#That image makes me want to buy In Stars And Time. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orangeblossomsintheair · 2 months ago

Note

oh could you write something cute about the reader and Lando please, maybe something funny where the reader says "oh yeah I'll do this but for that you'll buy me a Porsche" and Lando actually buys her a car 💜

BRAND AMBASSADOR | LN4

wc : 3k

an : slowly working through my requests yippie! im not too sure about this but i hope its alr :'>

It was meant to be a joke. Really.

But Lando didn’t know how to take a joke.

For weeks, he’d been pestering you to do a photoshoot with him for Quadrant.

“Brand image, baby!” he insisted, arms flailing as if that explained everything. “Power couple vibes! You and me, absolutely dominating the internet. Imagine the engagement!”

“My manager would actually drop dead if I did a hoodie campaign.”

“Oh come on, baby, just one photoshoot,” he pleaded, leaning so far over the kitchen island that he looked like he might slide right off. “Just a few pics in Quadrant stuff! Hoodie, joggers, maybe the bucket hat if you're feeling spicy-"

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “Lando. I’m booked for the next eight months. Vogue is flying me to Paris next week, and Dior wants me in Milan by the weekend. I don’t have time to play influencer in your gamer merch.”

“It's not gamer merch!” Lando gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. “It’s- it's… lifestyle! Culture! Gaming and racing fusion!”

“That’s cute,” you said flatly, scrolling.

Lando narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t even look at the new designs I sent you.”

“Because it’s just another hoodie, baby.”

He gasped again, louder this time. “Just another hoodie?”

“Oh, I’m sorry- hoodie, but make it Formula 1.”

“Wow.” He pointed at you. “I cannot believe this slander. From my own girlfriend.”

“Your supermodel girlfriend,” you corrected without missing a beat.

“And yet, I’m still here, humbly begging for crumbs of attention.”

You didn’t even blink.

And that’s when you heard it. The soft shuffle of socks against hardwood floors.

You looked up just in time to see Lando drop dramatically to his knees in front of you, arms sprawled over your thighs like some lovesick Victorian maiden.

His chin rested on your knee, staring up at you with those big, stupidly pretty eyes.

“Please.” His voice dropped to a pitiful whisper, like he was auditioning for a charity ad. “Do a Quadrant shoot with me.”

“Oh my God, Lando- get off the floor!”

“No. I live here now.” He clung tighter. “Photoshoot. Please, baby. You could be the face of the brand! Imagine it: you in my merch, absolutely carrying. We could finally replace Max’s ugly mug on the website-”

“Lando!” You laughed, swatting at him.

“It’s true! The customers deserve better!”

“You own the brand. You’re supposed to be the face.”

"But you’d look so good in my hoodies," he said, practically drooling at the thought. "God, you in joggers? Maybe one of those cropped sweaters? The internet would lose its mind.”

You stared at him. Long. Hard.

“…Fine.”

His eyes lit up, stars in aquamarine. “Wait, really?”

“But it’s gonna cost you.”

Lando blinked. Sat up straighter. “How much?”

You smirked, dragging your perfectly manicured nails through his curls, watching him melt like butter.

“A car.”

His entire posture changed. He sat up straighter, interest piqued. Now you were speaking his language. “Which one?”

You almost choked. “Excuse me?”

Lando leaned in, eyes sharp now. “Which. One.”

Oh, he was serious.

You blinked, regrouped, and leaned back like you were simply ordering off a menu.

“LaFerrari.”

Silence.

“The red one. Wine red. Matches my nails.” You admired the burgundy polish glinting under the light. “I’d look good in it.”

Lando didn’t even blink.

“Deal.”

Your head snapped toward him. “What?”

“Done.” He stood up, dusting off his sweatpants like you hadn’t just asked for a multi-million-dollar hypercar. “I’ll have the keys for you next week. Photoshoot’s on Friday.”

“Lando, that’s a LaFerrari-”

“And?”

“It’s like… a $3 million car!”

He tilted his head. “Do you want it in the garage or delivered to your place?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“…You’re insane.”

Lando leaned down, smirking, and kissed your forehead. “And now you’re stuck with me.”

“…I want full creative control over the shoot.”

“Baby, you can set the studio on fire if it makes you happy.”

“And you’re paying for my glam team.”

“Obviously.”

You stared at him, still trying to process how you had accidentally hustled a hypercar off your billionaire boyfriend in under five minutes.

“And I want full rights to veto any photo where I look bad.”

“Oh, baby, you never look bad.”

You squinted. “If I show up and it’s just me in some hoodie in front of a brick wall-”

Lando’s hands cupped your cheeks, deadly serious. “You will be in a hoodie… in front of a gaming PC.”

You slapped his hands away.

—

You were never supposed to take it this far.

The photoshoot was meant to be a joke.

A little bargaining chip to shut Lando up for five minutes. You didn’t think he’d actually pull it off.

Yet here you were.

In a studio. In a Quadrant hoodie. In sweatpants.

And to make it worse, Lando was treating this like he was shooting for Vogue.

“Okay, okay- pause! Can we fix the lighting on her left side? I need more contrast, more mood. She’s selling the hoodie but not the vibe.”

You slowly turned to glare at him. “Lando. I am wearing a hoodie. There is no ‘vibe.’”

“There’s always a vibe!” Lando spun around to the photographer. “Tell her there’s a vibe.”

The photographer, who was clearly riding the paycheck wave, gave you an awkward smile and a less than enthusiastic thumbs up. “Yeah. Big vibe.”

You groaned and adjusted the hoodie, tugging the hood up over your head. “Lando, I walked for Dior last month. Dior. And now I’m here, dressed like a Twitch streamer in front of a gaming PC.”

Lando gasped. “First of all, streamers WISH they looked this good. Second of all, don’t disrespect the setup. That’s a triple-monitor, RGB-lit, water-cooled rig worth more than my life.”

“Yeah, well, it better be. Because I’m dying inside.”

“Okay, can we get a shot of her sitting on the desk? Like, casual, but make it fashion. Maybe holding a controller? No- headset! Baby, put on the headset.”

You stared at him. “You want me to wear a gaming headset in a fashion shoot?”

“Yes. Gamer girlfriend aesthetic. Internet eats that up.”

“I haven’t touched a console since the Wii came out.”

“And that’s the fantasy!”

—

Lando couldn’t stop staring.

The moment you put on the damn headset, he knew he was in trouble.

He’d been so smug, so proud of himself for getting you to agree to this ridiculous photoshoot.

But now? Now he was fighting for his life.

Because there you were, sitting on the desk in a Quadrant hoodie, wearing his brand, looking so effortlessly good that it was like the universe was punishing him for ever thinking this was a good idea.

It wasn’t just the way the hoodie hung on you, oversized and perfect, or the way you pushed the headset into place like you were made to wear it.

It was the thought behind it.

You were wearing his stuff.

And that did things to him.

Very Dangerous things.

Lando dragged a hand over his face, trying to snap himself out of it, but it was no use.

His gaze betrayed him, sliding back to you as you leaned back on the desk, legs crossed, your smirk telling him you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“Lando,” you said, your voice teasing and smooth, “you okay over there, baby?”

He tried to play it cool. “Yeah. All good.” His voice cracked halfway through, and he coughed to cover it up.

But he wasn’t fine.

Not even close.

His hands were clammy, his heart was pounding, and he was hyperaware of the fact that he was growing harder by the second.

Oh, this was bad.

You shifted on the desk, leaning forward slightly, the motion drawing his eyes to your legs before snapping them back to your face.

That cocky little smirk was still there, your stupidly pretty eyes glinting with amusement.

You were enjoying this. Brat.

“You sure?” you pressed, tilting your head.

His voice was higher this time, strained and barely holding it together. “Yep. Fine. Totally fine.”

You didn’t buy it for a second. “Lando…”

“That’s it,” Lando muttered, voice tight, cracking slightly with frustration. “Break! We’re taking a break.”

His words were sharp, a contrast to the usual smooth confidence he exuded.

Without waiting for any response, he grabbed your wrist, dragging you away from the set with a sense of urgency that didn’t match the cool composure he usually carried.

“Lando, what the-”

“Not now,” he interrupted, low and tense, as he pulled you into a nearby storage room.

The door clicked shut with an almost deliberate force, the sound of the lock turning echoing in the small space.

You barely had time to gather your thoughts before he was in your space, his breath coming fast, his chest rising and falling against yours.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” His voice was low, strained, his hands finding your waist, gripping tight, enough to bruise.

A slow smile spread across your lips. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Lando’s forehead pressed against yours, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as if trying to center himself.

His breath fanned across your lips, shaky and uneven, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his chest seemed to rise and fall faster with every breath.

“You’re a brat,” he muttered under his breath, voice raw, yet edged with something almost desperate.

“You’re the one who wanted me in your merch,” you teased, your fingers curling into his hair as you leaned into him, feeling the heat of his body.

“Yeah, well…” His hands slid lower, pulling you closer, his fingertips burning against your skin. “Now I’ve got more than I bargained for.”

The words barely left his lips before his mouth found yours.

The kiss was messy, urgent, his lips urgent against yours, like he couldn’t get enough.

You didn’t need to think. Your body responded immediately, hands moving to pull him closer, the heat building.

The press of his body against yours was relentless, hard and desperate, as he deepened the kiss.

His hand slid down your thigh, pulling it up to hook around his waist, while the other traced a slow, deliberate path along your jaw.

His breath fanned across your skin, shallow and uneven, each exhale carrying a heat that set your nerves ablaze.

“You don’t fight fair,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, edged with a hunger that made your stomach flip. His mouth moved to your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as his teeth grazed your throat.

Your lips curled into a smirk, your nails raking across his back just enough to make him shudder. The sound of his sharp inhale sent a rush of power through you.

“Neither do you,” you whispered, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his as your fingers found the hem of his hoodie, tugging it higher, your touch skimming over his skin.

“God, you…” His voice broke, his words catching in his throat as he crashed his mouth back to yours.

The kiss was harder this time, almost frantic, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

His hands moved with purpose now.

Demanding, claiming, leaving no part of you untouched.

Your nails scraped against his back again, dragging another groan from deep in his chest, a sound so raw and desperate it made your knees weak.

His hips rocked against you, slow and deliberate, each movement sending shockwaves through your body.

“Careful, Norris,” you teased, your voice breathless but still carrying a hint of mischief as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. A quiet intensity that you'd seen more than once.

“You’re starting to look a little… well, territorial.”

For a moment, he froze. His chest heaved with every ragged breath as if he was trying to regain control.

Then his lips twitched into a sly, almost dangerous smile, one that sent a thrill through you.

“Maybe I am,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word carrying weight. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, making any distance between you disappear.

The words sent a shiver through your spine. But it wasn’t fear. It was something else, something exciting, something that only made you want more.

His lips found your neck again, pressing soft, burning kisses against your skin.

His teeth grazed over your pulse, just enough to send a jolt through you, sharp and unexpected, making your breath catch in your throat.

You tilted your head to the side, giving him more access, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered, “Everyone’s going to notice, you know. You weren’t exactly subtle when you dragged me off like that.”

The corner of his mouth curled into a grin, but it was dark now, and there was a sudden pressure in his hands as he adjusted his position against you. “Let them notice,” he said, his voice thick with something unspoken.

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing lower, his breath hot against your skin. “I don’t care. They can see whatever they want.”

The words sent a wave of heat rushing through your body, and you couldn’t help but arch into him, your nails scraping lightly over his back.

—-

When it was over, you leaned back against the wall, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady your breath.

Lando, however, was already standing in front of you, his hair tousled, his hoodie still hanging off his frame in a way that somehow made it look even better on him than it ever had before.

He bent down casually to scoop your underwear from the floor, dangling them in front of you with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Come on, love,” he said, his voice rough and teasing, still thick with exertion. “Don’t leave me hanging. Put these back on before we go out there.”

You shot him a glare, snatching the fabric from his hand and hurriedly slipping it on, feeling the heat rush to your face.

Lando leaned back against the wall, watching you with a cocky, self-satisfied grin. “Still dripping with me,” he murmured, but the rasp in his voice made your stomach flip. You felt your cheeks flush even more.

You rolled your eyes, tugging the hoodie down to hide your body and fix your composure. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied with a wink. “Guess that says something about you too.”

The studio lights were still dimmed as you walked back in, legs slightly unsteady. You caught yourself on the doorframe, trying to keep your cool, but the feeling between your legs was still fresh, raw.

Lando followed you, smirking like a cat that had just caught its prey. He leaned against the wall, eyes on you as his grin grew wider. “Fix your hair,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You look like you just got fucked.”

You barely suppressed a laugh, brushing your fingers through your hair and pulling it back into something that at least resembled “done.” “Gee, I wonder why,” you muttered under your breath.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the way you were still trying to play it cool. “Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

You narrowed your eyes, about to retort when Lando took a step forward, his smirk never fading, and pulled you close. He kissed you softly, lingering, the kind of kiss that made it hard to remember where you ended and he began.

“Come on,” he murmured against your lips as he pulled away, the mischief still dancing in his eyes. “We’ve got a photoshoot to finish.”

—-

Months passed.

The LaFerrari didn’t show up.

Not that you cared. Really.

Sure, it had been a fun little joke—“Pay me in a LaFerrari or I’m not doing this shoot”—but you never expected Lando to actually follow through.

He said he would but Lando also forgot to stock up on groceries some days so you didn’t take it to heart.

Besides, it wasn’t like you had time to think about it.

Your schedule was relentless: fashion weeks in Paris, Vogue shoots in Milan, fittings for Dior in New York.

You were barely home long enough to unpack, let alone pine after a car.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Until one night, after a particularly grueling flight back from London, you pulled into your driveway and-

You slammed the brakes.

Because there it was.

A LaFerrari.

Burgundy red. Like aged wine. Like sin and velvet had a baby and parked it outside your house.

It gleamed under the porch light, shameless and expensive.

For a full minute, you did nothing but stare, slack-jawed.

Then you slowly got out of the car, leaving your bags in the trunk.

“Lando,” you muttered, pulling out your phone.

You called.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, baby- what’s up?”

“You left a LaFerrari on my driveway.”

“Oh! You got home?” He sounded way too casual.

“Lando. There is a multi-million-dollar car parked outside my house.”

“Yeah, about that. It’s yours. Obviously.”

“…You’re joking.”

“Would I joke about something this expensive?”

“Yes.”

“Fair. But not this time.”

You stared at the car again.

“Are you serious? After months?”

“It takes time to deliver a LaFerrari!” Lando said, his voice way too serious for a man who had just been exposed.

“I had to get it customized, too. Your name is literally engraved on the side. And then there was the whole issue with cargo. Did you know they’re super strict about how cars are transported? I had to make sure it wasn’t gonna get dented, and the shipping company I trust didn’t have any available slots until-”

“I thought you were joking, Lando!”

“Well, I wasn’t,” he replied confidently. “You said you wanted a LaFerrari. You said ‘make it red wine,’ so I made it red wine. I also got the seats customized with carbon fiber inserts and-”

You groaned in disbelief, interrupting him. “You literally bought the car, customized it, and shipped it to my house."

Lando blinked, unfazed. “Well, yeah. Obviously. Did you think I was kidding about that part?”

“Yes! It’s a LaFerrari! Who even does that?! It’s absurd!”

"Clearly me.” He paused. “Check the glove compartment.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Suspicious, you approached the car, heels clicking on the pavement. You opened the door.

God, even the door sounded expensive- and popped the glove compartment.

Inside was a tiny Hot Wheels car. A red LaFerrari.

Taped to it was a sticky note.

“Just in case this one wasn’t enough. - Lando”

You stared at it.

You looked back at the LaFerrari, glinting under the sun like some ridiculous, over-the-top love letter.

“…I’m taking it to the Dior fitting tomorrow.”

“You better.”

“…Is this why you were ignoring my texts last week?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you! I was busy coordinating with Italy!”

“Oh my God.”

#x reader #formula one x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #lando imagine #lando x y/n #lando x you #lando x reader #lando norris #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x you #ln4 fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

Text

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.

You couldn’t.

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.”

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”

You exhaled, he inhaled.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”

Your body panics, but you will it to relax.

“Does that come with the premium subscription?”

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.

“I get to take Bam?”

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”

Probably not. Definitely not.

“But what about Bam?”

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.”

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.

Jungkook groans.

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.

You want him.

It began with a ring and ended right here.

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.

Jungkook grips your waist hard.

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.

“Kiss me, then.”

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.

“Bam, house.”

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.

No attachment, no liking.

Just sex.

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.

You broke him.

And now you have to face the repercussions.

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.

A lump forms in your throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.

Flowery or deceitful?

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you.

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.

“Are you scared?”

You’re an empty canvas.

“Not anymore.”

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”

“Okay.”

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.

Jungkook sees you.

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips.

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.

“Feels good, baby?”

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.

“Did so well for me.”

The whisper takes you back and you awake.

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth.

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.

Musk, vanilla, wood.

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.”

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”

You nod. “So bad.”

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.”

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.

Neither, evidently, can he.

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.

So vulnerable.

You ache.

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.

“Talk to me.”

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.

He stares you down.

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.

“I won’t play with you, then.”

Panic. “No.”

He cocks a brow at you. “No?”

Silence.

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.

“Jungkook.”

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.

“Beg.”

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You groan in frustration.

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.”

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.

“Where?”

A challenge. Your throat dries up.

“There.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.

“Lick my clit, please.”

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.

“Like this?”

You choke out a moan.

“Yes, please.”

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy.

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.

Daddy and little girl.

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens.

“But what if it doesn’t fit?”

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”

You nod, trusting him.

He pecks you. Smiles.

“How many orgasms are we at?”

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You obliterated my expectations.”

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”

You blush, eyes twinkling.

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.

“I don’t stop coming.”

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?”

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?”

You scoff. “Just one.”

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.

He didn’t break his promise.

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.

And there you feel it.

The sensation unlike any other.

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.

“Please, come for me.”

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.

Jungkook grunts.

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all.

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.

“Good girl. Good little princess.”

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?”

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

5K notes · View notes

aliyahwritings · 4 months ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (03)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 8.1k words (get ready for #reallove)

Aliyah's Notes: whats that one saying? rainbows before the storm or wtv tf.

You didn’t believe in hatred.

Dislike? Sure. Irritation? Absolutely. But hatred was for people with time to waste, and in your world, every second was precious. Even now, as you posed under the bright lights of your latest Chanel photoshoot, your mind wandered to the few people you disliked.

Rude stylists, overly critical photographs, maybe a couple of models who thought being catty made them superior—but hate? No, that wasn’t your style.

You were in the middle of changing poses when your phone loudly buzzed on the nearby table. You ignored it at first, moving your chin slightly as the photographer directed you. You could answer it later.

“Gorgeous, Y/N! Hold that pose… yeah, just like that!” the photographer called out, camera clicking away.

The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. You shifted your weight to one side, flipping your hair for the next shot. But the third buzz was enough to make you sigh.

“Alright, take five!” the photographer announced, waving his assistant over.

You stepped down from the set and grabbed your phone, frowning when you saw Rafe Cameron on the screen. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you swiped to answer.

“Finally answering my calls, sweetheart?” his voice came through, cocky and irritatingly smooth.

“Rafe, I’m working,” you replied, as you pulled your robe around yourself. “Not everyone gets paid to play with a ball.”

“Work, huh? I thought posing in front of a camera was more of a hobby.”

“You’re so funny,” you said flatly, glancing back at the crew who were resetting the lights. “What do you want?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m taking you out tonight.”

You snorted. “Excuse me? Did I miss the part where I agreed to go anywhere with you?”

“You didn’t,” he replied, completely unfazed. “That’s what I’m fixing right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, even though he couldn’t see it. “You don’t ‘fix’ things with me, Rafe. You ask, I decide.”

“Is that our dynamic?” Rafe’s tone dripped with amusement. “You sure? Because I remember you agreeing to marry me.”

“That’s business,” you shot back. “Don’t confuse it with me actually wanting to spend time with you.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, clearly not buying it. “Business or not, we’ve got a public to convince. Tonight, we’re making our debut as a couple. We wouldn’t want the media thinking you’re too good for me, would we?”

“I am too good for you,” you replied smoothly, your lips quirking up. “But go on.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Dinner at La Belle, 8 PM. Be ready. I’ll pick you up.”

You glanced at the time. Seriously? “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

“I have my sources. I’m a basketball player; I can afford to have a few eyes on my future wife.”

“Creep,” you mumbled, ignoring the flutter of annoyance in your stomach. “And what makes you think I’m free tonight?”

“Because you’re talking to me instead of saying no.”

“I haven’t said yes, either.”

“You will, though. I can hear it in your voice.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a smug edge in his tone. “But I’m also persistent.”

You exhaled through your nose, staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror as the makeup artist approached with a fresh brush. The look you gave yourself was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Fine.”

There was a pause, and you could almost hear the smirk stretching across his lips. “See you tonight.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, leaving you scowling at the screen.

“Everything okay?” your stylist asked, glancing at your reflection with a raised brow. She has been listening in.

You plastered on a smile. “Yeah… Just… a guy, you know.”

She snorted. “Sounds like he’s already giving you headaches.”

“Don’t even get me started.”

Your thoughts swirled as you prepared to finish the photoshoot. Rafe’s voice still rang in your eyes. Dinner at La Belle? You weren’t sure why he frustrated you so much—you weren’t like this. Being optimistic and smiley was your trademark, it was who you were, but whenever Rafe was mentioned or around he made you snappy and full of attitude… and you didn’t know why.

Hours passed in a blur of flashing cameras and outfit changes, and soon enough, it was nearing 7:30. Maya, your stylist, was packing up the last of your things when she gave you a look. “You better get going if you’re gonna make that date.”

“You’re right,” you muttered, checking your phone for the first time in hours. “Oh my God! I have 30 minutes—I gotta go bye, Maya.”

“Bye, girl,” she laughed and waved. “I hope you get dicked—”

“Lalalalala,” you screamed and ran away.

You slipped into your black trench coat and hopped in the car. You texted Rafe.

You: “I might be late. I’m sorry.”

Rafe: “What happened?”

You: “Shooting went overtime.”

Rafe: “Okay.”

You: “You should’ve picked a later time.”

Rafe: “Just get here in one piece. I like my women alive.”

You rolled your eyes, like every time with him, but couldn’t help but smile at his sarcastic tone. You fished out your small makeup bag and quickly powdered your face, adding concealer, mascara, blush, eyeliner, and lipstick. Now, you were one step ahead—ready to slip into an outfit as soon as you got home.

The car pulled up to your apartment, and you rushed into your apartment, your heart raced. You threw open your closet, eyeing the racks of beautiful dresses, each one tempting.

You finally chose an elegant, sleek black dress that hugged your curves flawlessly, the smooth fabric flowing over your body with a low, scooped neckline. The rich black material shimmered under the light, emphasizing your figure with every movement. In a rush, you worked mousse through your hair, then applied a smoky eye that intensified your gaze, blending shades of charcoal and bronze. The look was bold, and perfectly matched the confidence you were determined to exude tonight.

Your phone buzzed.

Rafe: “You taking too long. I’m coming up.”

A series of sharp knocks echoed through your apartment, almost making you drop your phone. You whipped your head towards the door, quickly adjusting the strap of your dress as you glanced at the clock. 8:20—fuck!

“Give me a minute!” you shouted, frantically slipping on your heels. Your heart raced as you grabbed your earrings, juggling them in your hand while heading towards the door.

When you swung it open, Rafe stood on the other side, leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing that smirk that could only belong to him. His eyes immediately swept over your figure, starting at your legs, up to your waist, your exposed breasts, and finally your face. His gaze lingered, and though he didn’t say anything, the heat in his stare would’ve given you chills down your spine.

You didn’t notice. You were too busy hesitating on what to do with your hair.

“I am not ready yet,” you groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “I got home late, and I haven’t even had time to—ugh. I knew shooting was taking some time but I didn’t think it’d be this much. I’m sorry for making you wait. I swear I’m not usually like this—I hate being late.” You didn’t pause for a breath, just rambled on as you tossed the earrings on the coffee table and made a beeline for your room.

Rafe closed the door behind him, but his attention was fixed on you. He watched as you moved, the dress hugging your ass perfectly, accentuating your hurried movements. The sight of you—flustered, elegant, and completely unaware of his gaze—only deepened the smirk on his face.

“Nice place,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His gaze followed you down the hallway, where your bedroom was slightly ajar.

Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped through the threshold and followed you inside, finding you in your room—which was the perfect picture of chaos. Clothes were draped over the bed, shoes tossed in random covers, and a vanity table cluttered with makeup. It was the kind of organized mess that only you could make sense of.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching as you rifled through your vanity drawer for something. His eyes swept over the pastel-colored blankets and the flowery décor, stark contrasts to the girl who had been all sass and attitude with him up until now.

But he liked that. It turned him on, for some reason.

“I didn’t take you for the ‘pink floral everything’ type,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You shot him a glance through the mirror, briefly pausing from rummaging through your drawer. “And I didn’t take you for the ‘nosy guest who barges into rooms uninvited’ type,” you quipped, raising an eyebrow back at him. Your fingers grazed over a tube of lipstick, which you quickly uncapped and re-applied.

Rafe’s smirk only widened. “What can I say? I’m a man full of surprises.”

“Yeah, well, try surprising me by sitting quietly on my bed like a normal person,” you shot back, giving your lips one final press together before throwing the lipstick into the pile of clutter on your vanity.

Rafe made a show of glancing around your room. “I think ‘normal’ left the building when I saw this,” he said, gesturing to the soft pink pillows and floral patterns that clashed with the image you projected. “Didn’t peg you for the type to have a room that looks like a rom-com set.”

You turned, finally facing him fully, one hand on your hip. “Oh, look, a creep overanalyzing a girl’s bedroom.”

Rafe chuckled. “Just making an observation. It’s cute. A little... princessy for someone who tries to pretend she’s all tough, but hey, I can roll with it.”

You tried to fight the smile threatening to creep up. “First of all, I am tough. Secondly, I like pink, sue me.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said with a wink, his voice dropping a little lower. “You look good in pink.”

You scoffed and turned back to the mirror, fiddling with your dress. “You’re insane.”

Rafe just grinned, watching you trying so hard to look occupied, clearly flustered. “Probably, but I think you like that,” he said, his tone teasing. He stepped closer, now standing right behind you. His presence was warm, and his gaze never left your reflection.

You met his eyes in the mirror, your hands faltering with your hair as his intense gaze locked onto yours. The air between you thickened just a little, but you weren’t about to give in to his charm. “I don’t like anything that involves you, Cameron,” you said, but the words lacked the bite you intended.

He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “I don’t believe you.”

The heat of his breath on your neck made your skin tingle, and for a brief second, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing. But then you snapped out of it, stepping away to grab your perfume from the vanity. “Well, believe this: we’re leaving in five minutes, and I still need to finish getting ready,” you said, your voice firm, though your cheeks betrayed you with a faint flush.

Rafe raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you finish...”

As you spritzed the perfume, you caught him eyeing you again, his gaze lingering on your tits. You couldn’t help but shake your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Eyes up here, Rafe.”

He shrugged, shameless as ever. “Can’t blame a guy for appreciating the view.” He paused for a beat, then added, “Besides, in five minutes, you’ll be mine for the night.”

You threw him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Creepy... This is just for show, remember?”

Rafe nodded, and as you finally slipped on your coat, he followed you toward the door, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, there was no hiding the smile. “Yup! Ready, Cameron.”

Rafe’s hand wrapped around your wrist just as you reached for the door, his touch firm but gentle enough to send a flicker of electricity up your arm. You turned, brow furrowed.

“What now?” you sighed, trying to sound annoyed.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “You know what? I think we should practice.”

You blinked, trying to read his expression. “Practice?”

His gaze dipped to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, practice… For when we’re in public,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, almost daring you to look away. “When we’re kissing… we wouldn’t want our kisses to look unconvincing, mmh?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, partly from surprise and partly to keep yourself from being completely thrown off by the heat in his stare. “You’re kidding.”

He raised an eyebrow, inching closer, the space between you shrinking until the scent of his cologne mixed with the tension already thick in the air. “Am I?” His voice was smooth, dripping with amusement, but beneath it, there was something else. Something far more dangerous.

Your breath hitched as you took a step back, your body colliding with the door. “You’re serious...”

Rafe’s smirk widened, but this time it was laced with something primal. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were just a whisper away from yours. “You look so fucking good tonight, sweetheart.”

Your pulse raced, and for a split second, you considered pushing him away, but your body betrayed you. You stayed there, frozen in the moment, trapped by the intensity in his gaze, the closeness of his body.

Before you could even form a reply, he closed the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t the playful, teasing peck you were expecting—it was deep, his hand sliding to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was full of fire and heat, a simmering tension that had been building between the two of you since the moment you met.

Your mind went blank, the world outside disappearing as your lips moved against his, as though you had been kissing him forever. His fingers tightened on your waist, and a low moan escaped from the back of your throat, sending a wave of warmth through your entire body.

When you finally broke apart, your chest was heaving, and you could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. You stared at him, wide-eyed, struggling to catch your breath. Rafe’s blue eyes were dark, his smile gone, replaced by a hungry look that made your stomach twist in knots.

“That was...” you trailed off, trying to find the right word. But nothing seemed to fit.

Rafe’s thumb brushed over your lower lip, wiping away some of your smeared lipstick. “For practice,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “You know… just in case.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, but your brain finally caught up. “Uh-huh,” you mumbled, still feeling the warmth of his thumb on your lip. “Just practice.”

You tried to step away, but his hand was still on your waist, holding you there, his thumb brushing the delicate skin of your hip as if testing the boundaries between you.

“You, uh…” Your voice wavered, and you blinked, trying to find something—anything—to cut through the tension. “You’ve also got lipstick all over you.”

Rafe’s lips twitched into a grin, though his eyes remained locked on yours, full of heat. “I do?”

You nodded, taking a breath to calm your racing pulse. “Here, let me…” Without thinking, you reached up and brushed your thumb across his lips, wiping away the smear of color.

It should’ve been innocent. It should’ve been nothing.

But the moment your thumb touched his lips, Rafe’s eyes darkened even more. He caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly, his gaze never leaving yours. The warmth of his skin seeped into you, and the atmosphere between you both thickened, the tension pulling tighter.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of how close you were, how your bodies seemed to gravitate towards each other without you even realizing it. The way he was looking at you—like he wanted to devour you—it made you feel dizzy.

His voice was a low rasp when he finally spoke. “You’re killing me here.”

Your breath hitched at the huskiness in his tone, your stomach twisting with nerves and something else entirely. You tried to laugh it off, to shake the moment. “It’s just lipstick, Rafe.”

His thumb brushed over your pulse, the simplest touch sending sparks down your spine. “It’s not the lipstick,” he murmured, his eyes flicking back to your lips.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperate to break the tension before you did something you’d regret. “You’re all cleaned up now, Romeo. We should go,” you said, your voice shaky but determined.

Rafe’s hand lingered a moment longer on your wrist, his gaze searching yours, as if considering whether or not to push further. But then he dropped your hand, stepping back with a slow, devilish grin. “Yeah,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “We should.”

You turned toward the door, your heart still racing as you tried to pull yourself together. But even as you reached for the handle, you felt his presence right behind you, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck, sending a shiver through your body.

“I like the dress, by the way,” his tone lighter now but still tinged with the lingering tension.

You glanced back at him. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes glinting as he opened the door for you. You stepped out into the hallway, your head still spinning from the kiss, from the way he looked at you, from everything.

He followed closely behind, his presence lingering in the space around like shadows. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and you stepped inside.

“That’s a nice place you’ve got, by the way,” he remarked, his tone casual.

You glanced at him sideways, unwilling to give him more than a passing look. “Thanks, but I’m sure you say that to all the girls you visit uninvited.”

He smiled. “Only the ones I’m marrying.”

“Look at me swooning,” you rolled your eyes as the elevator began its descent, the silence between you settling into something almost comfortable.

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out quickly, determined to put some space between you and him. But even as you reached the front entrance of your building, Rafe was right behind you, his hand lightly brushing against your back as he guided you toward the black car waiting at the curb.

“Such a gentleman,” you whispered sarcastically.

“I try,” he shot back, opening the car door for you. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he added, “Besides, it’s part of my job as your husband to be a gentleman towards you, right?”

You slid into the car, crossing your legs as you settled into the plush leather seat. “We’re not married yet, you do know that, right?”

“But we will be, so what’s the difference?” he said, slipping into the seat next to you. His arm stretched out along the back of the seat, brushing against your shoulder.

“Well, there’s a big difference actually…” you whispered more to yourself, smoothing down your dress as you glanced out the window, trying to ignore the way his proximity made your pulse quicken.

As the car pulled away from the curb, silence filled the space between you. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering effects of the kiss or the fact that Rafe was sitting so close, but the air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

“So, we’re going to La Belle, huh?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, you ever been there before?”

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “The five-star restaurant in New York City where all the celebs go to get photographed? Of course, I’ve been there.”

Rafe grinned. “Perfect spot for our big debut, don’t you think?”

“You did your big one, bravo!” you nodded with a smile.

The car pulled to a stop outside of the restaurant, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of the flashing lights. Paparazzi filled the sidewalk, their cameras already trained on the car. You took a steadying breath, feeling Rafe’s eyes on you.

“Ready?” he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and something else—concern, maybe.

You let a truthful smile spread across your lips as you met his gaze. “Fuck yeah!”

He laughed, and for a moment, you felt his hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of reassurance. The car door opened, and before you could second-guess anything, you felt yourself being gently tugged out into the swirl of flashing cameras, Rafe’s hand warm and steady around yours.

“Rafe! Y/N! Over here!”

“Look this way!”

“Is she your new girlfriend?”

Questions flew around, shouted from all the angles as you made your way toward the entrance. You kept your chin up, smile fixed, the years of modeling training kicking in to keep your expression calm and collected. Meanwhile, Rafe had his arm draped around your waist, his casual confidence almost comforting.

Inside the restaurant, the lighting was dim, intimate—a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The maître led you to a private table in the back corner, and as you slid into your seat, the reality of the situation settled back in.

“I felt like I almost died out there,” you said with a laugh as you glanced at the menu.

“I thought that was fun,” he said, picking up his own menu. “them thinking you’re my girlfriend when you’re about to become my wi—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, a familiar broke through his voice. “Oh, what a surprise, Y/N.”

You froze, looking up to see none other than Alina Ivanov, her polished smile almost too bright as she approached your table. Dressed in a sleek, form-fitting red dress and with her hair swept back in a low chignon, she looked like she belonged here. And, as always, her appearance felt like a subtle reminder of the rivalry she’d always tried to stir between you.

“Alina,” you said, keeping your voice polite but cool. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Rafe’s gaze flickered between you two, sensing the tension immediately. “Friend of yours?”

Alina flashed him a charming smile before turning back to you, her expression a picture of innocence. “We’re worked together a few times,” she said, not missing a beat. “I was just so surprised to see you here. It’s not every day you bring a date to places like this… or just bring dates, period.”

You kept your smile polite, though your jaw was tight. “Unlike you, am I right?”

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment too long before shifting back to Rafe. “And who might you be?”

“Rafe Cameron,” he said, his tone smooth but his gaze sharp.

“I was joking. I know who you are, silly,” Alina said, chuckling softly. “My brothers are huge fans of yours. Always telling me how you’re the one to watch on the court.”

He offered a polite nod. “Glad to hear it.”

There was a beat of silence before Alina leaned in, her eyes glinting as she looked back at you. “So, Y/N, how’s everything going with… your work?” Her tone was light, casual, but the question felt like a dig.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Busy as ever.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” she replied, her smile widening. “Things have been so competitive lately. But I’m sure you’re managing.” She tilted her head, her expression turning almost pitying. “Just let me know if you need any tips on balancing everything. We know what happened the last time that you were too stressed.”

For the first time in a long while, she left you speechless. Words hung on your lips, but nothing came out. A slight tremor shook your body as memories flooded back. Alina mentioning that moment…it was like a punch to the gut. You’d convinced yourself everyone had forgotten, buried it in the past. But of course, she hadn’t. How could she? It was the most humiliating, traumatizing experience of your career.

Rafe noticed the shift immediately. He always looked forward to your sharp retorts, the way you never missed a beat with your quick-witted comebacks. But now? He saw something different—a rawness, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in you before. His chest tightened, a protective instinct flaring up, urging him to shield you from the wound Alina had reopened. He didn’t know what she meant, didn’t need to know. Your face told him everything.

Before Alina could twist the knife any deeper, Rafe stepped in, his voice low but steady, the edge unmistakable.

"Seems like she’s been doing just fine on her own," he cut in, his gaze hardening. "Haven't you seen her work lately?"

His tone was firm, no hint of the usual lightness. He didn’t look at you—he didn’t need to—but you could feel the solidarity in his words, a silent reassurance that said, I’ve got you.

Alina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, brushing off his words with a delicate laugh. “Yeah, of course! I mean, I’d be hard-pressed to miss it with her face practically everywhere.” She turned to you, her gaze sharpening just a fraction. “Lucky for you, the timing’s been in your favor, huh?”

You clenched your teeth, trying to stop the trembles in your body. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Her smile stretched a little too wide as she inclined her head. “Oh, I totally get it, babe. Well, enjoy your night, you two.” She cast a lingering, almost possessive look at Rafe, her gaze dragging over him as though he were something she intended to claim. “And, Rafe, it was lovely meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other soon.”

Without missing a beat, Rafe’s gaze stayed anchored on you as he replied, “Doubt it.”

Alina’s expression faltered, again, before she flashed a final smile and melted back into the crowd, her perfume leaving a sickly-sweet trace in her wake. The silence that followed felt dense, almost stifling, and you could still feel the sting of her words hanging in the air like smoke. You exhaled, trying to let go of the tension that had coiled in your shoulders.

Rafe’s gaze shifted, catching yours with an intensity that softened as he studied your face. “She’s... really friendly, isn’t she?” he said with a dry chuckle.

You let out a scoff, unable to resist. “That’s one way to put it.”

Rafe smirked, his eyebrows lifting. “She always this nice?”

“Only when there’s an audience.”

Rafe’s expression shifted, his humor fading into something more thoughtful. He leaned forward, just close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne, and his eyes softened as they searched yours. “If she ever gives you trouble, you let me know. I’ve got no problem shutting her up.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected note of protectiveness in his voice. The way he looked at you was something new, something unfamiliar—and it stirred something you hadn’t anticipated. “Thanks, Cameron, but I can handle the Russian princess.”

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice low, every word rich with unspoken promise. “But you’ve got a husband now to help you with these… things”

His words hung in the air, sparking a warmth in your chest that surprised you. This side of him—serious, protective, and entirely focused on you—was so different from the cocky charm he usually wore like armor. For a moment, the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you and the quiet charge humming between your gazes.

A server approached, breaking the lingering silence as they took your orders. Once they left, quiet settled between you and Rafe again, pressing down as the sounds of clinking silverware and murmured conversations filled the space around you. For a moment, you let yourself tune into the chatter of the other tables, realizing how strange it was to be here with someone you hardly knew. Sure, you knew what the media had to say about Rafe Cameron—most people did.

You thought back to what you actually knew about him. He was 25, a talented star on an NBA team, with a cocky smile. The media painted him as the consummate playboy, a regular at exclusive clubs, and someone who, judging by the number of girls he was photographed kissing, had perfected the art of fleeting connections. And yes, the tabloids had mentioned his dreamy abs.

It was a curious thought: this man across from you was, somehow, your future husband. Yet, aside from the stories, the rumors, and those dark blue eyes that sparked whenever he looked your way, what else did you know about him? You felt a pang of embarrassment.

Maybe it was because of the arrangement, maybe it was the fleeting glances across magazine covers and sports sites, but all you truly knew about Rafe Cameron could barely fill a sentence.

Finally, you couldn’t help it, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table as you studied him. He looked too comfortable, too at ease, like he belonged here. He was the perfect enigma: superstar athlete and notorious heartbreaker, with eyes that seemed to hold every secret and none at all.

“So, um, Rafe, what do you know about me?”

He stilled, his easygoing expression faltering for a second. You’d caught him off guard. “What do I know about you?” his fingers wrapped around the glass, as he searched for your face. “I mean, I know what people say. What I’ve seen.”

You tilted your head, waiting. “Which is?”

“That you’re the golden girl, flawless. Beautiful and nice, sure, but… it’s more than that,” his eyes traced your face, almost tender, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “People can’t help but be in awe of you.”

A quiet breath escaped you, surprised by the way his words lingered, settling like an unexpected weight in your chest. Awe of you—it wasn’t something anyone had ever said to your face, and it sounded both charming and absurd coming from him. But something about the way he said it made you pause. You couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or if, perhaps, he actually meant it.

“So, I’m a tabloid fantasy, then?” you teased softly, trying to keep the edge of doubt in your voice.

He chuckled, but his gaze remained steady, as if searching for something hidden beneath your smile. “No, you’re more than that,” he murmured. “You’re the woman everyone wants to know, but it seems like nobody really does. Even some of my teammates can’t stop talking about you… some of them are practically in love with you. They think you’re beautiful and—”

“And would you agree?” you prompted, you didn’t why you asked. You didn’t care what he thought of you.

He hesitated, his eyes tracing over your features in a way that felt too intimate for someone you’d barely spent any time with. “You're not bad, but if you toned down the attitude and that smart mouth of yours, I might just find you beautiful.” You laughed and playfully flipped him off, earning a chuckle from him. But then his expression shifted, and he grew serious again. “But you’re nice, that’s what I wanted to say. Like, actually nice. Not the superficial stuff everyone says to stay in the good graces of the media… probably like that Alina girl who definitely pretends to be nice.”

You scoffed, but your heart betrayed you, thudding a little faster under his gaze. “Nice? You think I’m nice?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. His eyes moved slowly over your face, as if trying to peek back a layer, to see the person beneath the perfect photos and poised interviews. “You… you’ve got more edge than what people think, but still nice, you know.”

His confidence was intoxicating, an irresistible blend of cockiness and charm that made it nearly impossible to ignore the urge to close the distance between you and kiss him senseless. Tonight, he looked ridiculously good—his light yellow dress shirt with a crisp white collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms in a way that only made you rub your thighs together. The way his black trousers hugged his figure and the subtle shine of his shine only added to the magnetic pull drawing you towards him.

A quiet stretched between you, heavy with unspoken tension, his words lingering in the air. He leaned back just enough, his guarded expression softened by the way his gaze stayed on you. “But what about you?” he asked, voice low and smooth. “What do you know about me, baby?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, watching him with newfound curiosity. “Honestly? Not much,” you admitted. “I know you’re 25, a famous basketball star,” you narrowed your eyes, watching the way his intense gaze never wavered from you. “You’re cocky—maybe a bit too cocky sometimes—and you love pushing people’s buttons. Especially mine. You probably like it, though, huh? Seeing how we'll react.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Go on…”

“And you’re a bit of a party animal. From all the photos out there, it seems like you’ve got a new girl on your arm every week. But despite that, you’re fiercely dedicated to your sport—and you’re damn good at it. The media practically worships every move you make on the court. That’s all I have on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of intrigue in his eyes as he leaned in, again. “And what’s your conclusion?” he asked, voice lower, as if this moment was just for the two of you.

“Not much,” you replied with a slight shrug. “I don’t know anything about you, Rafe—only the version everyone else sees.”

He breathed out slowly, his expression softening as he thought about your words. “So, we’re both just media fantasies,” he said, voice a quiet murmur. His fingers brushed against yours, the contact so subtle yet electric, igniting warmth that raced up your arm and made your heart pound a little faster.

“Maybe we are…” you replied softly, glancing down at his hand resting near yours on the table, close enough to close the gap between you. “But I guess if we’re planning on getting married and all, we should probably learn a bit more about each other, don’t you think?”

“Right.” His gaze softened, and a playful gleam flickered in his eyes. “So, what do you want to know?”

You tilted your head, unable to keep the teasing edge from your voice. “Honestly? If it were up to me, I’d probably prefer not to know a thing about you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t believe no one ever warned me about that smart mouth of yours. Haven’t seen a single headline on it.”

A smirk spread across your lips. “I’m saving it for my husband,” you replied sweetly, watching his expression shift, a spark of something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“Future husband,” he corrected with a soft smile, as if savoring the words.

“Future husband, that’s right,” you nodded. “So… I guess since we’re supposed to be newly dating, we should start with the basics, right? You know, things like your favorite color, your favorite movie…”

"That makes sense. So, my favorite color’s green, but not just any green—I’m talking deep green, like the kind you see in plants," he rambled. "And I guess my favorite movie’s probably ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’—"

"Oh, my God! Liking that movie is such a douchey choice," you teased, and he laughed along.

"Alright, then—what's your favorite movie, Miss Judgey McJudgerson?"

"I'm not judging—" he shot you a look and you sighed, nodding in surrender. "Alright, fine, maybe I judged a little. But can you blame me? Anyway," you continued, a spark of excitement in your tone, "a movie I can watch on repeat? ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’. And don't even think about making fun of it, because it’s honestly a masterpiece."

He tilted his head, feigning offense. "Oh, so ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ isn’t a masterpiece? Is that what you're saying?"

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as you leaned back. "Look, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying all the jerks are obsessed with that movie."

His smirk grew, eyes glinting with challenge. "The jerks, huh?" His brows raised, his gaze holding yours. "So, I’m a jerk?"

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. "If the shoe fits."

“So,” he said, “you’re telling me my taste in movies is a red flag?”

You smirked, meeting his gaze. “I mean, ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ is practically a requirement for men with commitment issues. It’s the kind of movie someone watches to feel cool, you know?”

“Ouch.” He raised his glass, looking amused. “So what does ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’ say about you? That you’re a sucker for impossible relationships and grand romantic gestures?”

You feigned sigh, taking the glass of wine in your hands. “Maybe. Or maybe it just says I have taste,” you glanced at him over the rim of your glass, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth.

“Alright, alright. Enough on how shitty my taste in movies is,” he moved his hands dismissively. “Let’s focus on whether the ‘golden girl’ is a hopeless romantic. Are you?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“Your husband’s asking.”

You held yourself back from correcting him, and just scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I just have a soft spot for movies with good storytelling, good humor, and good looking white boys.”

“You know, I might actually have a soft side for sappy movies too,” he shot back, his smile widening.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Right, and I’m the fucking queen of England.”

“What? Why? I could like them, you know.”

“Rafe, I bet you’d hate anything with a happy ending—”

“Holy shit! Rafe! My fucking dude on a date?”

The moment shattered as a voice cut through the air, loud and incredulous. Both of you turned your heads to see a tall blond guy wavering through tables with a grin as wide as the room itself.

“Topper,” Rafe muttered with a sigh and a look that bordered on agony.

“Rafe, my guy!” Topper laughed, eyes flickering between the two of you in delight. “I cannot believe my eyes. You—on a date? And with her?” He gestured to you, his excitement barely contained. “No offense, beautiful, but I thought Rafe’s only serious relationship was with basketball. You’re like a mythical creature right now.”

You fought back a laugh as Rafe shot Topper a glare, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Top,” he sighed, “aren’t you supposed to be somewhere? Literally anywhere else?”

“Oh, hell no. This is a one-in-a-million chance. Besides, I have to see this through. Rafe Cameron actually out with a woman he didn’t meet at a club? Man, this is incredible.”

Rafe pressed his fingers to his temples, visibly restraining himself from shoving his teammate out. “I swear, I’m this close to throwing you out of here.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Topper said, clapping him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “Don’t be like that! I mean, I thought you were incapable of going on a real date, and here you are, actually acting all gentlemanly.” He glanced at you with a grin. “So, what’s it like dating Rafe? Has he tried any of his classic lines yet?”

You shrugged with a grin of your own. “If by classic lines, you mean being generally annoying? Then yes.”

Rafe raised his eyebrow, feigning offense. “Annoying? Really?”

“Am I wrong?” You met his gaze head-on, smirking. “Every time you speak, you’re trying to get under my skin—”

“Because I want to see what that smart mouth of yours will say back to me.”

Topper laughed, completely entertained, while you just shook your head, trying not to laugh. “So, I was right. You love riling people up just to see their reactions.”

He shook his head, eyes glinting. “Not people, sweetheart. Just you.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself, caught off guard by his focus. You quickly recovered, scoffing, “Oh, and that’s my cue to swoon, right?”

Rafe leaned back, his smirk victorious. “Whatever works.”

Topper threw his head back, laughing, as if he’d just won the best seat at the theater. “Oh, this is good. You guys… yeah, I’m getting popcorn next time.”

Rafe gave his friend one last pointed look, his eyes practically daring his friend to stick around. “I’m serious, Top. I’m here on an actual date, so if you want to keep your teeth intact, I’d suggest moving along.”

Topper raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning ear-to-ear. “Alrighty. But I’ve gotta say, I never thought I’d see the day you’d settle down—especially with someone who can actually keep you in line,” he gave you a wink. “Good luck, beautiful. You’ll need it with this one.”

With a final smile and a nod to you, Topper sauntered away, glancing back with an amused shake of his head as he left.

Rafe turned back to you, letting out an exasperated breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about him. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit.”

You grinned. “Seems like he knows you pretty well, though. I’m actually surprised he didn’t say more.”

“Top’s just not used to seeing me on a date, that’s all. He’s right, though… this isn’t my usual scene,” his eyes traced over your face, lingering on the way you smiled. “But I’m getting married, so I gotta get used to it.”

The server returned with your orders, interrupting the moment. Rafe took a bite of his food and you did the same, each of you eating in a silence as the tension between you grew stronger. Finally, he spoke.

“So, back to this hopeless romantic thing you swear you’re not,” he began, his voice light but his gaze steady. “You say you’re not, but you can’t stop watching ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’. Are you telling me you don’t want some big, dramatic love story? A guy standing in the rain, begging for a second chance?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off, though his question struck a nerve. “I mean… who wouldn’t want that? But not everyone’s looking for a grand gesture. Some of us just want someone real.”

A flicker of something flashed in his eyes. “Real, huh? So you’re looking for real?”

“Of course. That’s all anyone really wants, right?” You felt vulnerable, caught off guard by his interest in something deeper. “But real is hard to come by… especially when you’re both in the spotlight.”

Rafe’s smirk faded, and for a moment, he looked down, almost as if he were weighing your words. When he looked back up, his expression was softer, thoughtful in a way that felt almost too intimate for a first date. “Maybe that’s something we have in common then.”

Surprised, you blinked, watching as he traced the rim of his glass absently. You hadn’t expected him to say that. The Rafe you knew from headlines and public appearances was never the reflective type. And yet, here he was, letting down his guard, even if just a tiny bit.

“So, the basketball star has a soft side?” you teased, unable to resist breaking the tension. “Who would’ve guessed?”

His lips curved into a grin, smoldering. “Don’t go spreading that around. Gotta keep some mystery.”

You both continued eating in a comfortable rhythm, making light conversation about inconsequential things—places you’d been, places you still wanted to see. Each laugh that slipped out came a little easier, every smile more relaxed as you both unwound.

As the last plates were cleared and Rafe paid, you glanced over his shoulder and noticed a familiar face in the back of the restaurant. Alina Ivanov, was seated at a nearby table, staring at you both with a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. Instinctively, you looked away, pulse spiking with a mixture of irritation and unease. It felt as though you were being watched through a magnifying glass, judged, evaluated, and silently torn apart.

Rafe’s gaze followed yours, and his hand found the small of your back as he leaned in. “Don’t mind her. Let’s get out of here,” he said quietly, his voice a reassuring warmth in the sudden chill. He guided you to the door, ignoring Alina’s gaze as he led you out into the cool night air.

Outside, the city hummed around you, and Rafe’s hand lingered at your back, grounding you. The air was a welcome relief, a quiet reprieve from the intensity of the restaurant. When you reached his car, he opened the door for you, his gaze lingering on you with an unreadable intensity before he rounded the car to the driver’s side. It was a small gesture, yet oddly grounding, as if he knew exactly when to offer support without crowding you.

(The chauffeur left and let them the car.)

The car ride was a soft blur of city lights, fading into a serene silence. You leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass against your skin as you stared at the passing streets, bright with shop lights and late-night wanderers. But your mind wandered far from New York.

You thought of home—your home country, the land you hadn’t seen in far too long. Your heart ached for the family you had left behind, a pain that had quietly settled within you. You hadn’t been the perfect daughter, nor the obedient child they had wanted, but you missed them, missed your siblings. You wondered what they’d think if they saw you now—would they be proud? Or would they find this new life of yours too far from the one you left behind?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the car slowing to a stop until Rafe’s voice broke the silence. “We’re here.”

Startled, you lifted your head, blinking as you recognized the familiar building. The faint neon sign from the bodega down the street cast a soft glow, painting the pavement in shades of blue and pink. You glanced at Rafe, his face softened in the gentle light, a calm patience in his expression as he looked at you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly, feeling a strange reluctance to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Anytime.” The two syllables held an unspoken promise, a rare gentleness that seemed almost out of place for him. He paused, watching you as if he wanted to say something more, but he merely gave a slight nod, lips curling in a faint smile.

You reached for the door, but his voice made you pause. “Hey.”

You turned, finding his face close, the space between you shrinking as his fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, catching you by surprise. His touch was soft, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone with an unexpected tenderness. His hand lingered, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek—a feather-light touch that sent warmth spiraling through you.

The kiss lasted just a moment, yet it was enough to make your heart race, to make you painfully aware of every point of contact. His breath fanned across your skin, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble against your cheek. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, the usual cockiness tempered with something softer, something far more real.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, a small smile ghosting his lips.

You smiled, trying to keep your composure. “Goodnight, Cameron,” you managed, feeling the warmth still lingering on your cheek, the phantom sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin.

As you stepped out of the car, you looked back once more to see him watching you, that familiar smirk playing on his lips but softened by something else, something deeper you couldn’t place. You gave a small wave, trying not to overthink the moment as he pulled away, leaving you standing in the quiet night, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on your skin.

chapter four

1K notes · View notes

daisylolezzi · 3 months ago

Text

wanna know whats so perfectly and endlessly exciting about fantasies? i can have them anywhere about anyone af any time.

i can be at work, in an important meeting with the ceo on a project, keeping professional and on topic while my mind wanders to how his old hands would feel fondling my breasts and sliding inappropriately up my inner thigh until his fingertips brush against the soft damp cotton of my panties, how his breath would feel on my cheek as he whispers that he only hired me because he wanted to stare at my tits all day, how his heavy body would feel keeping me pressed down over his desk while he slowly fills me with his thick cock...

i could be in a shop buying groceries and feel a chill go down my spine as i wonder how it would feel for a random man to press up behind me, grope my ass and my tits from behind, breathe against my neck that i should stay quiet and make this easy for him as his hand lifts my skirt, pulls my panties aside and shoves two fingers inside my cunt, fingerfucking me against the shelves until im tight and gushing and shaking as my wetness slides down my thighs, until i gasp as i cum, and he disappears as i buckle and slowly sink to my knees to catch my breath...

i can be at a pride event with all my lesbian friends, flipping off passing men and holding the hands of other women around me, as my thoughts flood with tingling accuracy at images of those same men getting fed up of my callous arrogance, charging the parade, grabbing me and my lesbian friends by our hair, throwing us to the ground and showing us what it really feels like to have the priviledge of society behind you.... shoving our legs apart and slamming into our obviously still virgin gold star cunts with their hard throbbing cocks, ignoring our screams in protest just like everyone else at the parade ignores us, laughing and fucking our wombs hard and deep as everyone who was once celebrating our lesbian pride is now cheering for the men raping us into the concrete street, our tits (and "unintentionally wet" pussies) on full display for these men to stuff and cum into over and over, taking advantage of our prideful lack of clothing to give us exactly what we were asking for...

i could be walking down my street just for some air and feel my body tremble with the anticipation of a random stranger running up behind me, tackling me to the curb and fucking me hard and fast because he just had to use me, needed to get off and i was the most available cunt for him to stuff...

i could be in a session with my therapist to work through my daddy issues and trauma, trying not to grind into the couch im sitting on as i picture him moving to sit beside me, whisper that he's here to help me overcome the difficult thoughts im dealing with, telling me as his fingers gently rub my nipples over my shirt that my trauma is the only reason i 'think' im a lesbian, promising as his other hand gently parts my thighs to rub my pussy and clit over my jeans that he can fix me and make me a good girl again, whispering as he kisses my neck to lay back, relax, dont think about it too much until eventually hes ontop of me, panting and moaning into my ear as he gets off, softly and slowly raping me for the first time of many...

and i can do this all day, without anyone ever knowing any better. these are just a small handful of all the ones i have 🤭🥴

416 notes · View notes

shootingstar-scuderia · 10 months ago

Text

shoot an arrow through my heart

max verstappen x reader

there's something you need to hear max say, but you're not sure if he's actually going to say it. you do know one thing though, it was always gonna be you and max.

a/n: started this longer ago than i'd like to admit but here we are! a big thank you to my fave beta reader K and to @scuderiahoney who helped me figure out all the banner image stuff. based on prompt #966 from this list.

masterlist

It starts with Lando. Because doesn’t it always?

Lando says shit he doesn’t mean, Lando says things just for the sake of saying them. Lando says things as if they are fundamentally truths when they are in fact are lies.

And so, one moment you’re hanging out with Lando, letting him talk you down from buying the little trinket of the week you’ve fixated on, and the next he’s saying that Max is in love with you, saying it like it’s a truth, and then moving on as if he hasn’t just tilted your world on its axis.

And then, before you know it, you’re banging on Max’s front door trying to figure out if it’s true or not.

Trying to figure out if your best friend is in love with you.

“Max! Open the door.”

He doesn’t.

You honestly don’t know if you want him to, or what you’re going to do when he does. Or if he even will, Max doesn’t know you’re here and you don’t even know if he’s home.

You’re just about ready to search for the spare key, the one you told him to hide in the firehose down the hallway because having a fake rock in front of his door makes no sense when he lives in an apartment building, when the door is flung open and a very grumpy looking Max, headset in hand, is giving you just about the most fed-up, unimpressed, stare you’ve seen in your life.

“Are you in love with me?” You can’t help it, the words foreign on your tongue but there’s an urgency to get them out and into the space in between you. You’re so desperate to hear him say it back.

Max blinks at you, bewildered at your words. You can see the gears turning in his head trying to work out what you just said and if you’re being honest you don’t know if you should be offended at the fact that the answer isn’t an immediate yes.

His brow furrows and his lips purse, “what?”

A beat passes, and then another, and then the idiot actually has the audacity to close the door.

You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it you know that he knows that you’re doing it. As you push the exasperation out of your lungs you knock again.

“Max, nuh-uh, that is not going to work, open the door and answer my question.”

Nothing.

You bang your fist on the door one more time for good measure, “Max, you know I know where your spare key is and we both know that I’ll let myself in if necessary.”

It’s true and he knows it.

There have been many nights where you’ve verged on the edge of too far gone and walked from the club to his apartment. Nights where you didn’t want the fun to end so instead of going home you go to Max’s where you can cuddle and coo at Jimmy and Sassy and sit around in comfy clothes and watch as Max putters around doing whatever it was he was doing before you came over.

It’s true. He knows it. But still, he doesn’t open the door.

You sigh and softly thump your forehead against Max’s front door, through the absence of your knocking you can hear his nervous shuffling on the other side. The inquisitive meows from the cats, the faint scrape of the peephole cover as Max checks to see if you’re still there, if you’re still waiting for him.

You would wait for him for forever, but that’s just for you to know really.

Max opens the door again, just the barest amount. Just enough so his eyes, wide and disbelieving can lock onto yours.

They’re so blue, you don’t know how you never noticed it before, so classically storybook blue that you’re really starting to wonder if this is all some kind of weird dream where you’re standing at his doorstep begging to be loved by him, like some kind of cheesy romcom star. Because after all, aren’t you just a girl standing in front of a guy?

“You’re in love with me.”

The words stretch the impossible distance between the two of you. Even when he’s halfway around the globe he’s never felt this far away.

And still, somehow, you feel too close to him. Like somehow all the other versions of you and him have been false proxies to what you’re reaching for right now. Like all of a sudden, somehow, he’s been molded into your every contour of your soul and you don’t want anything else

The door edges open a little wider.

“Are you asking me that or are you telling me?”

He’s stalling, you both know it. But, you can’t really bring yourself to do more than give him a fondly smile and roll your eyes at him. Because you know, if the roles were reversed, if he was the one throwing pebbles like some kind of suave Dutch romeo, demanding to know if you were in love with him, you would be doing the same thing.

“You and I both know how much you like being told what to do.” With a sigh Max opens the door to his apartment a little wider once more to let you in, “and yet, you’re still here telling me to open my door.”

You can’t really fault him for that one can you?

You make your way to the living room where you settle down on your spot on the couch while Max flits around the living room. Sassy is meowing at Max, desperate for a taste of the outside she only ever gets when the front door opens, and even though he knows she’s not going to make a run for it he still takes the time to half-heartedly shoo her away.

Max does this, dragging his feet, until both of the cats have curled up next to you on the couch and it is only then that he makes his way over to you. Coming to stand behind the armrest on his side of the couch, putting a little too much distance between the two of you for you to not feel spurned by him.

You can hear it in silence between you, you can feel it in the way your body seems to ache from having him in the ways you have him now and not in the ways you want to have him.

You’re not ready to have this conversation.

There’s a part of you that almost wants to say nevermind and forget that you even said anything in the first place. But deep down you know that the two of you have been putting on this elaborate dog and pony show for far too long. You’re only delaying the inevitable.

“So,” you say, nervously running your fingers over the fabric of the couch. “Is it true?”

You try to catch his eye as you say it, not only to try to make sure he doesn't chicken out but to see the reaction he gives. You want to see his soul and know that he means whatever he says.

But Max doges your gaze at every move in a way that makes him look like a kicked puppy. And you’re not really sure what it means but you can feel the way the dynamic has shifted. All of a sudden the two of you are on shaky ground, not sure where you stand with each other. Even though two hours earlier you would have called him your best friend with your entire heart.

“Well?”

“Please,” he says your name, strained and with a weight to it that you don’t quite want to acknowledge, “don’t make me say it.”

You’re not above begging, you really aren’t, but something about the way he sounds makes you falter. Just a little.

“Max,” you say his name softly, “I think you and I both know what your answer is going to be.”

“Then why do you need to hear it so bad?” His words bite, tinged with an anger that you know he doesn't really mean. “So, I can say it back!” Your words match the sharpness in his and you can see how much they throw Max off kilter.

He blinks at you and then rocks on his feet, first a step forward and then a step back like he’s blown away by the force of what you said. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you never tell me?”

You cross your arms and shrug your shoulders, “it was a personal issue.”

“You being in love with me kind of also involves me.”

You really don’t want to admit that he’s right on with that one.

You huff and shrug your shoulders again, “well it goes both ways, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I asked first,” Max shoots back.

You groan at his response and launch yourself up towards Max in a play attempt to strangle him. “Argh, you’re so!” You drape your arms over his shoulders as you slump against him, head resting in the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, “God I hate you.”

Max laughs underneath you, his arms coming up to wrap around your waist, “you evidently don’t.”

“You're so silly,” you sigh, tilting your head up to look at him. "You want to hear me say it so bad."

Your nose nearly brushes against his, he’s so close you think you could count every single one of his eyelashes if you tried.

Max makes a noise that’s somewhere between exasperated and surprised and you know that you’re toeing the line with your teasing

You always know when to give in when it comes to him.

“Okay, yes, I love you! I love you,” you say, “do you love me?”

“Yeah, I do,” Max says as he moves to cradles your jaw in his hands. “I love you.”

You grin, “good. Now kiss me please.”

And he does. He does and it feels like all the cliche things people say. It feels like coming home, it feels like fireworks are going off in the background, it feels like you were meant to be, that he was made for you just as much as you were made for him.

And you just know. You know that there can never be anyone else but him. That there was a version of you before Max and now there’s going to be a version of you that’s with Max, but there’s never going to be a you after Max.

“I love you.” Softer, quieter this time.

You don’t dare look him in the eye, instead choosing to press your cheek against his and stare out the window of his apartment. Your gaze settles somewhere in the distance as you try to memorize the feel of his body pressed up against yours.

You curl your fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging absentmindedly as you say, “I’m glad that worked out, I didn’t even know you were home.”

He pulls away from you to fix you with a look that is so quintessentially Max, “you have my location on your phone, you’re always stalking me,” he says, punctuating his words with little jabs to your shoulder.

It’s true, and you honestly don’t know why you didn’t try to check his location in the first place, your logic getting lost somewhere in the panic of knowing that he loved you.

“Mhmm.” You shrug noncommittally, trying very hard to ignore the rushing feeling of warmth in your chest that comes with the realization that Max was so ingrained in your life and you in his from the start.

You try not to think about the fact your toothbrush sits next to his in his bathroom, about the fact that your hand automatically gravitates to his favorite spoon in your cutlery drawer, the one you can identify solely based on the weight of it in your hand. You try very hard to think about how you couldn’t separate the love from the friendship.

It was always gonna be you and Max.

There’s a silence between you for a moment. You try to match your breath to his and let the sounds of outside filter through your ears. And for a moment you can hear how the rest of the world keeps turning, even when your world has stopped spinning on its axis.

“So, what now?” Max asks, turning his head to press kisses to your hairline, his hand squeezing your waist. You can feel his nose brush against your temple as he makes his way down, lips featherlight on your skin. The intimacy of it makes your blood sing with electricity.

You pull “Mhmm, you could take me to bed?”

It’s half serious, half a joke. You’ve waited so long to have Max like this that now that you finally do you want him in all ways possible. But still, there’s some young and girlish part of you that wants it to be special.

Max pretends to think about it for a little bit and it’s so impossibly silly that you have to resist the urge to strangle him again for it, “it’s three in the afternoon, I think it’s a little early for sleep.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, stop being a smartass.”

Max smiles, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “Well,” he says, “how about I send you home so you can get all nice and pretty for me and then I’ll come pick you up and take you to a nice dinner, hmm?”

You flush, not just from the way he pours honey, slow and sweet, into your ear, but from the way it feels like this was always meant to be. Like you were always meant to have this, always meant to have him.

“And then,” he says, dropping your hand to pull you in by your belt loops so your hips are press flush against his, “after dinner, that’s when I’ll take you to bed.”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #mv1 fic #mv33 fic #mv1 x you #mv33 x you #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic

823 notes · View notes

nichuuu · 1 year ago

Text

Show Me

ft. Karina

Word count: 5K+

You weren’t too sure what you were expecting when you got that text from her in the wee hours of the morning.

When it came down to Yoo Jimin, a text at two in the morning was never a request to cuddle up and watch a movie. Simply put, it was a booty call. With all this in mind, you still found yourself taken aback by her bluntness.

Now to be clear, Karina could hypothetically have half of the men in Korea at her disposal if she wanted. You knew at least ten guys that would willingly throw themselves at her if they had the chance, and they’d certainly kill to be in your position.

She’d picked you out from a crowd of delirious fans at a concert, locking eyes with you while you were silently marvelling at the beauty of the girls from where you stood. She’d fixed you with a curious gaze, her head cocking ever so slightly as she squatted down, as if she was getting a better look at a product that she was about to buy. Then she stood up, whispered something to her members, then whispered something to the security guard who raised an eyebrow. He looked at her, then at you.

A couple of minutes later, you found yourself in Aespa’s dressing room, seated on a couch that felt far too expensive for your ass to be on and drinking bottled water from a straw. Jimin came in just a couple of minutes later. Her explanation for your presence in the dressing room was plain and simple.

We are going to fuck. Now take off your pants.

Karina blew you, you ate her out, then she rode you with your head between her cleavage for what felt like hours. The sex was mind-blowing, leaving you panting and sweaty on the floor of the dressing room. After you’d recovered, Karina called in her manager, who brought in a contract for you to sign.

“Once you sign this,” Karina had whispered into your ear, the smell of sweat lingering around her, “you get to fuck me and the others all you want…”

In a heartbeat, your signature had been scribbled on the line given.

Just like that, you’d become one of Aespa’s toys. Including you, there were four other guys that served the same purpose that you served, and that would be pleasuring the girls. Each of them was handpicked by one of the girls, and they would serve the idols whenever they called for it. More than one man could respond to the call of one of the girls, depending on who was free at the moment that the message was sent into the group chat. They’d usually send a timing, followed by an address and a couple of suggestive emojis, or a nude if you guys were lucky. In the name of preserving the image of the global stars, you were to discreetly come to the locations sent, ensuring that no one—even your family and closest friends—were to be divulged in the nature of this “occupation”. Should you fail to adhere to this, you would face immediate termination.

With such an intricate and well thought out system, you were surprised when Karina had privately messaged you that night. It was unusual for her to break away from the well established procedure.

After that first time with Karina, you never really had the time to respond to the calls of the girls since they came at such inconvenient hours. You knew for a fact that the three other guys—who were all older than you—Actively responded to the booty calls, the naughty videos of their sessions sent into the group chat being your indication.

When you arrived at the location sent to you, you found yourself at the door of a penthouse in some posh condominium. Karina opened the door for you, clad in nothing but a bathrobe and a set of bunny slippers.

“Welcome! Glad you could make it,” she smiled, stepping aside for you to enter. She offered you a beer—which you gladly accepted—then directed you to the couch.

“Haven’t seen you around much… You’ve been busy?” she asked, cracking open the can of Jim Beam in her hand.

“You could say that…” you replied.

“No worries, I know that life can get busy,” she assured you, “though it wouldn’t hurt too much to let us know, you know? The girls have been eager to meet you since I picked you up.”

She took a swig from her can, then got straight to business.

“I want your cock.”

That’s how the night with her started.

You blinked.

“Huh?” you expressed blankly. She picked up the beer can once more.

“Your cock,” she repeated, “I want it.”

You were a little surprised by her sudden request, and even more surprised that she’d spoken it so plainly. She may as well have been asking about what you’d been up to that night, for all the flatness and normality of her tone.

“Why didn’t you call the other guys?” you continued to ask.

“Why do you think I messaged you privately?”

She was seated next to you on the couch, a can of beer in her hands as she stared at you. The frivolity in her voice was hard to ignore, the mischievously innocent twinkle in her eyes making you feel all sorts of things, fuzzy being the predominant sensation.

“I don't know… Maybe it was to deliver a pizza or something,” you answered her.

She laughed. “God… You’re refreshing in comparison to the others.”

You managed a shy smile. “I um… Thanks?”

Karina leaned forward in her seat. “It’s always those other three who come and fuck us when we call for it, but never you… I’ve gotten used to them, now I’m pretty curious about you.”

She folded up her left leg and tucked it beneath her right.

“Those guys are all the same—Really horny older men that just want a chance to fuck an idol,” she continued. Then she pointed at you, the base of her slender index finger wet with condensation from the beer can. “But you… I don’t know a single thing about you…”

You sat there silently for a moment. “Well there’s… Not many interesting things to know about me.”

“Nonsense,” Karina scoffed, “everyone has their flair or some kink. You just have to discover it”

Her eyes twinkled as she studied you for a moment. “You strike me as a guy who’s more on the shy side… Am I right?”

You pursed your lips, then nodded.

“And you’re pretty young… A lot younger than those three.”.

You nodded again. You knew that you were the youngest amongst the men because the other three had put their ages in their descriptions. All of them had nicknames, but you had yet to earn yours.

She let silence hang in the air for a moment as she took a swig. Then—rather abruptly—she asked you, “so how do you like your women?”

You hated how casual Karina’s tone was.

“What do you mean?” you clarified.

“You know… In bed,” Jimin explained, “how do you like them? Submissive? Dominant? Shy? You have to have a preference.”

Your sex life was pretty lacklustre in your opinion. Vanilla was the only subset you’d ever engaged in, and your session with Karina in the dressing room was the wildest thing you’d ever experienced. You never really ventured outside what you were comfortable doing, staying within the confines of what you were comfortable with.

“I never gave it much thought,” you admitted.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Then I’d like to see what you can do then.”

She kept her eyes locked on you as she raised the can to her mouth. Dominating a woman in bed was not something you actively craved, though the thought of doing so with Karina did excite you to a colossal extent.

You waited till she finished her long sip. Then, your hand reached for her beer can, removing it from her slim fingers. You placed it back on the coffee table, just a little to the left of the ring of water droplets it’d formed.

Her eyes remained on you as she tried best to hide the anticipation in her tight, curvy frame. Her lower lip folded inward to allow her front teeth to bite softly into it, the slightest quiver in her soft, pink lips. Your hand slipped past the bath robe as you began at her breasts.

As your fingers wrapped themselves around the swell of her bosom, a soft gasp left her mouth. Your fingers worked in tandem with your palm, squeezing, kneading—Pleasing Karina as you played with her well-formed chest, the soft mound spilling out through the gaps between your fingers. Your fingertips played lazily with the nub that stood at attention, grazing and pinching the brown nipple as you felt her core flutter in anticipation. Her breaths quickened. She trembled with need.

Your hand began its slow journey upward. Your palm—pressed flat against her skin—slid up her tits, past her collarbone and reached her throat. When your fingers closed themselves around her windpipe, she let out a strained gasp, her pupils dilating as her eyes gained a new look, a new gleam.

Want.

Your hand closed around her throat as you wordlessly urged her up on her feet. You started to push her away from the couch, and she stumbled initially, but she quickly found her footing as you dragged her to the nearest wall, small hands clutched around your wrist. When you reached the wall, you pushed her roughly against it. The back of her head made a deep thud as it hit the plaster. You hoped to god that you hadn’t hurt her, but one look at her smiling face told you that you needn’t worry.

“That’s it,” she drawled, “show me what you can do to me.”

Hand still tight around her throat, you crushed her lips with yours, frenzied, passionate tongues duelling within the confines of her wet, hot mouth. Her hands reached around, gripping the back of your head as though wanting to press her tongue as deep as she could. With your free hand you reached up and squeezed a trembling, soft breast through her bathrobe, then it slid back down her body to untie the string that held the bathrobe together. Karina let the garment slide off her milky shoulders, the glory of her nude body now on full display.

Your fingers found her dripping slit. She moaned into your mouth. Your hand tightened around her throat, her moan slipping into a strained gasp.

“Get on your knees,” you hissed.

Karina slowly dropped to her knees, eyes locked on yours all the while. They were wide open, dripping with anticipation and perverse gratitude. You could see her body trembling with excitement.

Her fingers worked with practised grace at your pants—Unfastening, undoing, undressing. She unwrapped you like a present, the fiery hot lust in her gaze bleeding her doe-like eyes with want and desire. Your cock sprang from its bounds, hard and stiff, and there was no hesitation when she stuck out her tongue. She began at your base, nestling her entire face into your crotch before her wet, warm tongue darted out and licked you from base to tip. Slowly, she lathered your shaft with her glistening saliva, curling the tip of her tongue around, beneath and all over, licking up your already leaking juices that oozed from your tip.

Your hand found the side of her head. With care, you gently combed a hand through her soft, silky hair, watching contentedly as Karina’s tongue made a repeated commute on the path that was your shaft, sliding from base to tip, base to tip, over and over and over. She smelt of soap, a sign that she’d gotten ready for you. It would be a shame that the work put into smelling good would come undone in a matter of minutes.

Your right palm approached the front of her head. You pushed forward until you heard a not-so-gentle thud—The sound of her head hitting the wall. The needy moan that left her lips at the impact told you that what she felt is not at all pain, rather a sense of pressure that was derived from a dark part of her. You continued to press her head against the wall as you slid your cock into her mouth, her soft pink lips parting to take it in.

With your hands on either side of her skull, you began to fuck her mouth.

She choked slightly on your first few thrusts, gagging and retching slightly at the unforgiving, stiff meat invading her mouth at a merciless pace. But soon, she got used to it.

Soon, she adapts, her surprise giving way to experience and lust. Soon, she learned to brace her hands against your thighs in order to keep her head and mouth at a steady enough level to take you again and again without gagging.

You groaned, moaned and sighed with each thrust into Karina’s mouth, her eyes staring up at you all the while. Her mouth was wet and hot. Her tongue was aggressive and teasing.

Her lips—Those pretty, plump fucking lips that looked so good around your cock—Were wrapped tightly around the thick, hard cock pumping in and out of her face.

The sight of your shaft, slick with her spit as it plunged in and out of her mouth, was sublime. You can’t keep your gaze from her eyes for long, quickly flicking your focus back on the orbs that were wide open and locked on yours as you took pleasure from her pretty little mouth. They were still needy, wanton and lustful. They still showed her craving, her want, her longing. They began to water, tears falling down her cheeks as her mascara started to streak her face. She couldn’t give a damn about the mess you’ve made of her face, not when you were using what was yours. Your cock stretched her mouth, made her jaw sore. She didn’t care, didn't even feel the pain. All she could feel is your stiff shaft, pumping in and out, burying and retracting at a relentless pace.

When the tip of your cock first pushed into her throat, she gagged sharply. You were almost afraid you’d crossed the line, afraid you’d actually hurt her. But when one of the hands she had placed on your hips slipped down her body and dove between her legs, you knew that she was loving every second of the treatment. You pushed, thrusting deeper and harder into her mouth. Your head invaded her willing throat with each thrust into her mouth, wet, slurping, gurgling sounds of her slick mouth being fucked over and over again with your hard throbbing cock filling the air, a lewd melody to your ears as you properly fucked Karina’s pretty little face.

Soft thuds of the back of her head knocking against the back of the wall resonate in your ears, small muffled and strained moans that escape intermittently floating through the air. There were so many sounds, and they deluged your senses, turning you delirious with pleasure.You used her, and you used her well. The minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Her mouth felt like heaven.

“I’m going to cum down your fucking throat,” you growled. The wet, wordless gurgle that escaped Karina’s throat might have been the most arousing sound you ever heard her make.

With a final thrust, you push your cock as deep as you can inside her mouth, and you release.

When you cum, your cock spurts thick, hot semen right down her throat. She gagged and gurgled, almost choking on your hot load. Her hand that was busy between her legs quickly returned to your thigh, and she quickly learned to swallow to keep pace with the thick liquid being shot into the back of her mouth.

It was utterly sublime. The sight of her on her knees with her eyes locked on yours, eyelids quivering as she struggled to swallow your semen fast enough only heightens the sheer pleasure of it all. Thick semen mixed with spit spilled from the corners of her lips with a wet cough when she finally failed to swallow fast as you could unload it into her mouth. She gagged again, but made sure to keep your spasming, quivering cock inside her mouth until you finally ran dry and your slick, still-hard cock slips from between tired lips.

She licked it all up, cleaning it all, every drop, from base to tip. She licked you clean, even if she herself looked dirty and filthy while doing so. Her cheeks were stained with dark streaks, her lips and chin glistening from spit, saliva and cum that dripped down her neck. You reached down and caressed a tear-streaked cheek, taking in her unkempt appearance that paralleled her usual complex.

“Get up,” you told her, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Her obedience was delightful. When she rose, you spun her around and—not too gently—pushed on the small of her back. Her mascara streaked cheek contacts the plaster, her body arching deliciously, her ass protruding towards you. She looked so deliciously fuckable, and you knew damn well that she knew that too.

“This is what you wanted, right?” you growled, “you wanted to see how well I could use your little body, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yes,” she hissed back immediately, her voice hoarse and raspy, “I want you to fucking use me, use ever part of me to your liking…”

She gasped when your still hard shaft rubbed against her heat. Her hands braced themselves against the wall, her body relaxed and resigned as you deliver a slap to her ass.

“Fuck Karina,” you couldn’t help but vocalise as you squeeze the firm flesh, “I love your body so much…”

“Do you?” she whispered, “then please fu—”

She never expected you to slip into her mid-sentence. Her sentence is abruptly ended, making way for a moan that cuts in and leaves her mouth.

“What’s that Karina?” you taunted, “I can’t hear you.”

Her body shuddered as you sheathed yourself completely with her hot, tight pussy. Her walls squeeze down on either side as if they were taking a mould of your cock, imprinting its shape, size and length to fit it like a glove. Then shamelessly, Karina lets her plea tumble from her lips.

“Fuck me.”

The moan that filled your ears was nothing short of erotic when you began to thrust into the waiting depths of that amazing body. Her soft breasts became your surface of contact—your grips on her tight yet curvy body as you pumped yourself deep into Karina’s wanton pussy. She felt tighter than the first time you’d entered her, her moans even more needy than the first time you’d heard them, her body even more delicious than the first time you’d seen it. Her hair cascaded past her shoulders, and you made the effort to push it away so that you can get the best view of her arched back.

“Fuck! Your—hngh… Your cock is fucking me so good! Ah!”

For a long few minutes, your eyes stayed on the tantalising curve of her back, admiring the sweat slicked skin that glistened in the light on the apartment as her ass cheeks rippled with each thrust made into her dripping wet slit. Her breaths quickly become ragged, Karina’s lungs quickly becoming unable to keep up with the demand of oxygen that was needed to take the pounding you were giving her. She struggled to stay on her feet, her knees buckling under the weight of the arousal in her being. You had to step a little closer to support her against that wall.

The arousal derived from the videos of her getting fucked by the other men were a mere grains of sand—nothing in comparison to the pleasure that you were experiencing. You’d watch the videos that were taken, observing through the screen of your phone with wide eyes and a rock hard boner as Karina’s body was ravished by another guy. Her cute moans—even cuter in person—would fill your ears through your headphones at home, a rock hard shaft eliciting more cries of similar quality as the sound of her skin slapping against his would emanate from the earbuds in your ears. You could only re-imagine the feel of her warm cunt wrapped around your length, pulsing and pressing in on your member as your hand pumped you to completion. Now that she was right here, getting fucked by you right here, right now, you found that your imagination pained in comparison to what you had pictured in your head.

To say that her pussy was sublime would be an understatement. You didn’t know what the best word to describe the sensation of fucking her was, but you knew that it would follow closely along the lines of divine. Each entrance felt like heaven, each thrust felt like the embodiment of bliss. The holy grail that was Yoo Jimin’s body was bringing you pleasure like no other, an unparalleled, unchallenged taste of heaven.

“Oh go… M-My pussy feels so fucking full… O-Oh!” she managed to gasp, “y-you’re filling me! My pussy has never… Felt… So good!”

You leaned in such that you were right in her ear. “Do you like how my cock stretches you out, Karina?”

“F-Fuck yes! I love it! I… Ah! Fucking love it!” came her whiny reply.

Her body began to rock back against yours, her crotch crashing onto yours. You gritted your teeth; your grip on her left breast tightened. Karina’s hair whipped back, raven black, sweat matted strands sent flying. She looked back at you, her face scrunched in an expression of bliss. Her lips, wrapped around your cock mere minutes before, were slightly parted, giving space for moans and sighs and gasps to spill freely from her throat. Her eyes were filled with need. Against the wall, her hands tighten into fists.

“Pull… On my hair,” she requested wantonly, “pull on it like I’m a fucking doll.”

The emphasis on the word doll aroused you to no end. Your right hand left her breast, capturing a handful of Karina’s hair in a makeshift ponytail that you gripped tightly. You yanked back. Her pussy tightened. An expletive comes flying from her mouth. Your shaft glistened with the mix of her juices and spit, slipping in and out between her flushed, slick folds seamlessly as you held on to that lock of hair like reigns on a horse.

“Yes… Yes… Just… Just like this!” she cried, “fuck me just like this!”

Her eyes were half lidded with pleasure, the tender flesh of her ass cheeks bouncing and rippling. You wished you had a mirror before you, that way you could watch the hypnotic bounce of her breasts as her body was rocked with your thrusts, but you could settle with the view of her trembling back. The tiny, slim figure that so many adored quivered before you, pleasure and excitement wracking her nerves and filling her muscles, occupying every cell of her body while you fucked her with deep, fast thrusts. It looked exactly as it had in one of the videos in the group chat, only difference being that it was more raw and far more lewd.

You freed your left hand from her left breast to push down on her back, the gradient of the curve of her spine becoming steeper as you forced her lower. Your cock reached new depths in this position, spearing deeper into her willing pussy and filling her in a more intimate manner. Her moans, gasps and sighs were lewd notes of pleasure, and they began to crescendo as the thick, hard, throbbing meat plunging into her tight little cunt heightens the pleasure coursing through her system.

At some point, you started to feel her walls growingly tighten. You increased your tempo, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you didn’t pull out more than halfway, concentrating instead on pumping hard and fast. Her body quickly adapted, crashing down harder against you each time you bottomed out inside of her. Her moans turned into her cries, her cries turned into mewls.

“Oh god… I-I’m—”

She never got to finish her sentence. It took an otherworldly will to not join Karina in her bliss when she came. With a strained cry, you felt her walls clamp down, her body twitching and convulsing. Her legs shook violently, her mouth frozen in a silent scream as you step forward and flush her body completely against the wall. For long minutes, you stayed buried deep inside Karina as she climaxed, holding on to her slim waist to support her. She shook in your grasp, the orgasm overtaking her brain functions and overwhelming her to the point of speechlessness. She takes a moment to wind down.

“Karina…” you whispered. When she turned back to look at you, you gently placed your lips on hers. She kissed you back with equal tenderness, a small sigh escaping her as you gently fondled her breasts.

“You’ve been holding on to my tits this whole time,” she remarked, breath fully returned. “You must really like them, huh?”

“Can you blame me?” you asked. Karina smiled teasingly.

“I can’t… All of the guys love my tits,” she told you, “you’re the only one that hasn’t fucked them yet.”

You took the hint, your cock slipping out of her freshly fucked pussy with a slick pop as you stepped back. Her sweaty body had left an imprint on the wall, the spot where her cheek had been pressed a dark spot of moisture. You could only look at it for a second longer before Karina took you by the hand. She led you back to the couch, getting you settled in on it before she took her place on her knees.

With a smile, she cupped her heavy breasts with her hands. “You don’t have to tell me when you’re going to cum. I like surprises.”

Karina took a moment to spit on your cock, a long rope of her glistening saliva landing squarely on your head. She pumped your shaft a few times, ensuring that her spit was mixed thoroughly into the mixture of her juices that slicked your member.

When she leaned forward and captured your shaft between her soft, warm breasts, your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, everything seemed to go quiet. It was only when Karina started to move that your senses were restored to you.

Trapping your cock in a tunnel of warmth and wetness, she began to bounce her mounds along on your length, thrusting the shaft between her breasts—up and down, up and down. You watched the scene play out in front of you, enjoying the pleasure radiating from your shaft, travelling up your spine and intoxicating your brain. Her hands travelled towards the front of her breasts as she captured her own nipples with her index finger and thumb, pinching the stiff peaks as she bounced her mounds up and down on your stiff dick. You weren’t shy, conveying your pleasure through soft groans and sighs. All the while, Yoo Jimin fixed you with a smile, one that was pure and innocent enough to make the adulterated act seem so pure.

“Do you like it?” she whispered, “do you like my tits milk your cock?”

“Fuck yes Karina,” you hissed.

She suddenly stopped for a moment. You felt her hands grasp on to yours, guiding them to grip either one of her amazingly soft breasts in each hand.

“Take control,” she invited you, “set the pace. Cum whenever you want.”

For a moment, you took in the sight of Karina’s tits wrapped around your slick shaft. Then the pure, animalistic desire for pleasure took over, and you were squeezing her breasts together, keeping them tightly-knit around your dick like a sleeve while you pumped between her sweaty cleavage. She let her hands rest on either side of your thighs, a soft gleam in her eyes as she watched your cock disappear and reappear between her mounds.

When she started to stick her tongue out to catch the underside of your sensitive head, the curse that flew out of your mouth was one that was loud and resonant, travelling up into the air and blending with the lewd squelching and slapping in the air. You heard her giggle, a warped sound of delight as she watched you pump faster and faster between her breasts. Her hot breath blanketed the head of your cock, the softness of her tongue cushioning your dick against it as it made it disappeared and reappeared through the tunnel of bliss.

When you came, time came to a standstill. You could pinpoint the exact moment when the first rope of cum left your dick, smearing on the insides of Karina’s tits as your shaft speared past the summit of her breasts. Then you held your position, hot, thick ropes of semen spurting forth and creating a mess out of Karina. She closed her eyes, letting the warm fluid coat her face and chest in content, her hands cupping her breasts for you as your orgasm inundated your mind. Every corner, every inch of your brain was wracked with ecstasy, a feeling like no other washing over your body.

You weren’t sure when your eyes had shut themselves, but when they opened, you found that Karina had resumed the movements of her breasts up along your shaft, gently and tenderly milking every last drop out of your spent and sore cock. She waits till your dick stops twitching to withdraw before proceeding to eagerly clean herself up, scooping up the gooey ropes that painted her upper body with her fingers so that she could send them into her mouth. You watched her clean herself thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned.

With a look of satisfaction, she rose up and settled down next to you on the couch. Her hand slipped under your chin, gingerly turning your face towards her.

“I don't think I want to share you with the rest,” she whispered, “you can be exclusively mine… How does that sound?”

Wearily, you nodded.

With another one of those pure smiles that purged the sheer filth of the act from the air, Karina sealed the deal with a kiss.

--------------------------

Hello, this was a pure BFH fic that I wrote, so it's not exactly the most coherent and well edited, but I just want to get it out :p. Hope you guys enjoy!

~Nichuuu

#smut #kpop #fanfic #writing #karina #karina smut #yoo jimin #karina aespa

2K notes · View notes

mylovesstuffs · 2 months ago

Text

Joshua is THAT type of boyfriend !

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

A/N: Sorry, I got carried away and made it too long TT.

Joshua isn't just a sweet talker, he’s a menace with his words. Imagine him leaning in with that soft smirk and his warm eyes as he whispers, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” and you’re not even dressed up—just in sweats. You’d roll your eyes, but your heart? Oh, it’s flipping. And don’t even try to sass back.

Always using terms of endearment like, darling, love, babe.

He's the boyfriend who somehow always wins every argument you guys ever had.

This man would curate the most soul-melting playlists just for you. Love songs, sexy R&B tracks, even songs that remind him of you.

Don’t let the gentleman image fool you. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he gently tugs at your shirt collar, brushing his fingers against your skin as he adjusts it. And the way he smirks when he catches you staring? He’ll lean in and say, “Like what you see?” in that voice, making you combust on the spot.

You’re craving snacks at 11 p.m.? Joshua’s already putting on his jacket. He’ll hold your hand as you wander through the store, teasing you about your odd snack combinations but still buying them all anyway.

He’s the ultimate cuddler. Joshua will rest his chin on your head, his arms securely around your waist, and murmur little nothings that make your heart feel all warm and squishy.

The Protective Gentleman™: Someone dares to make you uncomfortable in public or even in private? Joshua’s usually gentle demeanor shifts in an instant. He’ll place a hand on your waist and give the offender a look so cold they’ll apologize themselves without a word.

Look, Joshua is a giver and overachiever in the bedroom. He’s the type to ask, “Do you like this?” in that deep, husky voice while holding eye contact. And when you can’t even form words? That’s his cue to smirk and go harder, exactly the way he knows you like. He’s all about making sure you’re the one who’s utterly wrecked by the end of fucking.

Joshua is the boyfriend who insists on holding you close whenever you’re cold.

“You’re so smart.” “How do you look this good all the time?” “I’m so lucky you’re mine.” He’s not over the top, but his compliments are so genuine that they leave you smiling for hours. Even if you’re having a bad day, Joshua’s words have this magical way of lifting you up without fail.

He remembers everything. Your coffee order, your favorite way to fold socks, the random anecdote you told him months ago—Joshua stores it all like it’s precious treasure.

Joshua will absentmindedly play with your hair all the time. Whether you’re watching a movie or lying in bed, his fingers are threading through your strands, gently tugging just to make you look at him.

Joshua looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He’s the boyfriend who says, “I want to grow old with you,” and you know he means it.

He might be soft-spoken, but the second you start pushing his buttons? You’re done for. His voice drops an octave, and he’s gripping your wrist with just enough pressure to make you stop in your tracks. “Keep testing me,” he’d say, with that calm, terrifying tone that sends shivers down your spine. And when you do, let’s just say you won’t win the next round...

Picture this: Joshua in an apron, trying his best to follow a recipe while sneaking bites of whatever you’re making. Flour ends up on both your faces, and he’s laughing so hard that you forget you burned the cookies. “Let’s just order pizza,” he’d say, pulling you into a hug that makes everything better. (Queue this)

If you’re ever upset, Joshua knows just what to do. He’ll hold you close, his voice will be soft as he reassures you. He doesn’t rush you to feel better; he just stays by your side, offering quiet support and the kind of love that makes you feel safe no matter what.

Joshua isn’t afraid to be goofy with you. He’ll make silly faces, sing off-key just to make you laugh.

Well, he's got the whole church-boy aura, but let’s not be naive here. That glint in his eyes when he’s pinning you against the wall during a heated makeout session is pure sin. He’ll whisper something like, “What would people think if they saw you like this?” just to watch you squirm. And don’t even think about trying to outplay him—he thrives on seeing you flustered.

At concerts, he’ll sneak little glances at you in the crowd and smile like you’re the only person in the world. HE IS UNREAL.

Joshua is the type to trail his fingers over every inch of your skin, memorizing the way you react to his touch. He’ll tilt your chin up gently, his thumb brushing your lower lip before kissing you like it’s his last day on Earth. It’s slow, intense, and leaves you aching for more.

He’s not flashy, but he’ll keep his hand on your lower back or entwine his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly whenever he feels like it.

He doesn’t even need to try to make your knees weak. He’ll be casually helping you grab something from the top shelf in a grocery store and lean down to say something, with a grin that’s way too innocent. Sir, is this a grocery trip or a personal attack?

Late at night, he’ll play the guitar and softly sing while you’re lying on his lap, and boom—you’re gone to heaven.

After he’s made you lose your mind with those sinful kisses, Joshua transforms back into the fluffiest boyfriend. He’s wiping the smudges off your lips with his thumb, kissing your forehead. The duality is WHIPLASH, but are you complaining? No.

When he looks at you, it’s not just attraction; it’s pure adoration. And when he holds you close, you’ll realize that being with him feels like coming home every single time.

Joshua’s the kind of boyfriend who makes you believe in love songs again. His actions, his words, his everything—all of it screams, “You’re my world.”

Yeah, Joshua is THAT type of boyfriend, and honestly, you’re done for. Congratulations on never recovering.

#joshua hong #joshua #joshua seventeen #hong jisoo #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #Joshua is THAT type of boyfriend #joshua x reader #joshua x y/n #joshua svt #joshua scenarios #★— mylovesstuffs

168 notes · View notes

hyperfixationhobo · 3 months ago

Text

Headcanons of the LADS!!!!!

———————————

If there’s one thing that i absolutely love it’s headcanons! I always take my time to study characters and just take the info and sprint with it cause ain’t no one gonna stop me. So why not do it for the Lads? Just some little things I think make them a bit more fleshed out.

Xavier:

. Sleeps wearing running shorts and a sweaters.

. Said sweaters constantly have star themed designs and are pastel.

. Speaking of pastel I really want him to wear more pastel colors. Like I get the color scheme but dammit he’ll look so good in them!

. Uses 3 in 1.

. Please make him stop using that.

. Has the best puppy dog eyes and definitely uses it to his advantage.

. He’s definitely the type to give some guy a quick punch to the throat if he deems it necessary. He does it so fast no one really has the time to process it before he’s using his ‘innocent eyes’.

. Definitely has a ton of plushies after meeting you.

. I think his bedroom would be a bit cluttered.

. The type to research your favorite hobby then proceed to pretend he doesn’t know about said hobby but asks you just the right questions cause he did his research.

. Bunny house slippers…need I say more?

. Definitely watches anime with you.

. Flexible…just gonna leave that here.

. Not the best at being aware of temperature, has worn shorts in the middle of winter.

Zayne

. To me Zayne seems like the type to cry if you cry. I mean like you have to be sobbing and he’ll comfort you and once you fall asleep he starts to cry cause he isn’t capable of taking away what is causing you pain.

. Isn’t the best with expressing emotions so he writes you letters to try to make up for it. Makes communicating much easier tbh.

. Biggest cuddleslut out there. Absolute cuddlewhore. He doesn’t see you much and his power is ice so I think the warmth that comes with cuddling is something he’s addicted to.

. Loves holding your hand, again for the warmth.

. Naturally cold hands so he rubs them together to warm them before touching someone.

. Freezing feet. Just straight up frozen.

. “Zayne I love you but keep your feet on your side of the bed or put on some socks.

. Doesn’t admit it but addicted to coffee.

. Terrible hand writing.

. Hates Brussels sprouts.

. Loves jigsaw puzzles.

. Also loves eggnog, especially with some cinnamon sprinkled on top.

. (I can’t remember which arm of his gets frozen I think it’s the left) His left arm is a bit more tender than his right so he loves when you massage it.

. Wears every scarf you buy him.

Rafayel

. Anytime I image Rafayel in clothes it always contains lace and silk. I have no idea why but to me it seems like something he would wear.

. Has mixed opinions about aquariums. On one hand some aquariums do help out sick and injured sea life and yeah that’s amazing especially if the sea animal wouldn’t survive in the wild anymore. On the other hand some aquariums are greedy money hogging bastards and just keep sea life just to keep it.

. Is the type to give the silent treatment then proceed to break it cause he misses talking to you.

. Has watched the little mermaid, absolutely loves it even if it’s completely wrong about his species.

. “Man if I could steal voices I would.”

. Can’t dance for shit.

. Self care king.

. Gets sick quite easily.

. Can’t hold his alcohol and gets drunk pretty easily.

. Definitely soaks in bubble baths.

. The second idiot in ‘the two idiots’ love trope. Absolutely fuels impulse decisions.

. “That seems very dangerous….lets do it!”

. Two words to describe his studio. Organized mess.

. Really really serious about promises. You’re not allowed to break anymore.

Sylus

. Eats steaks medium rare. He tried rare and absolutely not.

. Unknowingly taps his foot when irritated.

. Also unknowingly clicks his pen when focused.

. Only writes in cursive.

. Picks you up just to pick you up.

. Definitely hates when people wake him up by opening the curtain.

. Gets sunburnt easily.

. Hides your shoes to make you stay longer.

. Is the type to get mad at someone being too loud cause he’s on the phone even though he’s in the middle of a fucking shoot out.

. “Yknow it’s pretty rude to be loud when someone’s on the phone.”

. Definitely has fuzzy house shoes.

. Has had his hardwood floor waxed then proceeded to slip and fall from the waxed floor and now when his floor gets waxed he stays out the entire day.

. Loves ice cream.

. His body is a fucking heater. Cuddles are only done with the AC set to below freezing.

#lads rafayel #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lads mc #lads x reader #l&ds #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads xavier #l&ds x you #l&ds sylus #l&ds rafayel #l&ds xavier #l&ds zayne #l&ds x reader #headcanons #lads headcanons #l&ds headcanons

258 notes · View notes

azen13 · 8 months ago

Text

CW: Yandere Themes, Slight Spoilers for Penacony's Story Quest

I keep thinking about this one dialogue option somewhere in the Penacony Quest, where if you ask Aventurine to give you more money, he immediately sends you more, which led me to think about how Yandere!Aventurine would most definitely love to spend as much money on you as he can as a way of convincing you to stay with him, which led to this little drabble. Enjoy!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Aventurine loves to take you shopping.

Whether it's the gilded streets of Oti Mall or the luxury departments of Pier Point, as long as the price tags are exorbitant and the clothes are high quality, Aventurine loves to take you on shopping sprees. Together, the two of you peruse store after store, boutique after boutique, shop after shop. Try and ask the gambler why and he’ll only flash you a casual smirk, drawing you closer to him and interlacing one of his hands with yours. “Do I need a reason why, love?” He questions, pulling you towards him gently and guiding you to the elevator of his penthouse.

He can still recall the look in your eyes when he first invited you out to dinner in Pier Point. Aventurine had planned the date perfectly by getting a reservation to some state-of-the-art interactive dining experience that would surely impress you. However, once the two of you had been seated at your table, he saw you looking at your menu, eyes full of fear at the long trains of zeros preceding every item. It was a sight he’d never forget. Instantly, he told you he would pay for it all, and despite your best protests, nothing could stop him from giving the server his card

Tonight you and him are back in Pier Point, revisiting some of your favorite shops. Or rather, the shops that garnered the most wide-eyed reactions from you after entering them for the first time. You were never forthright about the shops and brands you liked, as if you didn’t want to return and buy more from them. No matter. Aventurine is always careful to gauge your reactions, a smile falling on his lips every time he sees that starstruck innocence in your gaze.

Your pure soul is so fragile. He could shatter it with a single breath. A flick of a finger. A silent stare. He knows firsthand how quickly that golden glow can fade away. So can’t he just have this? Him and you attached at the hip, the perfect image of lovers in every passing stranger’s eyes; completely in sync, moving to rhythms and melodies only he and you can hear.

He’s well aware that his grasp on you in this dance may be too tight and controlling as he forces you along with him in this spiritual tango, but he has good intentions. He knows it. You know it. It’s why you let him care for you, let him pick out your outfits and take care of your finances. Aventurine knows best. After all, he’s seen the worst parts of the world and climbed out of his own personal slice of hell. The universe is a cruel place and all he wants to do is shield you from it all by protecting the gold in your heart and the stars in your eyes. The boutiques are all devoid of anything befitting of your beauty, not that Aventurine cares. It just means he gets to go order something custom-made, tailored to fit you and match him perfectly, arguably even better than going out and buying something from a store. While it pleases him enough to know he’s paying for you, when he sees you all dressed up and matching him to a T in shades of green and gold–well, that’s an entirely different level of satisfaction.

As you begin the walk back to Aventurine’s penthouse apartment, the gambler is already looking online for new designers to contact. You ask him why he’s doing this. Once again, a soft smirk plays on Aventurine’s lips. “For starters, you look gorgeous in them,” he says, squeezing your hand a little tighter as the two of you fight your way through boulevards bustling with people. “It also makes it easier to find you in crowds when you’re all dressed up,” he adds, pausing for a moment. “And I don’t want to lose you, my love.” Aventurine lifts your hand up, softly whispering his words against the skin of your knuckles before he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand.

For a moment, there’s a slight tremor in his voice, his hand clenching even tighter around your own. It’s as though he’s afraid that if he relinquishes his hold on your hand, he won’t just lose you in the crowd, but forever.

The unspoken reason–that he likes to make sure everyone knows you’re his lover–lingers in the air around you like arms around your shoulders.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere drabble #yandere imagine #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere aventurine #yandere aventurine x reader #yancore

339 notes · View notes

getalltheb1tches · 2 months ago

Text

TWO WEEKS, ONE NIGHT | LN4, OP81

when your ex hurt you so bad, his teammate is always there for you.

lando norris x y/n, oscar piastri x y/n

After discovering her boyfriend Lando’s devastating betrayal, she is left to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart in the glittering city of Monaco. As gifts and apologies flood her doorstep, she struggles to let go of the man she once loved—until an unexpected ally steps forward. Oscar, Lando’s teammate, reveals the truths that cut deeper than she could imagine, but with his honesty comes a surprising confession. Torn between heartbreak and the hope of something new, and she must decide whether to confront her past or embrace an uncertain future.

TW: CHEATING, mention of Y/N! I hope you enjoy this short au, and please remember this is my first ever au, so excuse any mistakes!! this is purely fiction, and please do feel free to leave a comment! hope u enjoy <33

The dim hum of the city outside her window was the only company she allowed herself as she sat in the quiet of her apartment. The soft glow of streetlights of Monaco seeped through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the unopened boxes scattered around her living room. Her eyes lingered on the largest one, wrapped in a sleek black ribbon, its sender’s name unmistakable on the gilded card attached.

Lando Norris.

It had been two weeks since the storm—the night everything fell apart. When she got a text from his teammate, confirming her suspicions. She could still hear the echoes of their arguments, his voice strained as he stumbled over apologies that didn’t match the betrayal etched into her memory. The headlines had done their part too, parading his indiscretion across every screen until there was no denying what he had done.

He had cheated on her.

Lando, with his boyish charm and the grin that once felt like home, had torn through the trust they had built together. The man who had promised her the world under Monaco’s glittering stars had shattered her heart in a single, reckless moment.

Since then, the gifts had started arriving. First, it was a bouquet of her favorite flowers, each petal seemingly plucked with care. Then came the handwritten letters, pages filled with words that tried—and failed—to piece together his remorse. Then expensive clothing, the Givenchy boots she always wanted, extravagant jeweler, anything she could think of and more. Tonight, it was something bigger, heavier, as though the weight of the box could match the gravity of his mistakes.

The texts came with the gifts. The apologies she received every day, among phone calls, were starting to annoy her. There was no point of changing her number or blocking him, he always found a way to contact her. But at least, he hadn’t appeared to her house yet. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate that.

But none of it could undo the ache lodged in her chest.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the ribbon, hesitating. What could he possibly give her that would make her forget the way her heart had splintered? A grand gesture to overshadow the simplicity of loyalty he had broken?

A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she leaned back against the couch, the ribbon untouched. She had loved him, truly and deeply. The kind of love that left no room for doubt. They have been through a lot, he had helped her in many ways, and so did she. She was always there for him, and all it took for him to break everything was a win in Singapore. And yet, here she was, staring at another attempt to buy her forgiveness.

She’d thought about reaching out to him, about confronting the man she’d once trusted with her whole heart. But every time she considered it, the memory of him with someone else burned brighter, and the courage faltered. No amount of gifts could erase that image, nor could it restore the trust that had been so carelessly discarded.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚

She leaned back on the couch, her hands trembling slightly as her phone buzzed on the table once more. She had ignored countless messages and phone calls from him over the past two weeks, but this one was different. A video notification from an unknown number lit up her screen.

And then she saw him. Lando.

He was leaning close to another woman, her face obscured by shadows, but her hand was unmistakable as it trailed along his arm, lingering.

Y/N’s heart pounded, the weight of his audacity crushing her. Two weeks of apologies, endless gifts, and promises of remorse—only to find out he hadn’t even stopped. The sting of betrayal felt fresh all over again, more painful than she could have anticipated.

A video. Of him. With another woman. Now she was sure, he was just trying to buy her into his life again, for his own enjoyment and only. The gifts meant nothing, she meant nothing, the only thing he cared about was just to fuck around behind her back.

She has been watching the video for several minutes, unable to stop the ugly feeling in her stomach growing. She felt disgusted and humiliated. A year and a half, all meant nothing to him?

Her phone started ringing, once again. She wanted to pick up, she wanted to scream at him, to curse him, to make him feel even worse. She needed that. That's why she found herself accepting the call, his voice coming through the speaker after two weeks.

"Baby, finally. Please, let me explain-"

“This better be good,” she cut him off, her voice sharp. “Because I’m done playing games, Lando. I just got sent a video of you making out with a random girl, while you were claiming to be sorry"

“That video—it was staged. Someone’s trying to hurt me. To hurt us.” He tried to say quickly, trying to defend himself once again over the phone.

“Staged? That’s the best you’ve got? You expect me to believe that?”

“Baby, think about it. Who sent you the video? Why would they do that? I’ve been trying to fix this, to fix us,and someone doesn’t want me to.”

The sincerity in his voice wavered her resolve, but the anger inside her burned hotter. “Do you even hear yourself? You cheated on me, Lando. You don’t get to play the victim.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m begging you to believe me this time. There’s more going on here than you think.”

The words hung in the air, leaving her torn between disbelief and the lingering hope that maybe—just maybe—he was telling the truth.

"No. I hate you. You hurt me so bad, and you don't even care. You can't just buy your way back to my life. I don't want this anymore! You need to stop, and leave me alone, not keep hurting me" she said quietly, so tired of everything, before hanging up the phone on his face.

Her phone buzzed again, and again, and again. But the damage was already done.

The unknown number kept texting her, saying that her ex wasn't the man he claimed to be. She laughed bitterly, tossing her phone onto the couch. The words felt like a cruel joke. She paced the room, her mind racing. The image of him with another woman was seared into her thoughts, erasing any remnants of the man she had once loved.

Her pulse quickened. The pier? She glanced at the clock. It was 10:16. Every instinct screamed at her to ignore the message, to block the number and move on. Move on from this life, forget Lando, forget everything. But curiosity and the need for answers gnawed at her resolve. What if this was the closure she needed? And if Lando was hiding something, it was time for the truth to come to light. As she stepped into the cool night air, her heart pounded with anticipation and dread. Whatever awaited her at the pier, she knew one thing for certain: nothing would ever be the same again.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚

The pier was quiet, bathed in the pale glow of the moonlight and the soft lapping of waves against the docks. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she approached, her breath visible in the cool night air. She scanned her surroundings, searching for the unknown person who sent her the messages.

A figure stepped out of the shadows near the end of the pier, their silhouette sharp against the water’s reflection. Her heart quickened. As she drew closer, she realized it wasn’t Lando—it was someone else entirely.

“Y/N?” the figure called softly.

She recognized him immediately. It was Oscar, Lando’s teammate. His face was drawn, his expression a mixture of concern and regret. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Oscar?” she said, her voice edged with confusion. “You’re the one who sent me those messages?”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t keep quiet anymore. You deserve to know the truth.”

Her chest tightened as the man in front of her spoke. “What truth? About what I already saw? About Lando?”

Oscar hesitated, glancing around as if to ensure they were truly alone. “There’s more to what happened in Singapore. And it’s worse than what you think.”

The girl's stomach churned. “Just say it. Please."

He took a deep breath, his voice low. “Lando wasn’t just with that girl once. It wasn’t a one-time mistake. They’ve been seeing each other for months. Some of us—his friends, the team—we knew, but no one wanted to get involved.”

Her knees felt weak, the weight of his words threatening to crush her. “Why are you telling me this now?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Because I saw how much he hurt you, how he treated you.” Oscar said, his eyes earnest. “And because he’s still lying to you. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness if he can’t even be honest.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She took a shaky step back, trying to process everything. “Why would you do this? You’re his teammate, his friend.”

Oscar’s gaze softened. “Because I don’t think it’s right to let him manipulate you anymore. You deserve better than this. Than him.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked out at the water, the cold wind biting at her skin. The image of Lando, the man she had once trusted completely, was crumbling into something unrecognizable.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Oscar replied. “I just thought you should know the full truth. What you do with it is up to you.”

She stood there for a long moment, her thoughts a chaotic mess. Finally, she nodded, her resolve hardening. “Thank you, Oscar. For telling me.” He gave her a small, understanding smile. “Take care of yourself. You deserve so much more than this.”

As he turned to leave, she stayed behind, staring out at the dark waters. The truth was heavier than she had imagined, but in a strange way, it felt like a release—a step toward finally letting go.

She heard his footsteps pause behind her. He called her name softly, his voice hesitant. She turned to find him standing just a few steps away, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it held something different this time—something raw. She turned, her gaze meeting his.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice steadier now.

Oscar hesitated, then took a step closer. “I… I didn’t just come here for him. I mean, I did, but…” He trailed off, exhaling deeply. “I’ve seen how he treated you, even before all this. And I… I hated it. Because I knew you deserved better. And I…”

Her breath caught. “Oscar…”

“I shouldn’t be saying this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But seeing you hurt like this, knowing he’s still lying to you… I couldn’t stay quiet. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you more than I should. You deserve someone who sees you. Who actually puts you first. And I—I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process his words. She hadn’t seen this coming, not from Oscar, the quiet and steady presence who had always seemed like the opposite of Lando’s brash energy.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, misinterpreting her silence. “I just… I needed you to know. I’m not saying this to confuse you or to make things harder,” he added quickly, his tone almost desperate. “I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. Not after seeing what he did to you. Not after watching you hurt like this. Because if there’s even the slightest chance that you—”

Before he could finish, the girl stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “Oscar,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “Thank you. For being honest with me. For telling me the truth.”

His eyes searched hers, a flicker of hope lighting his expression. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said gently. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a sliver of something she hadn’t thought possible: hope. It wasn’t a promise of a new beginning, but it was a reminder that she didn’t have to face the hurt alone. And as she stood there on the pier, the weight of the past slowly giving way to the possibilities of the future, she realized she wasn’t quite ready to close the door on everything just yet.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆. 𐙚 ˚⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚

thank you so much for reading this!! if you want part two feel free to comment!

120 notes · View notes

pdriesta · 1 month ago

Text

CHAPTER FIVE

"baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"

pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist

tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers

warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)

word count — 14k

summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?

an — dare i say... the climax

masterlist

the meeting room at y/n’s company building buzzed with quiet chatter, the kind that filled the air before something important was about to begin. ayesha was the last to arrive, her stride purposeful as she entered, coffee in hand and her iPad tucked under her arm. her presence immediately silenced the room. ayesha didn’t need to demand attention; she simply carried it with her.

y/n sat at the far end of the table, directly across from trent. the space between them felt charged, like an invisible thread pulled taut. her thoughts were scattered, flitting between the memory of his whispered confession at the wedding and the way he kissed her like he meant every word. now, she couldn’t meet his gaze without the echo of when i kissed you, you became mine reverberating in her head.

trent, on the other hand, looked almost relaxed, his arm draped casually over the back of his chair. but she noticed the subtle way his thumb tapped against his thigh—a habit she’d picked up on when he was trying to mask his impatience.

“alright, let’s get started,” ayesha announced, setting her coffee on the table. her voice was brisk, professional. she didn’t waste time on pleasantries, diving straight into the matter at hand. “first, let me say that you two have done a phenomenal job so far. the public loves you together, and the numbers don’t lie—engagement is through the roof. every appearance trends, every post gets millions of likes. you’ve exceeded expectations.”

y/n offered a polite nod, though her heart wasn’t in it. she should’ve felt relief or even pride at ayesha’s praise, but instead, all she felt was the growing weight of her discomfort.

“that’s good to hear,” she murmured, her voice soft.

trent leaned back in his chair, his tone neutral. “so, what’s the problem?”

ayesha glanced between them, her lips pressing into a line. “it’s not a problem, per se. just… feedback. some fans and media outlets have noticed a lack of—” she paused, searching for the right word. “—intimacy between you two. they’re buying the relationship, but they want to see more sparks.”

y/n’s brows furrowed. “sparks?”

“intimacy,” ayesha clarified, her tone matter-of-fact. “the kind that makes people swoon. kisses, lingering touches, moments that feel unscripted. the fans want to believe you’re completely infatuated with each other.”

y/n blinked, the word kisses catching in her mind like a hook. heat crept up her neck, and she instinctively crossed her arms. “kisses? as in… on camera?”

“exactly,” ayesha confirmed, tapping her iPad. “right now, you two look comfortable together, which is great. but comfortable doesn’t sell the way passion does. we need you to push it a little further.”

trent frowned, his jaw tightening. “so, what are you saying? we have to start making out in public now?”

ayesha let out a small laugh, though it lacked humor. “nothing that extreme. but a kiss or two would go a long way. and it needs to feel natural, not staged. that’s why I’m suggesting a little… practice.”

y/n’s heart dropped. “practice?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

“yes,” ayesha said simply. “you need to rehearse it so it doesn’t look awkward when the cameras are rolling. think of it like choreography—just another part of the job.”

y/n’s chest tightened, the very idea making her stomach churn. practice kissing trent? the same trent who had kissed her at the wedding with such certainty it left her questioning everything? the same trent who had whispered that she was his like it was a fact, not a feeling?

“this is ridiculous,” trent muttered, running a hand down his face.

“ridiculous or not, it’s what’s needed,” ayesha said firmly. “you two are close. you’ve spent months building this dynamic. you’re almost there—just a little more effort, and it’ll be perfect.”

y/n shook her head, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. “this is too much. it’s one thing to act close or hold hands, but… rehearsing kisses? that’s too weird.”

ayesha arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “this is what you signed up for. no one said it would be easy.”

trent straightened in his seat, his tone sharp. “we’re doing enough. we don’t need to rehearse anything.”

ayesha gave him a pointed look but didn’t argue. instead, she stood, smoothing out the front of her blazer. “i’ll leave you two to figure it out. just remember—this only works if the public believes in it.”

she walked out of the room without another word, leaving the two of them in a silence that felt heavier than before.

y/n stared at the table, her mind racing. the thought of rehearsing a kiss with trent made her pulse quicken—not out of excitement, but out of sheer anxiety. she couldn’t forget the way he’d kissed her last time, how it felt like he was claiming her. would it be like that again? or would it feel rehearsed, hollow, nothing more than an obligation?

“you good?” trent’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft but laced with concern.

she nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak.

he tilted his head, studying her. “you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

she glanced up, her eyes meeting his. “it’s not about what i want,” she said quietly. “it’s about what’s expected.”

trent frowned, his expression unreadable. after a moment, he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “for the record, i’m not rehearsing anything in front of anyone.”

her heart stuttered. “you’re not?”

his lips curled into a faint smirk, his voice dipping even lower as he leaned in. “nah. i don’t need a camera to make it real.”

his words sent a shiver down her spine, the heat of his breath brushing against her ear. she swallowed hard, her pulse thundering in her ears.

before she could respond, trent pulled back, his smirk still in place. “just thought you should know.”

she stared at him, her thoughts a jumbled mess. and for the first time, she couldn’t tell where the line between acting and reality was supposed to be.

the private jet hummed softly as it cut through the sky, the low vibration a steady background to the quiet luxury of the cabin. sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on the sleek surfaces and glinting off the silver accents. y/n leaned back in her seat, an oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, her legs tucked under her as she scrolled aimlessly through the playlist on her phone.

trent sat across from her, leaning forward slightly as he tied the laces on his sneakers. his movements were casual, but his eyes kept drifting toward her, taking in the way the sunlight danced on her skin and the way she bit her bottom lip when she concentrated too hard. the intimacy of traveling together—just the two of them—was unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“you’ve been quiet,” trent said after a moment, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the jet.

she looked up, caught off guard. “quiet can be nice.”

he grinned, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “true, but it’s not as fun.”

y/n smirked, her fingers pausing on her screen. “and you’re all about fun, huh?”

“depends on the company,” he shot back, his gaze steady on hers.

her stomach flipped, but she masked it with a small laugh. “lucky for you, i’m excellent company.”

trent chuckled, his head tilting slightly as he studied her. “i’m starting to see that.”

the playful exchange eased the tension in the air, though the undercurrent of something more lingered.

“so,” she said, deciding to shift the focus, “monaco. have you been before?”

“a few times,” he said with a nod. “it’s a good vibe—fast cars, good weather, expensive everything.”

“sounds about right,” she said, her lips twitching into a smile. “first time for me, though. i’m excited.”

“you’re an f1 fan, right?”

she raised an eyebrow, impressed. “look at you, doing your homework.”

“what can i say?” he shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “i’m a man of many talents.”

“is that so?” she teased, leaning forward slightly. “name one.”

“besides football?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes glinting with challenge.

“obviously.”

“alright,” he said, leaning forward to match her posture. “i’m excellent at reading people.”

she scoffed, crossing her arms. “oh, really?”

“yeah.” he leaned back again, his expression smug. “like right now, for example. you’re trying really hard to act like you’re not impressed by me.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but the warmth spreading through her chest betrayed her. “keep dreaming, alexander-arnold.”

he laughed, the sound low and infectious. “you didn’t deny it, though.”

“anyway,” she said, brushing off his comment, though her cheeks felt warmer. “who’s your team?”

“alpine,” he said without hesitation.

she snorted. “of course. you’re an owner. you kinda have to, don’t you?”

“loyalty,” he said simply, though there was a playful glint in his eye. “what about you?”

“ferrari,” she said, her voice carrying just a hint of pride.

trent groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “you’re one of those fans.”

“what’s wrong with ferrari?” she challenged, sitting up straighter.

“they’re all flash and heartbreak,” he said, shaking his head. “every year it’s ‘this is our season,’ and then…” he made a crashing motion with his hand.

“okay, hater,” she shot back, laughing. “what do you want me to do? switch to alpine?”

“couldn’t hurt,” he teased. “might finally back a winner.”

“oh, you’re full of it,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“and yet,” he said, his grin widening, “you keep talking to me.”

“because you’re here,” she retorted, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

as the conversation flowed, the topics meandered—music, childhood memories, the wildest places they’d been. trent found himself cataloging the way she spoke, the way her voice lifted when she got excited or how her hands moved when she was trying to explain something.

“alright, one more,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “weirdest habit?”

she tilted her head, thinking for a moment. “i talk to myself. like, full-on conversations.”

he raised an eyebrow. “out loud?”

“yep.” she grinned, unbothered. “it’s helpful, though. keeps me organized.”

“and here i thought i was special, getting all your attention,” he joked, a teasing glint in his eye.

“you might be,” she said lightly, her tone laced with something unspoken.

trent’s smirk faltered for just a second, his gaze sharpening as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. but before he could respond, the jet dipped slightly, signaling their descent.

“and we are off,” y/n said, looking out the window with a soft smile as the jet dipped into its descent.

trent leaned back in his seat, his gaze shifting from the window to her face. “by the end of this weekend,” he said, his tone light but mischievous, “you’re gonna be head over heels for me.”

she turned to him, raising an eyebrow as a laugh bubbled out of her. “head over heels, yeah?.”

“just saying,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “it’s monaco—good weather, great company, and me. kinda hard not to fall in love, don’t you think?”

she rolled her eyes, but the smile playing on her lips betrayed her. “you watch too many films.”

“like i said y/n i can read people. don't fight it, baby,” he said, flashing her a grin, “i know i am irresistible.”

“you really need to work on your humility,” she teased, shaking her head.

“what can I say?” he replied, leaning forward slightly. “when you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”

y/n turned back to the window, fighting the warmth spreading through her cheeks. “keep dreaming, alexander-arnold.”

trent chuckled softly, watching her for a moment before leaning back again, the grin on his face lingering.

trent leaned back in his seat, watching her. “this weekend’s gonna be interesting.”

she turned to him, her eyebrows raised. “why’s that?”

“just a feeling,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on hers a moment too long.

as the plane touched down, y/n found herself wondering if trent had been thinking about the kiss as much as she had. something told her she might find out sooner than later.

the room wasn’t massive, but it exuded the kind of luxury you’d expect from a monaco hotel during grand prix weekend. sleek furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sparkling harbor, and, of course, the bed. one bed. y/n stared at it for a moment, her lips twitching like she was trying to fight off a smile.

trent noticed immediately. “go on. say it.”

“say what?” she asked innocently, dropping her bag by the chair.

“whatever you’re thinking,” he said, kicking off his sneakers and leaning against the dresser, his arms crossed.

“i’m not thinking anything,” she said, trying to sound casual. but the gleam in her eye gave her away.

“uh-huh.” he cocked his head, his grin lazy. “you’re thinking about how all those rom-coms got it right. one bed. what will we do?”

she laughed, finally letting the smile break through. “don’t flatter yourself. i’m sleeping on the left side.”

“good, i’m a right-side guy anyway,” he quipped, brushing past her and pulling his suitcase onto the bed.

she shook her head and wandered toward the balcony, letting the sunlight hit her face as she leaned against the glass door. it was still early, the afternoon stretching ahead of them, but her excitement was practically buzzing beneath her skin. monaco. the grand prix. ferrari. it all felt unreal.

trent joined her after a moment, standing close enough that their arms brushed. “you’re vibrating.”

she looked up at him, feigning confusion. “what?”

“you’re so excited, you’re vibrating,” he teased, nudging her gently. “you’re gonna wear yourself out before we even get to the track.”

“i can’t help it,” she admitted, her voice breathless. “it’s monaco. and it’s f1. and—”

“and ferrari,” he finished for her, smirking.

she grinned, turning to face him fully. “as long as i’m in the same vicinity as charles leclerc, i’ll deal with being stuck at alpine with you all weekend.”

his brows shot up, mock offense coloring his tone. “oh, so i’m a burden now?”

“you catch on fast, honey,” she said, her voice sweet as syrup. “my goal is for him to fall in love with me at first sight this weekend.”

trent scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m honest,” she shot back, crossing her arms.

“yeah, well,” he said, his smirk fading slightly, “i wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

the way he said it caught her off guard—his voice softer, almost sincere. her teasing smile faltered, and she blinked up at him, her heart giving an odd little flutter. “don’t say that.”

“why not? it’s true,” he said simply, his gaze steady on hers.

she gulped, suddenly feeling too warm despite the gentle breeze wafting in from the balcony. “because... it’s not.”

he tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. “what do you mean?”

she hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor as she spoke quietly. “i don’t know. i just... i’ve never felt like someone people would fall in love with.”

trent’s expression softened, and he took a small step closer. “y/n.”

“it’s fine,” she said quickly, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “i’m being dramatic.”

“you’re not,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “and i don’t know who made you feel that way, but they’re dead wrong.”

she looked up at him again, his face so earnest it made her chest ache. she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. instead, she just nodded, offering him a small smile.

“good,” he said after a beat, his voice lighter now. “because if anyone’s falling in love this weekend, it’s you. with me.”

she laughed, grateful for the shift in tone. “you wish.”

“no, seriously,” he said, his grin returning. “by sunday, you’re gonna be looking at me like i’m the ferrari.”

“delusional,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“confident,” he corrected, winking.

they lingered there for a moment before he clapped his hands together. “right. let’s shower and get ready. you can drool over leclerc later.”

trent emerged from the bathroom, the faint scent of his cedarwood soap lingering in the air. his white shirt, crisp and simple, stretched effortlessly across his broad shoulders, tucked neatly into his light khaki pants. a navy alpine hat completed the look, the brim casting a shadow over his sharp features. he looked casual, understated—but impossibly good, the kind of good that made y/n’s breath hitch before she caught herself staring.

she pretended to adjust the strap of her bag, glancing away quickly, but he noticed. of course, he noticed.

“what?” he asked, a teasing edge to his tone as he stepped into his sneakers.

“nothing,” she said too quickly, the faintest hint of color blooming on her cheeks.

he smirked, tipping his hat slightly as he gave her an appraising look. “you sure? because you look like you’ve got something to say.”

“i don’t,” she lied, her fingers now fiddling with the halter tie of her dress.

trent’s eyes fell to the movement, and for a second, he forgot how to form words. the dress—a watercolored masterpiece in hues of soft blues, pinks, and greens—clung to her curves like it was made just for her. the halter neckline tied elegantly at the back of her neck, leaving her shoulders bare, while the flowing skirt swayed gently as she moved. her braids were styled in a bohemian half-up, half-down look, with two delicate plaits framing her face. she looked radiant, ethereal, like a walking daydream.

“wow,” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

her eyes snapped back to him, narrowing slightly. “what?”

he shook his head, his smirk softening into something warmer, almost reverent. “you’re... beautiful.”

her lips parted in surprise, and she quickly looked down, her fingers brushing over the skirt of her dress. “it’s just a dress,” she mumbled, but the shy smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“it’s not just a dress,” he said, stepping closer. “and it’s not just you wearing it—it’s the whole thing. you look... unreal, y/n.”

she glanced up at him through her lashes, the warmth in his eyes making her chest tighten. “you clean up nice too, you know.”

he chuckled, adjusting the brim of his hat. “yeah, but it’s different for me. i just throw this on and call it a day. you look like a work of art.”

she didn’t respond, her cheeks burning as she brushed past him, heading for the door. “we should go,” she said, her voice light but hurried.

“i’m just saying,” he called after her, grinning as he grabbed his phone and followed her out.

the drive to the paddock was filled with her giddy excitement and his amused commentary. she couldn’t stop fidgeting, her hands smoothing over her dress, her fingers adjusting the braids framing her face every few minutes.

“you’re going to wear yourself out before we even get there,” trent teased, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“i can’t help it,” she admitted, her voice tinged with nervous energy. “this is monaco. this is f1. do you know how long i’ve waited for this?”

“about as long as you’ve waited to run off with leclerc,” he joked, earning a playful glare from her.

“don’t be jealous,” she shot back, folding her arms. “i can admire other men. it’s healthy.”

“admire, sure. but you’re already planning how to get him to fall in love with you,” he pointed out, a mock pout on his face.

“and you’re acting like that’s a bad thing,” she said sweetly, her grin widening. “i told you, trent—you’re just my ticket in.”

he shook his head, laughing. “unbelievable. and here i was thinking you liked me for my charm.”

she tilted her head, pretending to consider. “well, you’re a decent placeholder. but leclerc? leclerc is endgame.”

“you’re killing me, y/n,” he groaned, pulling into the paddock parking lot.

as they stepped out, the hum of engines and the chatter of the crowd surrounded them. trent walked beside her, his hand brushing hers as they made their way toward the alpine garage. but even with the buzz of monaco around them, his eyes kept drifting back to her—the way her dress caught the light, the way her braids swayed with each step, the way her excitement lit up her entire face.

“you’re really not gonna let the leclerc thing go, are you?” he asked as they reached the entrance.

she looked up at him, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “not until he signs his name across my heart.”

he groaned again, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “just don’t forget who got you here.”

“how could i?” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder. “you’re my ticket, remember?”

and even though he laughed, a part of him couldn’t help but wish she meant something more.

she rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, grabbing her things and disappearing into the bathroom. by the time they were dressed and heading out to the paddock, she felt lighter. trent had a way of doing that—making the weight she carried feel a little less heavy, even if he didn’t realize it.

as they stepped into the car waiting to take them to the track, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “thanks, by the way.”

he looked at her, puzzled. “for what?”

she shrugged, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “for being... you.”

he didn’t say anything, but the small, knowing smile that tugged at his lips was enough.

the hum of activity in the alpine garage was mesmerizing—engineers poring over screens, mechanics prepping tools, and the occasional roar of an engine reverberating through the space. y/n stood at the heart of it all, her wide eyes soaking in every detail, her posture attentive as an alpine engineer explained something about tire temperatures and aerodynamics. trent leaned against the edge of a table, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of amusement and awe.

she wasn’t just nodding along politely; she was fully engrossed, asking thoughtful questions and leaning in to hear every word over the noise. when the cars roared to life, she clutched the headphones around her neck and slipped them on, her face lighting up like a kid on christmas morning.

trent pulled out his phone, unable to resist capturing the moment. he snapped a quick photo of her, the oversized alpine headphones dwarfing her head, her sundress flowing around her as she leaned slightly forward to get a better view of the cars leaving the garage. her expression was a mix of awe and excitement, and he couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the picture.

“you’re such a tourist,” he teased, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

she turned, her face glowing with excitement. “i am a tourist! this is so cool, trent. you have no idea.”

“oh, i’ve got some idea,” he said, gesturing to the way she practically vibrated with energy.

she giggled, pulling her phone out to post the photo he’d taken of her, captioning it with a simple, best day ever.

“you’re really going all in, huh?” he asked, his voice warm as he stepped closer to her. “when you told me you liked f1, i thought you meant casually. like... you’d catch a race here and there.”

she turned to him, arching a brow. “what? you thought i was a casual fan?”

“not fake,” he clarified, lifting his hands defensively. “just... casual. you’ve never taken this kind of interest in football.”

“that’s because i’ve been around football my whole life,” she said, tilting her head. “i know how it works. but this?” she gestured to the garage, the pit crew bustling around them. “this is fascinating. it’s not just the drivers—it’s the strategy, the technology, the speed... everything has to be perfect. one tiny mistake and it’s game over.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. “i mean, football’s kind of like that too.”

“not the same,” she argued, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “don’t get me wrong, football’s great and all, but there’s something about f1 that’s... different. it’s like this mix of art and science, and i just love it.”

he watched her as she spoke, the way her hands moved animatedly, the passion in her voice making his chest tighten. it was rare to see her this open, this excited, and he found himself hanging on every word.

“so what you’re saying is,” he began, a teasing lilt in his voice, “you’d rather be dating a driver than me?”

she laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “oh, absolutely,” she said, deadpan, before softening. “but you’ll do for now.”

“wow,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “i feel so special.”

“you should,” she shot back, smirking.

just then, the cars roared back into the garage after their laps, the sheer power of the engines making her visibly shiver with excitement. trent glanced down at her, the way her eyes lit up and her lips parted slightly as the mechanics swarmed the car.

“you’re really into this, aren’t you?” he asked softly, more a statement than a question.

she nodded, not taking her eyes off the cars. “i feel like i’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”

trent leaned closer, lowering his voice. “you’re gonna have a hell of a time explaining to ferrari how you spent the morning in alpine’s garage.”

she turned to him, her smile playful. “it’s called getting the best of both worlds.”

he shook his head, laughing under his breath. “you’re spoiled.”

“you love it, boyfriend” she teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

and as he looked at her, with her glowing skin, her excitement palpable in every fiber of her being, he couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

the evening in monaco was everything y/n had imagined and more—breathtaking, glamorous, and full of life. as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turned a deep shade of indigo, streaked with the last golden traces of the day. the lights of the city shimmered against the calm waters of the harbor, casting a romantic glow over everything. yachts dotted the water like floating mansions, their sleek lines and gleaming surfaces reflecting the luxury of the place.

trent, as usual, was by her side, dressed in a simple but sharp black shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and a pair of dark jeans that fit him just right. his hair was slightly tousled from the breeze, and his smile was relaxed, yet there was something about tonight that made his usual confidence seem a little softer.

“you look beautiful as ever,” he said as they stepped out of the car, his voice filled with admiration. y/n was wearing a floor-length dress that shimmered with tiny gold threads woven through the fabric. the halter neck drew attention to her shoulders and the curve of her back, while the slit on the side revealed just enough of her legs to keep things teasingly mysterious.

“thank you,” she replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes scanning the cityscape in awe. “this place... it’s unreal.”

“yeah, it’s something, huh?” trent agreed, his gaze following hers as he took in the beauty of monaco with new eyes. “i’ve been here a few times, but it never gets old.”

they walked arm in arm through the bustling streets, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses spilling out from the open-air cafes and bars they passed. the air smelled of saltwater, expensive cologne, and the faint scent of florals from nearby gardens. everything about the night felt alive, full of possibility.

y/n could hardly believe she was here. this wasn’t just any night—it was a night in monaco, with trent, of all people, by her side. the whole experience felt like something out of a movie. and as they passed through a narrow alleyway that opened up to a terrace overlooking the bay, the moment felt so surreal that she had to pinch herself to make sure it was real.

they settled into a small, elegant restaurant perched above the water, the soft hum of the city below them blending with the soft jazz music that played in the background. candles flickered on each table, casting a warm glow over their faces. as they sat down, y/n noticed how the light seemed to catch trent’s eyes, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

“this is perfect,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. she had never been one for extravagant nights out—her life was usually quieter, filled with studio sessions and late nights working on songs. but here, in this moment, she felt like she was living a dream.

“glad you think so,” trent said, his gaze lingering on her with something more than just the usual flirtation. there was a tenderness in the way he looked at her, as if the beauty of the night, the beauty of monaco, was nothing compared to the beauty he saw in her.

the waiter arrived, offering them drinks, and trent ordered something for both of them without hesitation. y/n was still taking in the view when she heard him laugh softly.

“what’s so funny?” she asked, glancing at him.

“you look so... content,” he said, the words carrying a sincerity that made her heart skip a beat. “i think i’ve finally found a way to impress you.”

y/n smiled, shaking her head. “you’ve been impressive since the start, trent. but this... this is special.”

“well, i’m glad i could do it right for once,” he replied, his grin widening as he raised his glass in a playful toast.

“here’s to special nights,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

they sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, letting the noise of the city fade into the background. y/n’s thoughts wandered back to everything she had been through with jadon, all the tension and confusion. but here, in this moment, with trent’s steady presence beside her, it was easy to forget about all of it.

the night stretched on, and as they walked through the streets of monaco hand in hand, she felt a connection to him that was deeper than just the shared moments of the day. she wasn’t sure what this was, but she knew she didn’t want it to end. for once, she allowed herself to feel completely lost in the beauty of the evening, in the beauty of the company beside her.

underneath the stars, in the city that never slept, y/n finally let herself feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

the next day dawned bright and clear, the sun rising over the horizon, casting a golden hue over the sparkling water. the air was warm but not overwhelming, a gentle breeze ruffling the palm trees along the coastline of monaco. today was all about relaxation, fun, and escaping the world for a little while—trent had arranged a private yacht for the day, and y/n couldn’t contain her excitement.

as she stepped onto the deck, she squinted at the vastness of the sea, the water so blue it almost seemed unreal. the yacht, sleek and luxurious, was the epitome of comfort and style. a few crew members greeted them with smiles and drinks, and y/n instantly felt like she was in a dream.

trent, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and navy shorts, was already at the bow, his arms resting on the railing as he watched the waves. there was a sense of peace about him today, a break from the high-energy environment of racing and public life. when he saw her approach, his lips curled into a soft smile.

“you ready for this?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

“more than ready,” y/n replied with a grin, her heart racing a little at the sight of him looking so effortlessly handsome. she felt like she was getting to know him on a different level every time they spent more time together, and today was no exception.

they spent the morning out on the water, the yacht cutting through the sea with ease. y/n was in her element, the ocean air filling her lungs, the sun warming her skin. they chatted about everything and nothing—music, life, their dreams, their pasts. as she listened to trent speak, she found herself laughing more than she had in a long time, the sound of her laughter blending with the gentle rhythm of the waves.

at some point, trent suggested they both jump off the yacht for a swim, and y/n eagerly agreed. with a playful smirk, he dove off the side, the splash sending droplets of water flying into the air. y/n followed soon after, her body hitting the water with a graceful dive. they swam side by side, laughing and talking as the world seemed to melt away around them.

after a while, they returned to the yacht, soaking wet but exhilarated. they lounged on the sunbeds, drying off under the warmth of the sun. y/n felt a peacefulness that she hadn’t experienced in ages. being here, with trent, surrounded by nothing but the vastness of the sea and the calm rhythm of the world, made everything else feel distant.

“this is perfect,” she said, her voice relaxed and content as she leaned back, her arms stretched out above her head.

“i’m glad you’re enjoying it,” trent replied, his eyes scanning her with an unreadable expression. there was something different in the way he was looking at her today, a deeper understanding in his gaze. “i’ve always liked the sea. it’s peaceful, you know? no noise, no chaos—just... you and the water.”

“yeah,” y/n murmured. “i feel the same way. i think that’s why i like being by the ocean so much.”

they both fell silent for a moment, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water against the hull of the yacht. it was a comfortable silence, one that felt natural and easy between them.

“you know,” trent said, breaking the quiet, “i never thought i’d enjoy a day like this. just... doing nothing.”

“it’s not nothing,” y/n replied softly, her eyes meeting his. “it’s everything. sometimes the best days are the ones where you don’t have to do anything except be present.”

he smiled at that, his expression softening. “you’re right. it’s just... being with you here, like this. it feels... real, you know?”

“i know,” y/n said, her heart fluttering slightly in her chest. the way he spoke, the way he was looking at her—it felt like the beginning of something more than just a day spent together. it felt like the start of something that could change everything.

they spent the rest of the day on the water, drifting lazily from one beautiful spot to another, taking in the sights and enjoying each other’s company in a way that felt effortless. trent was more relaxed than she had ever seen him, his usual confident demeanor replaced with a quiet calmness. and y/n, for the first time in what felt like ages, felt like she could simply be herself—no expectations, no pressure, just her and trent, enjoying the simplicity of the day.

as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, y/n found herself lying next to trent on one of the sunbeds. she had her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and for a brief moment, the world felt completely still.

“i’m glad we did this,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“me too,” trent replied softly, his hand lightly brushing against hers. “i think this is one of my favorite days.”

“mine too,” y/n murmured, her eyelids fluttering closed as the warmth of the day and the softness of his touch made her feel safe and content.

as the yacht slowly made its way back to the harbor, the sounds of the city growing louder in the distance, y/n realized that this day had been more than just a chance to relax. it had been a moment of connection, a step closer to understanding what they could have together. and as trent’s hand gently intertwined with hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of something bigger than either of them could have predicted.

race day arrived with a palpable buzz in the air, the streets of monaco crowded with fans, cars zooming by, and the sound of engines roaring in the distance. the day felt electric, like the entire world was on the edge of something incredible, and y/n couldn’t help but feel her excitement build as she stood next to trent, her hand firmly clasped in his.

the paddock was a whirlwind of activity, engineers rushing around, teams prepping their cars, and journalists snapping photos. yet, amidst the chaos, it felt as though everything had slowed down when she looked at trent. the two of them, hand in hand, moving through the throng of people, a quiet bubble of space surrounding them.

as they approached the ferrari garage, trent squeezed her hand gently. “i thought you might want to watch with your favorite team today,” he said with a grin, his voice low and teasing.

y/n stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening in complete surprise. “wait—what?” her voice caught in her throat, and she felt her heart leap into her chest. she glanced at the garage in front of her, and her excitement erupted, almost too much to contain. “you’re—seriously—i can watch with ferrari?” she asked, a laugh of disbelief escaping her.

before she could process the words, she was already launching herself into his arms, her hands clutching onto his neck as she practically leaped into his chest. trent’s hands immediately went around her waist to steady her, his grip instinctively tightening as she buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with happiness.

he chuckled softly, a warm sound against her ear, the corners of his lips curling up into a smile as he held her close. “didn’t expect that kind of reaction, did you?”

“this is—this is everything, trent!” y/n laughed, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. “i can’t believe you did this for me!”

“well,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes, “you’ve been talking about ferrari non-stop since we got here, so i thought... why not give you the chance to see them up close?”

her joy was overwhelming, and without thinking, she found herself leaning up and planting a quick, impulsive kiss on his lips. it wasn’t the kind of kiss she had planned—it was a rush, a burst of emotion she couldn’t contain, a kiss sparked by the pure joy of the moment. it was soft at first, but as soon as their lips met, something inside of her snapped. the kiss deepened, the overwhelming happiness and excitement flowing into that single, unexpected moment.

trent froze for a split second, as if unsure what to do, before his hands moved instinctively to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. the kiss felt electric, something neither of them had anticipated, a perfect mix of surprise and desire.

it didn’t last long—just a few seconds—but when they pulled away, both of them were breathless. y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing, trying to figure out what had just happened. her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and she couldn’t meet trent’s eyes, feeling the heat of the moment linger between them.

trent cleared his throat softly, his own breath coming in slightly quicker than usual. “uh... i didn’t... expect that.”

“me neither,” y/n whispered, still stunned by what had just happened. she tried to compose herself, but her hands were still trembling slightly as she pulled back. “i’m sorry. i just—i don’t know what came over me.”

trent laughed softly, running a hand through his hair as he tried to regain his own composure. “don’t apologize. i... didn’t mind,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, almost playful, but there was a hint of something else there too—something softer. “but if you kiss me every time i do something nice for you, i’m gonna need a little more incentive.”

y/n’s eyes widened slightly at the teasing in his tone, and she couldn’t help but laugh nervously, trying to cover up the sudden fluster of emotions she felt. “oh, please. i’ll leave you to your ferrari then. i’m sure you’ll get plenty of incentives to do nice things for me,” she teased back, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

but deep down, her heart was racing for an entirely different reason. it wasn’t just about the kiss—it was the connection, the intensity that had been building between them for days, and how, in that moment, it felt like everything had shifted. but instead of overthinking it, she allowed herself to simply enjoy the magic of it all.

“you’ll get plenty of ferrari time, trust me,” trent said with a wink, his voice lighter now. “but let’s head over and get you situated first, yeah? we’ve got the best view in the house.”

y/n nodded eagerly, still reeling from the kiss. she squeezed his hand tighter as they approached the ferrari garage, both of them aware of the sudden shift in their dynamic, but neither of them quite ready to say anything about it.

as they entered the garage, the team was already prepping the cars for the upcoming race, and y/n felt her heart flutter in her chest at the sight. the red and white cars gleamed under the lights, and she couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. trent had outdone himself, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like they were just friends or casual acquaintances—it felt like something more.

y/n stood alone in the ferrari garage, her heart still racing from the thrill of being surrounded by her favorite team. the energy in the air was electric, and she soaked it all in—the mechanics hustling around, the cars revving, the intensity of the moment. it was everything she’d hoped for, and more. but as much as she tried to focus on the race prep, her mind kept drifting back to trent.

she hadn’t realized how much she’d gotten used to his presence until it was gone. a part of her missed him more than she expected. even with all the excitement around her, there was this undeniable pull, an ache she couldn’t ignore. she turned to the intern who had been helping her, still trying to maintain her excitement. “thank you for everything,” she said with a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes completely. “i’m gonna go check in on my boyfriend, if that’s okay.”

the intern gave her a nod, clearly understanding y/n’s need to leave. “of course, go ahead. enjoy!”

y/n didn’t waste another second. she quickly left the ferrari garage, the buzzing atmosphere fading as she stepped back into the corridor, and made her way toward the alpine garage, knowing exactly where trent would be. her steps quickened, her heart picking up pace with each one. she could feel him pulling her back, and before she knew it, she was standing just outside the alpine garage.

her eyes scanned the area until she spotted him—trent, focused on the engineers, his back to her as he listened intently to the discussions. without a second thought, she crept quietly behind him, the sound of her steps muffled by the noise of the paddock. standing just behind him, she reached out, her fingers slipping through his, the soft touch almost an unspoken request for connection.

trent froze at the unexpected warmth of her fingers, his body stiffening before he turned, surprised to find y/n standing there with a playful smile. his gaze softened immediately, and his lips parted in surprise. “y/n,” he said, his voice low, almost in disbelief. “you... you’re here?”

y/n shrugged, the smile never leaving her lips. “missed you,” she said, her tone casual, as if they’d said it a million times before. there was an ease in the way she spoke, as though her words were just the simple truth, something that had become second nature.

trent’s heart skipped a beat. “i missed you too,” he replied, a smile tugging at his lips. but then his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes scanning her face. “but what about your ferrari?”

y/n laughed softly, shaking her head as she leaned a little closer, her fingers still intertwined with his. “i would rather watch with you, if that’s okay,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “if you don’t mind, that is.”

trent’s chest tightened, but it wasn’t from surprise—it was from something else. something deeper. he wanted to say something, to respond with words that made sense, but instead, he found himself smiling at her again, as if this moment was exactly where he wanted to be.

he stepped closer, his hand squeezing hers gently, as if to reassure her that this was exactly where she belonged. “of course,” he said, his voice quieter now, the air between them thick with an unspoken understanding. “it’s more than okay. you know that.”

y/n’s smile widened, the connection between them deepening with just those few words. she squeezed his hand back before leaning in just slightly, her cheek brushing against his shoulder as they stood there together in the alpine garage, the world continuing to buzz around them, but for a moment, everything else faded away.

“thank you,” she whispered, the words so soft they could have been lost to the noise around them, but trent heard them, his heart stirring in response.

“no need to thank me,” he said quietly, his thumb grazing over her knuckles. “this... this is where i want to be.”

y/n tilted her head slightly, glancing up at him. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he answered, his voice warm, the sincerity in his words clear. there was no pretending, no games—just the truth, raw and honest. “with you.”

she felt a flutter in her chest at his words, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the heat of the sun overhead or the intensity of the race. for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“so, you’ll watch with me then?” trent asked again, his hand still firmly in hers, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

“yeah,” y/n said softly, her smile finally matching the joy in her heart. “i’ll watch with you.”

and as they walked side by side into the alpine garage, the world of racing, the paddock, the noise, and the excitement all seemed to blur into the background. for that moment, it was just the two of them, and it was exactly enough.

after a long, thrilling day in monaco, the buzz of the race still lingered in the air, but the hotel room offered a sanctuary of quiet. the lights of the city stretched out beyond the massive window where y/n stood, her silhouette bathed in a soft glow. monaco's music drifted faintly from the streets below, but inside, the silence between her and trent was almost deafening.

y/n’s thoughts were a tangled mess. the adrenaline from the day still coursed through her, but it wasn’t just the race, the excitement, or even the glamour of monaco that had her heart racing. it was trent—the way he smiled at her, the way his touch lingered a second too long, the way his presence filled every empty corner of her mind. it was becoming harder to ignore the feelings she had fought so hard to suppress.

trent, standing by the bed, had been quiet, his movements deliberate as he shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. his gaze kept flickering to her, the tension in the room palpable. he didn’t say anything at first, but y/n could feel the weight of his eyes on her.

in the window’s reflection, their gazes met. his stare was intense, burning, and y/n’s breath hitched. her body tensed under the force of his attention, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

she turned slowly, her chest tightening as she faced him. “what?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted an answer.

trent took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “nothing,” he murmured, though the way his gaze darkened told her everything. “you’re just… standing there like you’re trying to drive me crazy.”

her lips quirked into a small, teasing smile. “you’re imagining things.”

“am i?” he asked, his voice low, rough. the way he looked at her now was different—more certain, more determined.

she didn’t answer. couldn’t. the space between them seemed to shrink with each breath, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like it might snap.

trent crossed the room in a few measured strides, stopping just short of her. his hand lifted, brushing against her bare shoulder, and y/n shivered at the warmth of his touch.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening.

she nodded, though her throat felt dry. “yeah,” she whispered. “it’s just been a long day.”

his hand slid down her arm, his touch light but firm. “long but good?”

“really good,” she said, her voice barely steady.

trent’s eyes searched hers, and for a moment, he seemed hesitant, as though teetering on the edge of a decision. then, as if something inside him snapped, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly—testing, tentative.

y/n froze for half a second, her mind screaming at her to stop, to think, but her body had other plans. she kissed him back, her lips parting slightly as his deepened the kiss, his hand cupping her jaw to angle her closer. her fingers found the fabric of his shirt, clutching at it as if he might slip away.

his kiss was slow but deliberate, every movement purposeful, every touch igniting something deep inside her. the heat between them was undeniable, and as his lips trailed to her jaw, down to her neck, she tilted her head, giving him more access.

“trent,” she whispered, his name slipping from her lips like a prayer.

he groaned softly against her skin, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush against him. “you drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

her breath caught, and she laughed softly, though it came out shaky. “you’re not exactly subtle, either.”

he pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes searching hers. “are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

she didn’t answer with words. instead, she tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers and sliding it off his shoulders. her fingers traced the lines of his chest, the heat of his skin burning under her touch. “does that answer your question?”

trent’s restraint snapped, and he kissed her again, this time harder, more desperate. their bodies pressed together as his hands roamed over her, exploring, claiming. y/n’s back hit the window as he pressed her against the cool glass, his lips never leaving hers.

her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck as she pulled him even closer. the room seemed to fade away, the only thing grounding her being the feel of him—his lips, his hands, the way his body seemed to fit perfectly against hers.

“you’re unbelievable,” he muttered against her lips, his voice low and filled with need.

“you’re one to talk,” she shot back, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him in for another kiss.

trent chuckled softly, his lips curling into a smirk. “you’re gonna be the death of me, y/n.”

“maybe,” she whispered, her voice teasing, her breath warm against his skin. “but what a way to go.”

and just like that, they were lost again, their lips crashing together as the night stretched out before them, filled with nothing but the sound of their breaths, their whispers, and the unspoken promise of something neither of them could deny anymore.

the morning after was a blur for y/n. she woke up wrapped in the warmth of the sheets, a soft light filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. everything felt surreal. the scent of trent still lingered on her skin, a reminder of last night—the kisses, the touches, the way everything had shifted between them. she felt like she was floating, as if her feet weren’t quite touching the ground.

it was the kind of happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. for the first time in ages, y/n felt at peace, like she was exactly where she needed to be. in that moment, nothing mattered except the way trent’s body had fit so perfectly with hers, how she had melted into him, and how, for a few hours, the world had felt small and warm and right.

but as she shifted slightly, rolling onto her side to look at him, the cloud of happiness hanging over her began to crack. trent was still asleep beside her, his body relaxed, the soft rise and fall of his chest calming her own heart. he looked peaceful, his hair a little mussed, his face softened by sleep.

y/n sat up slowly, her fingers running through her hair as she tried to collect her thoughts. she shouldn’t have let herself get this carried away. the night had been amazing, but it was just that—one night. she could already feel the walls inside her starting to rebuild, the defense mechanisms she’d spent years perfecting slowly creeping back.

her heart skipped a beat when trent stirred, stretching lazily before his eyes fluttered open. he blinked a few times, his gaze softening when he saw her sitting there, still in a haze, the warmth of the room reflecting in her eyes.

“morning,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, a half smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“morning,” she murmured, her own voice hoarse, though she tried to hide it.

he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her more fully. “you sleep well?”

she nodded, her heart in her throat. “yeah. better than I have in a while.”

his smile widened, but there was something distant in his gaze—something that made y/n’s stomach tighten. he seemed content, comfortable, and in that moment, she couldn’t help but think about the words that had been left unspoken.

“good,” trent said, his voice soft, almost absent. he seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment before he finally broke the silence.

“it was... good, last night,” he said, sitting up slightly, his hand brushing through his hair. there was a casualness in his tone, an almost too-casual air that made y/n's chest tighten. “just a... casual thing, right?” he added, his eyes meeting hers, but there was an unreadable expression on his face, like he was waiting for her response, as though he wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

y/n froze. her breath caught in her throat, and for a long moment, she couldn’t find the words. she had imagined this conversation would go differently, but she hadn’t prepared herself for the weight of it.

“yeah,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. she couldn’t bring herself to correct him—not when the truth was that part of her wanted it to be more, but she couldn’t say that. not yet. not when she wasn’t sure what this even meant.

he looked at her with a faint smile, his expression light, almost relieved. “right,” he said, as if it had all been settled in his mind. he reached over to the bedside table, grabbing his phone and scrolling through something, clearly shifting his attention. it made y/n’s heart sink, the distance between them suddenly feeling so much wider than it had been last night.

“i’m glad we’re on the same page,” trent muttered, his eyes still on his phone, though y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing now.

the weight of his words hung in the air like a cold draft, and y/n had to look away, pretending like it didn’t sting, pretending like she wasn’t suddenly questioning everything she thought she’d felt. she had known the risks—known that trent was the type to keep things casual—but for some reason, hearing him say it out loud, so casually, made her chest ache.

“me too,” y/n said quietly, her voice barely audible even to herself.

trent didn’t notice the shift in her mood, still distracted with whatever was on his phone. y/n tried to steady her breath, trying not to let the hurt show on her face. it wasn’t about him, not really—it was about her. she had let herself get caught up in something, and now, she was paying the price for it.

the silence stretched on, the weight of it pressing down on y/n’s shoulders. she felt like she was suffocating under the pressure of her own emotions. she had given him a piece of herself last night, something she rarely did, and now it felt like it meant nothing to him.

“well,” trent said after a moment, breaking the silence with an air of finality, “we should probably get ready for the day. the yacht club waits for no one.”

y/n froze, his words cutting through her like ice. the yacht club. of course. not a casual day to relax or something intimate—it was always about appearances.

she nodded, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “yeah, of course.”

she stood up from the bed, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling cold suddenly despite the warmth of the room. trent didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in whatever was on his phone, and y/n couldn’t help but feel like a fool. she had wanted this to be different. but now, she realized just how much of it had been her own hopes clouding her judgment.

as she walked to the bathroom, she couldn’t stop the way her heart clenched. trent’s words echoed in her mind, over and over again. just a casual thing, right?

and for the first time in a long time, y/n felt the weight of being undeserving of anything more.

y/n felt the bile rise in her throat as she walked into the bathroom, her hands shaking as she gripped the sink. the weight of what had just happened hit her like a wrecking ball. she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. how had she let herself get here again? she had convinced herself it was different this time, that it was more than just another one-night thing. but the moment trent had spoken those words, it all came crashing down.

it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her, leaving her sinking into an abyss of sadness and self-loathing. the warmth of the bed, of his arms around her, felt like a lie now. she had let herself feel too much, let herself believe in something that wasn’t real. and she had been so stupid. she had fallen for it again. she had given him everything—her body, her heart, her trust—and all he had done was take it.

her stomach turned, and she leaned over the sink, the tears welling up, blurring her reflection in the mirror. how could she have been so foolish?

the realization hit her like a wave crashing onto rocks. she was just another hookup. it was the same story, over and over again, with every guy she let close. they take what they want, and then they walk away, leaving her broken and used.

she stood there for what felt like an eternity, the sobs wracking her body, her chest tight with the weight of the heartbreak that felt so familiar but still so crushing. why couldn’t she be enough?

by the time trent was out of the shower and getting dressed, y/n had managed to pull herself together, wiping away the tears and quickly splashing cold water on her face, trying to hide the redness. but the heaviness in her chest was undeniable. she couldn’t bear to face him right now. how could she look at him? how could she pretend she was okay when all she wanted to do was cry?

when he entered the room, still pulling on his shirt and looking distracted, he paused when he noticed she wasn’t moving, still standing by the window, staring out at the bright monaco skyline, as if she were miles away.

“hey,” trent said, his voice light, but there was a hint of concern when he noticed how quiet she was. “you okay?”

y/n didn’t turn around. she kept her back to him, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the window frame. she couldn’t bring herself to face him right now. how could she, when all she felt was emptiness and betrayal?

“yeah, I just… I don’t feel well,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loud would shatter the fragile hold she had on herself. “I’m… I’m going to stay back.”

trent was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was gentle but tinged with confusion. “oh,” trent said, straightening his cuffs. “you sure? the yacht club’s one of the best of monaco. it’s your chance to experience it to the fillies. it’s gonna be fun—you don’t want to miss it.”

her chance? the words stung, but she swallowed it down, forcing her voice to stay steady. “I’m too sick, trent. I’m sorry.”

there was a pause, then a small sigh from him. y/n could hear him walking over to his bag, zipping it up, the sound of his movements in the background. “alright,” he said, his tone softening just a little. “if you’re sure. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“feel better, okay?” he added, while press ing a chaste kiss on her head and y/n could hear the lightness in his voice, like he had already moved past whatever this moment was. just a casual thing, right?

she didn’t respond. didn’t want to. didn’t have it in her.

when she heard the door close behind him, the tears that had been held back finally broke free. she sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, letting herself fall apart completely. the ache in her chest was unbearable. how many times would she let herself be treated like this?

the day stretched on as she lay there, heartbroken and hollow, crying uncontrollably. she didn’t care that it was race day. she didn’t care that the sun was shining, that monaco was alive with excitement. all that mattered was the silence left in the wake of trent’s absence.

y/n let herself cry, letting the sadness and the anger and the betrayal flood out of her. how had she let herself get this far, let herself care about him, only to have him walk away like it meant nothing?

the feeling of being nothing but a fleeting moment, something to pass the time, was suffocating. she had wanted so much more. but once again, she wasn’t worth more than a casual fling, a one-night thing.

and with each passing second, the hole inside her seemed to grow bigger, deeper. she thought about what she had done, how she had let herself believe in something that had never really been there. how had she been so naive?

she buried her face in the pillow, silently pleading with herself to stop, to let it go—but it was too late. everything had already broken. and now, all she could do was cry.

trent leaned against the railing of a yacht in monaco, his eyes scanning the turquoise waters as a warm breeze ruffled his shirt. the city’s energy hummed around him—laughing voices, the rev of engines, the clink of glasses—but it barely registered. he had busied himself for days, hopping between events, brushing shoulders with national teammates and celebrities, pretending to enjoy the chaos of the grand prix weekend. yet, there was a persistent knot in his chest, one he couldn’t shake.

it always came back to her.

he hadn’t heard from y/n since that morning when she said she wasn’t feeling well. she hadn’t replied to his texts or picked up his calls, and the silence was starting to eat at him. at first, he chalked it up to her needing space. after all,

the words echoed in his head like a taunt now. he frowned, taking a sip of his drink as one of his teammates clapped him on the back, dragging him into conversation. “where’s y/n?” the guy asked, looking around. “figured she’d be glued to your side this weekend.”

trent’s jaw tightened. “she wasn’t feeling well. stayed back at the hotel,” he replied evenly, though the words felt hollow.

“shame. she’s stunning, mate. i’m a huge fan. didn’t know you had it in you to land someone like that,” another player teased, grinning. “i can tell your whipped for her”

the question hit trent harder than it should have. he forced a chuckle, brushing it off with a noncommittal shrug. “just keeping it light, you know?” the words tasted bitter, but he said them anyway. it’s what people expected from him, wasn’t it? detached, easygoing, never tied down.

but as the hours dragged on, the usual distractions didn’t work. by the time he returned to the hotel, his patience was fraying. the suite was silent, the air eerily still. his eyes immediately fell on her phone, sitting abandoned on the nightstand. his heart sank.

she wouldn’t just leave without her phone, would she?

panic began to creep in as he moved through the room, checking for any sign of her. her bag was gone, but the small, familiar things she always carried—her lip gloss, a half-full water bottle, a pair of sunglasses—were still scattered around. it was like she’d vanished mid-thought.

trent sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his face. his mind raced with questions. where had she gone? why hadn’t she said anything?

this wasn’t him. this frantic, restless feeling—it wasn’t who he was. he was always the one in control, the one who kept his distance. but now, with y/n’s absence hanging heavy in the air, he felt like he was losing his grip.

he picked up her phone, staring at the blank screen as if it could give him answers. her last message played on a loop in his head: i’m not feeling well. had he missed something? had she been trying to tell him more?

his stomach twisted as guilt settled in. the memory of her standing by the window that morning, her back to him, came flooding back. she’d been quiet, distant, but he hadn’t pushed. he’d taken her words at face value and left, convincing himself that giving her space was the right thing to do.

but what if it wasn’t?

trent stood abruptly, pacing the room as his frustration mounted. this was the opposite of what he’d promised himself. he didn’t get attached. he didn’t let anyone in enough to feel like this—unmoored, desperate, helpless. but y/n had slipped past every defense he’d put up, and now, with her gone, the void she left behind was unbearable.

he grabbed his phone, scrolling through their messages, rereading her last text for the tenth time. his fingers hovered over the call button, but he knew it wouldn’t help. her phone was here. wherever she was, she didn’t want him to find her.

the thought sent a sharp pang through his chest. trent sank back onto the bed, his head in his hands, as the weight of it all hit him. he had no idea where y/n was, no way to reach her, and the realization was suffocating.

for the first time in as long as he could remember, trent felt completely out of control. and it terrified him.

the night in monaco felt different to y/n. the glamour of the city, the lights flickering like stars above her, did nothing to lift the heaviness that had settled in her chest. it had been building all day, the weight of the realization that she was just another fleeting moment to trent. she felt like she was suffocating under it.

trent, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious. before he left, he tried to pull her closer, but she didn’t respond in the way he expected. there was no playful teasing, no soft laughter—just a wall between them, one he couldn’t see, one she had built up with all the hurt she felt.

as she left the room, her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. she stepped out into the cool, crisp night air, breathing in deeply, trying to steady herself. the streets were alive with the hum of activity, but it felt like the world was moving in slow motion around her. she had been here before—alone, questioning everything, wondering how she always ended up in the same place. why was she always the one left behind?

she wandered down the streets, her footsteps echoing against the cobblestones, each one feeling heavier than the last. she walked with no real destination, just trying to distance herself from the hotel, from trent, from everything that had happened.

eventually, she found herself near the docks, an alcove tucked away from the busy streets. she sat down, letting her legs dangle over the edge, staring out at the water. the calmness of the sea did nothing to ease the storm inside her. her heart felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. she had given so much, trusted so much, and for what? another empty promise?

how did she get here again?

y/n thought back to the way she had felt when she first met trent, how easy it had all seemed. it was different then, right? but now, the more she thought about it, the more it all felt like a game to him. she had wanted to believe in the tenderness, in the soft words they shared, but in the end, it was just another night. another night of being used, being tossed aside.

and for what?

her mind kept going in circles, the same questions, the same doubts. had she meant anything to him? or was she just a distraction, a pretty face to keep him entertained while he was away from his usual life? she wanted to believe that they had something real, but everything he had done—everything he hadn’t done—told her otherwise.

a tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly, embarrassed by how weak she felt. this wasn’t her. she had always been strong, always been the one who kept her heart guarded, kept it safe. so why had she let him in? why had she been so stupid, so naive?

she stared down at the water, her reflection barely visible in the ripples. did she really become forgotten once again?

a deep sigh escaped her lips as she pulled her knees to her chest, curling in on herself. her heart was a heavy weight in her chest, a burden she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she tried. all the walls she had built around herself seemed to have crumbled with trent, and now she was left standing in the ruins, wondering if she would ever be able to rebuild.

she stayed there for what felt like hours, just lost in her own thoughts, until the sounds of the docks started to fade, and the city’s lights blurred into the distance. her mind was spinning, her heart aching, and no matter how much she tried to focus on anything else, all she could think about was how much she had trusted him—and how much it hurt to realize that trust had been misplaced.

finally, she stood, her legs shaky from sitting so long. she didn’t want to go back to the hotel, didn’t want to face him, but she had no choice. her steps were slow, heavy, as if the weight of the night had settled into her bones. she wasn’t sure what she was going back to—more lies, more pain, more broken promises. but she knew one thing for sure: she had to face him, even if her heart was already shattered beyond repair.

y/n stepped through the lobby doors of the hotel, her body heavy with exhaustion. the night air clung to her skin, and though monaco's glitz and glamour buzzed outside, she felt none of it. her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, and her head hung low, a visible shield against the world.

the elevator ride felt interminable, and when the doors opened to their suite, she braced herself. trent was sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly. the moment he saw her, his head snapped up, relief flashing across his face before it quickly hardened into something sharper.

"where the hell have you been?" his voice was low but taut, like he was holding himself together by a thread.

y/n didn’t answer immediately, her fingers working at the hem of her jacket as she stepped inside, letting the door click softly shut behind her.

"seriously, y/n. you left your phone here. you disappeared for hours, and we—" he paused, standing now, his brows furrowing. "we had appearances today. i tried calling you. multiple times.”

she shrugged, the movement slow and detached. "guess i forgot." her voice was soft, void of its usual spark, and she avoided his gaze entirely as she walked further into the room.

"forgot?" trent repeated, disbelief laced with irritation. "this isn’t just about forgetting your phone, y/n. you were gone. i didn’t know where you were. do you have any idea—" he stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "you can’t just disappear like that. especially not today."

"oh, right," she said bitterly, finally looking up at him. her expression was tired, but her voice carried a quiet sting. "the appearances. i forgot that’s what this was."

trent froze, her words sinking in like a stone thrown into still water. she wasn’t yelling or defensive; she sounded… defeated. like she didn’t even have the energy to fight him.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone softening slightly.

she let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "it doesn’t matter, trent. i was gone. i’m back. let’s just drop it, yeah?"

"no," he said firmly, stepping closer to her, his eyes searching her face. "no, i’m not dropping it. you’ve been off since this morning, and now you’re acting like this whole thing doesn’t matter. what’s going on with you?"

"nothing," she said quickly, too quickly. "i’m just tired."

but trent wasn’t convinced. the way her shoulders slumped, the way her voice wavered—it wasn’t just tiredness. it was something deeper. and it didn’t sit right with him.

"y/n," he started, his voice quieter now, but she cut him off.

"i’m fine, trent. just let it go." she moved past him, heading toward the bedroom, her movements sluggish.

he stood there for a moment, watching her retreating form, his frustration mingling with concern. this wasn’t like her. she wasn’t just fine—he could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. something was wrong, and it gnawed at him that she wouldn’t let him in.

“you’re not fine,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand over his face. he wanted to push, to demand answers, but the way she had looked at him just now—like the fight had already drained out of her—made him pause.

in that moment, for the first time in forever, trent felt completely unsure of what to do. and it terrified him.

the hum of the plane was constant, filling the quiet tension between them. trent sat in the aisle seat, his elbows resting on the armrests as he stole glances at y/n beside him. she was pressed up against the window, her headphones on, her gaze fixed on the endless expanse of clouds outside. her face was void of its usual light, her features distant and unreadable.

he had tried to speak to her earlier, but every attempt was met with short, clipped responses, or worse—silence. and now, watching her, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was deeply wrong.

she hadn’t been herself since monaco, since—

trent stopped his thoughts abruptly, shifting in his seat. he didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to believe that that night had anything to do with this. everything had seemed fine until then.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly, leaning closer, his voice cutting through the low hum of the cabin.

y/n didn’t turn to him. didn’t even flinch. she simply nodded, her fingers fidgeting with her headphones. “i’m fine,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

but she wasn’t fine, and he knew it.

“you’ve been quiet,” he said, his tone careful, like he was afraid of pushing too hard. “more than usual. is it something i said? something i did?”

her chest tightened at his words, her stomach twisting painfully. she shook her head, still staring out of the window. “it’s nothing, trent. just tired.”

tired. she kept saying that, like it could explain the hollowness he saw in her eyes, the way she avoided his gaze, the way she had disappeared without a word in monaco.

trent leaned back in his seat, his jaw tightening. he hated this, hated not knowing how to fix whatever had gone wrong. “you disappeared for hours,” he said softly, almost to himself. “i thought something happened to you.”

“i’m here now,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion.

“but you weren’t,” he pressed, frustration creeping into his tone. “you just left. didn’t tell me where you were going, didn’t answer your phone. and now—” he stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “now you’re acting like i don’t even exist.”

her throat tightened, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. acting like he doesn’t exist. she wished he didn’t, wished she could erase the memory of his hands on her skin, his voice murmuring soft words in the dark. but it was there, imprinted on her, and it made her feel sick.

she closed her eyes briefly, willing herself to stay composed. “i said i’m fine, trent. can we just drop it?”

but he couldn’t drop it. not when every instinct told him that she was hurting, that something was deeply wrong. “you can’t just shut me out like this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “i care about you, y/n. i—”

“stop,” she cut him off, finally turning to face him. her eyes met his for the first time, and the pain in them made his chest ache. “please, just stop.”

trent stared at her, his words caught in his throat. he didn’t understand. everything had been fine. better than fine. they had laughed, talked, connected in a way that felt natural, effortless. and then—

then they had slept together.

he pushed the thought away again, refusing to believe that it was the cause of this sudden shift. but the way she looked at him now, like being near him was unbearable, made doubt creep into his mind.

when the plane landed, y/n stood quickly, grabbing her bag and avoiding his gaze as she moved toward the exit. trent followed close behind, his mind racing.

outside the terminal, the cold uk air hit them like a slap. trent pulled his jacket tighter around himself, watching as y/n stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, her eyes downcast.

“so… what now?” he asked, his voice cautious.

she glanced at him briefly, her expression guarded. “i’ll be busy for a while. i need to work on the album.”

“busy?” he repeated, frowning. “for how long?”

“i don’t know,” she said, her voice flat. “a while.”

trent’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “y/n, can you just—”

“trent, please,” she interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. she swallowed hard, shaking her head. “i can’t do this right now.”

he stared at her, the words dying on his tongue. there was something final in her tone, something that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“is this about monaco?” he asked finally, his voice quiet.

her body stiffened, and she let out a shaky breath, her eyes darting to the ground. she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see the tears that threatened to spill.

“i have to go,” she said instead, her voice barely above a whisper. she turned away before he could respond, her steps quick and purposeful.

trent watched her go, his chest tightening with a mix of confusion and helplessness. he didn’t understand what had gone wrong, didn’t know how to fix it. but as he stood there, the weight of her absence already settling over him, one thing was clear—this wasn’t just about monaco.

trent watched her walk away, the hollow space between them growing wider, feeling the unsettling ache of losing something he didn’t fully understand.

83 notes · View notes

kiryoutann · 4 months ago

Text

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TRIGGER WARNING: PAST SUICIDAL IDEATION, attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

111 notes · View notes