall. Using a key, he unlocked the door and descended the creaky wooden stairs. As he reached the bottom step, another voice in the room caught his attention.

"Mmmh!" The person, bound to a chair with a cloth in their mouth, struggled against their restraints, fear evident in their eyes as they observed Alastor approaching with a stoic expression. Tear-filled eyes followed his movements as he walked to a table in the corner, his fingertips brushing over an array of displayed knives. "Mmmph! Hmph!"

"Your grunts and stifled screams are growing rather tiresome," Alastor remarked, his hand hovering over one of his cherished knives with a sinister grin. Lifting it up, the blade gleamed in the light. "I understand it's rather solitary in this space. You were supposed to have a companion, but," Alastor pulled a wooden chair across the floor, creating an unsettling echo against the concrete. He positioned himself in front of the restrained individual, heightening the bone-chilling atmosphere, "plans change."

Alastor glided the blade deliberately across the person's cheek, the chilling touch of the metal causing involuntary shivers. Despite their struggles against the restraints, Alastor sighed, tapping the blade against their skin in a disturbingly mocking rhythm.

"This person, this woman," Alastor mused, tilting his head to the side, "is confusing me, and I don't like it." The sadistic atmosphere in the room thickened as he increased the pressure of the blade against their cheek, drawing blood. Suddenly, he halted, as if a realization had struck him.

"But I don't hate it either," Alastor declared with an unsettling calmness, leaving an ominous pause that lingered in the air. The duality of his emotions toward the captive person added a perplexing layer to the unfolding scene, intensifying the disturbing nature of the situation.

Alastor, maintaining his eerie composure, turned to the restrained person and asked, "What do you think? Is it true love?" A twisted amusement gleamed in his eyes as he awaited a response.

A cruel chuckle escaped him as he noticed the person's inability to answer, their mouth securely gagged. The absurdity of the question in the face of their silent predicament seemed to amuse the madman further. The room resonated with Alastor's unsettling laughter, creating an atmosphere of malevolence that hung heavily in the air. The captive, helpless and silenced, could only endure the scene unfolding before them knowing that this would be the last sight they ever see.

"One, two, three, one, two-" The ballroom echoed with the rhythmic counting of the waltz, your mother diligently guiding you through the steps. As you twirled with your elderly dance partner, your mind drifted to Alastor. The memory of dancing with him under the stars tugged at your heart, and an undeniable longing for him filled your thoughts.

In the midst of the waltz, you couldn't shake the yearning to be with him, whether listening to his radio broadcasts or engaging in casual conversations over coffee. The mere thought of Alastor sent your heart racing, leaving you flustered and questioning the nature of these emotions. Was this love? The answer seemed evident with each flutter of your heart, each bounce of the balls of your feet. Love, it seemed, had taken root in your heart.

The dance partner, an elderly servant, winced as your foot landed squarely on his toes. "I am so sorry!" you began to apologize, but your mother's sharp voice cut through the room.

"A woman must be graceful like a swan," she admonished, tapping the back of your thighs with a cane, the sting making you wince, "not a tumbling tiger."

"I—" You attempted to offer excuses, but your mother's stern gaze silenced you.

"You are distracted," she declared, shaking her head in disapproval. "I need you to dismiss whatever is taking over your mind and be present. The ball is tomorrow, and I can't have you embarrassing me on your big day." The weight of her expectations pressed upon you, urging you to set aside your personal feelings and focus on the upcoming event.

A heavy sigh escaped your mother's lips as she turned her attention to the elderly servant. "You may leave us," she instructed, her tone carrying a hint of disappointment. The servant bowed slightly, acknowledging the dismissal before exiting the ballroom.

Now alone, your mother circled you, her scrutinizing gaze causing you to shrink under her watchful eyes. The atmosphere grew tense as she examined you, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

With each step, your mother's presence loomed, and the weight of her expectations seemed to intensify. The impending ball was not just an event; it was a reflection of her social standing, and any misstep could ruin her reputation. As she circled, you couldn't help but feel the pressure to conform to her ideals and expectations, the desire for personal connection and freedom momentarily eclipsed by the demands of societal decorum.

Your mother's gaze didn't miss the marks on your neck you tried to hide, remnants of the passionate night you spent with Alastor. She dismissed it with a grimace, a silent disapproval lingering in her expression.

As the tension in the room hung thick, your mother took a deep breath before opening her mouth to speak once again. "Did I ever tell you the story of how I was in love?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"Of course, you and father—" you began, but your mother cut you off with a firm gesture. "This was before your father. Before everything…before I became a woman of high society."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and you could sense that she was about to share a piece of her past, a side of her life that you hadn't even thought to acknowledge. As the ball loomed on the horizon, the barriers between you and your mother seemed to momentarily lower, providing a glimpse into a time when love and passion took precedence over societal expectations.

"I fell in love with a man during the summer months," your mother began, her voice carrying a bittersweet tone. She continued to circle you, sharing the intimate details of a past you had only glimpsed before. "He swept me off my feet quickly, and I was blinded by that love because, in my eyes, he was my happily ever after."

Your eyes widened as you listened intently to your mother's story. The ballroom, once filled with the echoes of waltz music, now held a poignant atmosphere as she delved into her personal history.

"I was merely a farmer's daughter, and he, a factory worker. It truly was a good match. But…" Her mother's expression darkened at the memory. "My dear, you can give a man everything, every ounce of your entire being, and he will still want more."

As the weight of her words settled, you could sense the bitter undertones of regret and heartache in your mother's story. It opened a window into her past, a time when love seemed boundless, yet reality had its own lessons to impart. The circling continued, each step a reminder of the complexities that love could bring.

"What I thought was love was nothing but a game to him," your mother continued, her voice carrying the weight of past heartache. The circling ceased abruptly, and her cane tapped hard against the ballroom floor as if emphasizing the gravity of her words. "He was gone with autumn, taking everything I had given him—my money, my body…my soul. I would've been truly ruined if it wasn't for your father."

She stood in front of you, gripping your chin harshly, forcing you to meet her gaze with glossy eyes. "I say all of that to say, do not be fooled by a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The words hung in the air, resonating with the tale she had just shared. The ballroom, once a place of elegance and grace, now echoed with the cautionary wisdom of a mother who had weathered the storms of love and loss. The vulnerability in her eyes and the firmness of her grip conveyed the sincerity of her warning, urging you to tread carefully in matters of the heart.

"I don't care what you do from this point forward but know this, you will attend the ball in your honor and you will marry the man who I deem worthy of you, understood?" After your mother releases her grip from your chin, tapping her cane once more, she steps aside, allowing you to pass. "Practice is over. You may go," she declares.

The aftermath of this encounter leaves tears welling in your eyes and a heavy weight in your chest. Unable to meet your mother's gaze, you hurry past her, fleeing the ballroom without a backward glance. In your rush, you even collide with a maid, but offer no apology as you hurry out the front door. Emotions swirl within you, mingling anger towards your mother with a deeper frustration directed toward yourself. The struggle between fulfilling family expectations and pursuing your own happiness weighed heavily on your mind. Are you truly prepared to forsake everything for Alastor? And more importantly, would he do the same for you?

Descending the stone steps of your home in haste, you decided to find Alastor and confront the questions you've been avoiding. Only his response would determine your next move.

"Mr. Ray?" You lean down to peer through the driver's side window, where your family chauffeur is taking a cigarette break. His complexion blends seamlessly with the setting sun. "Could you take me somewhere?"

"Without your mother?" He arches an eyebrow. "I believe you still require a chaperone, young lady."

"She allowed me out for the afternoon as long as I am back before curfew. Please, I'll be under your watchful eye. I promise to behave," you nearly beg, your puppy-dog eyes meeting his.

With a resigned sigh, the chauffeur relents. "Get in," he says, giving in to your plea and falling for your sweet lie.

With a sense of purpose, you climbed into the car, knowing that the journey ahead would be filled with uncertainty but you were determined in proving your mother wrong, you wanted to follow your happiness and Alastor was that happiness because in your mind— no, in your heart, you knew you loved him.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost on any other social media.

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[coryosbaby]

—1-800-ʙᴀɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴏᴅꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ !

(Dark! Dbf! Anakin Skywalker x fem! Reader)

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: your parents leave you home alone to tend to the christian faith. It’s a good thing that your daddy’s friend is there to help you atone !

୨୧ Content warning . Dubious consent (reader is naive, but consents), blasphemy & strong religious themes, manipulation, baby trapping? age gap (reader is of in her 20s), weird incest names but they aren’t actually related // innocence kink, god complex, loss of virginity, size kink, oral, pnv, missionary + full nelson position

Disclaimer: I am not religious, though I do know there are people that are. pls block if it bothers you! This is solely fiction and not meant to offend anyone, and I don’t condone using religion as a way to manipulate or hurt others. Thanks! ⋆｡˚ ⋆

Your parents leaving you alone is honestly a scary experience.

Although it’s fun (having the house to yourself means having the large flat screen tv in the living room), you’ve come to find that at night you’re quite afraid of the dark. And of course, your family has left on an adult-only Christian retreat and has left you home alone.

Sure, you’re more than old enough. But you haven’t been exactly… exposed to the world around you. So the idea of monsters and demons filling the dark corners of your home, it becomes even more prominent.

You try to concentrate on your bible, try to read through the verses where God tells you to fear no evil, but the paranoia is creeping in on your cold spine like a winter’s chill. You try to listen to music, too, to drown out the whispers you hear in the night.

But to no avail.

You decide that you have no choice but to call the only contact that’s available to you.

Anakin is your godfather, in the sense that he’s your father’s best friend. He’s always been around, and he’s always helped you with your studies. Anakin— uncle Ani, as you sometimes call him, lives less than a few blocks away. He always tells you that if you need him, he’ll be there. So it wouldn’t hurt to ring him up, right?

Pressing the dial on your phone, you type in his number with ease. Biting your thumb nail you wait for him to answer. He picks up on the third ring.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You smile at his voice, the one that always gives you that tingly feeling in your stomach. You suspect that it’s because he’s your favorite person.

“Everything’s fine, Ani. Are you at work?”

“It’s a Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Then I’m off work, sweetheart,” he replies softly, and then you get that tingly feeling again. “Why did you decide to call?”

It’s not in the sense that he’s annoyed— he’s genuinely curious. You nervously rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“Well—“ you start, embarrassed. “Mom and dad are out, ‘n— it’s dark.”

“Dark?”

“It’s—“ you can feel tears beginning to form in your eyes as the wind creaks outside. “I don’t like it, Ani. I don’t wanna be alone in here... Please come.”

Anakin’s cock presses against his zipper at the sound of your whiny, desperate voice. He palms his bulge through his slacks.

“Yeah, baby. ‘Course I’ll come,” he pauses. “Just gotta do something first, okay? Then I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

You sniffle, the tears beginning to fall now.

“Okay. ‘M sorry.”

“For what? Don’t apologize to me sweetheart. Just wait there.”

—

A good forty minutes later Anakin is there, and when you open the door for him you latch onto him like a leech— your hands wrap around his waist, your bury your face into his fit chest, and you whimper against him as he coos gentle reassurances to you.

“It’s okay, baby. Uncle Ani’s here.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He brings you over to the couch, sitting you on the cushion beside him as he looks down at your pink bible. He notes that you use the wooden cross necklace he had bought you for your nineteenth birthday as a bookmark.

“Been readin’?” He notes, looking down at the opened pages. You’ve been highlighting some verses, and next to this book there’s another: Christianity for Girls.

“Mhm.”

Anakin picks it up with idle hands. He flips to the first chapter.

“C’mere. Want me to read to you?”

“Yes, sir.” You reply, and with a gentle flick to your hair you begin to climb into his lap. It’s not uncommon for you to do this— he’s so comfy and warm. Even though sometimes the things in his pocket tend to poke against your bottom, you don’t mind. It’s worth it if Ani has his big arms wrapped around you.

He grunts as you settle down on him— his cock twitches as he feels your panties hit his lap. Your skirt is covered just enough to not expose you, but it still rides up as you sit down. His hand grips your thigh, and with the other he settles the book in his palm.

“Chapter 1,” he clears his throat. “Rules.”

Well, okay. If you say so.

“Girls should always follow their faith in God.”

Fair enough.

You nod along, as he reads the next.

“Girls should go to church every Sunday.” He smirks, turning to you. “Do you go to church every Sunday?”

“Of course! I love church.”

Anakin chuckles, flipping to the next page and adjusting himself from underneath you.

“Rule number three,” he says. His voice hesitates as he reads the next line, then he awkwardly clears his throat. “No premarital sex.”

Your brows furrow, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. “What’s that?”

He sucks in a breath, his cock beginning to become hard for a second time today.

“Sex? It’s—“

“No, no,” you giggle, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “I meant— I know what sex is, Ani. Sort of. But.. what is premarital sex?”

“It’s sex before marriage. Doing it with someone you aren’t going to devote yourself to.”

“Oh.” You twiddle your fingers, eyes averting down to look at the ink splattered pages. “But— if you do it with someone you’re going to devote yourself to, without being married anyway, isn’t that still non premarital? I mean, in a way, you are married…sort of.”

Anakin shrugs, resting his head on your shoulder. You try to ignore how the closeness of his breath makes you tingle.

“Dunno, honey. I guess so. Never thought of it that way.”

You nod, wiggling around on his lap to get more comfortable. Anakin’s fingers grab your hips with a firm hand.

“Have you ever done it?” You ask. “Premarital sex, I mean.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. Something in him is breaking apart, all these years of pent up sexual frustration for you beginning to come to a head as his resolve crumbles.

“Yes. Many times,” he coincides. “With a lot of people I didn’t care about. I shouldn’t of done that. It’s bad.”

Your face fills to the brim with heat, as the tension in the room grows incredibly thick. Your eyes widen when you feel him hump against your clothed cunt.

“What about you, baby?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. “Have you done it?”

You stutter, hesitating, and that’s when Anakin gets his answer.

“Right. ‘Course you haven’t,” and then, quietly, as if to himself, “Too precious for those little boys…”

You let out a small sound in the back of your throat, that tingly feeling growing evermore prominent. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way. Maybe it’s the heat in the room, maybe it’s your claustrophobia.

Or maybe, you think, it’s the devil.

White hot heat coils in your private parts, and you try to get off of Anakin to get rid of feeling. He tsks, grabbing your hips and shoving you back into his lap. You whine, hands gripping is in an attempt to get away.

“Ani.. c’mon—“

“Do you touch yourself?” He asks darkly. You let out a little gasp. “Do you touch your princess parts, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, almost too quickly, and can’t help but press your thighs together. Anakin is having none of it.

“Liar,” he hisses. “You have. Don’t lie to me, little girl. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I’m sorry!” You whimper against his harsh grip. “I-I stopped! I did, I really did, and I’ve been meaning to repent and atone for my sins but I haven’t yet…please, uncle Ani.”

Tears of shame begin to fall from your eyes, wet and salty. You let out a little cry. Anakin softens a bit, his grip on you loosening. He wraps his arms around your tummy and quietly shushes you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, angel, I know you didn’t mean to,” he coos, as your hands move around to rest in the locks of his hair. “Sensitive baby. I know it’s hard not to touch yourself down there. ‘S okay.”

“Promise?” You sniffle, turning your head to look into his eyes. He smiles.

“I promise.”

Your eyes innocently move down to his lips, that feeling growing inside even more.

“Ani..” you whisper. “It’s.. I want to.. to touch myself again. I don’t know how to control it…”

He strokes your hair out of your face with his fingers, cooing again.

“It’s okay,” and then, after a moment, with his cock pressed flush against your cunt, “I can help. Do you want me to?”

“But.. isn’t that premarital sex?”

He presses a kiss against your earlobe.

“You love me, don’t you? And I know I love you. So isn’t that marital sex?”

Your brain has turned into a puddle. Softly, you whisper out, “yes.”

He smiles against your skin, his hands sliding up past the expanse of your thighs.

“There’s something they don’t tell you about sex,” he murmurs. “When you let the man you love inside you, it’s a way to celebrate god. You become one with god.” He quirks a brow, watching you listen closely to him. “And you atone. Don’t you want to atone, baby?”

Your doe eyes look up at him, and you nod. He grins, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His thumb pulls the flesh of your bottom lip down and he watches it bounce back against your teeth.

“Why don’t you give me a kiss? Hm, pretty?”

And just like that, he’s got you. Your lips, ever so softly, come up to peck his. He smiles.

“Again.”

And you do kiss him again. Only this time, he presses hard into your mouth and it’s not long before his hands are tangling in your hair and he’s rubbing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s all surreal, this man below you, his cock hard. You don’t know that, of course. Pulling away from him, you have a confused look on your face.

“What’s always in your pocket? ‘S poking me.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything. He just laughs at you, and leans in for more of your kisses. You get too lost in the feeing of his hands massaging your inner thighs to press him for an answer. But you find out soon enough when you feel him push your hand down into the front of his pants. Letting out a small squeak you feel the warm skin of his cock, and something tugs at your lower tummy again.

“Oh.” you say softly, understanding. It was never something in his pocket— it was him.

“Feel what you did to me?” Anakin huffs out, as he guides your hand up and down on his length. “That’s my cock, baby. It’s what happens when I get really excited to see you.”

A small smile grazes your features at the thought of Anakin liking your presence. A whole lot, it seems, because his body is physically reacting. He grunts when you squeeze his length out of curiosity.

“Does it hurt?” You murmur, watching him.

“Not at all,” he coincides, adjusting you on his lap. “Feels good.“

And okay, that’s even better. Now you’re making Anakin feel good. Pride floods your chest. Watching him, you feel his precum drip down your fist.

“Can I see it?”

Your voice surprises him, and he’s nodding so quickly that it seems like he might break his neck.

“‘Course, pretty girl, can watch it all day if you want to…” looking at you hungrily, he mutters in a soft tone, “C’mere, get on your knees.”

Confusion muddles your brain, but not as much as the ache to please him. You crawl off of his lap, and he takes one of the couch pillows and places it on the floor.

“Sit.” He commands, and you rest your knees on the pillow and your small hands on his big thighs.

He unbuttons his fly, then his zipper. His bulge is straining against his briefs, a wet patch on the front from his arousal. Gulping, you watch as he pulls his pants and underwear all the way down and slips them off.

His length springs free, dripping with pre and insanely long. Your eyes widen as you watch it, wondering: where does it go?

Okay. So, you have a vague idea of where it’s supposed to go— somewhere in you, but you don’t know where. But either way, you know for for a fact that wherever that is isn’t adjustable enough for such a big thing. Your face floods with embarrassment.

“Where do I…” you start, quiet. Anakin furrows a brow, grabbing his cock into his palm.

“Where do you what?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Where do I.. put it?”

A smile quirks on the man’s lips, stroking himself to the sight of your pretty face peering at his cock.

“Your mouth, sometimes. But especially where you touch yourself, angel. Your cunt.” He tilts his head, not shaming you but trying to explain. “Do you know what your cunt is?”

You shyly nod, knowing that that’s what some of the boys around town called that spot where you touch yourself. And now, feeling this odd tingle inside you, it all makes perfect sense. It wants Ani inside.

But you frown at him.

“It won’t fit,” you say sadly. “‘S too big”

“It’ll fit, honey. Just have to stretch you first.”

Stretch you? That sounds painful! Fear courses through you.

“Stretch me?” You say worriedly.

Anakin seems amused by your reaction.

“It’ll only hurt a little, then it’ll feel really good,” he explains. “I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

Your head moves up and down, and you know that it’s true. He smiles softly, and then he’s tapping your lip with his finger.

“Open,” he says.

Your parted mouth falls completely open, pink tongue lolling out as he places the tip of his cock on it. It takes you by surprise, and your lashes flutter as his taste evades your senses. It’s an odd flavor— not too bad, but not too good either. Though, the thought of it being from Ani makes it all worth while. He slaps himself against your tongue a few times, the wet muscle making a plopping sound as his stringy precum creates a small puddle in your mouth. He watches, proud, and he praises you in the most gentle tone he can muster.

“Good girl. Such a pretty mouth, can’t wait to cum inside it…”

And that makes your eyes shut tight as you let out a loud whine, knowing that his cum is another delicious fluid that you will happily drink up soon. His cock guides itself even more into your mouth, the cockhead disappearing in between your plush lips. You use your mouth gently, treating his cock with care, not wanting to hurt your uncle Ani. He grunts when you swirl your tongue around him.

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Lick it, baby. Like an ice cream cone… yeahhh. Just like that, sweet girl.”

You hollow your cheeks around his mushroomed head, your brain becoming fuzzy at the feeling of his length moving in and out of your mouth. Suckling him, he’s soft and warm on your tongue.

You do this for quite some time. Anakin’s thrusts speed up, and he makes you take more and more and more. When you choke on him for the first time he tells you that it’s okay— “just get through it, baby, don’t you wanna be good for me?” And of course you do, because it’s Ani, and he’s really handsome and he smells really nice and his hands are so big as they card themselves through your hair. You can’t get enough and you’re almost angry he hadn’t shown you this sooner. Your vision is dizzy as he uses your mouth.

On a particularly harsh thrust that makes your throat spasm around him, Anakin begins to make some very pretty noises. Drool leaks down your chin and chest, your mascara running, his balls slapping against your chin. He groans loudly.

“Gonna cum,” he mutters out. “Gonna fill up your throat. Do you want that, sweet girl?”

You can’t say anything, but you try your hardest to nod around his cock. He gets the message. And with stuttering hips, salty fluid shoots into the wet canal of your mouth. It fills you up until you’re choking, and as Anakin rides out his high his cock practically coats itself in cum as he moves in and out, in and out. He pulls you off of him after a moment, and with a mouth full of spend you gasp out for air. Anakin’s got this possessive stare in his eyes as he looks at you.

“Swallow it.”

You do. You gulp it down excitedly, and with a small “aaaaa” you stick out your tongue so he can see that you’ve consumed it all. Anakin looks down at you with a grin on his face.

“That’s my girl.”

—

“I want you to… to put it in me.”

Your voice speaks softly in the darkness of your room, rain pattering against your window as Anakin sits on your bed across from you. It’s been a week since your last… encounter. Your parents are out once again— and as requested, Anakin had shown up on your doorstep to keep you company. After a mug of hot chocolate, your favorite, you had invited the man into your room. A cross is around his neck, shiny with a silver chain. His hair is messy, his fingers clad in silver metal rings. You want to bite them.

Anakin smiles, pretty teeth shining.

“Do you know the story of the Virgin Mary?” He asks, out of context. Your eyes light up. Mary is your favorite biblical figure.

“Yes!” You reply to him. “She got pregnant by God.”

“And how did she do that?”

“By magic!” You say. “She gave birth to Jesus.”

Anakin chuckles, kissing your forehead softly.

“Such a smart girl. But sweetheart, magic didn’t give her a baby.” At the sight of your confused face, he continues. “Sex did. That’s how all babies are made.”

Heat creeps up your neck, your face puzzled. “So you’ll give me a baby?”

Anakin should be frightened at the thought of getting his best friend’s daughter pregnant, but he isn’t. In fact, he smiles, his touch leaving tingles against your skin.

“If that’s what you want. Just imagine, angel..” his lips brush against your ear, smoothing back a strand of your hair. “A beautiful baby. My nose, my lips.. those pretty eyes of yours.”

You bite your lip, your heart fluttering. Having Anakin’s baby would be your dream! Having a house with him, children running around, Anakin coming home from work everyday…

Oh, but daddy would be so mad.

He would never look at you the same again. He would be ashamed, he would damn you to the deepest pit of hell.

You think these things so incredibly, but once Anakin’s lips press against yours all of those things go away. He kisses you slow, sweet, gentle. His stomach presses against your tummy.

“I can’t wait to see it. Your little belly, all swollen with my baby..”

And daddy is out of your thoughts and replaced with a new, different daddy: Anakin.

It’s not long before he’s got you laid down on your ruffled pink sheets, your baby blue nightgown gone (“cmon, let me see that pretty body”), with Anakin’s lips trailing down your neck. He’s gotten you prepped, used his fingers and tongue in oh so many ways that had made you quiver, used your throbbing cunt for his own meal. When you spread your legs for him this time, it’s so he can rub his incredibly hard length against the lips of your pussy. Delectable and sweet as he remembers, Anakin watches the way your leftover cum and slick coat his length generously.

He’s never seen a cunt so cute, so fat, so swollen and precious. He taps his cockhead against your clit, listens to the desperate little pleas you let out as you look up at him with doe eyes.

“Please, Ani, want your baby.”

“Please, daddy, put it inside me. My cunt’s so tight and wet for you..”

You don’t say that last part, Anakin’s imagination runs wild, but he knows you’re probably thinking that— thinking that as his mushroomed tip pops inside your entrance, stretching, burning. Thinking that as you cry, your salty tears his most delectable meal besides the thing in between your legs. Thinking that as you grimace, give him that pained look as he fully sheathes himself inside.

And then, he begins to move.

It’s like a fire in your gut, at first. Hot, burning, grating. But soon it gives way to something else— something not even his fingers can create, something that’s absolutely out of this world. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red welts along the skin, and you should apologize but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ani’s whispering something in your ear, something dirty, filthy, and deprived; you enjoy it so much, you really do, as he speaks to you like this.

“Good girl, so tight. Daddy’s so happy when he fucks his little princess.”

“Look at that, how red and swollen your little pussy is. Is my cock too big for it?”

After harsh thrusts, skin slapping against skin, and curled toes, Anakin pulls out of you. You almost sob from the loss, but it isn’t long before he lays you on top of him and slips himself back into your sopping hole, pulling your ankles behind your head. This causes your eyes to flutter open again, a small moan leaving you. Anakin brings his hands around to hold your legs and head in a chokehold. He fucks you like that, all twisted and overstimulated.

Looking down, you watch as his length fills you to the brim and moves in and out of you.

“A-Am —“ you sniffle, a pleasured sob racking through your throat. “Am I being good, Ani? Is… Is god inside me now?”

Anakin groans, his hips pressing even harder against your raw fucked pussy.

“Yeah, baby,” He breathes, his hand pressing against the bulge poking out of your lower tummy. “God’s in you. Right in this little tummy.“

You mewl, understanding his words, the blasphemy in them. A blush coats your cheeks as you murmur out, “don’t say that.. ‘s bad. You’re being bad.”

“But I’m making you feel so good. Aren’t I, baby?” He taunts, with a hint of malice in his voice. “Isn’t this what you wanted? A thick, hard cock to fill up this little pussy?”

You shake your head, trying to deny yourself this pleasure you can’t contain. Anakin chuckles.

“Yes, it is. I can tell when you’re lying, little girl... oh, look at you. Little legs are shaking. Poor baby…”

You should feel guilty for all the dirty things leaving his sinful mouth. You should hate him and find him icky and push him away. Hes a dirty, filthy man.

But… he’s your Ani. The man who protects you, hugs you when you’re sad, buys you your favorite lip gloss and stuffed animals. And that cross is dangling in pressing against your back, cold and heavy like a burden but still turning you on and— he smells so good, and although you keep trying to move away from his harsh fucking, you know in your mind that you don’t want him to stop. Little sounds escape your throat with each thrust, moans and whines that sound like a wounded animal. But you are far from wounded— unless you count the soreness you’re probably going to feel tomorrow from Anakin pounding your guts.

Grunting, his arms flex on each side of you as he grasps your body with firm hands.

The man’s cock moves against your walls harshly, slick penetrating the skin of your thighs and making you shake. A smirk glazes his lips as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, and your neck is craned so you can see every facial expression he makes.

You thought you had never seen God. But right now, you might not be so sure.

“Good little angel,” he groans gently. “Such a tight little fuck hole for daddy.”

You want to be disgusted by the name, wanted to be disgusted since the first time he said it, but before you can think too hard the tip of his mushroomed head slams against a certain spot that has you sobbing out, “daddy, daddy!” against your own accord. He moans himself at the sound of your pleasure.

“Good fucking girl. Hittin’ that princess spot so good, yeah? Pussy feelin’ good?”

Your eyes roll back, your body going limp like a rag doll as you relax against his jackhammering thrusts. It all feels too good. The Bible always talks about heaven and you think that this is truly it: Anakin below you, holding you down, humping into you like an animal, as he spews disgusting phrases into your ears.

Maybe he isn’t the devil. Maybe he’s God.

You can feel something building up in your tummy, the familiar butterflies now turning dark like moth wings, scraping against that one spot over and over and over. God grins from below you, and bringing his hand up he forces your mouth open with his big fingers. His spit lands down on your tongue, wet and warm and perfect.

“Swallow.” He commands, and you do it greedily. Your voice moans for more, aches for more, and he does it thrice.

“Do you trust me?” He growls. “Do you trust you uncle Ani, baby?”

“Yes! Yes sir.” You whimper, and you know it’s true when it falls from your lips. He forces his fingers to press even harsher around your head. Your ears ring, a pressure beginning to form in your skull.

“God’s got you,” Anakin growls. “God’s got you and your life in his hands. And you know what?”

You don’t say anything, just shake your head as you try to catch a breath of air.

“He’s not gonna let it go.” He continues. “You’re gonna feel this, honey. You’re gonna get fucked like this all the time—“ your vision is blurring, his words making you spasm. He brings his fingers down to that swollen button on your soaked pussy and rubs in harsh circles. “— When daddy thinks his precious little girl is asleep, when he thinks she’s praying to god, she’s going to be praying to me. Choking on my dick, getting fuckin’ bred. Do you want that? Do you want my cum, you fucking slut?”

You can’t really hear him anymore; your body has gone completely limp, your eyes fluttering shut as you ride out wave upon wave of pleasure. You’re still breathing, you know you are, but you fall unconscious in Anakin’s harsh grasp.

And when he sees you like that, all fucked out and deadweight, he groans and begins to pound you harder.

[notjustjavierpena]

King

Main Masterpost

A/N: A happy return my dark sugardaddy!joel. It’s truly been too long. I hope you enjoy his dark and looming presence.

Summary: You do what it takes to get that car you’ve wanted for a while.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, sugardaddy/sugarbaby dynamics, abusive relationship, dom/sub dynamics, hint at virginity kink, power dynamics, reader calls joel ‘king’. daddy kink, light bondage, verbal humiliation, demeaning talk about sex work, praise kink, slapping, manhandling, dacryphilia, choking, rough piv sex, cream pie, no aftercare

Word count: 3.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56477767

King

You run your fingers down over the front of your little black dress. It’s not your favorite but it doesn’t matter as it is not the centerpiece of your outfit, mischievously hiding an emerald green set of lingerie underneath it that peeks out from under the hem in the form of a garter belt. 

The silk underwear is new, bought only last week when Joel took you shopping for something new to tear to pieces. He’d chosen this color very carefully but you suspect that it had really been the heart-shaped gap between your legs that had made it sell itself. You knew instantly then, from the way his eyes had darkened and his suit pants had tightened, that it would become a useful weapon in getting what you wanted. Not that you would ever say it out loud (and you suspect that he knows) but Joel is sometimes easy to read, easy to wrap around your finger if you let him do as he pleases. He cares about your happiness and wants but he just doesn’t like to say it out loud, likes to play games so it looks like it is his idea. You’re happy to indulge him in this fantasy if you end up benefiting from it anyway. 

The black dress has no uneven ruffles but you still smooth it out underneath your palms. Then you head to his king-sized bed, toeing off your shoes, and decide to take a nap on your front until he gets home. He doesn’t even know you have a mission. 

Joel arrives home a few hours later. You wake up from the sound of his car crunching the gravel of his driveway, announcing his arrival like an impending hurricane that has consciousness to be merciful but only if it likes. You imagine the scene in your head; the sight of the car coming to a jarring halt, the door being opened and a single foot hitting the solid ground. 

You get out of bed immediately with your heart pounding at the thought of seeing him in just a moment. You leave your shoes behind as you exit the bedroom, tiptoeing out into the hall to peer down at the front door from the top of the enormous staircase. 

You can hear the jingle of his keys and then he is framed in the doorway, a dark shadow in contrast to the pining sunlight outside. He looks around for you for a moment, surveying his large home with a presence that fills the space completely. 

You try to steady your breathing so as to not reveal yourself to be spying on him, taking note of how he carries himself and what mood radiates from him. Sometimes it’s not the right time to ask for things. Sometimes it’s better to just spread your legs or open your mouth. 

However, Joel simply closes the door and lets out a tired, relieved breath, hand coming up to run across his forehead and using two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. His shoulders slump at this moment that he thinks he is alone, and you release a breath that you didn’t know you have been holding in as you find no clenched fists or angry muttering to himself. 

You make your way back to his bedroom and decide that sitting obediently on the edge of the bed, posing as someone who has been waiting to make his life easier, is the best way forward. 

It takes a little while before you hear his footsteps approaching outside the room. He opens the door slowly, entering the room with his still impressive demeanor. You give him a little smile and push yourself to stand, making your way towards him and pecking his lips when you stand in front of him. 

“Hey,” he says, only a hint of warmth in his tired voice. He reaches out to place a hand on your waist, his grip on your body feeling more like a claim than a comfort.

“You look tired,” you note and cup his cheek with your dominant hand. He closes his eyes briefly as if drawing something from your touch, draining something out of you. When he opens them again, they go down to take in your appearance. His grip on your waist tightens. 

“And you look…” he begins but is unsure how to compliment the effort you’ve put into your outfit that’s only for him. It seems like he genuinely wants to say something nice until his eyes narrow in suspicion, “What’s this for?” 

“I want a new car,” you let him tower over you as you decide to be bold in his fatigued state. Your fingers come up to peel the straps of your dress off, letting them droop down over your delicate skin for just a second before pulling the rest of the dress down to pool around your feet. You step out of it, don’t dare smile in case he might see it as smugness.

Joel looks unimpressed, disappointed even. He narrows his eyes further, a flicker of irritation across his face. He lets go of your body as if you are suddenly not interesting anymore, reaches to undo the knot on his tie, “Take one of my old ones. I have plenty… and with the way ya drive I shouldn’t be spendin’ so much goddamn money on somethin’ new and shiny because you’re bored of your other toys.”

“Joel,” you pout, entwining your fingers in front of you to make your arms squeeze your breasts together tightly while you push out your bottom lip. 

“That ain’t my name,” he replies and briefly looks down at your cleavage, “And what? The little princess didn’t like her pony? You’re so fuckin’ spoiled. A dumb cliché.” 

“Daddy,” you correct yourself and he nods once. You walk backward towards the bed, crawling onto it and making sure he watches you with every step you take, teasing the bottomless panties while doing it. You sit on your knees, his favorite submissive position, and smile with the hope of making his dick hard. It’ll make this so much easier, “Please. I can earn it. I can be a good girl.”

“Show me whatcha got,” he tells you, his tone letting you know that his attention is fleeting so you better make use of it now that you have it. 

You lay down on your front, propping yourself up on your elbows by resting your chin in your hands. You give him a sweet, doe-eyed smile, “Honey, you’ve had such a long day.”

“Nope,” he rejects the fantasy with a bored expression but still takes one step closer to the bed, “Try again.”

You try not to let him see the frustration on your face that your first fantasy fell through, recovering quickly by getting up on your slightly-spread knees. You grab the end of the bed, leaning forward to make your position even more provocative. 

“It’s my first time, Daddy,” you say with a pout, blinking your long lashes at him, “I’m a little nervous. I’m so wet between my legs. Can you tell me what’s happening to me?” 

Even as Joel swallows thickly, he shakes his head while he walks to the side of the bed. He stares at you from a few feet away from the edge, “No. Again.” 

You notice that he is getting hard but you know him well enough to tell that it is from the game that you are playing with each other right now and not from how you look or act. He gets off on the power he has over you, and you feel yourself getting excited from it too. 

Power. That’s the one. 

You crawl forward and lay down on your back on the vulgarly huge bed, staring up at him as you swing your legs out over the edge of it. You spread them slowly to make his gaze burn, revealing the heart-shaped hole in your panties and your soaked pussy that he can slide into if he wants. All he has to do is take a few steps forward and lift your thighs over his hips. 

Joel is too easy sometimes but mostly when he’s in one of his good moods. He stands beside the bed not a second later, looking down at you with awaiting eyes. You know exactly which words to make him fuck you until you cry, even feel a little silly that it hadn’t occurred to you the second you saw him enter the house. 

You give him a hazy look, holding your thighs open for him. His gaze bores into yours and you swear that he can read your mind. Even so, you don’t blink or cower under the look of God. 

“You’re my king, Daddy.”

“Attagirl, that’s better,” he praises to make your skin prickle and your chest feel ablaze.

Something in Joel’s eyes darkens with the idea of being superior in every way and the spark of fire that you have ignited only seems to grow when you don’t try to act like this isn’t the case but instead give in and let him know just how beneath him you are. Figuratively and literally. 

He reaches for his belt, unbuckling it with rough hands as he plans your demise in his head, all kindness seeping out of his face as if the way he praised you seconds ago simply didn’t happen. There’s something about those Shinigami eyes, teasing the border between fear and arousal. The urgency of his movements tells you that it’ll hurt for days but the pretty things that you’ll receive in return are worth not being able to stand upright for a while. You calm your beating heart by listing cars in your mind, choosing colors, models, and leather seats. 

You return to reality when you hear Joel’s fingers snap in front of your face. He sneers, kneeling on the bed with one knee and pulling off his tie completely, “Don’tcha fuckin’ think you get to decide what car you’re gettin’, honey. If you want one, I decide. We clear?”

You watch with pleading eyes, knowing you should say something but faltering because all you want to do is complain about his decision. There goes that dream of an expensive Aston Martin, the one that has kept you scrolling through your phone.

“You dare make your King wait?” He spits harshly when you don’t answer quickly enough, his eyes going practically black with rage. There’s no emotion in them anymore, not even when you whimper at his tone. He reaches out for your arms, violently yanking them towards himself so he can wrap the tie around your wrists, and the panic that you feel suddenly starts to make you cry. He ties a painful knot, securing your arms tightly until he pushes them over your head, “You don’t behave then you don’t getta touch.” 

You whine with tears at the corners of your eyes, looking away in shame in the way that he likes. However, it is actually a punishment because you do really like touching him - or at least just hold onto him, which you still can but you don’t dare move your arms back down - when he fucks you. The avoidance of his powerful eyes earns you a slap to your right breast, and you yelp in surprise. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you babble, barely able to croak out a coherent reply whilst you twist on the sheets from the unprepared sting to your chest. As you turn your body to the side, subconsciously trying to protect yourself from more painful strikes, you curl in on yourself and thus pull your legs shut, “You know best, I-I know. I understand.”

“Lie still, ya bimbo. I saw that hole between ya legs drippin’ wet, so you’re gonna lemme use it or you won’t get as much as a damn penny for your stupid new obsession,” he curls his calloused hands around your thighs until they dent the skin and maneuvers you onto back once more. He holds your legs open, knees pressing into the mattress until you feel as though your hips might dislocate. He stares down between your legs, smiling to himself at the heart shape in your panties. The stitching of it is coated in your slick, obscene in how creamy and white it is compared to the emerald color of the fabric. Joel makes a primal sound, “Daddy fuckin’ likes. God, I am gonna ruin ya, baby, ruin this well-behaved pussy.”

“Just for you, Daddy. It’s all just for you, I promise, money or not,” you cry quietly with your bottom lip sticking out, wiggling your hips as much as you can under his powerful weight to show how desperate you are for him. You want to tell him that he already has ruined you. Oh, how thoroughly he has ruined you and ruined everyone else for you. However, no one should make the mistake of thinking you have not let him, no, you have waited for him to find you in a sea of unimportant and tedious nobodies, and fuck, you love him for it. Even if he makes you cry. 

“That’s right, just f’me,” he smiles down at you almost tenderly whilst removing one hand from your thigh to undo his pants. You smile with wet cheeks, eyes glazed over as he hurries to get his cock out, the head red and angry from not having enough attention. You put on a show of looking like your life depends entirely upon whether he gets inside of you soon. 

“You want Daddy to fuck ya? Fuck ya so I’ll give in like I always fuckin’ do?” He aligns himself with you, gliding the thick head of his length through your soaked folds. 

“Please,” you choke out feebly when he starts to spear you on his dick, feeding you inch by inch with his girth until your whole lower body buzzes with greed. Your tied-up hands grip the sheets above your head, your breath shaky as he drapes your thighs over his hips when he has bottomed out inside you. 

Your voice wavers as he starts moving inside of you, setting a painful pace that has your eyes rolling back into your skull, your body thrashing, and your moans climbing in pitch like you are possessed. He knows what you like and you can feel he might be generous about it today. After all, you’ve put in so much effort to look nice and what would a King be if he couldn’t exceed in everything? That means even your pleasure.

He leans over you when you tighten your legs around his waist, rough hands settling on your hip bones so he can grind harshly into you. You beg for him, pleading his name as if in prayer again and again. His pelvis nudges at your swollen yet untouched clit. It causes you to scream and grab harder at the sheets as your orgasm builds up fast. You sob on the shaking bed as he puts more effort into each thrust. The head of his cock molds you to fit him each time, reaching something inside of you that has you sizzling with ecstasy in a way that no man has ever made possible before. You didn’t even know you could come like this, so intensely, before you met him but despite his talent, he is cruel even in his generosity. 

“You’re gettin’ fucked for a dumb car, you know that?” He growls above you, staring down at your wide eyes and open mouth. He moans with a smirk, “You know what that makes ya?” 

He keeps you on the edge with his thrusts, teasing an orgasm that he doesn’t allow to come yet. In the most frustrating of ways, you find that even if he exceeds in making you come, it’s not a given that he’ll just hand it over to you. Nothing is ever out of the goodness of his heart. You nod frantically as if it’ll make him think you are anything other than pathetic, “Yes! Oh God, yes, please.”

“Say it, sweetheart,” he demands, splaying a hand on your chest and letting it travel up to rest on your neck. However, he doesn’t squeeze to watch your face heat up in panic or push his merciless thumb into your windpipe. Instead, he waits for you to follow orders. 

“A whore, Daddy,” you reply with a whimper, driven crazy by the unreleased tension in your lower belly. You scrunch your eyebrows, “Please— ah, l-let me come.”

“That’s right, a filthy, little, gold-diggin’ whore,” he lets out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a moan. Those words make your cunt clench around his cock, walls squeezing enough to make him switch up his pace. His thrusts become sharp and erratic, sending you hurtling towards your high so quickly that you throw your head back and involuntarily twist your arms as much as you can. 

You come with Joel’s violent grip on your throat, with your tits bouncing in the skimpy outfit and your pussy gushing on his dick when your clit happily gets its way. He follows behind you, panting in exhaustion as he finally gets pushed over the edge by how you pulse around him with each beat of your fluttering heart. He is warm inside you, making a mess of your panties with how much already spills out of you around his girth. 

It’s intense even in its aftermath. None of you move for a moment and the body heat radiating from you to him and vice versa has you sticking to each other. Joel has a palm on the bed while the other grabs at one of your thighs that are still slung around his body. He strokes up and down to soothe you but only to slip loose of the hot choke of your pussy. 

You look up at him with a soft whimper when you’re left empty, knowing not to say any actual words yet. Silently, he unties your wrist and you gaze longingly at him as he leans over you to do so. He is so commanding even when he has not uttered a word. Above you, he looks so beautifully disheveled - some of his curls have fallen into his forehead, one sticks to the sweat there - and when he is done, he quietly starts unbuttoning his shirt. 

Once naked on his chest, he stares and thinks about something for less than a second. He is quick in his evaluation of the situation, finally stepping out of his bottoms. He takes his time to dig into the pocket of his discarded pants, retrieving his wallet and you wait as patiently as you can muster as the anticipation grows.

“I think that dirty fuck deserves an Aston Martin at the very least, don’tcha think?” He smiles knowingly but it doesn’t reach his eyes and places his sleek black card on the bed. You hear him mutter the word pathetic as you reach for the card but when you peek up at him, you can see the way he takes pleasure in rewarding you when you so successfully display the thrill you feel in earning it. 

Your body aches but you prop yourself up on your elbows, grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, “Thank you, Daddy.” 

Joel leans down over you once more, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss and tangling his hand in your hair to make you unable to pull back. He knows how to show you who is in charge but he sets it in stone when he only draws back an inch after breaking the kiss again. 

“Remember, baby,” he murmurs, voice raspy with sex, “You only get what you deserve and you’ve been very deservin’ today.”

“Can I shower with you?” You smile sweetly. It seems like the right time to ask for a bit of intimacy. 

Joel huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “No. Lie in it.”

He disappears after that. Your smile does too.

.

.

.

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[natsaffection]

Mafias Mistress pt. 5 | N.R

MafiaBoss!Natasha x CivilianYounger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22) BDSM STUFF - Restraints, spanking, flogging, vibrator use, nipple clamp use, edging, overstimulation, strap on (r receive), fingering, choking, rough sex

Word Count: 3,8k

A/N: Pure Smut below..we are slowly coming to the end🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

You were startled awake by the sound of your bedroom door bursting open. You sit up, eyes widening, and see Natasha standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of anger and urgency. The morning light casts long shadows in the room, making Natasha's presence even more imposing.

"What do you want?" you ask annoyed. You had hoped for some peace and quiet, but Natasha's sudden appearance dashed that hope.

Natasha walks into the room, her eyes flashing, "I have a high-ranking visitor today. Important people here for business. You are not leaving this room tonight. Do you understand me?"

You crossed your arms, your irritation growing. "And why would I ? Are you afraid of embarrassing you?" Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I'm not in the mood for games, Y/N. If you leave this room tonight, you will suffer the consequences. Serious consequences.”

You feel a spark of defiance flare up inside you. “We’ll see.” Natasha leans closer to you, her voice a deadly whisper. “I’m serious, Y/N. Don’t test me.”

As Natasha leaves the room and slams the door behind her, your mind raced. You knew this was your chance to get revenge on Natasha for the humiliation you endured last night. An idea began to form and a determined smile spread across your face. This time you will win, consequences or not.

As the evening came, the mansion bustled with activity, you made your move. You chose a short, form-fitting dress, the fabric shimmering in the light. It was provocative, designed to attract attention and elicit a reaction from Natasha.

You decided to forget underwear, knowing it would drive Natasha crazy. With one last look in the mirror, you take a deep breath and leave your room. The halls were filled with Natasha's men, their eyes widening in shock and fear when they saw you. You move purposefully, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Maria spots you first, her eyes widening in horror. "Y/N, what are you doing here?" she whispered urgently. "She kill you first and then me. Go back, I mean it."

You grin, your defiance only growing. "Don't worry, Maria. "Just look." As you walked through the mansion, you could feel everyone's eyes on you. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of fear and excitement. You finally reach the main hall, where the high-ranking visitors mingle.

Natasha had been speaking to a visitor, a man with a smug expression and a condescending tone. He leaned closer to Natasha, his gaze wandering around. "You know, Natalia, you always manage to keep things interesting. That girl over there," he said, nodding toward you, "looks like she's here to entertain us."

Natasha followed his gaze and her blood froze when she saw you. The dress was short, far too short, and every curve was provocatively accentuated. Natasha's grip on her glass tightened, the warning she had given you earlier ringing in her ears.

"Excuse me for a moment." Natasha walked toward you, handed her glass to a nearby waiter and stopped you in your tracks, "What the hell are you wearing?" Natasha hissed, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the side. The grip was firm, but not painful.

You looked up at her, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "A few thousand of your dollars," you answered casually. "The dress is so short, you don't even have to take it off."

Natasha's eyes sparked with anger and something darker, more primal. You took Natasha's hand and slid it between your thighs. Her breath caught when she realized you weren't wearing any underwear.

"You think this is a game?" Natasha whispered, her voice a mix of anger and desire. "You think you can just walk out of here like that?" Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, "Maybe I do," you answered firmly. "Maybe I wanted to know if it still meant something to you."

Natasha's hand tightened around your thigh, her breath hot against your ear. "Oh, it means something to me," she whispered, her voice full of promise. "But you're playing with fire." Your body shook with anticipation, your pulse quickened. "Maybe I like the heat," you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

Natasha's control wavered, her eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and desire. "You have no idea what you're doing," she said, her voice strained. You leaned closer, your lips touching Natasha's ear. "Then show me," you challenged, your voice a seductive whisper.

For a moment, Natasha's anger seemed to disappear, replaced by a burning desire. She pulled you closer, your bodies pressed together. "You want to play games?" she murmured, her voice a low growl. "Let's play."

You caught your breath as Natasha's hand slid further up your thigh, her touch possessive and tender at the same time. “I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

Natasha's eyes darkened, her grip tightening. "You should be," she whispered back, her voice a dangerous promise. "Oh, and when I'm done with you, you'll know exactly why."

Just as the tension between you reached its peak, Natasha pulled back abruptly. She signaled to two of her men who were quickly approaching. "Take her to my room," Natasha ordered, her voice cold and commanding. "And make sure she doesn't come out."

The men nodded with serious expressions as they grabbed you by the arms. You struggled against their grip, fear creeping into you as you realized Natasha was serious. The men were rough, dragging you through the mansion to Natasha's private quarters.

"Natasha, hey!" you shouted, your voice shaking. "You can't do that! Natasha!!" But Natasha's face remained a mask of anger and determination. "You wanted to play games, Y/N. Now you'll see what happens."

You were pushed into Natasha's room, the door slamming behind you. The men stood guard outside, their presence a reminder of Natasha's authority. Your heart raced, the reality of the situation sinking in. Shit..

In the silence of the room, you could hear your own heartbeat, fear mixed with lingering desire. You realized you had underestimated Natasha's anger and thought it was all an act. But Natasha's anger was real, and you were now trapped by your own actions.

As the minutes passed, your nervousness grew. You had to find a way to make things right, to maybe calm Natasha down after all. You approached the door and knocked softly. There was no answer, just the oppressive silence and the presence of the guards outside. You sank to the floor, your mind racing.

Hours had passed since Natasha had ordered you to be taken to her room. The villa had gone quiet, the high-ranking visitors gone, leaving an atmosphere of tension and unease. You sat on the edge of the bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Natasha and the consequences of your actions.

Outside, Maria approached cautiously, her voice gentle. "Natasha, you have to calm down. This won't help." Natasha's eyes flashed with anger. "She thinks this is a game, Maria. She doesn't understand the danger she's in."

"Then show her," Maria suggested quietly. "But not as you are now. Talk to her. Help her understand." Natasha looked at her and took a breath. She ran past Maria, "Not today."

The door squeaked open and your heart was in your throat. Natasha stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable, a dark intensity in her eyes. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click. "Natasha," you began, your voice shaking. "I-"

"Enough," Natasha interrupted, her voice cold and commanding. "You've gone far again today." Before you could react, Natasha grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. The grip was firm and unyielding, sending a shiver of fear down your spine. "Natasha, please, I'm sorry..." you begged, but Natasha's expression remained hard.

Without a word, Natasha led you down the hallway, never loosening her grip. You descended a staircase you'd never noticed before, the air growing cooler and more threatening with each step.

You reached a heavy wooden door, which Natasha pushed open, revealing a dimly lit room with an array of appliances and devices. It was Natasha's playroom. Bigger, redder and much more equipped than the room in Natasha's apartment.

Adrenaline rushed through you as you realized what was coming. "No, Natasha, wait," you begged, trying to pull away. Natasha's grip tightened, her eyes dark with determination. "You wanted to play games, Y/N. Now you'll see the consequences."

She pulled yourself in front of her so she could look at you. She paused for a moment and looked deep into your eyes. "Do you remember your safe word?"

You blinked, your confusion evident. "Yes," you answered, your voice shaking slightly. "Red." Natasha nodded, a hint of relief crossing her face. "Good. Remember, you can use it anytime. I won't stop otherwise."

She dragged you to a large, imposing X in the middle of the room that was equipped with restraints. With practiced ease, Natasha tied your wrists and ankles to the posts so that you stood stretched out and vulnerable.

Natasha paused, her eyes softening for a moment before she steeled herself. "You have to understand something, Y/N," she said with a low growl. "My world is dangerous. You can't just play games and expect there to be no consequences."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your fear mixed with a strange feeling of anticipation, and you remembered why you got into this situation in the first place. You have a goal.

"Maybe I'll enjoy the consequences?"

Natasha's eyes flickered with emotion, but she remained determined. "We'll see about that," she growled. Her voice held a promise that took your breath away with anticipation. With practiced ease and skill, Natasha leaned forward, running her fingertips along the curve of your arm and down to the soft curve of your chest. "You will learn to submit," she whispered, her fingers playing with the goosebumps that formed before her touch. “What you saw back at home is nothing compared to this."

Your pulse quickened as Natasha moved behind you. You felt the cool touch of a leather whip sliding down your back and couldn't help the involuntary trembling. "Oh, I like that trembling," Natasha cooed in your ear, biting your earlobes. "I'm going to enjoy this more than you..."

The scent of your arousal filled the air, an intoxicating aroma that Natasha didn't want to deny herself. She slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your wet pussy lips, eliciting a gasp from you, the frightened but eager newcomer.

"Open your mouth," Natasha ordered, her voice rough and commanding. You obediently opened your lips and Natasha slid two fingers into your mouth, rubbing them firmly against your tongue and gums. "You do realize that you're not supposed to like this, right?"

You moaned, filled with a mixture of fear and desire as your body shook in response. With a cruel glint in her eyes, Natasha filled your mouth and with her other hand she pinched and pulled cruelly at your nipples.

"That's it, take it all," Natasha hissed, her voice almost a growl now. "Show me how much you want it." You moaned and your head fell back against the iron cross. You could hear the wetness between your legs dripping onto the smooth leather carpet beneath you.

The sound of the whip falling onto your skin sounded like a gunshot in your ears, sending shocks of pleasure and pain throughout your body. Natasha ran the evil instrument down your back, thighs and buttocks, letting its cruel spikes bite deep into your skin.

You struggled against your bonds, lost somewhere between agony and ecstasy. Natasha paused, her attention lingering on the delicate skin at the crease where your legs met her body. You tensed as you felt a soft feather tickle you, and you broke out in a cold sweat.

“shh,” Natasha whispered, “just feel.” She pulled the feather higher, reaching your quivering sex. Your head fell back in surrender as you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt the sting of the feather disappear, replaced by the delicate caress of something softer, a feather-light touch just beneath your sex. You winced as Natasha’s lips found the sensitive underside of one of your breasts, sucking and nibbling hungrily.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your hips bucking toward Natasha’s mouth just as she felt the cruel bite of the whip on the exposed curves of your ass. Natasha grinned and dragged the leather instrument teasingly across your folds. “Beg,” she purred, tugging at one of your sensitive nipples with her teeth.

You whimpered and struggled against the bonds as Natasha’s harsh words sent waves of shame and desire through you. "Make me." You gasped, grinning in her face. Natasha ripped the dress off of you, leaving your stomach bare and trembling. Suddenly, cool metal closed around your nipples and a rush of pleasure ran through your body as the metal began to vibrate.

"W-What.." you gasped, struggling against the bonds that pinned you to the cross. Natasha's grin widened at your reaction and she twisted one of the clamps before another low hum filled the air.

"You should hold still while I do that," she purred as she moved the vibrating object over your sensitive clitoris, sending a shiver down your spine.

"No, Natasha! I-I- Too much..!" You tried to catch your breath as the sensations overwhelmed you. The clamps pulled on your sensitive nipples, increasing each touch. "Natasha...please, n-no more!!" you whimpered. But Natasha just laughed softly.

"Oh, my love, we're just getting started," Natasha teased, running her tongue over your heaving breast. She pressed the vibrating object harder against your clit, making your hips twitch helplessly.

"F-FUCK!" you screamed as you writhed in the leather restraints. Your body burned; all reason dissolved in the rush of pleasure. Your legs and chest twitched uncontrollably, seeking any friction to quell the pain that demanded release.

Natasha kept her eyes fixed on your writhing object as she played with the vibrating device, running it up and down your labia and teasing your throbbing clit. With each pass, she felt your desire grow as your resolve weakened. "I-I'm begging you! Ple-ase!" you gasped, your voice a hoarse plea.

Natasha stood there, enjoying the sight of the shaking, exhausted girl before her. For now, she was content to watch you tremble and pant with a deliciously dazed expression on your face.

Natasha growled deep in her throat as she slid her hand between your legs. "Oooh, God-d!" you cried out, your already flushed cheeks glowing even hotter. "You don't need him," Natasha chuckled darkly into the folds of your wet entrance. She enjoyed the way you tensed and writhed against her. "Just me," Natasha teased, pressing her fingers into your heated core in one quick, unyielding motion.

Your eyelids fluttered closed as Natasha mercilessly added a third finger, stretching you wide. Your heart was pounding wildly and your mind was reeling - a dizzying cocktail of pain and rapture.

Natasha seized the opportunity, her lips grasping the sensitive outline of your tight bud as she pushed her fingers deeper inside you. You cried out once more before your orgasm fully took hold, increasing tension gripping your entire body as the waves arched and crashed over you.

Natasha let you ride the wave before she pulled her fingers back. “Your pretty ass is about to be mine." With a quick movement, she ran her nails along the crack of your ass.

"N-No!" you cried, your body tense as Natasha stood behind you. "Relax or it will hurt even more," Natasha ordered, spanking your ass hard. Your body twitched violently, pushing the restraints further.

"Listen carefully," she said, admiring your shaking body from behind, "You will count out loud with each lash of my whip. If you fail, I will start over. Do you understand?"

You whimpered and nodded your head vigorously. Sweat ran down your forehead and you could feel the heat radiating from Natasha's body, the woman's skin seemed to burn. And then came the first lash.

"One," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the blood pounding in your ears. Natasha smiled, her eyelids drooping lazily as she raised the whip high above her head.

A wicked glint danced in her deep green eyes, and you could feel your breath catch in your throat as the whip came down again, landing hard on your trembling, flushed skin.

"Two..." you let out a sigh as a deep, painful throb raced through your body. You weakly struggled to find purchase against the shackles around your wrists and ankles, but it was useless. You had nowhere to go and you had no choice but to hold on.

Your breathing became shallower and more desperate as the seconds ticked by, your head a whirlwind of emotions. Natasha kept her eyes on your beautiful, trembling form as she mercilessly swung her whip, marking your flesh with each strike. Your body arched with each strike, your cries mingling with Natasha's own animalistic growls.

Finally exhausted, she lowered the whip and let it hang limply from her hand. The sickly, sweet smell of sweat and desire hung in the air as Natasha strode toward you, her gaze fixed on the exhausted subordinate's trembling physical form.

With a wicked, lustful grin, Natasha knelt before you and pushed your ankle shackles apart, revealing the pink welts that marked your bottom, still glowing from the cruel discipline you had just endured.

"Would you like to try counting again, my love?" Natasha purred, her voice dripping with malice. You shook your head, your exhausted body desperate and still shaking from the intense burn of the whip.

"I d-don't, I can't...anymore," you said exhaustedly. "We'll see," Natasha's voice sounded cold and threatening above you, as she released your bonds, your arms fell limply to your side and your legs had no strength to hold you up. Natasha caught you and carried you over to a bed.

She leaned closer, examining the marks she had left on your supple skin, then ran her fingers over the angry red lines. "Does it hurt?" Natasha whispered hoarsely in your ear, her warm breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "Answer me," Natasha demanded, her voice harder now. "Do you feel pain?"

"Y-Yes," you whispered dejectedly. "Good." Natasha grinned wildly as she lowered her lips to your neck, placing hot, wet kisses and leaving little love bites. You whimpered softly, throwing your head back as you arched to meet Natasha's exploring lips.

With a harsh giggle, Natasha grabbed your thighs and opened them wide. You gasped as the cold air rose and hit your heated core. A deep blush flooded your cheeks as Natasha kissed your inner thighs, eliciting a moan from her submissive.

"Look at you," Natasha murmured in agreement, her voice sensual and deep, vibrating deliciously. "You want this so fucking bad, that tight little cunt is just begging for relief."

A dark shiver ran through you at the crude language. It sent shivers down your spine, your nipples poking out like greedy little peaks in her leather bralette. Your body needed to be conquered, craved the taste of domination. And who better to give it to you than Natasha?

"Are you ready, moya lyubov?" Natasha purred, her eyes dark and intense as she reached under the bed and pulled out a strap-on. "Yes," you breathed, unable to look away from the dominant woman. Without warning, Natasha thrust forward, filling you with a wild, animalistic hunger. She gripped your thighs tightly and held them still as she thrust into you with wild abandon.

You screamed in pleasure, the pain of your welts fading in the face of your overwhelming pleasure. Natasha leaned down to kiss you, swallowing your passionate cries as she continued to plunder your depths.

Your tongues dueled and parried, each thrust and retreat bringing you closer to the edge. "Cum for me," Natasha whispered hoarsely, pulling back just enough to meet your wide eyes.

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your core clenching around Natasha as you neared your release. "I'm... I'm going to...!" you screamed, unable to hold back the tidal wave of pleasure. Your eyes rolled back and your body tensed as you felt the orgasm rip through you. This time Natasha watched your body shudder in release, delighting in how you screamed and squirmed in surrender to her dominance.

She paused for a moment, staring hungrily at your flushed, sweat-covered features as she occasionally groped you as you screamed and squirmed. "So beautiful, so perfect. You can feel me deep inside you, feel you falling apart under my touch, brought to the edge." Then she increased her speed, her movements becoming more reckless; her eyes blazing with the intensity of her desire.

"Fuck N-Natasha, wai-it!" With each thrust, your cries grew louder, the bedposts clacked rhythmically against the wall as natasha desperately searched for release. You tossed your head from side to side, your breasts bouncing and jumping, your hair making a mess of the expensive silk sheets.

"Stay still," Natasha demanded, her voice low and threatening, but there was something whispered in that command that sent a shiver of anticipation through your body, making it impossible for you to resist. Your breath came in ragged gasps and your eyes fluttering shut.

"Stay with me, little one.” Natasha demanded, her voice deep and commanding. You obeyed immediately, your wide eyes meeting Natasha's. "That's better," Natasha said, satisfaction shining in her eyes. "I'm the boss here and you will do what I say. Do you finally understand that now?”

You cried out and arched your back as your body endured the hard thrust, your clit rubbing against the thick base of the strap-on with each thrust. Natasha bit her lip, her eyes on you as she pushed in deeper, hitting the spot that made your whole body twitch with pleasure. "Oh, God!" you screamed as another wave of pleasure raced through your body. "Scream my name," Natasha hissed. "Say it!"

You could barely form words at this point, let alone remember what Natasha had ordered, but you felt Natasha's hands close around your throat, cutting off your airway just enough to make your speech sound garbled and unintelligible. "Nn... ta...asha!" You gagged, your body writhing under Natasha's grip.

"Fuck Y/n!!" she breathed as she thrust into you one last time, the dildo glistening with your shared wetness. Your body froze beneath her, your eyes rolling back as you reached the peak of your orgasm. Your loud, throaty screams filled the room as you came for the third time, your body a limp, sated mess, sprawled on the bed.

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🏷️ TAGLIST

@kipitou @thalia-is-not-ok @queen2234 @sgm616 @dorabledewdroop @natsxwife @natashaswife4125 @loneliestafterparty @jenniferjareauwife @maggieromanov @doveromanoff @agent99galanzo

[romantichomicide95]

and becz i cannot get yuuji out my mind 😩 (the hand video, you know the one), pretty please smut prompt #46. no established relationship but like a childhood best friends thing?? thanks beebee !!

Yuji Itadori

drabble prompt #46: “Whoa, did you always look this hot.”

cw: 18+ uh clit teasing?(not really fingering), penetration, creampie, slight praise, hand kink ish.

notes: had to put the hand thing in somewhere, i suck at endings, this was way longer than a drabble but meh. i didn’t proofread this in any way.

You made your way to Yuji's room, your heart pounding with nerves. You both were already late as is. A stupid party you didn’t even really want to go to loomed ahead. As you stood outside his door, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heartbeat and knocked softly.

When Yuji opened the door,his eyes trailed down your body. "Woah, damn. Did you always look this hot?" He said before putting a hand over his mouth. “Shit, I meant. You look nice.” He said, shuffling awkwardly.

“Uhhh. Thanks Yuji.” You felt heat rise at his compliment, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. Something had shifted between you recently. You’d been best friends for as long as you could remember, but the attraction you felt for him grew as you both got older. There was all these unexplored feelings, that neither of you acted on due to your history, but now was the perfect opportunity to explore these newfound feelings.

Yuji stepped aside, inviting you into his room. As he shut the door behind you, the air crackled with an electricity, and the anticipation intensified. Your eyes look at him, taking in his appearance. Has he always been this muscular? Have his eyes always been that beautiful color? Have his hands always been so god damn attractive. The way they could grip your throat while he’s got you up against-

“I mean it though.” Yuji said, snapping you from your thoughts. He takes a step forward, closing the small gap between you. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as your eyes met. “You look really really hot.”

Before you knew it, words became irrelevant as the electricity between you grew stronger. The room suddenly felt too small, filled with this untouchable tension. The attraction between you was palpable. Without hesitating, you closed the distance between you, your lips gently meeting in a passionate kiss.

The taste of his lips was intoxicating, exactly how you’d imagined. Your bodies pressed together, wrapped up in the intensity of the moment. Without warning Yuji pushed you against the wall, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting you up against the wall so he can capture your lips more evenly.

Suddenly he pulls his face away, looking at you intently. “S-sorry. Is this-okay?”

You don’t say anything, you just nod. His puffy swollen lips looks so adorable, and his body feels warm against yours. You answer him by wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him closer. He smiles before his lips are on yours again and you tangle your hands in his hair, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You can feel the growing bulge in his trousers as his body grinds up against you, his hands softly trailing up your thighs underneath the very short dress that he swears you wore just for him.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do this for so long. You have no idea.” His lips trail down your neck, leaving tiny hickeys in their wake as his hands slide all the way up your dress his fingers teasing the pantie line. “Can I touch you?” He asks, a pleading look in his eye.

“Please.” You nod in response and you feel his fingers slide along your folds. You let out a soft moan as he teases your clit, lightly swiping his thumb across it before circling it, his teeth sinking into your neck.

“Yuuj?” you pants, as your fingers tug lightly at his pink locks. “I want you to fuck me.”

He whole body goes numb. He removes his lips from your neck and looks at you, his thumb and his pointer take your chin in his hands affectionately forcing you to look him in the eye. “Fuck. You’re sure?” he says and he’s unable to hide the excitement that’s creeping into his tone.

“Mhmm.” you whisper in his ear. “Please Yuuj, wanna feel your cock fill me up.”

His head spins when those words escape your lips, his cock twitches in his pants and he can feel like wet stain of precum that’s leaking into his boxers. He thinks your words alone could send him over the edge, he’s thought about this for so long. His fingers digging into the flesh of the juicy ass he’s surprised you’ve never noticed his gaze linger on. His cock sinking in between in your legs.

And that’s precisely what he does, sinks his cock into your pretty pussy, and fuck if it isn’t even better than he imagined. You’re clenching around his cock and his fingers dig into your ass as he fucks you into the wall. He’s glad everyone’s at the party because the sounds of your moans coupled with your back hitting the wall, over and over, are too loud. But he doesn’t care, not when he’s ball deep inside you, not when you’ve got pretty little whimpers escaping your lips. Not when your screaming praises.

“Your s-so big Yuuj, filling me up so good.” You try to pull at him but he grabs your hand and pushes it against the wall. “Fuccck Yuuj…fuck.” Your moans ring out and his hips thrust into you rapidly as he softly traces your thumb with his.

The juxtaposition of his soft touches and the way he’s shoving his cock deep into your cervix are enough to make you climax, hips rutting into his as you cum all over his cock.

The minute he feels the way your body shakes, and sees the way your back arches he’s cumming right there. He doesn’t even bother to pull out, he wants to fill you with his cum. Let you slide your panties back and walk into that party stuffed full of him.

He doesn’t immediately pull away. He just sits there, your legs still wrapped around him. He just looks at you, for what feels like forever. Sweat dripping down his brow, his hand still tightly grasping yours. He squeezes it once. “You really are so fucking beautiful ya know?”

[wileys-russo]

before the void (fresa’s version) II a.putellas

filling the void (one) filling the void (two)

so many of you sent me cute little thoughts and ideas about what you thought childhood was like for fresa and so to soften the blow of all the angst i've been posting, here they are as some cute little memories before the void (fresa’s version) II a.putellas

with the significant age gap and both her older daughters supposedly responsible eli would often leave you home alone with them when having to work the night shift, the extra money needed now as a single mother of three.

"can i have the one with the red lid now pequeña? por favor." alexia asked holding out her hand as you frowned, staring down at the series of small spice jars by your side.

grabbing the one you deemed correct you held it up to your sister who grinned. "muy bien, gracias fresa!" you giggled as she tickled your stomach and turned back to dinner.

"is it ready now?" you asked eagerly, swinging your legs where you were sat on the counter, at five years old you seemed to have an insatiable appetite and very little patience. "did i say it was ready?" your sister replied with an amused smile, the almost nineteen year old quirking an eyebrow.

"no." you sighed with a frown. "then no fresa it is not ready!" alexia laughed as again you huffed, hungry scowl deepening. "don't you remember hermanita if the wind changes and you're making an ugly face you get stuck like that forever?" alexia warned as you paled in fear and quickly forced a smile.

"much better." your sister ruffled your hair and gently grabbed you, helping you down from the counter. "can you put these on the table?" alexia held out three spoons as you nodded, taking them from her and darting away.

"done! now is it ready?" you collapsed tiredly into your sisters leg whose body vibrated with laughter. "soon. can you go get alba please nena?" alexia ran a hand through your hair staring down at you in amusement as you sagged against her.

"when i come back will it be done?" you asked hopefully as the older putellas rolled her eyes fondly, more than used to your questioning and impatient ways.

"sí pequeña, when you and alba get back it will be all ready." alexia promised as you perked up and tried to run off but the older girls hand held the collar of your shirt. "ale!" you whined trying to push her away.

"beso." your sister squatted down and tapped her cheek as you huffed but begrudgingly kissed her cheek, trying to run off again but her strong arms held you captive.

"did you just roll your eyes at me? no manners fresa!" alexia tutted, grinning as you squirmed and wriggled trying to slip out of her hold, whining and smacking at her arms to no avail.

"finish dinner, i'm starving." you gave up fighting and instead went limp, pouting up at her. "well i know alba snuck you cookies an hour ago so tell your worm to stop eating all your food! then you wouldn't be so hungry." alexia teased, poking at your stomach and kissing over your face before finally letting you go.

"tan impaciente fresa. vamos!" she playfully kicked your behind with a grin sending you stumbling forward as you shot her a glare as mean as you could manage but ran off before she could grab at or kick you again.

reaching up you pulled down on your middle sisters door handle, pushing it open and frowning at how dark it was inside, nose crinkling at the strange smells in her room.

"alba. alba!" you tried calling from the doorway, seeing a large lump under her covers as your fifteen year old sister was taking a nap, something your mami had warned you teenagers did sometimes when they were in a bad mood and going through something called 'puberty'.

"alba." you called again, wandering toward her bed and reaching up for the corner of the duvet, tugging on it as you were only met with an annoyed moan and a hand shooting out to push you away.

"dinners done, vamos!" you huffed impatiently, grabbing her now limp arm which hung off the edge of her bed and attempting to pull her out of bed with a grunt, failing miserably as she didn't move an inch.

"go away diablillo." your sister groaned, rolling over onto her other side as you pulled yourself up and onto her bed. "i'm hungry and we can't eat till you get up." you kicked at her under the covers only getting a tired grunt in reply.

"alba!" you scowled kicking her harder as her arm shot out again to shove you away, almost sending you tumbling off the bed as you caught yourself. "get up!" you shook her shoulder as she pushed your hand away, eyes still closed.

"now alba." you huffed, intending to hit her shoulder only as she rolled over again to try and pull you into bed with her your hand collected against her cheek with a rather loud smack and her eyes shot open as your widened in fear.

"muerto!" your sister growled as you leapt down from her bed, sprinting away and hearing her footsteps thunder after you. "ale!" you yelled as the eldest putellas frowned and you quickly hid behind her.

"nice bed hair idiota." alexia snickered as alba scowled and scraped her hair up into a bun, sending you a menacing glare where you peeked out.

"leave fresa alone and go sit down." alexia ordered pointing at the table, having started to dish up. "but she-" alba began to argue, falling silent at the hard look from her older sister and retreating to the table.

"i can do it!" you tugged on your sisters shorts as she grabbed both her bowl and yours, having already placed alba's down at the the table which the girl was hungrily digging into.

"be very careful por favor." alexia warned as she carefully handed you the bowl and you nodded, holding it in two hands and very slowly walking to the table. "alba!" alexia warned seeing the younger girl about to try and trip you over, her leg retreating with a huff.

"aqui." alexia took your bowl again and put it on the table as you climbed up onto a chair. "gracias." you smiled at your sister who sat down beside you, kissing her cheek and starting to eat as alba mumbled her own thanks among a mouthful of food.

"no you do it." alba argued with a shake of her head, collapsing down into the sofa as alexia held out a towel in her direction awhile later. "i made dinner! we're both supposed to help out when mami's at work." alexia reminded, a sharp crack echoing around the living room as the towel snapped against her younger sisters ankle.

"ow! puta. this is me helping, if i do it i might be tempted to drown her!" alba shrugged honestly as your eyes widened and you tugged again on alexia's shorts. "you do it. i don't wanna drown!" you begged as your eldest sister sighed but nodded.

"make yourself useful and wash up then. now hermana!" alexia snatched the remote where the girl reached for it, tucking it into her pocket as alba groaned but got up and made her way to the kitchen.

"para eso! diablillo." alexia laughed as you stood up in the bath and kicked water at her, soaking her shirt as she dropped your towel on your head and pulled the plug from the bath.

"can't see!" you complained as you tried to pull the towel off but alexia held it over your head, lifting you out of the bath and placing you carefully onto the mat on the floor.

"when's mami comin back? soon?" you asked hopefully once your sister had dressed you, hanging up your towel and hoisting you up onto her hip despite the fact you were old enough and more than capable of walking.

"she'll be back when you wake up tomorrow, bed time fresa." alexia covered your face with her hand as you tried to argue, already well prepared for what was coming as she made her way down the hall and into your bedroom.

"the sun is still up!" you protested, standing up in bed with your arms crossed and a frown making alexia smile, the large shirt you'd insisted on wearing drowning your tiny body and making you look a lot cuter than you were trying to convey with your current scowl.

"because it is daylight savings nena, the sun goes to bed at nine but you go to bed at eight!" alexia pulled the curtains shut as you groaned. "one more hour." you bargained as the older girl shook her head and sat down in the chair in the corner.

"no." "half hour?" "no." "twenty minutes." "no." "sí." "no." "sí!" "no!" "sí."

"n-dios mio why am i arguing with a five year old. bed time, now fresa." alexia sighed fixing you with the best stern look she could manage but it did nothing as you shook your head and leapt out of bed, racing off as alexia threw her head back and sighed deeply.

"sorry for hitting you hermana." you climbed up onto the couch and dropped yourself into alba's lap, kissing her cheek with a charming smile your sister was unable to resist, messing up your hair with a fond roll of her eyes.

"hey! that is not your bed fresa, go." alexia appeared, pointing to your bedroom behind her as you shook your head and grabbed albas arms wrapping them around you.

"come on ale mami isn't here, let her stay up a little later." alba chuckled taking your side as alexia scoffed. "yeah ale, you're not mami." you grinned cheekily as your eldest sister gave in with a sigh, handing alba the remote and sitting down on the other end of the couch.

"one episode and you're putting her to bed then." alexia warned getting comfortable as alba clicked into your favorite cartoon and you grinned happily, wriggling around a little before settling, your sisters hand tangling in your hair.

between the rising and falling of alba's chest and her arms tightly wound around you paired with her fingers scratching lightly at your scalp you barely made it a further ten minutes before you'd gone completely limp.

another five and alexia glanced over with a snicker seeing both you and alba now dead asleep on the other end of the lounge together. with a roll of her eyes she pushed herself up, gently shaking alba's ankle whose eyes fluttered open.

"go to bed hermana." the girl chuckled, gently picking you up as you immediately latched on, alba sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "no its fine you said you wanted to watch that new movie, put her to bed and i'll find it." she stretched out and blinked a few times before grabbing the remote.

"don't you have class tomorrow?" alexia questioned with a raised eyebrow. "relájese mami i have a half day, i don't start till eleven." alba rolled her eyes mockingly and gestured for her to put you to bed.

alexia was grateful you barely stirred as she tucked you in, brushing your hair out of your face and kissing the crown of your head, backing away and leaving your door open just a crack in case you woke up and called out later.

"popcorn?" alba asked with a hopeful smile before alexia could even sit down, the older girl rolling her eyes but retreating to the kitchen none the less as alba clicked play on a horror movie they'd both been wanting to watch.

as they both settled in, fixated on the screen and the popcorn shared between them, neither girl heard your door push open a little more or the soft patter of your feet as you rubbed your eyes and left your room.

as a kid you'd always had eager ears, you might have been loud and outgoing just like your sisters but you also learned from a very young age that sometimes staying quiet was just as beneficial.

so knowing well enough if either one of your sisters saw you you'd just be sent right back to bed you quietly made your way into the living room, ducking down and sitting on the floor by the arm of the couch where neither of them could spot you.

your eyes struggled to stay awake as you leant your head against the couch, but hearing the murmured chatter of your sisters just above your head was comforting as your body sagged and you fought to keep your eyes open.

though that wasn't an issue as suddenly someone was violently decapitated on screen and you couldn't help but gasp, the unexpected noise making both of your sisters jump more than the movie was.

"pequeña! you are supposed in bed what are you-" alexia was by your side in an instant, scooping you up as you hid your face in her neck and alba hurried to turn the movie off as the violently gruesome murders continued.

"hey hey fresa está bien, its just a movie its not real!" alexia felt you tremble and held you tighter, taking a seat again and rubbing your back softly. "come on nena, its way past your bedtime." alexia sighed once you'd calmed a little, standing to her feet.

you glanced toward alba over alexia's shoulder who drew her finger over her throat and flopped her head sideways mimicking the beheading making your eyes widen in fear before she was out of sight.

"your bed." you poked at your sister and shook your head firmly when she attempted to put you down, clinging on tightly with arms locked around her neck. "no fresa, your bed." alexia sighed and pryed you off of her, your hands gripping at her shirt with another shake of your head.

"i told you hermanita it was just a movie, you are very safe in your bed. alba and i are here, mami will be home soon and you need to sleep!" alexia poked your nose and stood, again prying your hands away from where they fisted at her top.

though as she kissed you goodnight and tucked you in again, the moment her back turned she heard you move and glanced over her shoulder as you now stood right behind her.

"you are not sleeping in here tonight, are you?" alexia sighed knowingly as you shook your head firmly, arms crossed across your chest. "vale. go get in my bed and i will be there in a second pequeña." your sister gave in, shaking her own head as you sprinted off toward her room.

alba having headed off to bed it would seem alexia checked all the doors were locked and left the lamp on for whenever eli got home, heading after you to her own room.

"are you mad at me?" you asked quietly with a worried frown as after changing and flipping the light off your sister climbed into bed beside you. "no fresa, you are too cute to be mad at. but go to sleep por favor!" you whined as she pinched your cheeks and you tucked yourself into her side.

over the years your co-sleeping habits had been something that was a point of contention. when you were much much younger and your sisters slept on the floor by your crib you grew accustomed to not being by yourself even as a baby.

as a toddler it was a fight for your parents not to wake up with you wedged between them or curled up on the end of the bed not unlike a cat did, and no matter how many times you were put back in your own bed you seldom stayed there more than a few hours.

but there was one person who would never turn you away the moment you could walk well enough to make it to her room and that was alexia, relishing in the fact you wanted to spend so much time with her and enjoying nothing more than being able to tease alba about being your favorite.

though as alexia grew older she started to want her own space, but without a lock on her door you seemed to arrive near every night tugging on her arm or climbing up into her bed uninvited.

"no fresa, your own bed!" the teenager would groan, removing you from where you'd snuck in, carrying you under the arms to your own room and dropping you back in bed.

but when that didn't work she'd made eli invest in a lock for her door and for a few months you finally spent the entire night in your own bed, albeit a few nightmares where eli took pity and allowed you into her bed.

as you got even older alexia didn't need to lock her door anymore as it seemed the habit was finally broken, but then when your father passed and the house was no longer the bright laughter filled space it used to be, the tides shifted.

"hey pequeña." your eyes fluttered open tiredly, finding your eldest sister knelt down by your bed, bags under her own eyes as you rubbed yours. "ale?" you rasped out as she hummed and pushed your fringe back out of your face.

"can i sleep here with you fresa?" your sister asked as you frowned, confused by the request. "why?" you questioned sitting up a little, but moving over as alexia slid into your bed beside you.

"you are sad?" you asked when alexia didn't answer your original question, slipping underneath her arm as your body slumped tiredly into hers. "sí nena, i am a little sad." alexia confirmed, her feet hanging off the end of your bed but that was the least of her concerns.

"cause of papi? cause he isn't coming home anymore?" you questioned, alexia wincing as everyone had been baring the brunt of trying to explain to you why he wasn't coming home as gently as they could to a five year old.

"sí. but you know what always makes me feel better when i am sad?" alexia whispered as you shook your head. "a hug from you, you give the best hugs fresa." alexia smiled as you looked up at her.

"really?" you yawned as your sister hummed and you shuffled around to get a little more comfortable. "you can have hugs whenever you want ale." you mumbled tiredly, tiny body clinging tightly to hers as the older girl wiped away a stray tear.

"gracias fresa." alexia kissed your forehead, your eyes already closed as you firmly fisted her shirt and she hugged you even tighter.

"but next time we can hug in your bed you're too big for mine." you sighed honestly, alexia covering her mouth to stifle a laugh, something which hadn't left her in what felt like forever.

"oh nena please don't ever grow up."

~

when you were younger you were a bubbly kid, intelligent too and incredibly empathetic and caring. but you did have one fatal flaw, at least to your sisters, and that was your inability to lie.

to eli you were a blessing in that sense, and though she'd always raised her girls to be honest if the older woman smelled anything amiss you were her to go for confirmation.

not unlike the first time you'd caught alba sneaking back in after a night out with friends, your sister hardly sober she'd climbed back in through the wrong window scaring you near half to death and hurrying to throw a hand over your mouth as you almost screamed.

"what are you doing!" you asked wide eyed, heart rate a near million miles an hour as your sister laid down on your floor. "dios mio fresa why is your room spinning!" alba groaned throwing a hand over her eyes as you leapt out of bed.

"no! you can't tell." your sister grabbed at your ankle sending you hurtling to the floor with a thump. "let go!" you grunted trying to pull away as alba clung on, the two of you bickering back and forth before your door opened.

"pequeña? what-" to alba's relief it was only alexia as she relaxed and you managed to yank your ankle free, shuffling away from her. "alba came through my window and now she's being weird and says my rooms spinning and-" you rambled on as alba groaned and alexia quickly realised what happened.

"you're drunk!?" alexia hissed as alba shushed her and you frowned. "whats drunk mean?" you questioned alexia who faltered for a moment, grabbing alba's hands and hauling her to sit up. "nothing. wait here fresa!" your eldest sister ordered firmly, pulling alba properly to her feet.

mumbling angrily at your other sister in spanish alexia very carefully guided alba out of your room and toward hers, wincing as alba's head thumped against the door frame.

but she breathed out a sigh of relief as eli's door stayed closed, practically dragging her younger sister to her own room as you stayed put, getting back into bed where you'd been rudely awoken.

after a few minutes and making sure alba wasn't going to choke on her own vomit alexia returned, kneeling by your bed. "you can't tell mami that alba came through your window fresa." your sister spoke firmly as you gave her a curious look.

"can i say she was drunk?" you questioned, at seven years old not able to know what that meant. "no, you can't tell mami anything." alexia shook her head. "but what if she asks me?" you questioned with a frown as your sister sighed.

"she won't. promise me you won't tell?" the brunette held up her pinky as you gave her a suspicious look. "if you do i'll take you to the beach after school tomorrow." the older girl bargained as you nodded. "will you get me ice cream?" you questioned again as alexia sighed but agreed.

"now go to sleep!" her fingers shoved at your forehead making you huff and swat her away. "i was! till drunk alba woke me up." you rolled your eyes. "not a word about it fresa, i mean it." alexia warned as you yawned and nodded, closing your eyes again.

that next day just as promised alexia picked you up from school and drove the two of you to the beach, alba meeting you there dropped off by one of her own friends.

"can i go get some shells?" you questioned, hovering by where both your sisters laid out in the sun. "sí. alba will go with you!" your eldest sister pushed at the others shoulder who groaned. "you take her." alba mumbled, voice muffled by the cap covering her face.

"no i think you will, or else maybe mami will learn where you were last night." alexia smiled smugly closing her eyes and rolling onto her back, alba pulling the cap away from her face with a dirty look as you tapped your foot impatiently.

but this little interaction didn't go unnoticed by you, and neither one of your sisters could have predicted how it would come back to haunt them as alba sighed and stood up.

"vamos, lets go find some pretty shells then hermanita."

"alba." you spoke up a little later as your sister hummed, busying herself shifting through a handful of shells for the best ones. "what does drunk mean? ale wouldn't tell me." you questioned as the older girl paused.

"uhh it means you feel sick." alba dismissed, refusing to look up and meet your eyes she felt burning a hole in her head. "like when you eat too much ice cream?" you questioned again, bending down to poke at the sand.

"uh sure, like that. oh look at this one!" alba held up a large pink spiral shell as your eyes lit up and as hoped your attention focused elsewhere, taking your sisters hand as you both wandered further down the beach and the topic didn't arise again.

"i win!" you cheered as you beat your sister back to where alexia was now sat up, watching with a smile and sunglasses dropped over her eyes.

"did you find some good shells fresa?" alexia smiled as you and alba returned and you launched yourself at her in a hug, tackling her onto her back making her laugh. "yeah. alba has em!" you nodded to your other sister who was carefully placing them into your bag.

"i think thats enough sun for you today then hermanita." you huffed as a cap was pulled down over your eyes sending the world dark for a moment before you pushed it back up.

"ice cream?" you asked hopefully as your sisters packed everything up. "we had ice cream when we got here, no more today nena." alexia chuckled pulling your hat down over your eyes again.

"i think more ice cream." you announced, pushing the hat up with an innocent smile as alexia gave you an odd look. "well i said no fresa, vamos!" she held your bag and hers in one hand and offered her other for you to take.

"i think yes, or else mami finds out about alba last night." you took her hand and parroted alexias earlier words, alba rooting in spot a few feet ahead and slowly turning. "what did you just say?" the older girl asked in disbelief.

"ice cream or i tell." you shrugged as alba scoffed. "this is your fault. arréglalo!" she pointed at alexia who stared down at you in a mix of shock and fear.

"so, ice cream now?"

another thing neither of your sisters had planned for was eli to suggest you all went to a local carnival which was on for the weekend in the centre of town that night.

both of them hoping the beach ice cream incident was a one off had been unable to say no to your puppy dog eyes that they both come when they tried getting out of it, each of them cancelling plans with friends to go to the carnival instead much to your delight.

and for the first couple of hours, everything was going well.

your sisters argued over who got to hold your hand, bickering over which rides to take you on or whose turn it was to sit with you much to eli's amusement as she trailed after the three of you, one of her friends from work joining you all on her night off.

she'd always been cautious about how her older daughters would react to her news of having another, especially with a 10 and 13 year age gap, but there hadn't been a single second where she'd regretted her decision to have you.

both your sisters fiercely protective from the moment you were born it was now to the point it almost seemed as if they'd had you themselves the way they carried on sometimes, though the more older you got the more they seemed to insist on babying you in sheer disbelief that one day you needed to grow up.

"this one." you decided, sat on alba's shoulders as the three of you stopped in front of some sort of game which looked to involve shooting down some ducks, both older girls now arguing over who could win you a prize first as alba carefully lowered you to the ground.

"ready to lose reina?" alba challenged as your eldest sister scoffed and rolled her eyes, paying the attendant and readying herself as it counted down and you watched on in awe.

though of course and as per usual it was alexia who came out on top, cheering happily as alba dropped the fake gun with a scowl. "which one fresa?" your sister hoisted you up onto her hip as the attendant pointed out which prizes you could have.

pointing out a bright purple stuffed pig your eyes lit up as it was handed to you, alexia placing you back on your feet as you hugged your new friend tightly. "that one? he is so ugly." alba frowned at your choice as the three of you wandered off to find eli.

"you are ugly!" you shot back in defense of your new friend, alba's eyebrows raising as suddenly you bolted, your sister hot on your heels as alexia yelled after you both to be careful with a shake of her head.

this afternoons events were all but forgotten as you shovelled treat after treat into your mouth, still at the age where as the youngest nobody really ever said no to you, least of all your mami.

but on reflection your sisters perhaps should have taken into consideration the two ice creams and multitude of rides and running around you'd engaged in when buying you whatever you wanted all evening.

all but asleep in alexia's arms now your eyes fought to stay awake as eli waved off her friend and the four of you headed for the car, your eyes opening again as fireworks sounded in the distance and you looked up in wonder at the bursting colours above your head.

but as you were buckled into the car, you started to feel a little funny.

"mami i feel sick." you mumbled, alba leaning over with a frown and laying the back of her hand against your forehead. "she's not hot." the brunette shrugged before suddenly you careered forward and threw up all over yourself.

"oh hija." eli winced sympathetically, hurrying around to the side of the car as alexia hunted around in the boot for something to change you into, alba too busy complaining about the smell to be of any help.

having a few small sips of water and changed into one of alexia's old training jerseys she'd pulled out of a bag you were sat back into the car, body sagged against your sisters as she'd swapped seats with alba, running her fingers through your hair.

"ale?" you spoke up as the older girl hummed. "think i'm drunk." you mumbled out as the car jolted to a stop at a red light and your sisters eyes widened, eli whipping around to face you in shock.

"you are what?"

~

from your very first day of school it became a routine that alexia would both drop you off and pick you up, the start and finishing times never clashing much with her training schedule whilst eli was almost always at work and alba at school of her own.

over the years alexia had gone bright red when asked if she was young when she had you, quick to explain she was just your sister as the embarrassed blush shifted to whoever had asked the question, a rambled apology normally following.

though now ten years old your school this year was trialing two half days on a thursday and tuesday for some sort of study, and with this new introduction there was a shift in routine, eli normally taking her lunch break early to quickly collect you and bring you back to work with her.

which is why on thursday when you'd finished around lunchtime you were surprised to see alexia waiting for you instead, barcelona kit on and shifting anxiously from foot to foot checking the time on her watch as her eyes roamed the playground for you.

as they found you and you waved she smiled, gesturing for you to come as you hugged your friends goodbye and raced over. "where's mami?" you questioned right away but upon your arrival something else had captured alexia's attention.

"stuck at work. what happened to your face fresa?" alexia dropped down right away, cradling your face in her hands and turning it side to side to inspect the fresh cut above your left eyebrow.

"and your knee! mierda." the eldest putellas gasped suddenly seeing the nasty gash on your right knee, dried blood already scabbing over. "thats a bad word." you reminded your sister who ignored you, too busy inspecting your knee.

"what happened? did you fall over? were you running too fast? did you have your backpack on? did you forget to tie your laces again?" alexia fired a million questions your way, only stopping when your small hand covered her mouth, sometimes the only way you knew how to shut her up when she got like this.

"i got pushed over. do you think i'll get a cool scar?" you asked excited by the prospect as alexia swatted your hands away to stop you touching the cut on your head.

"who pushed you and why?" alexia asked firmly, hands cradling your face again with a frown.

"a boy. we had to speak about our heros in class and i was telling everyone about you and how you play football for spain and barça and he said girls can't play football. then i told him he was stupid and you're better than anyone in the whole world at football and he pushed me over!" you explained, alexia's face softening for a moment.

"you said i was your hero?" she asked, a little choked up as you nodded and she pulled you into a tight hug. "ale you're all sweaty!" you groaned trying to push away from her much larger body.

"now. who pushed you?" alexia snapped back to the problem at hand as her eyes quickly scanned you for any further injury, frown depending seeing a few small cuts on your palms where you'd clearly tried to use your hands to break your fall.

"him." you pointed out the boy who caught your eye and paled as your sister let go of you and turned, face like thunder as the boy quickly cowered behind his father, alexia ordering you to wait here for her as she marched over to the pair.

you couldn't hear what was being said but watching your sisters hands flail about you knew she was angry, and it seemed the boys dad was angry too, yelling back at her for awhile.

and as much as alexia would have loved to continue to give the man a piece of her mind she knew she was already running late to return to training. so settling for threatening legal action if a single hair on your head was touched again she turned on heel and stormed away, grabbing your hand and tugging you to fall into step with her.

"vamos, you're coming to training with me pequeña."

"cutting it a little fine aren't we ale? going from a half an hour early to only ten minutes?" leila teased as alexia appeared in the change rooms still with your hand held securely in hers even as you tried now to pull away.

"we're late cause ale got into a fight at my school!" you chipped in, succeeding in yanking your hand free and making a beeline right for leila who dropped down to hug you.

"a fight huh?" marta raised an eyebrow as alexia rolled her eyes, sitting down to change out of her trainers back to her boots, still with an outdoor session to go before she was finished for the day.

"yeah she beat up some boy for pushing me over. do you think i'll get a cool scar?" you questioned leila as a few more of the girls came to greet you, your battle wounds quite the topic of conversation as your head was turned side to side over and over and your knee was poked and prodded at before marta gently covered it with a plaster.

"i didn't beat him up fresa!" alexia groaned at the questioning looks sent her way. "no she fought his papi." you corrected as laughs echoed around the change room and alexia hung her head in her hands.

"i did not fight anybody!" alexia huffed as you took your backpack off and handed it to her to be put away in her cubby, your sister quick to smother your face in sun cream much to your attempts to push her off as she explained what really happened.

"well i think that boy is stupid and you will have a very cool scar nena." patri grinned, scooping you up and tossing you over her shoulder. "badass!" you chirped as alexia's head swiveled toward you. "who taught you that?" your sister questioned as your eyes lingered on a guilty looking pina.

"you're not allowed to be left alone with claudia anymore." alexia sighed with a shake of her head, making her way out of the change rooms as patri carried you over her shoulder.

you busied yourself chattering away to mario who hung behind you with a grin at your very animated recount of what you assumed alexia had said to the boys father, your sister now just out of earshot as she walked ahead.

"do you have homework fresa?" alexia questioned with a raised eyebrow at the singular book and pen in your hand once the others had all made their way onto the pitch.

"no?" you tried with an innocent smile as your sister chuckled. "still a terrible liar diablillo." your sister teased as you deflated and begrudgingly showed her the times tables you needed to practice.

"diablillo huh?" a new voice sounded as a girl you'd not met before appeared with a grin. "fresa this is maría, she's my new team mate." alexia introduced the both of you explaining you were her sister as the girl commented on the obvious age difference.

"i was an accident." you stated suddenly as alexia frowned and bent down. "who told you that?" she questioned with furrowed eyebrows. "that boy who pushed me today." you shrugged, not too bothered by it.

"well he is wrong, sí? you are not an accident fresa, do not let anyone tell you that. you were a surprise, and surprises are always good. a perfect little surprise for alba and i, vale?" she pulled you into a very tight hug as you nodded and hugged her back making her smile.

mapi squatted down next and extended her hand toward you as your sister let you go and stood back up.

"cool!" you ignored the handshake and instead marveled at the tattoos littering her arm, tracing them in awe making both older girls laugh. "you can call me mapi, you like these huh?" mapi asked as you nodded eagerly.

"like the ones on ale's back. i tried drawing some more on her but she wouldn't let me!" you commented with an eye roll. "you wanted to draw them on my face!" alexia reminded with a scoff. "yeah your face is boring hermana." you grinned, ducking as her hand reached out to mess up your hair and the whistle blew.

"well anytime you want to draw me some more cool tattoos diablillo you are very welcome to." mapi promised with a wink before running off. "if you need help come get me or ask somebody, go do your math por favor!" alexia nodded for you to go sit in the shade as you did so.

you tried to do your math but found that watching your sister and her team train was far more interesting, book and pen abandoned in your lap after only five minutes as you watched on in awe until the final whistle blew to end training.

most of the girls headed back toward the change rooms alexia wandered over, taking a seat beside you and handing you a water bottle. "nice math fresa." she snatched your book before you could with an amused smile.

"yo te ayudaré." she rolled her eyes, shuffling a little closer and walking you through everything, pausing every now and then as a few of the girls came over to speak with you both.

"my head hurts." you complained, falling sideways so your head was in your sisters lap once you'd made it halfway through, alexia chuckling.

"must be the cut." you nodded pointing it out causing the older girl to fondly roll her eyes, deeming that was enough for now and helping you both up.

"you know fresa, you are my hero too. mi pequeña héroe!" alexia smiled softly as you both walked back into the training centre as you looked up at her in surprise.

"really?" "really nena."

"and mi hermana favorita, but do not tell alba." she winked, foot flicking up to kick you in the behind. "hey thats not fair! my legs not long enough." you tried to do the same to her almost sending yourself tumbling over as alexia laughed and grabbed the back of your shirt to steady you.

"maybe one day fresa, maybe one day."

[daddyricsdoll]

You know ✭ Max Verstappen

Summary: Max got his 3rd world title and he had an idea on how to celebrate.

Warnings: Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral (f and M receiving), Squirting, Dacryphilia, reader is virgin and there is an age gap, but not specified. Oh, and a little overstimulation.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: Based off of this request. Sorry it took a while! And never forget, you can always reblog.🤭

People’s screams fill my ears and colours cover my vision as Max drives his car on the pedestal that lays there for his 3rd consecutive world championship. My body gets squished in between employees from Red Bull and to my advantage I end up flush against the barrier separating us from Max.

He finally gets out of the car and runs toward the crowd waiting for him, he starts hugging the team, making his way closer and closer to me. Ultimately when he makes his way to me, our embrace lasts longer than others. “Max! I can’t believe it. You’re so amazing! I love you” I shouted to him, hoping he heard from under his helmet. I hear the outline of his voice, but I don’t catch the words, still I nod my head and then watch him go and hug the others. I stand by as he collects his trophy, then make my way to his driver's room.

I was a few metres away when I saw Max walk in the room, which resulted in me jogging to the door. “Max!” 

“Oh hey dear” He turns around and grasps me in his arms. 

“You did great, my 3 time world champion!” I give him a million dollar smile and place little pecks along his face. “We need to do something to celebrate!” I cheer.

“I have an idea” Max’s hands slide down my sides and rest on my hips. He looks down at me with dark eyes. “I-um what’s your idea?” 

“Oh come on Schat…” His hands slip around to my back and he pulls me closer, with a tight grip on my ass. “I think you know.” He rasps to me in an unrecognisable voice that makes my breathing hitch and a chill run through me.

A smirk appears on his face and I shift my gaze away from his eyes. His hands start caressing my ass and slowly making their way down, closer to the place he has never touched. I revert my eyes back to him when he unexpectedly doesn’t stop, and all he does is chuckle and continue. He pulls the back of my dress up and his fingers linger around my panties. “M-max”

“Yes?” His blue eyes stare into mine as his fingers slip beneath the fabric. “I don’t-”

“Spread your legs” And I obey his command, my legs shifting wider, and the sound of my shoes against the floor breaking the tranquility in the room. I feel his soft fingers glide between my folds, and a groan releases from his mouth. Max removes his fingers and grips the back of both of my thighs, hoisting me up to his body before walking forward and pushing my body against the wall.

He pulls the fabric of my dress up and he eagerly pulls my panties down, throwing them onto his massage table. His hands return back to the place they once occupied, he lifts one of my legs up and presses it against his waist. “Anyone fingered you against a wall?” He breathed into my ear and then thrust a finger into me. A long whine mixed with a moan escapes my mouth and I shake my head side to side. “Use your words”

“N-no”

“Then where did the pathetic man finger you? Just in bed? Did you only cum once-”

“Maaaxxx” I wail out his name as his fingers become more rough. “Go, tell me, and I’ll do it better more than three times.”

“I-no Max- Fuck! I-I haven’t been…” As my voice quiets the smirk on Max’s face becomes louder and he shoves another finger in me. His thumb starts circling my clit. “Oh so I’m the first one in your tight pussy.” he grits through his teeth. “I get to ruin my little virgin.” His fingers start curling inside of me and tears leave the corner of my eye.

My back arches against the wall, forcing my body into Max’s. A tight, strong feeling blooms in my stomach and I whine to Max, questioning him on this new experience. He chuckles and leans into me for a kiss, it was hard and quick, and it feels like the thing in my stomach explodes and my hands go to the back of Max’s head, pulling on his hair.

Seconds later Max breaks the kiss and I feel an emptiness when his fingers leave me. He takes a step back and stares at me, his fingers that were just inside me, now being savoured in his mouth. 

The brunette pulls his fingers out of his mouth and places both of his hands on either side of his hips. “My Schat, oh you look so good. Come here.” Only then do I realise my appearance, my hair everywhere and tears adorning my face.

My hands splayed out against the wall and chest heaving up and down in heavy motions. I take slow and small steps to Max and he starts unzipping his race suit, pulling it down to his knees. “Look at what you did to me, crying over my fingers.” I spot the bulge in his pants and I look back up at Max, still unsure of what he expects of me. “Oh come on Schat. Get on your knees.” 

“Max, I ca- I don’t-” 

“I’ll tell you, but first you need to get on your knees” I nod my head and make my way to the floor, when I’m fully on the ground I look up at him with doe eyes. “Pull down my pants” I nod again and do what he says.

His dick springs up in front of my face and my mouth nearly fall agape at his size. The feeling in my core ignites again, and then I look back up at Max. He nods at me and this time I have a clue of my next move. I grab him in my hand and my fingers barely touch as I feel his thick cock in my small hand.

“Spit on your hand and then move it up and down” I gather up saliva in my mouth and then aggressively spit on my hand and wrap it around his dick. I reenact the motions he had encouraged me to do and hear the light moans spill out of his mouth. “I-the tip” He stutters, and my thumb rubs over the tip of his dick. “Ahhh, yeah. That’s it Schat.” Max praises me and I carry on the work of my hands, my pace starts changing and I look at to Max for some more assurance.

“Use your mouth, tongue.” And then very slowly I inch my mouth toward him, my tongue licks his tip and then I start circling it. Max’s hand then entangles itself in my hair, and with force, but lightly he pushes my head down. He hits the back of my throat and a few tears pool in my eyes.

Max tilts my head up so he can look at me in the eyes an then pulls himself out and rams back in. Pressuring the tears in my eyes to finally fall and Max’s agape mouth turns into a wide smile. “That’s it.” He continues controlling the speed of my head and I get barely get used to his size, frequently gagging on him.

“I’m gonna cum” Max grits out of his teeth. His hand on the back of my head becomes rougher and adds to the speed of his hips moving toward me. And in seconds his comes shoots out and hits the back of my throat. Max pulls out and bends his head down to examine my mouth. “Fuck you’re beautiful.” He holds my chin and then nods to me as an indication that I can swallow. And after I do, he prys my mouth open and inspects it once again before giving me a quick “Good” and pulling me back up to my feet. Max grabs my body and pushes me onto the massage table. “You ready Schat?”

I nod my head nervously and he strides toward me with purpose. He lifts me up a bit and pulls my dress over my head. And I sit infront of him, basically naked, a pair of thin lace bra covering my pebbled nipples. “Take it off Schat.” He demands me, and I take it off, fully exposed to him.

Max doesn’t say anything and harshly spreads my legs. I let out a nervous whine and my eyes become damp. “Fuck” He stares at my core. “You’re so fucking wet, and oh” He looks up at my face, and his hands come to my cheeks. “Can you take me? Or is it too much?” I stutter on a reply, not having a clue to what I can handle at this moment.

As I don’t answer immediately Max pulls my legs and my whole back lays on the massage bed. I let out a squeak and he lifts my legs so my feet point to the ceiling. And as his hands grasp my legs he pushes into me in one powerful thrust.

He whispers out a few curses and then he starts moving in me. Immediately hitting the right spot and going balls deep. My hard pants tribute to the slaps of our skin. Max places one of my legs over his shoulder and he somehow reaches places I never thought were possible. He starts ramming into my sweet spot and two tears leave the corner of my eyes.

The knot in my stomach becomes more vigorous than last time and every miniscule movement Max makes, emits a sound from me. I look at his face, full of emotions I hadn’t seen him wear before. His brows furrowed and mouth lightly parted, small droplets of sweat embelllish his beautiful face. I admire him, his features and oh the way he feels in me right now. I start fluttering around his dick and I finally release with a deep wail. Max makes unpatterned thrusts and then he pulls out. His cum shoots out and bedecks my torso. “Fuck Schat, I had to hold back, but next time…” 

He steadily lowers my legs, but still keeps them wide open. The brunette kneels down and comes in eye contact with my pussy, I sit up to watch him as his tongue licks up my cum, like a man deprived from food and that’s a feast. I start writhing my body as I know this time, I can’t take more.

“Oh come on Schat” Max’s hands firmly hold my thighs down and he delves his tongue into me again. He flattens his tongue out on my clit and then goes at it again. The very faint prickles of his shaven beard scratching the insides of my thigh and adding more effect to the work of his mouth.

I beg Max to slow down, even stop but it only makes him go more feral and then my hand goes to his head and pulls on the few strands I can grasp. He starts flicking his tongue over my clit and the sensation intensifies my release. I glance down with moist eyes and watch as I squirt onto him.

I gasp in embarrassment and Max grins. He stands up and pulls my body up into a sitting position. “My beautiful princess, fucking squirted on your first time.” His hands rest on either side of my body and our foreheads lean on the other. “Let’s get you cleaned up” He murmurs on my lips and then pushes away and leaves into the bathroom merely metres away.

He walks back in with the same confidence and used a damp cloth to clean me, he wipes his cum off my chest and licks my nipples before moving down and wiping my core and legs. “Wait till I get my fourth world championship, you’re gonna squirt 4 times.”

[inez-winchester-cameron]

cw: dark!rafe x agegap!reader, ten year age gap (29 and 19), abuse lowkey, orgasm denial, degradation, no aftercare, daddy kink, misogyny

note: ngl im a sucker for a good age gap. added the abusive part in last minute. still taking regular or dark!rafe ideas :))

rafe never really grew out of his high school "phase". 10 years later he's still the same guy he used to be. loud, abrasive, angry, a frat boy. he still makes deals with barry and helps him sell his products.

you didn't even notice rafe wasn't your own age until you asked how old he was. him and topper still throw the same lavish parties and still invite all the kooks.

"hey sweetheart, can i get you a refill?" rafe asks with a sly smile, seeing your nearly empty cup.

"oh no i think i've had enough," you claim. you've always been a little bit of a good girl, always limiting yourself to one or two drinks and keeping the days you drink to a minimum. to this day, rafe makes sure you keep your alcohol content down in a sort of controlling way but in some fucked up way, you enjoy it.

rafe takes care of you almost as if he would a child, telling you what you can and cant do. if you can or cant eat something, and he goes as far to give you rules you need to follow and god forbid you break those rules, he'll have you over his knee (or if you really piss him off he'll slap you so hard your ears are ringing).

you'd be lying if you said rafe hasn't corrupted you. he has you tucked into his side as he deals drugs, has you trying all sorts of alcohol, and he has definitely corrupted you in the bedroom.

-

"remember how fucking innocent you used to be, whore?" rafe asked, holding your hips as he fills your tight pussy from behind, "had such a pretty virgin pussy and you let me ruin it..what a fucking slut."

"letting such an older guy fill your pussy..god imagine if your friends knew? youre such a fucking whore. them college guys cant fuck you as good as daddy can, huh?"

"r-rafe-! i-i " you whimper out, receiving a tug on your hair in response.

"what? spit out, slut."

"m gonna cum!"

rafe chuckles darkly and stops, laughing more when you whine. he pulls out, cumming on your ass, smearing it around a little.

"really thought daddy would let you cum? or fill you up? dirty whores dont deserve those things. try being a good girl again and maybe ill let you cum."

"but daddy-" you're cut off by a slap to the face. you whimper in pain.

"you know the rules. no whining. what daddy says goes, understood?"

you weakly nod, terrified.

"now clean yourself up and get me some dinner." rafe says, tucking himself away. he gives you a kiss on your cheek, a small show of affection before walking away. he leaves you shaking, scared, and wanting more.

[celestie0]

choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]

in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow

ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!

alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”

present day. summer.

“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.

Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.

You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”

You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.

Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.

“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”

Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”

The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.

“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”

They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.

The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.

“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.

“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.

“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.

You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.

You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”

“Um. Both of them?”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.

“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”

“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.

“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”

He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”

You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”

“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.

His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.

But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.

“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.

“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”

“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”

You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”

“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.

“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.

“And you love him?”

“So much.”

“Was he your first love?”

Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.

You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”

“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.

“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.

You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”

The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.

“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”

“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”

.

.

.

seven years ago. summer.

chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.

“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown. 

“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”

Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.

Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.

The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.

“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!” 

The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!” 

Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.

With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music. 

“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”

A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic. 

“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”

There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like  “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex. 

The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair. 

The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours. 

His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.

“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage. 

“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”

She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”

You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.

You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”

As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.

“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder. 

“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”

Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”

“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”

Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.

There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage. 

Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”

The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”

Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”

“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”

“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.

You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it. 

“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.

“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.

“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants. 

“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”  

“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”

Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.

You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.

“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”

Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”

Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”

Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there. 

Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.” 

Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.

“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”

She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”

You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.

Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”

Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”

Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”

Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?” 

His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”

Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”

Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex. 

“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.

Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.

You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.

“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.

He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface. 

“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”

Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.

“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”

Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”

“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”

Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

“Take me,” you deadpan.

She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”

“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition. 

“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving. 

The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.  

Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”

You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”

“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”

“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot. 

Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering. 

Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.

Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of. 

His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest. 

He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”

You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.

“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”

He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”

“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”

“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.

“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”

He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”

“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.

You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in. 

When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.

“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”

Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast. 

You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.

“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.

“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.

You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment. 

You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.

“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”

His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”

Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.

“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all. 

His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again.  His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”

It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.

His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”

His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.

“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.

But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.

“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”

The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you. 

You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”

“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.” 

Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous. 

“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.

“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough. 

You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.” 

“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”

Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.

“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.

Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.

The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush. 

.

.

.

present day. summer.

“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out. 

“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”

The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”

There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.

“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”

“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”

“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”

You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.

“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day. 

“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”

You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.

“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized. 

“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”

“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”

You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.

You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”

.

.

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seven years ago. autumn.

chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.

[to be continued]

a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.

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