the news of your engagement to BRUCE WAYNE broke the collective minds of every speculative gossip-column tabloid to self-respecting paper and channel in gotham. the local celebrity and billionaire bachelor with plans to tie the knot dominated social cycles, your face was plastered on every media site they could flood you in. questions like: “where did she come from?” and “who is she, really?” surface while no one can seem to get a hold of the happy couple for a statement. paparazzi sneak pictures of you, of the ring, of you two holding hands looking disheveled and fresh from bed in the morning. no one ever thought bruce would settle down, anyone who’s anyone thought they would have more time to snag him, and everybody seems to be focusing primarily on scrutinizing every single thing about you. what you wear, how you do your hair, whether you wear heels or boots, how you act in old interviews, what people know you from, how long you were seen with him prior, anything that people can use to deduce your character, and judge. you practically come under hostile fire for just being seen with bruce out in the open, proudly “boasting” your sparkling diamond which no doubt cost a house or two on founder’s island.
no matter what you do, how pretty you are, your extensive environmentalist and activist background, you simply aren’t good enough for a fiancée of bruce wayne’s. according to the public eye, you should be doing a million things instead of what you are doing: spending an engagement honeymoon with your groom-to-be.
sitting behind you at your side, he plants a kiss on your bare shoulder. “do you like it?” that deep voice rumbles next to your ear as your admire your ring in the light. tangled in the sheets of his luxurious bed, you haven’t been able to pay attention to much else than what’s on your finger. it has nothing to do with its radiance or its price, but what it represents. you gaze upon a future together, a future you didn’t think would be possible with a man like bruce.
“i love it.” you beam, glancing over your shoulder at him. another kiss lingers intimately on your cheek, expanses of tacky skin stick together from sweat and stubborn proximity. “you wanna take a shower?”
he noses at your ear with a hum that sends a shiver down your spine. “after this.” smoothly, he tugs you down to lay on your back and you squeak. he tucks his thigh between yours, your hips idly gravitating towards it out of muscle memory. his palm against your cheek guides your mouth to his, kissing him through your lips stiffened by a delighted smile. your fingers still toy with the ring, circling it around your knuckle in a fidget. it takes a while for the two of you to peel yourselves out of bed. . . .
if you’d known the extent of the controversy haunting your relationship with bruce, you would’ve told him to tone it down with the pda. he’s never been a very reserved man when it comes to his persona, he’s well known as a playboy, but he’s sophisticated. you’d think with the way people clutch their pearls about his hand placements, that he would’ve been caught indecently. instead, it’s pictures of his hand at your tailbone—arguably at the small of your back but slipped just above your backside. it’s a peek of tasteful tongue during a kiss that went too far at a carpet, you both got a little carried away. it’s standing too close to his fiancée, his hips against your behind, listening to a speech at politician’s endorsement dinner. it’s ridiculous, but you would’ve tried to warn him if you’d known how anal the public is about your relationship to bruce wayne. it’s levels of parasocial behavior previously unheard of - apparently gotham is overprotective of its prince, or grows envious when his attention and energy is diverted to something other than preserving the city. it begs the question if most of the unrest is caused simply by the true love that an audience has for its muse. to get some air, you venture out to the balcony to gaze at the faraway city lights. a gentle breeze blows through bruce’s dress shirt loosely buttoned on your figure. you clutch the vial of neon green liquid in your hand. it all almost makes you feel bad borrowing some of poison ivy’s pheromones - almost.
✦. You’re trying to save money for college… And at the same time your neighbor — that asshole and a pervert, Ryomen Sukuna — gets out of prison. He offers to keep your little secret, but on one condition... “I’ll pay you thirty bucks to take my cock in your mouth. Right here, before Toji gets back. Be a good girl.”
This summer is going to be a long one.
And Sukuna has already decided exactly how you’re going to spend it.
Ⅲ. part three! series masterlist
✦.cw : Toxic Dynamics :: Dubious Consent :: Power Imbalance :: Fear of Getting Caught :: Sexual Harassment :: Blackmail & Threats :: Degradation :: Slut-shaming :: Dirty Talk :: Rough Fingering :: Forced Orgasm :: Titjob / Paizuri :: Cum on Body
The heat is suffocating.
You stand by the open window, pressing a cold glass of lemonade to your lips. The ice has almost completely melted, leaving cloudy streaks along the glass, and the sweet, citrusy taste does nothing to soothe your dry throat.
Thin beads of sweat trail down your spine, collecting at the small of your back, right where the fabric of your swimsuit clings to your skin. The humid air wraps around you like a second layer, sticky enough to settle into every pore.
Your bikini top is already darkened with sweat. Your tiny denim shorts cling to your hips, as though they've soaked up the heat itself. You drain the last of your lemonade and set the glass down on the windowsill a little harder than necessary. The remaining ice cubes clink sharply against the glass.
For the past few weeks, you've been doing everything you can to stay out of Sukuna's way.
The second you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, you find an excuse to disappear. The moment the growl of his Mustang rolls into the driveway, your stomach drops, your heartbeat climbing into your throat.
You keep telling yourself that if you don't cross paths with him, maybe this obsession—his obsession with you—will eventually burn itself out.
What a joke.
But you can't avoid Sukuna.
His eyes find you every single time.
Whenever everyone gathers outside in the evenings, you deliberately sit beside other guys—the neighbor's son, an old friend from school, anyone. You laugh at their stupid jokes, all while stealing glances at Ryomen from the corner of your eye.
His expression never changes.
Cold. Blank. He nurses a beer or lights another cigarette, looking almost bored, but his eyes never leave you.
They find you through the crowd, studying every movement you make. Every laugh. Every smile. Every accidental brush of someone else's hand against your shoulder, as though committing it all to memory.
The longer this twisted game drags on, the more terrified you become.
You can feel the tension winding tighter beneath your skin.
And when it finally snaps...
You know you're going to be the one left in pieces.
You forgot one thing.
Sukuna doesn't tolerate outsiders.
A steady hum of voices drifts in through the back door, mixed with laughter and the shrill screams of children. Half the neighborhood seems to have shown up.
Someone brought meat for the barbecue, someone else showed up with salads, and others dragged folding chairs beneath the old oak just to claim a patch of shade.
You step onto the porch, and the scorching air crashes into you like a wave from an open oven. The midday sun hangs directly overhead, bleaching the grass into a dull yellow. Heat shimmers above the asphalt.
"Hey! Over here!"
Yuji stands waist-deep in the pool, dark wet hair plastered to his forehead, his usual bright grin stretching across his face. He waves both arms to get your attention.
You make your way down the stone path, the sun-heated gravel biting into your bare feet. The moment you reach the edge of the pool, Yuji flashes a mischievous smile and splashes you.
Cold water smacks against your stomach.
You gasp, flinch back, then laugh as you curse at him.
"Come on! Get in!" he calls, sunlight glistening across his shoulders. "The water's perfect!"
You peel off your shorts, letting them fall into the grass before climbing onto the metal ladder. The steps burn your feet, but the second the water reaches your waist, the oppressive heat melts away.
The water smells of sharp, clean chlorine and the sun-heated plastic of the pool edge. You dive beneath the surface, letting the cool water wash away the sweat. You surface, gasping, only for Yuji to splash you again, and suddenly you are wrestling like kids, the water spraying everywhere, a brief, fleeting escape from the dread.
Yuji lunges for your waist, but you twist away, slipping toward the deep end before resurfacing behind him.
"That's cheating!" he laughs, spinning around.
"Oh, quit whining."
He catches you the next time, wrapping both arms around your waist and lifting you effortlessly off the pool floor.
You squeal, grabbing at his sides.
His body isn't the same as it used to be.
His hands are rough now, strong, all lean muscle beneath warm skin.
With a laugh, he tosses you into the water.
For one blissful second, everything goes silent. Only bubbles drift past your face.
You surface, coughing and laughing at the same time, then shove him in the chest with all your strength.
He barely moves.
Just stands there, entirely too pleased with himself.
"You're such an asshole," you mutter between breaths.
Water trickles down your collarbones, collecting at the ties of your swimsuit.
Yuji laughs, but the smile fades almost immediately.
"Uh... I've gotta get back to the grill." He rubs the back of his neck. "If Sukuna catches me slacking off..."
Your smile disappears.
"He's... coming?"
Your voice comes out quieter than you intended.
"Yeah." Yuji nods. "He and Toji went to grab more beer."
He notices the look on your face and lowers his voice.
"Sorry. I know you two don't exactly get along. But... maybe things have changed over the past year?" He shrugs. "Honestly, he barely ever talks about you."
You force yourself to nod.
If only Yuji knew.
If only this kind, oblivious boy had even the slightest idea what had happened two nights ago in the backseat of his brother's Mustang.
The way Sukuna had wrapped your hair around his fist.
The way he'd forced your face down between his knees.
The way you'd stared into those wild crimson eyes while he ruined your throat.
Your fingers drift unconsciously to your neck. It still feels as though his grip has never really left your skin.
"I should head inside," you mumble, already climbing out of the pool. "I need to dry off."
"What? We literally just got in!" Yuji calls after you.
But you're already walking away, not listening anymore.
You’re basically sprinting. The wet fabric clings to your body, highlighting every curve. The concrete is slick; you almost slip.
You frantically scan the tables for his silhouette, praying to slip by unnoticed.
You’re one foot onto the porch steps when a heavy palm slams onto your shoulder. Fingers dig into the muscle, jerking you backward.
You gasp, and your back slams into a rough wooden pillar.
The wood is scorching hot beneath the relentless sun, searing against your shoulder blades almost as fiercely as his grip.
He looms over you, a mountain of heat and shadow that swallows the light, cutting you off from the rest of the world.
Heat pours off him. He smells like sweat, sharp cologne, and bitter cigarette smoke.
The white t-shirt clinging to his chest is damp at the collar. A crumpled pack of cigarettes juts from his chest pocket. The tattoos on his face look like ink-stained scars, and his eyes hold nothing but cruel amusement.
"Where are you running off to, brat?" His voice is a gravelly, guttural growl. "Saw me and decided to bolt?"
"Let go, Sukuna," you hiss, pressing your palms to his chest. Under your fingers, his muscles are hard and boiling hot. "Let go, someone’s gonna come out!"
"And what are they gonna do?"
He leans in, pinning you against the pillar with his weight. Your wet swimsuit leaves a darkening, spreading blotch on his shirt. He drops his gaze to your chest, slowly licking his parched lips.
"Those tits look insane. Wear that on purpose? Knew I was coming, didn't you, little bitch?"
"Fuck off," you exhale.
He thrusts a hip, forcing your head to smack against the wood again. His calloused hand, smelling of engine oil, unceremoniously rests on your waist, his fingers digging in.
"Decided to get a piece of the brat while you're at it?" he whispers right into your lips. "I saw you fawning over him in the pool. Have fun?"
"We were just playing! Yuji is my friend, you hear me? He's normal, unlike you!"
"Friend," Sukuna spits out venomously. "That pup follows you around like a lost dog. And you love it, don't you?"
His hand slides lower, roughly grazing your thigh, his fingers shoving under the wet fabric of your bikini bottoms. Without a shred of foreplay, he shoves a finger inside.
You freeze, breath hitched.
"Sukuna... don't... please..."
"I don't give a damn," he smirks.
His finger moves deeper, working you.
"My dad... my dad's gonna come out and see!" you’re almost begging.
Not now.
Please, not here.
"And what’s your old man gonna do?" Sukuna sneers. "Beat me up? Brat, your daddy worships me."
His thumb grinds down hard on your most sensitive spot. A suffocating, sticky heat floods your lower belly. You hate yourself for how fast your body starts pulsing under his touch.
"I can hear you breathing," Ryomen whispers, biting your earlobe until it draws blood. "You want me to tear this piece of trash off right here and fuck you? Say 'no,' and I'll pull my hand out. Well? Say it."
You open your mouth, trying to choke out that damn "no," but instead, a dirty, drawn-out moan escapes your lips.
"Slut," Sukuna growls.
He jerks his hand away, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the kitchen door.
"Get inside. Now." He gives your wrist another rough tug. "Running away, huh?"
You knew he was crazy. A hot-headed, dangerous beast. Once you’re in the dim hallway, he turns, his face inches from yours. His eyes burn with something wild, something deeply wrong.
You never should have gotten close to Sukuna.
You never should have made that deal.
"You get what’s gonna happen if your saint of a father finds out how his little girl sucks dick in parking lots?" he spits.
"It... it wasn't like that..." you sob, tears blinding you.
"Oh yeah? Then what was it? You just naturally learned how to swallow my cock to the hilt? Just swallowed my cum while you were dripping like a bitch?"
You cover your face, choking on a sob. Sukuna waits. Then his grip on your wrist lightens. He lets out a heavy, dirty sigh.
"Go upstairs." His voice is quieter now, but there's still steel beneath it.
He gives you a slight shove toward the stairs.
Your heart pounds in your temples. Your mouth has gone dry. You want to scream, call for Yuji, run back to the people outside—but your feet move anyway.
You run. Faster than if he were dragging you himself. Because the fear and panic inside you are tangled so tightly with the forbidden arousal pulling you under that you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.
You’d be lying if you said you didn't want this.
You'd be lying if you said the adrenaline wasn't pulling you toward him.
You rush into your room.
Run.
Move.
Why aren't you moving?
Sukuna follows close behind.
The lock clicks with a dry, terrifying snap.
You stand in the center of the room, gasping.
The window is left slightly ajar, and the boisterous, drunken laughter of your father echoes up from the backyard, mocking your silence. The sunset floods the room in a sickly, golden light.
Sukuna leans his back against the door.
Anyone outside who looks up will see you through the glass. The sheer, reckless audacity of it makes your mind reel with vertigo.
Sukuna takes a step. Then another. He is huge, a dangerous predator filling the space of your clean, quiet bedroom. You back away until your knees hit the mattress.
"Sit," he orders.
You don't move.
Ryomen is enormous, filthy, smelling of the summer heat, beer, and the street. He fills every inch of your quiet bedroom.
"I said, sit."
You drop to the edge, your wet swimsuit leaving a dark, damp stain on the pristine white sheet. He steps in, forcing your knees apart with his legs until you are completely trapped between them.
"So nervous…" A slow grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You have no idea how much that turns me on."
Sukuna looms over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. He doesn't hesitate; he reaches out, slapping your cheek with a casual, stinging disregard before grabbing your chin, forcing your face up to meet his dark, predatory stare.
"Don't be scared, little one," he rasps, his eyes glinting with a savage hunger. "I don't bite. Unless you start begging for it."
His hand moves to the nape of your neck, fingers twisting into your damp hair and pulling hard, forcing your cheek against the denim of his crotch. You can feel the heavy, pulsing heat of him—huge and rigid—pressing against your face through the thick fabric.
"I missed you," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.
"Sukuna... my dad... he'll come up..." you whimper, your voice breaking.
"Fuck," he growls, his patience fraying. "Quit whining."
His free hand dives under the hem of your top, and with one sharp, violent motion, he yanks the fabric up. Your nipples harden instantly in the cold air.
You instinctively try to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists and pins them firmly to your sides.
He grabs your wrists, pinning them wide, and his fingers squeeze your breast with such punishing intensity that a sharp cry escapes your lips.
He only smirks, reaching behind your neck to jerk the ties of your bikini top free. It falls away, leaving you completely bare before him.
"Come on, brat," he breathes, his eyes darkening to black. "Jerk me off with your tits. Show me you remember how."
His hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head back so you have to look him in the eyes.
"You understand me? Or do I need to knock it into your head?"
Your shaking fingers grab his belt. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pull it down. His cock falls out heavy, the wet tip glistening in the sunset.
"Don't be shy," he sneers. "Remember how you used to lick it. How deep you’d take it."
You swallow, licking your parched lips. Sukuna snorts mockingly.
"Just do it, I'm tired of waiting."
You cup your breasts in your hands, pressing his shaft firmly between them. The skin is slippery from sweat and leftover pool water; the cock moves easily, with a wet, sliding sound. You speed up the pace, squeezing your palms tighter. Under your hands, he becomes even more tense and aroused.
"Yeah... that’s it, slut... Squeeze harder."
He starts moving his hips to meet you, practically fucking your chest with short, sharp, mechanical thrusts. The belt buckle clinks against the button with every movement, and he pushes deeper, faster.
Downstairs, Yuji’s laughter rings out, oblivious, while inside you, everything is melting into a puddle of shame and hunger. You part your lips, sucking the head on every forward thrust.
"Damn... fuck..." Sukuna rasps. "Yeah, like that... More... I’m gonna..."
He cums just as you take the head into your mouth again. Hot, thick spurts splash across your chest, your neck, coating your chin. He stays there for a long time, his whole body shuddering with every release.
Sukuna finally steps back, breathing heavily. He zips up and looks down at you—disheveled, covered in his essence, and trembling.
"Good job," he huffs, a look of satiated, animal triumph in his eyes. "Obedient little slut."
A large drop of his seed falls onto your navel. Your hand, acting on its own, drops down, your fingers pressing through the soaked fabric of your panties. You are aching with a hunger that doesn't end. He sees it, and his smirk widens.
"What, did you like it when I was rough?"
"No, I...—"
"What 'please'?" He leans in, grabbing your hair, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "Say it. Out loud."
"I want you to fuck me!"
"I thought so."
He throws you onto your back. The mattress squeaks piteously as he bears down on you, pinning you to the bed with his massive body.
"Lie still and don't you dare twitch."
He takes your hands, puts them over your head, and pins them to the pillow with one of his massive palms, stripping you of the slightest chance to defend yourself. You’re completely open and left to his mercy. He tears your panties aside.
His fingers jam inside, relentless, hitting you at full reach. The sound—the wet, rhythmic squelching as you move on your own, grinding against his hand—is enough to snap whatever thin leash he had on his restraint.
"Slut... what a fucking slut you are," he growls through his teeth. He grinds his crotch against your side, his hard, throbbing length pressing through the denim, punishing your bare, wet skin.
"Look at me, fuck," he orders, his free hand clamping around your throat. "Open your eyes, slut, and see who’s fucking you."
He dips his head, his teeth sinking into your skin right over your pulse—a sharp, sudden bite that makes you gasp. He instantly licks the sting with his scorching tongue, sending a violent shiver down your spine.
"Feel how much I want you?" he rasps into your ear. "I want to bury myself in you. But first, you’re gonna come from my fingers. You’re gonna come for me, hear me?"
His movements turn frantic. His thumb hammers against your clitoris with no mercy. You arch into him, your fingers tearing at his shirt. Everything inside you pulls tight, like a wire strung to the breaking point. The tension becomes unbearable, and you explode. A loud scream is drowned in his shoulder, your body goes into convulsions, your inner muscles squeezing his fingers in a death grip.
Sukuna doesn't stop, continuing to move his fingers, wringing the last of the orgasm out of you until you go completely limp, turning into a ragdoll.
He finally pulls his hand out with a wet, heavy sound.
He brings his stained fingers to his lips, watching you with those dark, predatory eyes, and slowly licks them clean.
Sukuna stands up. As his weight leaves the mattress, the room suddenly feels empty. He fastens his belt, the sharp click of the buckle sounding like a death sentence.
"So, how are we supposed to go back downstairs after that?" He sounds lazy, but his eyes burn with triumph. "You smell like me and sex from a mile away, brat."
"Why are you doing this, Sukuna?" Your voice trembles. "Was that night not enough for you?"
He pauses, leaning in so close that the smoke from his cigarette burns your eyes.
"Enough? Brat, it'll never be enough. You brought this on yourself. Remember this: stay the hell away from my brother. You so much as look at him again, and I'll fuck you on his own bed. I don't give a damn who's outside the door."
He strolls to the dresser, lights another cigarette, and exhales a stream of smoke. "What? Not even a 'thank you'?"
You give the smallest nod, a tear slipping down your cheek. "I understand."
"Good girl."
He turns toward the door. It clicks shut behind him, and his footsteps fade. You are left alone, and your gaze drifts to the nightstand. Two crumpled twenty-dollar bills lie there.
Payment. That's all it is.
Nausea crawls up your throat, but the worst part—the part that makes you want to tear yourself apart—is the faint, pulse-like satisfaction still buried deep inside you. Your body has betrayed you.
You grab a wet wipe and, frantically, until your skin is raw and purple, you wipe the semen from your chest and neck, desperately trying to wash away the smell of his tobacco and skin. With trembling fingers, you somehow pull on your wet swimsuit and head down to the backyard.
Suddenly, right by your ear, making your whole body flinch, his low, mocking voice rings out:
"Sweetheart, you forgot to wipe the traces off your chin."
You spin around abruptly. Sukuna is standing a step away from you, demons dancing in his eyes, and on his lips—that same crooked, triumphant smirk. Toji is standing behind him, lazily sipping beer and giving you a sharp, sly once-over from head to toe. He’s clearly in on your "secret."
You jerk your hand up in fear, frantically scrubbing your chin... but your fingers are dry.
There’s nothing there.
He lied.
Just to mock you.
To show that you are completely in his power.
Your face flushes a deep, burning crimson. Sukuna lets out a ringing, mocking laugh. He turns and heads toward the table, his broad back flickering among the guests like a predator returning to his pack.
You watch him walk away, feeling a slow-acting poison spreading through your veins. You feel used, trampled, and dirty. But as you watch him effortlessly take charge, a horrifying thought creeps into your mind: the sun will set, the guests will leave, and somewhere in the parking lot beside the Mustang, a lighter will click again.
And you'll find your way back to him. Because the poison beneath your skin craves only him—and you don't want it to stop.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!)
Divider credit: @dollywons and @enchanthings
series masterlist
getting all hot and heavy with him in a corner booth at the club or on the couch at a house party, and he’s trying to convince you to cockwarm him right there. he’s got his hand on the back of yours, pressing your palm into his crotch to show you how hard you’ve made him, all the while talking all low in your ear. “need to feel you so bad. i can’t wait. just sit on it, baby. come on, nobody will notice.”
The 141 swear the clit is in the wrong spot and you show them proof.
They’re utterly convinced the clitoris exists below the vagina.
A whole team of adult men, half of them deadpanned and the other half hooting at your furious denial, mansplaining to you where the clit can be found. And they’re wrong.
That’s what the internet is for. That’s what diagrams are for. But it doesn’t matter how many you pull up and thrust in their faces, they’re scoffing and shaking their heads and telling you that in their experience, it’s located elsewhere.
“That photo’s upside down.”
No. It’s. Not.
“You sure? Bit, grainy, that one.”
The clit is right there. There. LABELLED.
“She’s bent over, or somethin’.”
IDIOTS!!!!
You should let it go, but you can’t. They’re so fundamentally wrong it hurts. Part of you is sorry for every pussy they’ve ever been with, and the other part just needs to make them understand, a desire so strong and so urgent that it makes you do stupid, stupid things…
Like take off your pants and show them for real.
Your outrage runs deeper than your shame, so you kick one boot off, yank all of your shit down until you can free up one leg, and plop your bare ass onto the rec room couch to show them once and for all.
“Here, look,” you huff, pointing to your pussy. “Right here.”
It’s Sgt MacTavish who moves, abandoning his spot next to the pool table to wander closer. “I don’t see nothing.”
With an exasperated breath, you scoot your ass forward and spread your knees nice and wide, and tap your finger right over your clit. “Can you see this, or are you fucking blind?”
He gives you a skeptical look, tilting his head and coming to stand right in front of you. “That’s just... skin.”
You're so mad, you barely notice how quiet it’s grown in the cramped room, with every one of them zeroed in on what’s happening on the couch.
“It’s right here. Here, Jesus. Just put your fingers right here, you can f-feel it.”
Your voice cracks on that one word because you know right then that you’re taking it too far. You should have given them up for lost causes, left them to their lifetimes of poor performance and let it go. But you couldn’t let it go, and now your heart is pounding because everyone is watching MacTavish’s fingertips find your very obviously there clit, and it shoots a jolt of something very confusing through your pelvis.
“Ahh,” he says, a little light of mischief in his eyes while he fumbles around it, beer held tight in his other hand. “That is something, I think.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the clitoris.” You’re half waiting for an apology, or at least for someone to admit that you were right, but instead you get MacTavish’s eyes dropping from your face to your pussy, watching his own fingers nudge against your sensitive clit.
A movement catches your eye — you watch LT take a few steps away, stopping to wedge the backside of his boot against the door so it can’t be opened from outside.
“Still think you’ve got it wrong,” Garrick grumbles, materializing beside MacTavish. “Both of you yanking my chain, now.”
You open your mouth to tell him to fuck off, but MacTavish beats you to it. “Nah, c’mere. It’s right here, I think.”
You gasp when his fingers get replaced by Garrick’s, fumbling around the exact same way, but up too high.
“Nothing there,” he says, so confidently.
For fuck’s sake.
You take his fingers and guide them lower, and— wait, how did he get slick, wet fingers? Did he spit on them beforehand?
“This little thing?” Garrick murmurs, sliding a little circle around your clit like he’s done it his whole life.
Your gaze wanders again to LT by the door, his arms crossed and eyes fixated, not on the hand moving against your pussy, but on your hot face, as if he’s watching intently for something specific to flash across your features. You’re pretty sure you just look a little horny and confused, legs twitching when everything starts to feel warm and syrupy inside your lower belly.
“Y-yeah,” you stammer, yanking your attention back towards Garrick’s serious brown eyes above you. “You feel it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
You’re getting wet. They’re all watching, and you can feel yourself getting more and more turned on, becoming pliant beneath that minuscule touch. Do you like this? Do you like having the attention on you, while you’re— Christ, you’re naked in the rec room, past the point of proving anything. You’re just greedily keeping your knees spread apart, getting your clit fondled by your coworkers now for no good reason.
Garrick blinks down at the conflict on your face, and takes a slow breath. “I think—“
“Think you’ve had your fun, Garrick.”
The man responds immediately to Price’s voice, straightening up and giving his Captain a wide berth. You should do something, should make a move to put your clothes back on, but all you can think about — all you can feel — is the sudden absence of touch on your clit, the hunger and the throbbing inside that’s crying for something direct and persistent.
Price doesn’t bother with any pretense. His boots scuff the floor on his way over to you, watching your face as your embarrassment attempts to slam your knees closed, but your arousal tries to keep them open. All you manage to do is this pathetic little jerk of your legs that doesn’t communicate anything but how desperate you’ve become after getting touched by two of his men.
Price braces himself with one hand on the top of the couch, dropping his face down closer to yours than the other guys dared to come.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispers, smoothing his palm down your bare inner thigh. It’s warm and rough, confident as he runs his knuckles back lightly over your sensitive skin. “You’re thinking these horrible men have tricked you, and now you’re all wet and naked, and it’s going to be embarrassing to look anyone in the eye after this.”
Yeah, you’d probably be thinking that, if you had any thoughts left in your brain. You blink stupidly up at him, breaths coming faster when you feel his fingertips stroking against your poor, aroused little clit.
His eyes are as steady as his hand, giving you soft touches. “It’s okay. Not one of em is thinking less of you for getting a little wet.”
There’s a chorus of affirmative rumbles from behind him, and though that shouldn’t mean a fucking thing to you, all you feel is a hot wave of pleasure at knowing they’re pleased with you. Price is touching the most sensitive part of your pussy, and they’re all getting off on how you've responded to the attention. They may have tricked you into this in the first place, but you are giving this to them now. You’re letting them watch you get played with and get more and more turned on, heat rising across your skin while you’re relentlessly rubbed.
“We took it too far,” he admits. “Got you all hot and bothered when we should have backed off.”
His fingers skate down your cunt, not going inside, just coasting over the slick wetness you can’t help but have when you’re this turned on.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
A little whimper escapes you when he goes back up to where he was before, your inner muscles giving you an inescapable flutter of pleasure at the fact that he’s decided to keep going. Your eyes dart back over to Ghost, the dark gaze now fixed on your wet little pussy, and a noticeable bulge behind his zipper.
It’s so quiet in here. From outside the walls there are faint sounds of boots and male voices, but in here there’s just your shallow breaths, the heartbeat pounding in your ears, and the soft, wet sounds of a pussy that's enjoying being touched.
"Sir, I'm— I'm about to cum." Your hips curl upwards on their own.
"Don't you worry, love. Do what you need to do, and then we'll get you sorted."
You lick your lips, eyes darting around in sudden reluctance. Have any of them taken pictures without you knowing? Oh, god. This is going to ruin—
"None of em," Price says, loud enough to carry, "are going to mention a bloody thing about this. Right, boys?"
A round of "affirmative"s has you focusing back on your captain's eyes, for just a few seconds before everything melts.
Your eyes close right as you start to cum, focusing on the warm sensation and the flashes of memory — Ghost by the door, Garrick's already wet fingers, Price's voice—
Your knees spasm closed around his hand while you pant raggedly through it. You don't want to open your eyes. You can't bear to see them all, because even halfway through your orgasm you can feel the shame taking hold.
Slut.
A little sob escapes your throat, and you grip your hands into tight fists by your sides and prepare yourself for the end of your life as you know it, all because you got wet.
A second hand finds you, covers your eyes so that you couldn't see them even if you wanted to. Your body goes limp, like an animal turning docile after being hooded. The hand between your legs easily pulls away, giving your thigh one last caress.
And then you feel more hands. One keeping you blind, one gathering your pants, one guiding your bare foot back into your clothing. It's got to be three of them putting you to rights, and you just stay there in bewilderment, respecting Price's blindfold while someone laces up your boot.
When the room goes bright again, it's like it never even happened. Ghost is racking up a new game, MacTavish has his back against the wall, nagging Garrick about something he forgot to do. And Price has his back to you, heading for a cigar from his coat pocket.
You sit there for a minute, staring at your boots and focusing on that swollen, vague ache in your pussy. It's the feeling you know so well, telling you that if you could only get fucked a little more, you'd get to cum again.
When you finally find the strength to stand, you silently shuffle out of the room and make your way down the hall.
dad!gojo who convinces you he needs to be the one to take your virginity.
there's no one else more fit for doing so, other than the man who protects you with his entire being. shields you away from the nasty parts of the world, keeps you pliant and in his home, and makes you think the entire world is out to get you. like there's a bounty on your head for just existing.
in a way, there sort of is. you're the daughter of the strongest.
which is why he began formulating a plan months ago when you came up to him about an article on sex. he should really limit your internet access, he thought, but then he wouldn't have the opportunity to teach you all the things you needed to know about sex. you're a grown up now, it's only natural.
so leave it up to your daddy to teach you what feels good. gojo started with sitting you on his lap, kneading at the skin of your waist, slowly opening you up to the idea of him touching your tits. groping you in every way a father should never touch his daughter, squeezing your breasts and tweaking your nipples under your bra, telling you that you didn't need to wear that around the house.
coming up behind you in the kitchen, hands on your ass, and you whining because it felt so good to just be touched there by your daddy. eventually being bent over the counter while gojo hears you sing for him, soft pleads of daddy, daddy while he does nothing but grope your ass in his big hands.
quite erotic, gojo thinks, you look like you're slowly turning into your daddy's own pornstar, something for his entertainment. he feels grosser the more he does to you, putting you in exposing, demeaning positions just so he can rub your cunt and ask you how good it feels. sticks his fingers so deep in you, reveling in how tight you are, the little noises you make from his prodding at your g-spot.
it all leads up to him laying you against his plush sheets, showing you all sorts of love, pulling your panties down because that's all you really wear around the house, anyways. he makes it abundantly clear he's going to pop your cherry, and that you should be so happy that it's your daddy doing it for you. you were made for this.
he can't handle his baby crying because it hurts, but it feels so good, and you look up at him with teary eyes as he shoves his cock in you. gojo almost loses sight of his reasons for doing this, knowing deep down it's all for him, not for you. but you believed your daddy, listened to every word he said, thought he was doing you a service. and you spread your legs for him so sweetly, invited him in, even thanked him for doing this to you.
yet as you look up at him, teary-eyed against the pillows, begging for him to slow down, he can't find it in himself to listen. a sheen of blood coats his cock, mixed in with your juices, and he starts to feel lightheaded at the sight. he tells you it's okay, this always happens, just have to ride it out, baby.
so he pummels his cock into you anyways, shushing you with sweet kisses and rubs your clit, at least tries to make it enjoyable until the pain goes away. after a while, your crying subsides, maw dropping open as the pain begins to turn into something else. your hands push against his pale chest, tell him daddy, it feels weird, hold on. gojo doesn't stop, or even slow down, really, just shuts you up with another string of wet kisses and continues to thrust into you with reckless abandon.
your strength is no match for gojo, nobody's is, as much as you push at his chest he doesn't give up on taking what he wants from you. his hands are all over you, too, nastily groping at your tits as he makes them bounce with each move of his hips. and you won't shut up, either, still telling him that his cock feels weird instead of good like you're supposed to, complaining about some pressure in your lower tummy, like you have to pee.
imagine your daddy's surprise when the whines and pleads turn into you squirting on his cock! didn't know you could do that, did you? he lets out a raucous noise at the feeling, his own daughter wetting his abs because he made you squirt. don't blame him when he convinces you that you need to do it again, just like he convinced you of everything else.
specifically for my icky gojo and dad gojo anons 💕
i’ve been craving an icky, pervy pussy inspection with some fauxcest. i don’t care who you write for girl i just need it
xoxo
~1.2k words ft. gross & nasty stepdad!jack abbot x fem!reader. 18+ MDNI. pussy inspection. coercion & corruption. reader is a virgin. forgive me for this is not my best work. i’ve been in the absolute worst writer’s block of my life 😖
it isn’t normal that the first thing you hear from your stepfather when you come home from university is a command to go upstairs, undress, and wait for him on the bed.
but it’s something that you’ve gotten used to in the past two years, and it’s too late to care about it now, seeing as you’re about to graduate in a few months.
you’re home for winter break, and like always, your mother isn’t here to greet you after the long drive. she’s off somewhere, doing something, and will probably make up for her absence with a gift she brings back.
it’s okay, though. you doubt she would approve of the ritual you and her husband share, and it’s better that she’s not here for it.
jack’s only been in your life since you were eighteen, but he stepped into his role as your father quite seamlessly. your mother couldn’t have married a more perfect man. jack is an emergency physician. a decorated veteran. a loaded and handsome, handsome man. your mother is truly lucky to have him as her husband.
and you’re so lucky to have a stepfather who cares so much about you that he would forgo convention.
when jack was told by your mother that you’re a virgin two winters ago—her upper lips are as loose as her lower ones, he once said to you jokingly—he started the practice of inspecting your pussy to make sure that fact doesn’t change.
he explained that the heartbreak of giving your innocence to someone who would later stomp on it—as most college boys would do—would not be worth it.
it’s better to wait for that someone special to take your virginity, and you don’t want to find out what will happen to you if you don’t. jack is a kind man, but he has an air of authority that you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of.
by the time jack is in the bedroom with you, you’re undressed with your hands holding your legs by the crooks of their knees, spreading yourself open.
you’re not sure why you have to be entirely naked for a lower body inspection, but you don’t mind being in the nude. if anyone has the right to see your tits, it’s your stepfather.
you’re family. or so he reminds you. you recall being adamantly against this whole ordeal back then when it first started, but the memory is fuzzy now. this may be strange, wrong even, but it’s not like he’s being unfaithful to your mother.
you’re his stepdaughter. he’s just being kind and looking out for you in his own, unique way—
“fuck, what a pretty sight,” he grunts out as he closes in on you, running a single, thick finger over your inner thigh and making you shiver, “i always forget how perfect your body is, baby. let’s see if that cunt is still intact too.”
—and if he gets caught up in a storm of lust, that’s just him being a man. but he’d never do anything uncouth.
he gets down on his knees, kneeling on the pillow that you placed on the floor beforehand. the cushion is easier on his residual limb, and he’s always a little more gentle with you when he’s not in pain.
his hands frame your folds, and then he spreads them apart. the first time jack peeled you open like this you were a flustered mess, but now, you don’t even blink.
you do feel sticky down there, though. but that’s normal. he told you so.
i’m a physician. doing these inspections is also a good way to check on the health of your vagina. better me than some stranger, right?
he also told you that there is a surefire way to tell if someone with a vagina has had sex. the presence of an intact hymen proves virginity, for one, but apparently there’s some other trick of the trade you’re not aware of that can as well.
it does seem unlikely, but what do you know? jack is the physician in the family, and you haven’t taken a health class since the ninth grade.
he takes his time looking at your pussy. he observes how your slick gathers and leaks down the cleft of your ass onto the sheets and how your hole clenches when he makes the offhand your pussy is so goddamn wet comment.
what was it that he said the last time?
a pretty, fertile thing like you needs to be careful. any man virile enough could knock you up. good thing you’re not spreading these legs anytime soon, right, sweetheart?
that affected you more than you would have liked to admit.
jack hums in satisfaction after his visual examination, then shoves one, two, three of his fingers knuckle-deep into your hole, testing something or other.
“virgins like you are so tight, aren’t they?” he asks suddenly, wiggling his fingers inside of you. he groans, and you feel your face start to heat.
maybe he just missed you a lot this time around. there’s no other way to explain how much he seems to enjoy feeling your walls clench down on his fingers and how his other hand moves to palm his crotch.
your expression morphs to one of confusion, and he explains, “that’s a good thing. whoever you have your first time with will be very happy.” he bends down and gives your clit a little kiss and then pulls his fingers out of you. “you’ve been good. still a virgin.”
“for how much longer?” you grumble. “for the rest of my life?”
jack huffs. “there’s no need to rush these things, sweetheart. you’ll thank me for doing this later.”
“no, i know. i am thankful... i guess.” you shake your head and sigh. “just ignore me.”
he stands and sits by your side on the bed, and you let go of your legs to curl up beside him. he rubs a hand up and down your back in a gentle motion. he’s silent for a moment, but then he asks, “what if i took your virginity, sweetheart? would you want that?”
you turn your head up to look at him with wide eyes. “what?”
“i’ll make it special. won’t have to worry about having a bad first time. and i can show you what sex is supposed to be like.”
your heart races. this is...
“but... how about mom?”
“don’t worry about her,” he replies simply. “let’s just keep this between us, alright?”
you think for a second. if there’s anyone you can count on to give you a good first time… it’s jack. and he’s just trying to set a good example for what you should expect with an actual partner in the future, right?
“i’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. i promise.” his hand trails down to your rump and squeezes a cheek in emphasis.
“okay…” you trail off, ignoring the sight of his cock swelling, big and thick and trapped inside of his jeans. “i guess it wouldn’t hurt to do it with someone i’m comfortable with.”
“good.” he smirks. “guess your stepdad’s the one you’re going to make very happy today, huh?”
pairing: max verstappen x reader x charles leclerc
summary: the 2026 season has more at stake for max and charles then anyone realizes
a/n: this is inspired by @sinofwriting’s claiming verse Max and Charles — happy birthday sin!
warnings — dark content; kidnapping, stalking, forced marriage
Masterlist
f1fan
liked by user, user, user, and 929,445 others
f1fan: ok I need the new interviewer to stick around forever — this is the happiest I've seen Max and Charles in a long time
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user1: I forgot that they used to smile…
↳user2: and enjoy racing
↳user1: that too!
user3: they were literally so giggly and happy answering her questions
↳user4: i literally had to pause and rewind to make sure it was actually max and Charles there and not some doppelgängers
↳user3: SAME!
user5: how to tell the season is ass?? The fact that 2 of the best drivers ever aren't enjoying it at all
↳user6: trash the new regs!
↳user7: just let them drive!
user8: the look of betrayal they had when their pr people tried dragging them away…
↳user9: no for real they just wanted to continue talking to her 😭😭
↳user10: love that for them
user11: I second keeping her around — this was the best interview they've given all year
Private Messages: Max and Jos
Private Messages: Charles and Fred
Email
skysportsf1
liked by user, user, user, and 1,928,910 others
tagged: yn
f1: Urgent News‼️ Credible threats have been received targeting Sky Sports reporter YN LN — we're taking all necessary precautions to keep LN safe. LN is aware of the threats against her but has argued to continue her job trackside — a team of bodyguards have been hired for her protection.
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charles_leclerc: that's our girl
↳yn: I'm here to stay! liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1
↳charles_leclerc: good
user12: wait what??
user13: what is happening to this sport???
maxverstappen1: don't let them drive you away
↳yn: never!
↳maxverstappen1: good
yn: thanks for your support and help! But I'm not gonna let anyone keep me from my job — I love it too much!
↳user14: girl I think in this situation, you might want to step back?
↳yn: no way!
Bluesky
user15: no but for real??? Like I swear to god they are actually going for the kill this year
↳user16: truer words have never been spoken
user17: i need some of their motivation right now
user18: I know we always say we need real racing back but ummm??? This isn't it
↳user19: respectful* racing
user20: even the interviewers and pundits are commenting on it
↳user21: o think when you have Nico Rosberg say that you might be racing each other too hard, you might want to reevaluate
↳user22: ^^^^
Private Messages: YN and BFF
f1fan
liked by user, user, user, and 1,811,183 others
f1fan: Boys boys boys I’m going to need you put those heart eyes away — we're here to race each other, not fall in love with the pretty interviewer
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user23: I don't know I think I prefer this over the attempted murder they're preforming against each other each race week
↳user24: ^^^
user25: how to make it obvious you're in love: a step by step instruction manual by Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen
↳user26: why are we committing violence against them today 😂
↳user27: they haven't said anything that wrong actually
user28: she's a stronger woman than me because if I had 1 of those guys staring at me like that, I'd be down on my knees so fucking fast…and she's got both of them wrapped around her fingers!
↳user29: gods strongest soldier right there
user30: universe I've seen what you've done for others and I'd like that for me too please 🙏
↳user31: for real for real
user32: ok but who is she dating because there's no way she's still single
↳user33: um Max for sure!
↳user34: are you kidding me? Look at how Charles looks at her — that's not a look you give anyone but your partner
↳user33: Max is the definition of heart eyes and you wanna say Charles? Are you kidding me?
user35: Guys come on — she's WORKING. She's not going to be dating someone on the paddock
↳user36: this!
↳user33: whatever we're just joking anyway
↳user34: let us have our fun killjoys
f1gossip
liked by user, user, user, and 2,183,173 others
f1gossip: Do we sense a new relationship in the air? Lando and Sky Sports reporter YN LN seen getting close
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user37: I ship it!
↳user38: they'd be so cute together!
user39: he literally lights up when he talks to her, it's so cute
user40: I love her so much — she's definitely the best interviewer yet
↳user41: I love how aware? She is of Lando's anxiety — she never pushes him
user42: landoyn or norrisln?
↳user43: landoyn for sure!
mv33: what
↳c16l: seconded
Private Messages: Max and Charles
f1gossip
liked by user, user, user, and 3,822,183 others
f1gossip: Romance blooming this summer break? Both Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were spotted with new women (and potentially with each other) during an extended tropical vacation. Who might be the lucky women to snag these eligible bachelors?
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user50: it should be me 😭😭
↳user51: or me
user52: max and Charles hanging out together?? After they've spend the last few months genuinely trying to kill each other??
↳user53: that's what's getting me — they looked ready to run each other over last week and now they're having a romcom moment with their new girls?
user54: ok hear me out…the 'mystery' women is actually a single woman and is YN LN
↳user55: I've heard you out and now I'm done
↳user54: listen. listen. the boys have been flirting with her hardcore all season and they've always have something going on with each other — this is the only logical conclusion to everything that's been happening this year
↳user55: …I think we need to buy you a dictionary so you can look up what logical means
bff: wait is that??? Did she seriously lie to me?!?
Private Messages: YN and BFF
f1fan
liked by user, user, user, and 2,811,812 others
f1fan: all is right in the world — max and charles are back and are flirting with yn again
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user56: did…did their heart eyes get even more intense?
↳user57: I think they did somehow
user58: I swear to god they almost had sparkles coming off of them when they got to her
user59: ok but did anyone else clock the absolutely foul look they both shot Lando?
↳user60: if they start making nice with each other and instead target Lando, I'm gonna cry
user61: am I crazy or were they holding hands?
↳user62: who? Max and charles?
↳user61: max and yn AND charles and yn
↳user63: omg are you one of those weirdo max/yn/charles truthers???
user64: ok i hate to be that person but i swear i saw yn leave with the both of them??
↳user61: THATS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING!!!
f1gossip
liked by user, user, user, and 5,722,173 others
tagged: yn, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1
f1gossip: Yeah yeah yeah the champion fight is now down to a single race between Max and Charles— WE HAVE CONFIRMATION THAT MAX/YN/CHARLES ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP!!! ALERT ALERT ALERT
view all comments
user65: everyone stAY CALM ITS HAPPENING
↳user66: AHHHHHHH
↳user67: AHHHHHHH
↳user68: AHHHHHHH
↳user69: AHHHHHHH
user61: I CALLED IT I TOTALLY CALLED IT AND YOU GUYS CALLED ME CRAZY
↳user63: my bad
user70: i love this?
↳user71: she's literally living my dream right now and I'm so fucking jealous
↳user72: MOOD
user73: ummm does anyone think this is moving really fast?
↳user74: I mean maybe but like we don't actually know how long they've been together?
↳user75: very very true
↳user76: it's not like it's their job to announce everything about their lives
↳user73: still you'd think there would have been a hint of the relationship before this year and if it's a new relationship, already married??
↳user77: you might have a point…
charles_leclerc
liked by maxverstappen1, yn_leclerc-verstappen, arthur_leclerc, and 6,828,912 others
tagged: maxverstappen1, yn_leclerc-verstappen
charles_leclerc: I am happy to announce that Max, YN, and I got married in Monaco this summer break — I am the luckiest person alive to call them my spouses.
To Max and YN — thank you for loving me enough to spend the rest of our lives together
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if you are interested, would you be willing to write something with vox and his little horny crush on his innocent assistant bc i love that trope and man’s corruption kink go brrrrrr😇 and i love your writing😭❤️
. 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀𝑨𝑪𝑯𝑬 : being your boss favorite employee has it's perks, like him choosing what lingerie you must wear, for example. vox x gender neutral reader.
˖ ࣪૮₍ cw ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni :: afab reader with no gendered pronouns used :: dubious consent :: coersion :: reader wears lingerie :: reader is oblivious & dense :: sugar daddy vox ( if you think about it ) :: power imbalance :: manipulation :: a little bit of corruption kink ა ࣪˖
"are you sure this is okay, sir?"
no. taking his sweet, desperately-in-need-of-a-break employee on a spree through luxury stores definitely blurs a few lines—but lines are suggestions, and vox has never cared much for suggestions. he is far more focused on the wobbly way ‘sir’ had dripped off your tongue.
it isn’t sin, but he’d get you there, he is quite persuasive.
you already have quite a few bags dangling off your arms, the cords and ribbons digging into your arms (fuck, he wishes he could make some marks of his own—). and vox has decided to treat you to one, final stop.
a lingerie store, naturally. only custom-made and designer pieces, of course.
"this is totally okay, doll," he hums and ushers you inside the store entrance. his hand drifts downward, over the upper curves of your ass, just to watch you squirm. "consider it a reward! you’ve been doing so much good for me, you deserve a treat or two, don’t you think?"
you juggle the bags, glance up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. “i think you’re doing more than that—"
"then shouldn’t you be, i don’t know, thanking me for my generosity then?" vox smirks as your expression falters. you are way too easy and god, he fucking loves it.
he shoos you into the fitting rooms until you have no other option than to sit on the plush bench, hands in fist and lip tucked between your teeth.
( he’d have you spoiled, whether you liked it or not. )
vox's voice drifts back from the salesfloor, though you can't tell what he is saying. you can pick up words like ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ and you can only assume the words are about the bright-eyed, big-titted employee you saw earlier.
"holy fuck, the selection they have here is amazing!" he calls, reappearing with an armful of hangers—padded, each holding something far too intricate to be casual.
he arranges them neatly along a gold rail.
it is truly just a single room, though it is large enough. six-sided, each wall complete with a well-padded, velvet bench seat to idle on. the middle of the room has a little raised platform, leading to three, angled mirrors. they are massive and feels a bit too revealing as vox hums to himself nearby.
the only thing separating you from the rest of the store is a heavy draping.
vox drops onto the cushion next to you, letting out a sigh and leaning back. your gaze flickers between the delicate fabrics and the clawed hand resting just a little too close to your thigh.
"now," he clicks his tongue, jerking his gaze to the hangers. "i picked out some pretty sweet pieces for you. why don’t you try them on and let me know what you think."
you nod and stand up, though your stomach feels like there is suddenly lead in it. from the looks of the lace and silks, those pieces aren’t going to cover much of anything.
( it’s not hat bad, isn’t it? it’s not like he’s going to see anything more than he would if you were wearing a swimsuit. and it's a gift, right? you should at least show him what he’d paid for on an actual body.
he has you so well-trained– )
the pieces are... something. you don't know what were you expecting, probably one of those soft babydolls and teddies. the pieces vox picked for you aren’t the least bit modest. they’re all lace, mesh, and ribbons. stockings and garters that looked like they might be a tich too snug.
againts your better judgment, you grab the least garish-looking piece. behind you, he hasn’t moved.
his screen flickers as his eyes lazily open, brow-raising, "you good, doll?"
"uh—aren’t you gonna step out?"
"why the hell would i do that?" vox laughs and rights himself. the blue, cold light of his screen makes your eyes burn just a little.
you swallow.
"i would prefer if you d-did."
"and if i don’t?" his voice oozes something that make your knees weak. “what then? i know you don’t like disappointing me.”
you don't. you don't.
"please?," you beg, albeit quietly.
as much as part of you adored the attention, you try to keep that quiet. stuffed down and hidden. vox is your boss, and you have to keep yourself occupied with his busy schedule and mountains of paperwork, lest you allow yourself to dissolve into thinking his attentions were anything other than favoritism.
"’please’?" his voice distorted for a second, the corners of his smile widening. “‘please’ what? say it properly.”
you let out a shaking breath, "this—this is inappropriate–"
"maybe—" he cuts you off, standing directly in front of you. “—you just need some help? that’s it?”
your mouth goes dry. he is not wrong, not really.
"should’ve just said something," he continues, almost amused. "i imagine you don’t do this kind of thing often.”
"i don't."
does anyone?
"that's alright, i know you try your best and just need that extra push, hm?" vox sighs, deep in his chest.
with the blue swallowing your peripheral vision, you feel like you're suffocating. maybe in a good way. you nod again, pliant.
( he always knows you. what you want, what you crave, what you need. )
nimble fingers untuck your blouse from your waist, and you gasp at the chill of his skin. he is undeterred, loosening the garment and immediately going for the buttons.
one by one, they came undone and you wrap your arms tighter around your middle. vox ogled, openly and without a care. it made something in you writhe, but you still wanted more of it. his attention, overt affections that supposedly mean nothing– you want it.
he slides the blouse from your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. you know how you must look, hot and flushed to the touch. bare on your upper half, sans a cheap bra that had seen better.
"a-are you really–" you aren't sure what you are going to ask, but vox doesn't let you say it besides.
"yes, of course, obviously,'" you swear you can see a blue tongue at the seams of his screen. a claw caughs the pilling strap of your bra, snapping it against your shoulder. "besides, look at this! can't have you representing me, and my brand wearing shit like this."
something burns in your gut, some mix of shame and arousal that is threatening to spill from the wet corners of your eyes.
vox drops to his knees, so fast you can hardly register it. his hands hook in your skirt by the first two knuckles and tugs as he goes down. the sound of splitting fabric cracks in the air, and your skirt fall to the floor in tatters.
and then vox fucking flat face hovers just inches away from your covered cunt. the cheap cotton of your panties doing nothing to shield you from the hot breath that he fans over you.
"v-vox!" you cry out, attempting to push at his shoulders with sweaty palms. "what the hell are you doing?!"
"just taking a closer look," he gives you no time to protest as those quick claws of his pulls the elastic of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. he has the decency to tap your ankles, one at a time, so you can step out of the garment. "you don't mind, right?"
you let him, and perhaps you should've protested a bit more. maybe. but it wasn't like this wasn't your wildest fantasy, anyway, and you'd seen what he did to people who crossed him, when it really mattered. and the handful of times you'd seen that go to shit had left memories of static and terror-filled eyes in their wake.
vox unclips your bra, throwing the thing to the side with a look akin to disgust. he snatchs the hanger and garment from your hand and nods toward the platform.
"stand over there like a good thing for me. don't take your eyes off yourself."
you can't disobey him, could you?
( you don't want to find out otherwise. )
he approaches you from behind, the silk of the garment tucked over his arm. his eyes look predatory, gleaming and inky.
he only stops when his chest is flush to your back, hands finding their home just above your hips with a squeeze. you shudder at the feeling, new and raw and you can't tell if you hated or loved it.
"i want to see how this looks on you," vox groans, claws biting into your skin. "hold still for me, doll."
you don't dare move an inch as vox take his sweet time dressing you up. the garment is silken straps, the lace wrapping around the curves of your hips and chest. he pats into place after each one.
it is impossible to ignore the bulge pressing into your ass. even as he pulls the pair of panties between your cheeks, stroking the lace and the fat with a wide palm, you are far more focused on the heat and hardness slowly grinding at the other cheek.
he ties you up expertly, and you watch in the mirrors, seeing each angle of it. the way his hands squeezes and pulls at your flesh along the way.
"look at that," he hums low, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze just where he'd like. "tied up like a pretty present. i told you this would be good, didn't i?"
"i-i guess."
his gaze meets yours in the mirror. one of his hands trail low, very low, sliding over top of the lace panties and cupping your sex. his index fingers lazily trace your lips through the fabric, idle. the other go to grope your chest, more insistent as he palms at you, pinching a nipple as you begin to sputter.
a warbled moan craks from your lips when vox fingers dips below the seams of the pretty garment, rubbing at just the rights parts of you, tugging your body flush to his.
"w-wait!" you wrap a hand around on his wrist, begging your breath to stay somewhat even. "what if someone hears? or one of the employees comes back? w-what if–"
vox spreads you wider with one hand, his cock throbbing against your back. two fingers circle your clit slowly, gathering the sticky mess until you mewl.
"do you think i care?" vox groans, smirking as he grinds into your ass. the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing cut through the room (again) and the fabric of his pants hit the ground. and suddenly you can feel how hard and hot he is.
something twist in your gut and your legs rubs together. vox caugh your gaze, scarlet enveloping the room from the sides of your vision and the mirror in front of you.
he shifts your face toward his, the grip on your jaw is replaced by one on your throat; he is hardly exerting any pressure but the threat and meaning are clear.
( vox has you right where he wants you. he always has, always will. you're just a bit too dumb to see it. )
"you need this just as i do," he speaks low and rolling, touch burning like embers. "you know you do. i know you do. you trust me, don't you?"
do you?
all you can do is nod before vox slotts his tongue to yours, staking a claim that is only new to you. he caughs every sound, every little gesture of yours is his, just like you are.
vox kicks himself for waiting for this so long, but he can be ginger, under the right circumstances. ones that benefited him. he can only hope you are as good of a fuck as you are fun to toy with.
you'd be sin yet. he just had to coax you there first.
