Bakugo and Y/N's hearts raced as they navigated the darkened hallway, the echoes of their own footsteps blending with the sinister whispers that seemed to taunt them at every turn. Adrenaline surged through their veins, heightening their senses as they pressed on, determined to unravel the mystery shrouding their dorm. Abruptly, a chilling laughter pierced the silence, sending a shiver down their spines. The air grew thick with tension as shadows danced menacingly around them, playing tricks on their minds. With each step, the feeling of unease intensified, driving Bakugo and Y/N to the edge of their courage. As they reached the end of the corridor, a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the dorm, jolting them into action. Their survival instincts kicked in as they sprinted towards the exit, the relentless pursuit of an unseen terror fueling their desperate escape.
Little did they know, the true horror awaited them just beyond the threshold, ready to test their resolve in ways they never thought possible…
can you please write lando having a girlfriend that is younger than him by like 6 years (~19) and she is shy about going to the paddock bc she doesn't know what people will think about her age. maybe with smut???
Love your writing
grown enough - LN4 🔥
Masterlist
summary: lando’s twenty-five. you’re nineteen. and though he never makes you feel small, you do feel young — especially when it comes to the paddock. he wants to show you off. you’re terrified of what people will think. but when he finally gets you alone, he shows you exactly how much he wants you — age be damned.
warnings: (explicit smut, age gap (19/25), power imbalance themes, praise kink, virginity loss mention, soft dom!lando, oral (f receiving), reader insecurity, possessiveness, body worship, vaginal sex, creampie, gentle jealousy, reader is shy/submissive, slow emotional build into smut)
wordcount:
He doesn’t care about the age thing. Not really. He jokes about it sometimes, calls you baby when you pout, teases you for the way you still use Spotify Free, ruffles your hair like you’re younger than you are.
But never when it matters. Never when you’re scared. And especially not when you look at him like this, wide-eyed, nervous, fingers twisting in the hem of your hoodie as you stare at the invitation on your phone.
“Everyone’s gonna think I’m just some kid,” you whisper. “Like I’m too young to be there.”
Lando leans against the counter, arms crossed, gaze soft. “You are a kid,” he deadpans.
You glare. He grins. Then pushes off the counter and walks over, tipping your chin up gently. “Hey.”
You blink.
“You’re not too young,” he says. “Not for this. Not for me.”
You try to smile. It doesn’t work.
He leans in. “And you definitely weren’t too young when you were moaning my name last night.”
You gasp. Swat his chest.
He just laughs. And kisses your forehead.
Still, the paddock terrifies you. Everyone is older. Taller. Cooler. Glossed in decades of polish and confidence. You wear Lando’s jacket and cling to his hand and still feel like someone’s younger cousin who snuck in with a fake badge.
He keeps you close. Introduces you to Zak. Squeezes your thigh under the table when you go quiet.
Winks when someone calls you his “girlfriend.”
You feel like you’re faking it. Until you catch Max watching you.
Then Lando leans over and whispers, “Don’t worry about him. He’s just mad you’re mine and not his.”
Your whole body flushes. Lando smirks.
Later, in the hotel suite, you’re curled up beside him on the bed. He’s shirtless. You’re still in your hoodie. And something’s shifting. You’re quieter than usual. Not shy. Not exactly. Just soft. Nervous.
He kisses your temple. “Talk to me.”
You shrug. “I feel like everyone was staring.”
“They were.”
“Lando-”
“Because you’re hot.”
You blink.
He grins. “You’re hot, baby. And sweet. And mine.”
You don’t answer.
So he kisses your neck. “I know you worry.” He slides a hand under your hoodie. “I know you think nineteen is too young.” His hand finds your breast. “But I’ve never met a girl more sure of what she wants.”
You shiver.
“I’ve never wanted anyone more.”
You breathe. “Then show me.”
He makes you say it. How old you are. How long you waited. How no one ever touched you the way he does. He moans when you say nineteen, low and wrecked.
“Fuck, baby. You feel like a teenager and you fuck like a dream.”
He’s slow at first. Careful. Fingers between your legs, lips on your tits, hands firm on your thighs. “You’re ready for me?”
You nod, moaning.
“Say it.”
“I’m ready, Lando- please.”
He slides in. You cry out. He kisses you through it. You’re so tight he has to stop, breathing hard, gripping the sheets.
But you tell him not to. Beg him not to. And when he moves? It’s heaven.
You’re his. Utterly.
He whispers “you’re mine” against your lips when you come.
Tells you “you’re grown enough for this” when he fills you up.
And when you fall asleep against his chest?
He whispers “They don’t have to understand. As long as you do.”
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
SUMMARY: you think seeing #81 everywhere is just a co-incidence, until you do some research, and you think you might have a soulmate. only problem is now you have to find them, before you lose them. funnily enough, you've known them for as long as you can remember. This fic is intended to span months, please keep that in mind, as the passing of time is badly written. Also, please use your imagination for blanks or things that don't quite fit- the world of soulmates is a confusing one!
WHAT'S INSIDE: angst with a happy ending, soulmate au, swearing, haunting the narrative, lando and clara mention <3
WORD COUNT: 6.5K (Was aiming for 8.1k but.. plans changed.)
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS: based on this request by my dear friend @fruityfluter <3. i looooove 'about you' so bad, and yk i fw soulmate!oscar SO BAD. so this is a tad self-indulgent.. anyway... i've decided to give you a happy ending! maybe??? (kidding..) thanks everyone for all the support recently! also, ive got a couple of requests which might take me longer than i thought, sorry! heavily reccomend punisher by phoebe for the vibe of this fic, tbh. maybe moodboard for this fic too if yall enjoy it! also, tiny easter egg for Doomed, Chap 9: this is basically the happy version of that! eek.
MASTERLIST | ABOUT YOU | THE FULL PLAYLIST | #81
There was once a time, long before money gripped the world in a claw so tight one could not breathe; where love and marriage were one and the same, and the economics of it all ceased to matter.
It was back then, when people devised an understanding for a unique way of the world. A soulmate, they called them. Someone supposedly gifted to you by the Universe, and then you had to find them. Some philosophers theorised it was to give us a purpose; others, to be cruel. But the system itself was fairly simple. The only thing that is truly infinite, is numbers. So people would be sent numbers, and they would sub-consciously notice them, over and over again. Until eventually, it would become all too overwhelming to ignore, and they’d know they were close to finding their so-called soulmate.
For generations, this worked. As long as numbers existed, so did soulmates. So did huge, universal, undoubtable love.
Numbers still exist. Soulmates? Now a myth.
Historians assume it was the rise of capitalism. The invention of the dowry. The birth of the belief of the perfect couple. The new societal classes. That dragged apart love-matches, and paired them to financial ones instead. Monarchs could not marry boys covered in mud, and a woman could not love another woman. And so, society scrapped soulmates, and left everyone rather miserable, and both poorer and richer simultaneously.
Still, fate did not let up. It was weaker now, easier to ignore, but it still tried.
Most people would start seeing the numbers. The percentage on their phone, the time on the clock. The same number, popping up every time. Still, there was a limit, of sorts. If you didn’t believe in them at all, you’d never notice. If you believed in love, but not quite enough, you probably won’t see it until it was ever too late, or far too early, and then it would be lost again.
It was not infinite, if you did not believe, did not try.
It was easy to dismiss. Everyone has a lucky number. It was those brave enough to be sceptical of its consistency that ever got a reward. Still, it was so rare now. The few cases of soulmates were almost all co-incidences, from lucky run-ins on city breaks.
Very few chased it, and you are not one of the few.
81. That’s your favourite number, lucky number, whatever else. You were born on 8/1, anyway. You figure it’s that. Just seems to settle in the right way in your soul, like a guidance. You’re not sure what it means, if it means anything at all.
81. That’s Oscar’s favourite number, lucky number, whatever else. He’d been drawn to it, and at the mere age of ten, he’d been told to pick a number to drive under. He’d blurted it out instantly, without thinking at all. Just a quick, definite decision. He’s not sure what it means, if it means anything at all.
The first time you almost meet Oscar Piastri is when you’re barely five years old. You’re having a taster day at kindergarten, and you’re being rather moody about the whole thing.
“Mum, I don’t want to go in. I already don’t like it here.” you grumble, tugging on her sleeve, and she shrugs you off.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be fun, come on.” she replies quietly, giving you an enthusiastic smile, and you scowl in response.
“Here are some kids you can buddy up with for the day, okay? Amy, Jules, Henry and Oscar.”
You count the heads dutifully, but come up one short. Amy is dramatically adorable, with red pigtails and muddy knees. Jules looks a little colder, and she’s tall, but she’s carrying a bright pink lunchbox so you figure she’s not nearly as tough as she looks. Henry is covered in freckles and his shirt has a ridiculous assortment of paint stains, but you think he might be fun. So, that just leaves Oscar, who is apparently a no-show.
The teacher grimaces.
“Does anyone know where Oscar is?”
The kids look from you to her blankly, with scattered shakes of their heads and shrugs, and she sighs.
“Alright, you three give her a tour, and we’ll see if Oscar ever shows up.”
Amy grabs your hand instantly, while Jules and Henry bicker over which staircase to take, and you let yourself relax a little. But something blares in your mind: Oscar. You’re not sure why you’re so hung up on the fact he didn’t make it, on who he is at all, but you can’t shake the feeling that he’s almost… important. Still, by the time you’ve made it to the art room, that’s long forgotten.
Once you make it back to the main foyer, dutifully following the three children around with the desperation of a new kid, you hear the teacher from the morning.
Her voice is quiet, but her tone is serious, and she’s muttering about impressions and tardiness.
The boy on the receiving end of the lecture looks about your age, with floppy brown hair and bunny-like teeth. He's gripping his orange backpack and shuffling his feet, and you wonder if he might cry if she raises her voice even just a little. When he looks up from the floor, his eyes shift from her stern face to your curious one, and for a second, the world seems to inhale. And then you’re dragged into an overly colourful classroom, and you wonder if you made it all up. You don’t see him again, as the final bell rings, and you reach your mother’s open arms.
“Still don’t wanna come here? You look like you had fun!” she says cheerfully, and for a second, you think about when the World Stopped. And then you stop thinking about it, fold your arms, and shake your determined head.
The second time you almost meet Oscar Piastri is at a funfair. The dodgems are gleaming, playing some obnoxious music, and you can feel Jasper tugging at your arm relentlessly.
“Come oooooon. I want to go.” he whines, yanking you into the queue.
You don’t like dodgems. Primitive, insane, and overly painful. And way too expensive.
But Jasper is desperate, with a disgusting grin on his face. You’d always found him to be slightly too energetic for a nine year old. Still, apparently maturity was a myth for many boys at school, and they seemed to take the foundational skills of maths as rather unimportant.
So you oblige, chucking him one of your last tokens, and you pile into the arena, darting towards an open car. As you reach an orange one, the number #81 painted on it, you feel something that isn’t the plastic of the seat beneath your hand.
You look up quickly, meeting brown eyes.
The boy looks oddly familiar, and you just can’t quite place it, until the sounds of shrieking children and blasting music fades into something quieter than the hammering of your heartbeat. He glances down, at your hand on his, and his ears turn a vicious shade of pink. Still, he doesn’t shift away, and neither do you, and you stand like that for what feels like an eternity and less than a second. You begin to splutter out something between an apology and an accusation, his name somewhere hidden in the fog of your brain, but he’s gone by the time you manage to remember it started with an O.
The third time you almost meet Oscar Piastri will also be the last, or so you think. Marty is shimmying into various different skirts in front of your mirror, while you offer short comments about how she ‘looks good in anything’ and she really ought to ‘stop stressing.’
“Who’s this party even for, anyway. Who’s the pastry kid?” you ask, lying down on your messy bed.
“Piastri,” she corrects, with a hidden laugh, “and it’s a goodbye party. He’s off to England, to drive, or something. I don’t actually know him.”
“England? At fifteen? Lucky bastard.” you complain, with a disgruntled scoff.
“What, would you move if you could now? Wouldn’t you miss us all terribly?” she asks, catching your eye in the mirror, and you shrug.
“Terribly, sure. But worth it. I’m going there, one day.”
Marty pauses. “Are you going to come back?”
“I don’t know.”
You both fall quiet, before you realise there’s no point in thinking about it too deeply. So instead, you hit play on your speaker, and wait for her to finish getting ready.
It’s busy, when you arrive at the house. You don’t know who’s house it really is, or who the people piling out the door are, but Marty's hand in yours keeps you calm.
“We can find Jasper and the others, okay? C’mon.”
She drags you through crowds and awkward people shuffling to the blaring house music, before you see familiar faces sprawled on the couch.
As you sit down, you scan the sofa, and in one inhale, it blurs.
He gives you a flicker of a smile, and his name finally forms in your whirling head.
“Everyone, this is-”
“Oscar.” you whisper, cutting off Jasper’s introduction.
“You know each other?"
You nor Oscar reply, because you’re not sure what the right answer is. How to explain whatever’s going on.
It’s soon forgotten, and then Marty is leading you away. You try not to think about how this is probably the last time you’ll ever see him. He tries to understand why he feels such a sharp sting in his stomach, and a sudden urge to chase after you.
It’s only when the charm on your necklace gleams at him, a small silver ‘81’, that he feels a deep regret as you disappear into the evening.
⛐✦
8:01. The number blurs as you unlock your phone, clicking off your alarm. With a desperate effort, you’re up, and the day begins. Clara is already fiddling in the bathroom, her music quietly waking you up, as you stumble towards the sink.
“G’morning.” she chirps, dabbing at her concealer, and you give her a tired smile.
“Well, if it isn’t my best friend!” exclaims Lando, his voice slightly distorted by his evidently bad wifi.
“Lando.” you mutter, rubbing your face, and he laughs.
Lando and Clara had been a thing for a while now. Never quite official, but something more unspoken hummed between them both. It was hard, you appreciated that. Clara was never one to reach for fame, and it was somewhat impossible to be seen with Lando and not have it rub off on you. So, she didn’t go to races, and they existed hidden in summer breaks and glitchy facetimes.
You’re not sure why they keep going. How they’re surviving. But you don’t judge, don’t comment, just stare at their lovesick eyes and question the eventuality of it all.
Once he hangs up, the noise increasing behind him, she looks disappointed for a second, and then it’s gone.
She passes you the toothpaste wordlessly, and you search her eyes for something, but instead you look at her hands. And there, as she flexes her knuckles, is something resembling a ‘4’.
“When d’you get a tattoo?” you ask, gesturing to her fist, and she frowns.
“I don’t have one?”
She scans her hand, giving you a confused shrug.
“Can you not, like, see it? That is a four, is it not?”
She stares at you now, her voice faltering a little.
“What did you say?”
“A four.” you repeat. “Y’know, like Lando’s number? I know you’re a 444 person, so-” you begin, but her widening eyes make you fall silent.
When you look again, it’s gone.
“I don't, I don't know what you’re talking about. See? Nothing there.”
You swallow, rubbing your eyes again, and wonder what you just saw.
81 hangs over Oscar’s head as he sits on the concrete step, trying to block out the clamour of noise from the paddock.
“Yeah, love you too. Bye.”
Lando shuts off his phone and sits beside him, extending a palm. Oscar takes it gladly, but he notices the stretch of his number on his thumb.
“I like that.” Oscar states, nodding towards the ‘4’ on his finger, and Lando frowns.
“Like what?”
“The four, up the side of your thumb. It’s cool. Maybe I should match.”
Lando retracts his hand and analyses his thumb carefully.
“I know you’re obsessed with me, mate, but you’re seeing my number now. Nothing there.”
It’s ironic, Lando thinks, considering he spent the last year trying to convince himself he wasn’t going insane when he saw his number everywhere. Still, he waits for Oscar to react, and he just blinks.
“Oh. Right. I’m tired.”
Once Clara closes the door behind her, you descend to your laptop. It blinks back at you, 81%, and that’s what cements it for you.
‘What does it mean when I see the same number a lot and start seeing tattoos of other peoples lucky number?’
The initial results are unhelpful- number tattoos inspiration, maths answers, what different numbers mean, and so on. Until you see a title that catches your eye- ‘I can’t stop seeing the number 47 everywhere I go, what’s going on?
With a determined click, you read the responses. People agreeing, people unsure. And then, an answer.
‘Not sure how helpful this is, but these are some historical accounts of the same things happening. People called it the ‘soulmate way’ back then. Not really a thing anymore, but maybe that’s what you’re experiencing?’
You click onto the link in the answer, and you’re engulfed by a rather wordy account of exactly what you’re going through. The constant appearance of the same number, some strange understanding linked to it, and feeling a bit overwhelmed.
The second page goes into detail into the ‘apparitions’ of numbers. When someone is running out of time to find their soulmate, they start seeing marks on other people, of their number, as if to entice you to try and find your ow-
When someone is running out of time?
Your next search is more frantic. ‘Can you run out of time to find your soulmate?’
Another article pops up, confirming your fear.
‘Yes. Once a person starts seeing their number, they have a finite time to find the person who sees the same number. They will know when they’ve found them, as there is often a feeling of ‘the world stopping’, or ‘time slowing down.’. They will also begin to see those who have found their soulmates with identical markings, to try and keep them believing a little longer, and keep the number alive. Some people see their number from birth, other in old age. It can be terribly unfair. Once it becomes noticeable, overwhelmingly so, then you know you do not have long left. If you are to meet your soulmate after this subsides, you will be unaware of who they are.’
The world stopping. It’s a familiar feeling.
You wonder if that boy with the orange backpack, whose name you’ve forgotten once again, was your soulmate. And now, he was in England somewhere, and you’d lose him without ever having him at all.
The next few weeks are hell for Oscar. Every time he opens his phone, he sees it. 81 unread emails, 81k likes, 81 songs on his playlist. His fruit, 81g. His fucking McDonalds order. Still, he ignores it. He smiles at the fans, posts the stupid videos, and focuses on the championship. When Lando asks him what’s up, he doesn’t answer. Just a shrug, another complaint of tiredness, and then it’s free practice. 0.81 seconds between him and Lando, naturally. And so, it becomes part of life, but he remains as unbothered as he can be. That’s until he starts dreaming about you.
It happens for the first time in his driver’s room, after an exhausting qualifying. As soon as his eyes close, he sees it. Kindergarten.
The corridors are exactly as he remembers them; lined with crappy art working and half open backpacks. But it’s oddly silent, only the muffled shouts of impatient children behind closed doors. With a mortifying step, he releases he’s late, and that classic childish terror hits him square in the chest. It drags, time slows, and his breaths grow heavy. It’s the closest thing to a nightmare he’s had in a while, and he just can't figure out why he’s dreaming of this right now. He also doesn’t understand why he’s so aware he’s asleep, but then he hears an awkward cough.
And it's you, although he doesn’t really know who you are. And he’s no longer at school, he’s stood by that scuffed dodgems car. That crawling heat he’d felt when your hand had pressed on his comes back instantly, and he wants to pull his arm away, but he can’t. When he looks up at you, you’re not the nine year old he’d met that night. Instead, you look older. As he assumes you might look now.
“Oscar.”The background shifts to that leaving party now, your necklace gleaming at him once again.
“Oscar?”
You’re speaking, and it sounds different from how he remembers you saying his name.
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t know why he’s replying. How he’s replying.
“What the fuck is going on?”
He straightens.
“Are you talking to me?”
You look around the room, at the blurred faces and the hum of music.
“Can we even talk to anyone else? They don’t have, like, faces.” you whisper, a slow look of horror painting your face.
Oscar wants to wake up. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but seeing your matured face, and knowing you without really knowing you at all is abrasive in a way he wasn’t expecting.
“It is Oscar, right? That’s your name?”
He nods, his mouth drying.
“This isn’t real.”
You snort. “Nice one, genius. Obviously we’re not back at a house party from nine years ago.”
He frowns, and then Lando’s voice rings out.
“Oscar, mate? It’s time.”
You scrunch your face up in disdain.
“Is that Lando? Why can’t I escape that guy?”
Light is pouring into the room now, as his eyes begin to open begrudgingly. Before he can ask you how you know Lando, he’s awake.
“Coming,” he croaks, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.
⛐✦
“Who’s Oscar?”
Clara blinks at you curiously, with a wicked grin.
“Who?”
“Oscar.” she repeats, with a determined eye roll.
You shrug. “I don’t know an Oscar.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Mate, you called his name last night. While you were sleeping.”
You give her a mortified look.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
You hide your face in your hands, bringing your knees to your chest.
“That’s so embarrassing. I genuinely don’t even know an Oscar!”
“You seriously don’t know him? What were you dreaming about?”
“I can’t remember.” you mumble, desperately trying to think, but nothing comes to mind.
She explodes into an outrageous fit of giggles, and you drop your head further into your knees.
“Stop, s’is not funny.” you groan, but she keeps cackling, giving your shoulders an affectionate shake.
“You really need to go talk to some more people. Or go find this Oscar guy.” she suggests, and you scowl.
“Don’t mention this. Ever again.”
Oscar doesn’t dream that night. Or the night after. He barely even sleeps. Something keeps him up, keeps him thinking. Like he’s lost something, or something’s missing. It’s the third restless night, when his eyes finally close, that he sees you again.
“I think I’ve figured it out.” you nod wisely.
“Where are you? We?” he asks, gesturing to the sofa you’re crouched on, and the bustling blank people around you.
“I was thinking about work before I fell asleep. This is where I eat lunch.” you explain casually, and he blinks.
It suddenly occurs to him that he wants to know everything about you.
“What do you do for work?”
You pause, and give him a sideways glance. He’s gripping the armchair he’s sitting in rather tightly, and it’s so bizarre that he can feel the fabric beneath him.
Your voice is muffled when you reply.
“I couldn’t understand that.”
It’s the same jumbled sound when you try again.
He stares at you, exasperated.
“I’m an F1 driver.”
As he speaks, he sounds just as distorted as you.
“Personal stuff. I don’t think we can actually tell each other anything.” you suggest, and he frowns.
“Why?”
You shrug. “So we actually have to find each other, I don’t know? I don’t think we remember this when we wake up, either.”
You wait, to see if he says anything. When he stays silent, you continue.
“I figure it’s about dreaming at the same time. So, if we’re both asleep, then we show up. I mean, I obviously don’t have much data to go off. But it makes sense. Like, I’m assuming you’ve just fallen asleep, ‘cause you’ve ended up in my office now.”
Oscar pauses to think.
“So, if I fall asleep first, you’ll end up with me, in whatever I’m dreaming of?”
“That’s my current guess, yeah. I wish I could remember this, so I can google it later.”
He laughs. “D’you really think google can help you here?”
“It helped me before. With seeing the number, and everything. And Clara’s tattoo.”
“You see it too? 81?”
“Yeah. Fuckin’ everywhere. It’s killing me.”
“What does it mean?”
You give him an awkward stare.
“Apparently, that we’re soulmates. Interlinked and all that.”
He swallows, and you both sit with it for a minute. Then Clara becomes your interruption, shouting about dinner, and the room disappears.
As Oscar’s timezones change with every other week, your meetings seem to shift into things a little more desperate. You test what your subconscious and the fates choose to blur.
You learn he has three sisters, but he can’t say their names. He learns that you cried for a week when your cat died, and that he was named after a Star Wars character, but you can’t say who.
You make fun of him for his house music- he plays it as he falls asleep in the hope it’s still playing when you see each other, so he can convince you it’s worth listening to.
It turns out you have a much stronger imagination than he does, so you often hope you fall asleep first. Because you can weld the dreamscapes into anything you want. When you tell him you’ve always wanted a conversation pit, you can make one appear.
When he tries to show you his favourite model of car, you end up in some badly imagined saleshouse, with deformed buggies and odd workers in plastic suits.
You do not mention the ‘soulmates’ idea again, but it settles between you like a mantra, a truth. You agree with it, he strives for it, and you talk of when you’ll see each other, one day.
It turns into something a little more affectionate, and it feels just as real as if he wasn’t hidden somewhere else in the world. When you brush his arm on false walks through fake fields and tours of your childhood town, comparing your favourite parks, it feels true.
Maybe even a little like love, which is such a ridiculous thing to admit that you keep it to yourself.
He pieces it together, that Clara is your best friend, and she’s Lando’s girlfriend. He curses himself that he can’t just find you through them the next morning, because he’ll forget it all.
You live whole lifetimes together, in your heads. Dreams have no concept of time. Sometimes, they’re years. Sometimes, they feel like less than an hour.
On some days, when you’ve fallen asleep with your head in a book, that’s where you end up.
On this particular occasion, the two main characters are getting married, but it seems that it’s morphed a little. You’re the one with the ring on your finger.
“Who got you that?” he asks, gesturing to the rock, and you laugh.
“Hi, Osc. Didn’t think I’d see you tonight. You haven’t been around for a while, or at least it feels like that. Guess you’re somewhere far away.”
Oscar nods, but his eyes tear around the setting. It’s an extravagant barn, with an arch at the end of the aisle, and an officiant with some large headgear. The guests on the benches are clearly well dressed, but he can’t make out who they are. Except, he recognises a man standing up by the front of the room.
“That’s Lando.” he mutters, pointing towards him, and he’s right. And stood beside him is a girl he swears he knows, in a pale pink dress, matching her hair.
“And Clara.”
He runs his hands through his hair inquisitively.
“Why can we see them? They’re not blurred. And that’s my sister. How did you-” he calls, rushing towards Edie who’s clapping in the front row.
“This isn’t my dream anymore. I wasn’t the one getting married, before you showed up. And I sure as hell didn’t make up your sister, so, it’s our dream, I guess.”
That hits him, so hard, he almost doubles over. He can see them now, his family materialising. The lull of the piano, the grin on Lando’s face. You. He sees you.
‘It’s our dream.’ And he realises it’s your wedding. Your fucking wedding, and it’s not even real, and when he wakes up, his chest will ache as always.
“This is, I mean, it’s a lot.”
“It’s not real, Oscar.”
There’s a level of defeat in your tone, and it’s bitter.
“But it feels even more real this time. I can see them. I can hear them.”
“I think we’re running out of time. They’re getting desperate.”
He looks to the guests, bewildered.
“The fates, I mean. The universe, I don’t know. We’re running out of time.”
“What are you saying?”
“They’re giving up on us. That’s why we can see everything clearer. My cat’s name was Luke.”
He shakes his head in denial. “Or maybe we’re getting closer, and it’s stronger, and we’re beating them.”
“Oscar.” your voice breaks a little, like you’ve accepted it. That you’ll never make it, and that you’ll forget him permanently, not just when the sun rises.
He doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to admit you might be right. So he soaks up the sight of you desperately nonetheless, until it burns his eyes and he doesn’t care about the rules of this stupid ordeal. He will wake up, and remember how you look right now, how you are, and that will be enough.
“We can get married, in our heads, and that can be it. And then this will never have happened, and all of it will stop.”
“You mean like, seeing the number everywhere? You, haunting me? It all goes?” he asks carefully, and you purse your lips.
“I guess so. You don’t need to sound so glad.”
“I’m not glad. I’m annoyed. Seething, if anything. It’s bullshit.”
“Maybe.”
He blinks.
"Have you been seeing it less too? Like, is it just back to being more like a lucky number now?"
You give him a pained smile.
"I forgot to put my necklace on this morning, because I didn't see the charm on it. For the first time. Since I got it at thirteen."
He knows what you mean by seeing. it's more like a feeling. A consuming pull towards the number, towards him.
"We can't just, I don't know. Give up. I can't lose you." he exclaims, and it feels a little like his heart is surrendering.
"Did you ever really have me anyway? Maybe it's okay. Once we forget, it will be easier. It won't hurt for long."
What he can't bring himself to admit is that he wants it to hurt, wants to feel like he's a little insane, because he knows you're going insane with him too. The idea of you, real or not, is better than nothing at all.
"We can find our way back." you promise, but the hope in your voice almost sounds fake.
"Wait-"
⛐✦
A few weeks later, Oscar arrives rather dishevelled at the airport the next morning. There’s a dull throb in the back of his head, and a heavy sadness weighing on his chest, but he can’t explain it. He’d been feeling that for a while now; he’d woken up with a rather sudden sadness. His ticket to Monaco rests in his hands, as he goes to check in. The lists of flights flash on the board, as he scans for his own. But one catches his eye. It doesn’t jump out at him, as it usually does. He has to read it twice before he lingers on the #81 at the end. There’s something relieving in the way it doesn’t haunt him anymore, but it still feels deeply important. And there’s a small tug at his heart, pulling him to the desk. He goes to show his boarding pass, but instead, he speaks.
When he goes to drop his baggage, he is heading far away from Monaco, sandwiched on a random middle seat between two strangers, on a whim that he hopes might bring him to you. Obviously, he doesn’t know that in truth, but rather his soul is screaming that at him, and he is unaware. He instead just questions his own sanity, and that is the end of the matter.
There’s a desperation to get to work in the air the next morning. You’ve overslept, ever so slightly, and your presentation is uncomfortably soon. As you arrive at the station, you search the timeboard for an inkling of which train to get on, but your regular isn’t appearing.
Underneath it, though, is a train you don’t recognise. It’s a bit slower than you’d like, since it stops at the airport, but you’d still get there in time. It’s meant to come in a couple minutes, at 8:10, so you wait dutifully on a bench, taking a long sip from your flask.
It’s ironic, you think, when you see the number flashing at the end of the train on the screen. You almost forget how important #81 had once been to you, until your fingers flick to your neck. You’re not sure why you wore it today- you hadn’t worn it in about a month. It’s a blurry memory, how desperate you’d been. How you’d believed in that soulmate nonsense, how you’d flicked between Lando and Clara in photos and wondered if there was some invisible tie between them.
And then they’d argued, and you’d stopped marvelling at your 81 new messages, and it had all been forgotten. Even the boy in the orange backpack that had made The World Stop feels like a myth.
Oscar can barely feel his legs when he steps out from the plane, the pins and needles a searing flash of white. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s ended up back here, back home. He hasn’t even called his mum, and let her know he’s back in Australia. He’s meant to be resting, after a triple header. And yet, he still doesn’t reach for his phone. His headphones stay jammed in his ears, a drumbeat he used to listen to when trying to fall asleep, although he can’t really remember why. He waits, for his luggage to arrive, scouring the moving belt. But his half orange suitcase never comes, as the people beside him thin out.
“Shit.” he mutters curses under his breath, begrudgingly heading to lost property. There, half opened, is his suitcase, unfolded laundry spilling out.
“Mate, this yours? Someone took it earlier and realised they got the wrong one.”
Oscar nods quickly, gathering is things and shoving them back into the luggage, before hauling it ridiculously fast towards the train station. He’d wasted a solid twenty minutes there, and for some reason, that filled him with a ridiculous sense of dread. He wasn’t particularly sure why, considering he didn’t even know where he was going. Still, as he stumbles to the platform, yawning, something tugs at him to get whichever train came next.
He almost laughs at the board, at the code. 081. It feels much more like a joke now, like an elaborate, overly convenient game of ‘where’s wally’, which he finds a way to win every time. So as it arrives, he gets on and collapses onto the first vacant seat. He praises the universe for delaying it, because he would've missed it, and the next one wasn't for a while.
As he closes his eyes, for a moment of respite, you pop into his head. Not a dream, just an image. A singular shot, mid laugh, feet tucked behind you on a couch he somehow recognises. And then there’s a pang in his stomach, and he realises he misses you. Even though he’s certain you’ve never really met. You look vaguely like a girl he’d seen once-
Each memory swirls in his head like soft bullets, each blow as beautiful as they are painful. He can’t remember where they’re coming from, what they mean, but he sees them all. Conversations down roads he doesn’t know. Descriptions of restaurants he’s tried on different race weekends, and your face lighting up at the sound of them. A room you had a spelling bee competition in once, but he didn’t see you because Hattie was in a more junior category. Then, you’re both older. He has a beard. You’re walking somewhere, with a determination to not look back, to keep pushing forward. Then you’re dancing, to that same song he was playing just a minute ago. It clicks into place, like some ridiculous, made up jigsaw, as he watches lifetimes pass at the same speed of the carriage, the light flickering across his confused face in golden shards.
He realises now why his flight has taken him here. Why he's on this train. Because somewhere further down, in a carriage, you’re waiting.
You don’t take the 8:10, because it’s delayed. The red writing on the screen taunts you, testing the pulling at your chest versus the logic in your brain. You let the logic win out. With heavy steps, you sprint to the other platform, and get the train that’s actually there. It feels like a betrayal as you sit down, as the doors close, as it hums to life. But you don’t know who you’ve just betrayed.
The guy beside you has one earphone in, the other dangling by his neck. The beats of the song are familiar, like you ought to know it. It’s not really your kind of music, too blaring and not melodic enough. But this particular track feels familiar, like you should recognise the drum pattern. With an awkward inhale, you tap him on the shoulder.
“Sorry, I hate to bother you, but what’s that song called?”
The boy shrugs, flashing his phone screen at you. He’s 1:21 in, to a song with a vaguely familiar title. You take out your own headphones and play it carefully, desperately searching for an answer as to why anyone even puts up with this abomination of a music genre. And then, you hear someone humming along, and your own laugh.
“How can you even hum house music? It barely has a tune. You could at least be a man and beatbox it for me.”
It’s your voice, clear as day, ringing in your head.
“I’m hopeless at beatboxing. One of these days, I’ll figure out how to play some music here. I don’t understand how you’re so good at it.”
The person replying has a muted accent, and you can’t quite tell if he’s smiling or not, but it’s so warm that you can barely feel the chill of the morning anymore.
You hear more snippets of your conversation now, easily banter. And then they morph into more meaningful things. Things you promised you’d never tell anyone. And you hear him talking back, mumbles of things he’s normally too shy to say.
“It’s only me, Oscar.”
And with that, you remember. You remember all of it, you hear it all. Telling him you’re running out of time. All those dreams you couldn’t recall. The obsession, the insanity, the hesitancy to tell anyone. Telling him that you’ll forget it all.
Does he think you have forgotten about him?
‘Oscar, do you think I have forgotten about you?’
The song has ended a long time ago. You almost expect a response in the silence, but he does not whisper back to you. The only sound is the squeal of the brakes, and the train lurching forward. You stand up rather suddenly, throwing yourself towards the door, pressing the button rapidly.
He gets up, as the train shuttles along. He’s in the first carriage. He doesn’t know where you are, or when you’re getting off, so he moves with purpose. He checks every seat, hopeful with every turn of a head. You’re not in the second, nor the third. The fourth is practically empty, and the fifth is ridiculously packed, but you’re not there either. As he reaches the eighth door, his hope dwindles, until it’s gone. There’s no one there, except for a rather elderly woman, absent mindedly reading a book.
He clings to the pole by the door, willing himself to turn around, or to sit, but he can’t. He just keeps looking, as if you might materialise.
“It’s rude to stare, boy.” the lady croaks, glaring at him through her purple glasses. He gives her a sheepish smile and ducks his head, preparing himself to shuffle through the rows of bodies again.
“You can sit here, if you need to. You won’t disturb me.”
And so, he does. He sits on the row beside her, trying to ignore the slight welling of his eyes and the way the exhaustion and disappointment has seeped into his very bones.
“She got away?” the woman asks, rather suddenly, and Oscar startles.
“Sorry?”
“The look in your eyes.”
He shakes his head, almost giving her an incredulous laugh.
“It wasn’t ever real anyway. I’m just tired.”
“Then why are you staring at the door like you’re expecting to see her get on? Or, you’ll get off, and she’ll be there?”
Oscar hadn’t even realised he was staring so desperately at the door. It’s rather embarrassing, really. It’s then that the train jolts, and with a whistle, the very same door opens.
He’s not entirely sure why, or what takes over him, but he gets up. With a muffled ‘goodbye’, he steps onto the platform, the suitcase narrowly missing the step. It’s almost eerie, how quiet it is. The wind, and the departure of the train, are the only things he can hear. And then, the hammering of his heart, when he looks up.
Because standing there anxiously, necklace gleaming at him, is you.
Bakugo and Y/N's hearts raced as they navigated the darkened hallway, the echoes of their own footsteps blending with the sinister whispers that seemed to taunt them at every turn. Adrenaline surged through their veins, heightening their senses as they pressed on, determined to unravel the mystery shrouding their dorm. Abruptly, a chilling laughter pierced the silence, sending a shiver down their spines. The air grew thick with tension as shadows danced menacingly around them, playing tricks on their minds. With each step, the feeling of unease intensified, driving Bakugo and Y/N to the edge of their courage. As they reached the end of the corridor, a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the dorm, jolting them into action. Their survival instincts kicked in as they sprinted towards the exit, the relentless pursuit of an unseen terror fueling their desperate escape.
Little did they know, the true horror awaited them just beyond the threshold, ready to test their resolve in ways they never thought possible…
!: corruption kink, age gap, reader is 18+ obvi, innocent virgin reader, reader calls kenny “uncle” they aren’t related it’s just what she calls him, fem reader, guided masturbation, size kink,
{\❀_/}
( • • )
/>♡<\
you sat on the couch of your parents spacious living room, skipping through the channels of the tv trying to occupy yourself until your parents left for their anniversary vacation.
they were leaving you at home for 3 days to your own discretion. you were happy to be alone for the few days, you could use your mothers makeup and look through her clothes all you wanted to now.
your mother walked into the living room putting on her earrings. you already knew she was going to try and set a bunch of rules.
“y/n honey, while we’re gone make sure to watch the house. also if you decide to invite over friends text me, and also make sure to feed princess, if we run out of food make sure to get ‘kitty’s delight’ not the cheap kind…” you drowned out your mothers voice, blabbing on about the same things.
“y/n! are you listening to me?” she says snapping you out of your trance.
you nodded your head watching your father come down the stairs in his suit.
you stood up and walked your parents to the door and kissed them goodbye. you walked back over to the couch plopping back down. before your father walked all the way out the door he turned around and walked back towards you, who was yet again skipping through channels.
“also honey, you remember my good friend kenny? the one who used to watch you alot when you were younger?”
your ears pricked up as soon as the name rolled off his tongue.
“yeah, why do you ask?”
“well he might come over to make sure you stay in check. so keep an eye out okay angel?”
you gave your father a long stare before opening your mouth, “im old enough to watch the house, i dont need a babysitter.” you whined standing in front of your dad.
“i don’t care honey, i’d feel safer if there were an older adult in the house with you.” he walked back to you giving you a kiss on the cheek.
you watched as he walked back to door standing with your mother, who blew you a kiss before closing the door. you stood at the window watching as their taxi drove them off.
turning back to the living room you turned off the living room tv and went into the kitchen getting yourself a snack. a piece of the strawberry cake from their anniversary gift.
after you finished your last bite you remembered, uncle kenny’s coming over!
you ran up the stairs, quickly going to your room taking out cuter lounging clothes. your bathroom was your next destination hopping into the shower washing yourself with the strawberry cream body wash you got from the mall the other day.
you wasted no time to shave your entire body and to wash and do you hair as well. you hopped out drying your body off, and greasing up.
you dried and combed through your hair fixing it into a ponytail with a ribbon. after you were done modding your appearance you ran back into your bed laying down. you checked the time on your phone. damn, it took me 3 hours to do all of that? n’ he’s still not here…
you looked over to your nightstand drawer and opened it taking out your diary as well as your pen.
you wrote, “today my parents left me home alone! they acted like i couldn’t watch the house, im in college im pretty sure i can… they’re gonna be gone for a few days, 3 at most. and guess who’s gonna come over? guess! kenny is! my, i’m lowkey nervous but im happy because i haven’t seen him in a lil while.”
it was honestly odd what you had for your father’s friend. you’ve always had a little crush on him. you found many of his attributes attractive. you liked how he towered over you, how he was always very nice to you and overprotective of you. you felt icky at times with the way he made you feel, but you couldn’t help yourself.
while thinking you heard a knock at your door.
it must be kenny! you got off your bed and peered through the blinds seeing kenny’s black truck. you ran down the steps quickly and stopped at the front door. you looked through the peephole seeing kenny’s tall form standing with a bag in his hands.
you opened the door swiftly to be greeted with a large smile on his face. you jumped and gave him a big hug, his large arm wrapped around your hips.
“hey kiddo” he said
“hi kenny” you backed up from the hug, motioning him to come inside. the two of you walked in standing in the living room.
“you’ve gotten older since last time i seen ya’” he said, you noticed how his eyes drifted to your breasts before he quickly looked back at your eyes.
“it hasn’t been that long.” you scoffed, “ what’s in the bag?” you inquired following him to the couch.
“nothin’ my stuff, also i gotcha something.” you watched him pull out a stuffed puppy out of a separate box he was carrying. it was pink with a white bow tied on it. you smiled with bright, wide eyes.
“i knew you liked this kind of cutesy stuff so i got it for you at the store.” you opened it, staring in awe at the white puppy plush that sat before you.
“what did you do with the last one i got for you?” he asked.
“oh, the bunny? well it sits on my bed!” you told him thinking about how you cuddle with it at night as if it were your uncle.
“that’s great, so where am i gonna sleep at?” he asked yawning.
“the room next to mine, you want me to show it to you?” you asked sweetly.
he gave you a nod. you walked up the stairs with kenny behind you. you walked down the long hallway past your parents room and yours and right to the guest room.
“here it is.” it was a nice cream colored room. it had a queen sized bed and a tv.
“you can use my bathroom kenny if you need it m’kay? my parents hate even when i use their bathroom.” you gave him a soft smile as he took off his boots. you walked out leaving him alone.
you walked back to your bedroom putting the dog plushie on your bed. you layed down on your back getting your phone and putting in your headphones listening to your music.
you sat on your bed lying down until you felt a light tap on your thigh. you sat up quickly turning to kenny. you saw his mouth moving not hearing a word leaving his lips. you took off your headphones to hear him clearly.
“huh?”
“i said im about to take a shower y/n, help me out will ya?”
you both walked inside of your bathroom. you showed him where everything was and how to work the shower. he took in the scenery of your restroom.
“damn even the soaps shaped like a lil animal.” he chuckled inspecting the soap, while you lit up your candle.
he pulled out his razor and you walked out sitting back onto your bed.
you pulled back out your diary writing more of the day’s events and also writing some reminders. a few minutes later you heard the door creak from the bathroom as kenny stepped out.
beard shaved off clean, towel wrapped around his waist, and dripping wet. you looked at his hair sticking to his body and you couldn’t help but look down at his happy trail that wrapped around his navel and went down. you looked at him lips parted before you turned around, the heat of your body almost making you sweat.
“sorry i left my clothes in the room, forgot to bring them with me to the bathroom” he chuckled, you watched as he walked out going to his room.
kenny left the clothes on purpose, so he can see your little flustered face as he stood half naked in front of you. he wanted to see just how long it would take to make you break.
he dried off in his room and put his clothes on. he stayed in his room letting the tv entertain him occasionally checking in on you until you came in asking him if he was hungry. you eyed the tight black shirt he wore, outlining his muscles and biceps. as well as the pajama pants he wore.
“hell yeah i am.”
“well i’ll be in the kitchen, i’ll make us something good to eat.” you smiled walking off.
when kenny heard you walk down the stairs he creeped into your room slowly.
he loved how you liked cutesy things, everything in your room was a pastel color or pink. you had cute trinkets and posters all over your room. he looked through your drawers looking at your lacy panties and bras.
what’d he do to see you in only them.
he turned around towards your bed catching a glimpse of the pink journal with stickers laying on your ditsy rose comforter.
he sat himself on the bed softly looking at the cover of the book y/n’s diary DONT read further.
he chuckled to himself before reading forward.
he wanted to know more about you and how your life has been since he last saw you. he hasn’t talked to you consistently in about a year and he didn’t wanna nag you by asking, so he took matters into his own hands.
and boy was he was surprised at the contents of the book. it started off normal about things you did in your day, what you ate, what you wore simple things. sometimes his name would be mentioned. and the things said with his name were always about your feelings twoards him or how you thought about him a lot. one struck his eye though.
“last night i had a dream about my uncle kenny, a very weird dream. i don’t even wanna write about it because it was so dirty and yucky. usually these kind of things come with your subconscious, i mean yeah i like kenny a little more than i should. but i don’t think i like him in the way shown in my dream, that’s weird and nasty. and i’m not like that, i’ve known him for so long, he’s like my uncle. i think i’ll just try to forget about it and get ready to go to work…”
you had a crush on your uncle kenny. and surprisingly he liked you a lot too, he thought you were always such a cutie. when he saw you on your 18th birthday something in him changed.
he knew your father would murder him mercilessly if he knew how he felt about you, but he couldn’t contain himself. kenny closed your diary and layed it back on the bed the way it was originally.
“kenny dinners ready!” you called out to him
he walked down the stairs to the scent of tomato soup and grilled cheese.
“smells good, y/n” he looked at you sitting down at the island
“really? i tried something different and quicker today”
“looks good as well.” he said nearly drooling over his plate. kenny ripped a piece of his sandwich and tossed it to the persian long haired cat meowing on the ground. the two of you ate quietly sometimes making eye contact with a soft smile.
“hey does your parents have a liquor cabinet or somethin’ ?”
you nodded, walking over to the cabinet standing on your tippy toes trying to reach it. kenny came up behind you with one of his hands on your hip the other reaching for your dad’s rum.
you felt a tingling sensation with his hand touching you so intimately like that. he went to another cabinet grabbing two glasses, the both of you taking your seats on the soft cushions.
“y/n you’re old enough to drink ain’tcha? have some.” kenny saud slyly pouring some into a glass for you
“well no kenny, i don’t really like it…” you said hesitantly
“c’mon it ain’t bad, i’ll help you out if you need it.” he smiled at you
you nodded sipping at the liquor and you hated it. you swallowed it only because kenny was watching you, but the burning sensation in your throat almost caused you to purge right on the table. he saw you were struggling and got you a bottle of water.
“here, i ain’t like it my first time either.” he chuckled rubbing your back as you downed the water.
a little while later you and kenny were finished, and you and him went up to your rooms separately. you sat in your bed and put your journal back into your bedside drawer.
you layed in your bed thinking about how flustered your uncle made you that day. the way you felt when he walked in front of you basically fully exposed and the way his big hand laid on your hip.
you got the weird sensation again, you tried to squeeze your legs shut in attempts to make the feeling go away. you turned off your lamp and drifted to sleep next to the barrage of plushies on your side.
you woke up later on to a suddenly heavier feeling in your bed, turning to your side you saw kenny asleep right next to you. you gasped audibly, slapping his arm trying to get his attention. he woke up giving you a confused look before realizing what he had did wrong.
“what are you doing?” you whisper screamed
“im sorry honey your bed looked more comfortable.” he said, you noticed his shirt was off which made the heat grow even rapidly.
he looked at you, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.
“ya‘ know, i know yer’ lil secret” he whispered into your ear.
you looked at him genuinely confused, “what secret?” you grabbed the lighter next to your bed, lighting up your candle.
“don’t play dumb with me doll. the little book that was lying on your bed, i read it.” he said sitting up
you thought deeply into it before you felt your heart drop.
oh my god, kenny read my diary. you tried your hardest to keep your composure, but it was clear that you were shocked and scared.
“don’t worry honey, i ain’t angry or anything. tell me, what was your dream about?” he asked looking into your eyes
“i um, it was about…” you cupped you hands around his ear, “we kissed” you paused abruptly, “ an- and we had… sex but before things really got started i woke up.” you whispered shamefully into his ear.
he looked at you, your heart almost pounding out of your chest.
he picked up on how nervous you were feeling , “you okay?” he asked you, sultry voice making your hairs stand up.
“yeah well, it makes me feel… icky.”
“icky? how?”
“first of all it’s weird because you’re like my uncle, kenny. and second i get this weird tingly feeling sometimes.”
he pulled you closer to him, to where you were almost on his lap, he snaked his arm around your waist and layed his hand on your thigh. “what tingly feeling?” he hummed in your ear.
you hesitated embarrassed to tell him how it felt.
“c’mon tell me sweetie, i wanna help you try n’ get rid of it.”
you grabbed his hand and drifted it to your clothed heat.
“oh, so your cunnie’s what’s achy hm?”
he pressed his finger onto your panties making you gasp. he rubbed it slowly causing you to writhe under him.
“you a virgin y/n?” he said still rubbing your clit through your panties.
you nodded vigorously grinding onto his finger.
“good girl, i don’t want you being with any of those nasty little boys, okay?”
you nodded.
“have you ever touched yourself down here before?” he said nibbling at your ear lobe.
“n-no sir” you stuttered
he removed his hand feeling how damp your panties got.
“m’ gonna teach ya a little something okay?”
he grabbed your hand and trailed it to your panties. he took his hands and ripped your panties, the cold air on your exposed pussy made you tremble.
“kenny i really liked those.” you muttered softly
he held your hand with his and showed you how to touch yourself.
“whenever you get to thinkin bout me just get your fingers and rub em’ on that little bump right there you see?” he slid you all the way onto his lap. the hairs on his chest rubbed against your back. he layed his head in the crook of your neck taking in the scent of strawberry pound cake perfume.
you layed your fingers on your clit rubbing it slowly while he helped you move your hand.
“just like that.” he groaned into your ear.
you felt the tingly feeling become more disperse throughout your body. you moaned softly rubbing your clit. you felt how hard kenny was while sitting on his lap.
kenny moved your hand from your cunt, replacing it with own fingers. he sped up the pace making you squirm more, your thighs closing.
you felt the tingly feeling build up but then it suddenly vanished as your orgasm crashed over your body.
“mm kenny” you whined, your thighs squeezing his hand as you wiggled uncontrollably in his lap.
he kissed your neck as you breathed in and out. he then picked you up and layed you back onto your bed barely giving you time to recover. he spread your legs before pulling down his pants.
a look of dread and confusion took over your face as you looked at his cock. it was long and curved over his tummy. his head was swolllen and leaky. you closed your legs and shook your head.
“what’s wrong pretty? it ain’t gonna hurt, promise.” he said kissing your cheek and prying your legs back open.
he spit onto his fingers and rubbed it onto your vulva before lining his head to your hole.
“im gonna stuff ya like a fuckin’ apple pie.”
he pushed himself into you, softly groaning while doing so. you watched waiting for him to be all the way in. he pushed the last of himself in quickly, causing you to let out a yelp.
he was balls deep inside of you, your legs on his shoulders. he slowly thrusted himself in you. you whined softly to yourself. it was more painful than you imagined, he was so big compared to your virgin body. you felt yourself stretching out after every thrust.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, your headboard squeaking from all the movement.
“how would yer’ daddy feel? if he knew how dirty you were getting for me?”
“upset” you hiccuped, his skin slapping against yours.
“damn right he’d be, so you can’t tell him about this. that his best friend is fucking the hell out of his daughter.” he said rubbing your cheek
you felt guilty, but at the same time you couldn’t help it, you wanted more.
“kenny it feels so good, c-can you go a little faster.” you said shakily
he sped up causing tears of pleasure to run down your hot cheeks. you felt the way his tip rubbed against the ridges inside of you, it made you feel an emotion you’ve like none you’ve ever experienced.
“fuck, you’re so tight honey, im trying so hard not to cum.” he held you closer to his chest biting the tender skin of your neck. you yelped from the sudden feeling of his teeth in your neck, but weirdly enough you liked it.
you liked the full feeling he gave you, the pang of pain you felt when his cock expanded your virgin cunt, you loved it. he slid his hands up your gown groping and squeezing your chest, you wrapped your legs around his waist holding on to him as tight as possible.
“you don’t know how many times i’ve imagined this day. how many times i’ve came into my hand thinkin’ about you.” he grunted, his body slamming against yours.
you started to feel a pleasurable sensation, like something intense was building up inside of you “k-kenny” you sputtered, voiced shaky from all the movement. he looked at you still thrusting, “i feel it again, the weird feeling.” you whined clawing at his back. he didn’t answer your inquiry and instead sped up.
you felt the feeling build up even more as the ribbon in your tummy snapped. you moaned loudly tensing your body and cumming all over your uncle kenny. you gasped for air while kenny continued to thrust into you, his pace getting sloppy.
he pulled out before grabbing your cheeks and forcing your mouth open.
“stick out your tongue like you’re licking a popsicle alright?” he said jerking himself over you.
you obliged.
a few pumps later his semen spewed from his swollen, dark red tip. white covered your tongue as you kept it hanging out of your mouth.
“swallow it like the good girl you are.” he said, his big hand resting on top of your head.
you swallowed the thick, salty liquid with a slightly embarrassed grin.
kenny grabbed you by your cheeks indulging in a deep kiss groping your body more.
little did you know he was planning to repeat this again tomorrow.
。
a/n: only few ppl on this app will understand how bad i need kenny ψ(｀∇´)ψ
a/n2: i hate to be the bearer of bad news for the south park fans, but this is abt kenny ackerman from aot Σ('◉⌓◉’)
৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .
TOJI FUSHIGURO. ꒱
schoolgirl fit. ⋆ whats your speciality? (spanish ver.) ⋆ lo prefieres agresivo. ⋆ driving his cock into you. ⋆ his iconic tee + choking. ⋆ fixing your attitude. ⋆ fucking his cum back into you.
CHOSO KAMO. ꒱
desk pet. ⋆ bouncing on his length. ⋆ thigh fucking. ⋆ tying him up. ⋆ canon fucking. ⋆ mnmnm prone bone. ⋆ going at it like rabid dogs. ⋆ his moaaans. ⋆ whimpering mess. ⋆ pussy eating.
NANAMI KENTO. ꒱
hole inspections. ⋆ size kink. ⋆ sex education. ⋆ squirting. ⋆ groping you. ⋆ dick too good. ⋆ yours whenever, wherever. ⋆ facesitting. ⋆ pounding in the bathroom. ⋆ size comparison.
GOJO SATORU. ꒱
spreading your legs open. ⋆ teasing you. ⋆ idk but hes so hot. ⋆ cosplay. ⋆ worshipping his dick. ⋆ making out + fingering. ⋆ cuffs + buttplug. ⋆ waist holding. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ recording.
GETO SUGURU. ꒱
reversed roles. ⋆ geto w that good shit. ⋆ pounding you from inside his car. ⋆ bathtub blowjob. ⋆ youre so obnoxiously loud. ⋆ getting it hit. ⋆ that tutoring session escalated.
SUKUNA RYOMEN. ꒱
your throat is just a fleshlight. ⋆ bods givin sukuna. ⋆ that pussy grip. ⋆ rough fucking. ⋆ what a night. ⋆ cunt slaps. ⋆ humiliation kink. ⋆ a shaky wreck. ⋆ bouncing you on his dick.
৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .
TOJI FUSHIGURO. ꒱
passenger princess. ⋆ putting you to bed with no complaints. ⋆ he’s got that good fucking dick. ⋆ putting you in a mating press. ⋆ giving toji a sloppy bj. ⋆ using you as his fuck toy.
CHOSO KAMO. ꒱
he’s such a dumb puppy. ⋆ his favorite gamer girl. ⋆ bottoming out n cumming. ⋆ choso spooning you. ⋆ straddling his lap. ⋆ fucking you on his gaming table. ⋆ how he wakes you up.
NANAMI KENTO. ꒱
prettily sucking dick. ⋆ pathetically grinding on his boot. ⋆ nanami with a hidden oral fixation. ⋆ smacking your backside. ⋆ cowgirl ver of ‘you’re just a girl.’ ⋆ riding him in cute lingerie.
GOJO SATORU. ꒱
kinky shit with gojo. ⋆ going down on him. ⋆ fucking your holes. ⋆ reversed cowgirl. ⋆ doggy with the bear he got you. ⋆ bouncing on his dick. ⋆ delicious backshots. ⋆ fucking you in a maid costume.
GETO SUGURU. ꒱
satisfying ghostface with your tongue. ⋆ messy deepthroat. ⋆ fucking in his car. ⋆ gun kink. ⋆ he’s got you chained up. ⋆ such a squishy ass. ⋆ hitting it on them janky ass seats. ⋆ riding him.
