#WHAT A THING TO BE WITH YOU AND HAVE NO WORDS FOR IT
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‧₊˚ ⋅ i'll show you, rafe cameron
stepbro!rafe x fem!reader
masterlist
synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.
warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.
word count. 4k.
author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!
it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.
it's the perfect moment.
rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.
you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.
rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.
what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.
and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.
well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...
you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.
somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.
the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.
how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.
before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on —this way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.
how are you supposed to know which one to pick?
you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.
"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.
well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.
you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.
"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."
"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.
the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.
"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.
you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.
"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."
"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.
if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.
honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.
"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.
it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.
"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.
there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.
"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"
he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.
"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.
"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"
your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."
"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."
to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?
"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.
"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."
only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.
god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.
"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.
he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.
he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.
your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.
he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."
"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.
the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.
the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.
"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."
"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.
your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.
you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.
as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.
you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.
rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.
he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.
his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.
"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.
rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.
"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."
his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.
your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.
rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."
you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.
"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"
rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.
"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.
your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.
taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.
"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.
you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.
he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.
he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"
you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.
"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.
withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.
rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.
after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.
"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.
you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.
rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.
"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.
heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.
and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.
when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.
"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.
you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.
"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"
"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.
"such a good girl," he praises.
at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.
he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.
suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?
he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.
"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "I'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."
you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?
it's just the tip.
"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.
rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.
"rafe," you whimper.
rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.
he can't fucking take this anymore.
with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"jesus, fuck." he grunts.
your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.
"gonna– might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."
your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.
you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.
this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.
you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.
"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"
you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.
after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.
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PART 2 OF PRISONER!GETO
prisoner!geto who can’t stop thinking about late at night, getting so worked up and horny, the most horny he’s been in a while. He’s pulling his pants down, closing his eyes while he pictures the way your scrubs clung to your body and showed off your ass. He thanks god he doesn’t have a bunkie or else he’d be in a real awkward position. He purposely gets into another fight a week later, the wound on his lip opening back up. He’s smiling to himself as he gets walked to the infirmary knowing he’ll see you there.
“Not you again,” you sigh.
“Told you I’d see you soon, doctor.” He sits on the small bed, watching as you put on gloves and examine his busted lip. He can tell you’re avoiding eye contact with him, trying your hardest to ignore his stares and slight touches. “Have you thought about my offer yet?” He asks.
You gulp, blinking as you rub the ointment over his wound. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play stupid, but you remember your last conversation so clearly. It makes you nervous. All he does is laugh.
“Come on. I’ll even beg.” He grabs your wrist, slowing pulling it down, a smug smirk on his handsome face. “You telling me you haven’t thought about it once since we last seen each other?” He whispers. He parts his legs, pulling you in between them. And god, you smell so good. So sweet. He could just eat you up right here.
You stand there, unable to form words because as much as you want to say no, you want to say yes. He makes your heart race and your pussy wet. What a sly bastard. With his stupid tattoos, muscles, hair and chiseled face. You hate how much effect he has on you.
“Listen,” he rubs a hand down your waist, “meet me in the supply closet by the showers during lunchtime if you’re really down.” He flashed a smile before standing to his feet and walking out the infirmary. “Bye, bye, doctor.”
Come lunchtime, you walked through the halls of the prison, mentally cursing at yourself. It’s just one time, one time. You bet he won’t even be there, that he’s just playing a stupid joke cause he’s bored with himself. And as you reach out to open the supply door, your heart beats against your ribcage, looking around to find the halls empty. You step in, seeing him leaning against the wall, the faint rays of light allowing you to make out some of his features. “Well, look who it is,” he chuckles. “Came here to help me out, doc?” He walks over to you, trapping you between him and the door.
“Shut up already and let’s get it over with.” You smash your lips on his, kissing him with such urgency and fervor. His large hands grab at your ass, squeezing and groping it as he pushes you against the wall, knocking a few things over. You both pull away, breathing heavily, lips swollen. “We gotta be quick,” you whisper, undoing his jumpsuit while he pulls down your pants.
“More eager than I am, huh?” He teases, earning an eye roll from you. “Come here.” He bends you over the small wooden table, snatching your panties off and getting a good feel of your ass. His dick jumps, pre cum already leaking from the swollen tip. He’s already so worked up, so ready to feel your wet and tight cunt. “Fuck,” he grunts, running his head over your sopping slit, nudging your clit slightly. “Already so fucking wet.”
He pushes his throbbing tip past your folds, a small gasp leaving your lips when you feel how thick he is. Inch by inch you feel the stretch, you mouth agape as you try and grow accustomed to his size. Geto’s entire body shivers, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you’re sure he’d leave marks. “Ohhh shit,” he lets out a shaky breath. God, it’s been so fucking long since he’s had some good pussy and he can already tell he won’t last long. He finally bottoms out, feeling your walls clench around his length, sucking him in. “My god,” he laughs in your ear. “Lemme just enjoy this feeling—fuckkk—for a moment,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut.
He finally starts moving his hips, feeling his tip press against your cervix with each thrust. With each passing second, he gets faster, fucking your harder and rougher, your pussy has got him in a trance. “Pussy feels so fucking good,” he grips your hips, pulling you back towards him so you can meet his thrusts. One of his hands reach around your throat, gripping it just enough as he pulls you back against his broad chest. “Do you fuck all of your patients or am I just special?” He jokes.
“Mmmm…shut—ah—up!” You cry out, whimpering when he presses up against you, finding a new angle that makes your eyes roll back. “Just keep fucking me,”you say with a raspy breath.
“Doctors orders.” He can feel the way your pussy leaks, your juices dripping down his shaft and make his cock ache like never before. It almost hurts. He hold you tighter against him, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room. “You take it so well,” he breathes against your skin, pressing wet kisses to your neck. “So fucking well.” His thrusts grow sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. But in the distance, he hears the guards walking down the hall. “Shh, shh, shh.” His hand covers your mouth, his thrusts becoming slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every pulse before hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.
Your eyes squeeze shut, trying your hardest to keep quiet, the guard getting closer and closer. Their keys jingle with each step and their voices grow louder. “Atta girl. You feel how fucking deep I am…shiittt. Keep fucking squeezing me like that—yeah, yeah you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” His brows furrow as he bites down as his bottom lip in attempts to contain his moans, but his abs tense up and his entire body shakes before he’s filling you up, stuffing you with his sticky, hot cum. “No, no, don’t you dare move. Just like thattt, oh yes!” His eyes roll back, still cumming. His pushes his cum deeper inside of you, feeling it leak back out before he finally pulls out.
Geto truly wishes he could’ve had more time with you. His mouth drooling over the mere thought of how you taste, wanting to make you cum on his tongue, but for now he’ll have to settle for this. “You came inside me, asshole!” You pull your pants back up, turning to face him.
“Couldn’t let it go to waste.” He reaches out and stroke your cheek. “Right?”
“Whatever.” You swat his hand away. “Where are my underwear?” You look around the dimly lit room before realizing he was holding them.
“I’ll be keeping these for later,” he swung them in your face before stuffing them in his pocket.
“You’re such a pervert.” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You have my cum running down your leg right now.” He places a finger under your chin, tilting it towards him as he leans down and kisses you slowly, his tongue sliding over yours before catching your bottom lip. “Mmm, thank you, doctor.” He smiles before kissing you once more.
You push him off of you, trying to process everything you just did right now. It was so wrong but it felt so right, so good, so intoxicating. “If it makes you feel any better, I get out in six months.”
“No. This was a one time thing.” You place a hand on his chest, shaking your head.
“Was it? Cause I don’t think it was. Not with the way your pussy was squeezing around me. It was almost like she was made for me.” He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes searches yours, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Yeah…it definitely isn’t the last time.”
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rafe having no boundaries and grabbing his girlfriend's ass in front of family during a family trip
A little Rafe and Sarah being siblings
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‘’Can you not do that here?’’ Sarah grimaced after Rafe wandered in and smacked your ass on his way to the fridge. ‘’We’re cooking. That’s gross.’’
You and Sarah had woken up earlier than everyone else and decided to whip some pancake batter. They were coming along nicely, slowly piling up on a plate.
Rafe rolled his eyes in response and leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘’Chill out, Sarah. I’m just saying ‘good morning’ to my girl.’’
Sarah scoffed, giving him a glare as you flipped out the pancake in the pan. ‘’Well, keep your 'good mornings' to yourself until after breakfast and when I’m not around, alright? I’ve seen and heard enough things I didn’t want to.’’
Your cheeks turned red and you kept your eyes on the pan, embarrassed as memories of Sarah catching you topless in their pool and all the times she heard you through the walls of Tannyhill before Rafe got his own place. You’ll never apologize to her enough.
‘’Stop acting like a prude. I’ve heard you on the phone with that pogue you’re seeing. Ahh, John B., I wish your fingers were inside me. I’m so close, I need to—’’
Sarah grabbed a blueberry and threw it at her brother, her face burning hot at his mockery. If eyes could kill, Rafe would be a dead man. She looked murderous.
Rafe smirked, unfazed by the blueberry that was thrown his way. He crossed his arms crossed over his broad chest, and his blue eyes flickered with amusement. ‘’These walls are old. Did you think I couldn’t hear you?’’
To avoid a Sarah vs Rafe duel from happening, you asked Rafe if he wanted chocolate chips or blueberries in his pancakes. You already knew the answer, but you needed to defuse the bomb before it would explode.
‘’Blueberries. You know how I like my pancakes, baby,’’ he said, pushing himself off the counter and closing the distance between you and him in a few strides.
Sarah shot a glare in his direction, her eyes narrowing, but Rafe chose to ignore her and kiss your shoulder, standing right behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back and resting his chin above your shoulder.
‘’Rafe, you’re distracting me,’’ you warned, pouring batter in the pan and adding some blueberries.
Rafe laughed lowly, his chest rumbling against your back as his arms wrapped tighter around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear, his lips lingering on your skin for a few seconds. ‘’These look good. Think we can take the pancakes to bed after you’re done?’’
Breakfast in bed, away from everyone else, sounded tempting. You've had breakfast with the Camerons since you arrived, sticking to the polite routine. You missed being alone with Rafe in the morning, taking it slow and engaging in non-PG activities.
Before you answered, Sarah cleared her throat beside you, a disapproving look on her face. Rafe thought he was subtle and sleek when he had his hand wander under your robe.
He lifted his head and gave her a cocky grin. ''What?''
‘’In case you forgot, I’m still here,'' the blonde recalled, taking a few plates from the cupboards and deciding to set the table. ‘’And Wheezie and Dad and Rose are gonna come down soon.’’
‘’I know,'' Rafe replied, stepping back and letting you finish the pancakes. ''If you had not been here, I would have her bent over the counter already.’’
His words should have shocked you, but you were used to his bluntness by now. Rafe never held back, always saying exactly what was on his mind, no matter how outrageous. No matter the audience. You thought he would behave and tone it down with Wheezie in the house, but he didn’t.
Thankfully, her young ears were not around.
You looked over your shoulder, failing at hiding the smirk that tugged at the corners of your lip.
—
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mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Max Verstappen could never be called a bleeding heart, he’s head of the mafia for crying out loud, but when his sister begs him to help her friend escape from an abusive marriage, he can’t help but be drawn to you … and do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe
Warnings: domestic violence, murder, and mentions of Jos Verstappen
The restaurant is loud, filled with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables. You sit across from Victoria, watching her tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she stirs her drink with the thin straw. The monthly dinner — the one you never miss — has always been a comfort. It’s the one place you can pretend, even if for just an hour or two, that everything in your life is … normal.
But tonight, Victoria’s eyes narrow as she looks at you. She sets the drink down, barely touched. “What’s that on your arm?”
You glance down quickly, tugging your sleeve further down. “What?” You say, trying to sound casual. Too casual. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t do that.” She leans forward, her voice lowering. “I saw it earlier when you were reaching for the breadbasket. Bruises.”
Your heart stumbles in your chest. You reach for the glass of water, but your hand trembles. You pull it back, trying to hide the shake. “V, I told you. It’s nothing. I-I’m just clumsy, you know?”
Her eyes lock onto yours, and the silence stretches between you both. The noise of the restaurant fades into the background, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears. She’s not buying it. She never has.
“You’re not clumsy,” Victoria says quietly, her voice cutting through the noise. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t break eye contact. “You’ve never been clumsy. Not like that.”
You swallow hard, feeling the lump form in your throat, the one you’ve been pushing down for months, years, who knows how long now. You try to smile, but it falters. “It’s really-”
“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “Please don’t lie to me.”
And that’s when it happens. The floodgates open. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. You don’t even have the strength to wipe it away. You just sit there, trembling, while Victoria watches, her expression filled with concern and something like anger. But it’s not at you.
“He-” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “He hits me, Victoria.”
The words hang there, suspended in the air between you, before they drop like stones into the pit of your stomach. You regret saying them the moment they leave your mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.
Victoria’s breath hitches. “Oh my God.”
You shake your head quickly, regretting it all, wishing you could pull it all back, pretend you never said anything. “No, no. It’s not — it’s not like that all the time. It’s just — sometimes he gets angry. You know how things can get.”
Victoria’s face hardens. “No, I don’t know. And don’t do that. Don’t downplay it.”
You bite your lip, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest. You can’t look at her. Not when her eyes are filled with that mixture of pity and anger. It makes you feel small, weak. But you can’t stop now. It’s all coming out, spilling over like a dam that’s cracked.
“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I can’t leave him, Victoria. I have nothing. I don’t have my own money. I don’t even have my own credit card. Everything is in his name. Everything.”
Victoria’s hand reaches across the table, grabbing yours. Her grip is firm, warm, grounding. “You don’t need money to leave him. You just need to get out.”
You blink away the tears, shaking your head, your throat tight. “I don’t even have enough for a lawyer. He’s smart, Vic. He’s careful. He makes sure I can’t-”
“I know a lawyer.” Victoria’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, steady and calm. “And he’ll take you on for free. Pro bono. No questions asked.”
You stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up with her words. For a moment, it feels like the world shifts, tilting on its axis. “A lawyer?” Your voice sounds foreign, like it’s coming from someone else. “For free?”
Victoria squeezes your hand tighter, her eyes sharp, determined. “Yes. For free. You don’t have to pay a dime. You just have to let me help you.”
“I-” You shake your head again, overwhelmed, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I can’t. I can’t just leave. What if-”
“What if what?” Victoria’s voice rises slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if he kills you? What if next time, it’s worse? You don’t have to live like this. You shouldn’t live like this.”
You pull your hand back, pressing it against your forehead, trying to stop the panic building inside you. “You don’t understand, Vic. It’s not that simple. He’ll know I’m planning something. He’s always watching, always checking up on me. And if I mess up, if I try to leave-”
Victoria interrupts, her voice fierce. “Then we’ll get you somewhere safe. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The tears come harder now, faster, as you sit there, your body shaking with the force of them. “I don’t know how I got here,” you manage between sobs. “I don’t know how it got this bad.”
Victoria gets up, sliding into the seat next to you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. She pulls you close, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel something other than fear. You feel the warmth of her friendship, the safety of her presence.
“You don’t have to stay, you hear me?” She whispers, her voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”
You shake your head, still clinging to that last thread of fear, of doubt. “He’ll come after me. He’ll find me.”
“No, he won’t.” Her voice is firm, stronger than you’ve ever heard it. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”
There’s a long silence between you, the weight of her words sinking in. You wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling, trying to catch your breath.
“I don’t know what to do,” you finally admit, your voice small, exhausted.
Victoria pulls back slightly, looking at you with those fierce eyes of hers. “You don’t have to know what to do right now. You just have to let me help you. One step at a time.”
You nod, but it’s more out of exhaustion than agreement. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by everything — by the bruises, the fear, the hopelessness. But there’s something else there too. Something small but growing. Hope.
Victoria squeezes your hand again, as if reading your thoughts. “We’ll get you out. I promise.”
You don’t say anything, because you’re not sure you believe her. But in this moment, sitting here in this crowded restaurant with your best friend by your side, it’s the first time in a long time you feel like maybe, just maybe, you have a way out.
***
Victoria doesn’t waste a second after dinner. The moment you part ways outside the restaurant, her mind is already racing, fingers scrolling through her phone for a contact she hasn’t dialed in months.
Max.
She knows exactly where he’ll be. He’s always at the penthouse late into the night — never sleeping until the early hours, always up to something. It’s been that way since their father passed. Even now, years after he took control of everything.
Her heels click sharply on the marble floors as she walks into the sleek, modern lobby of his building. The doorman gives her a polite nod — he knows who she is — but doesn’t stop her from heading straight for the private elevator.
The ride up is quick, the air tense. Victoria’s fingers twitch with nerves. She’s not scared of Max, not really, but talking to him about this — about you — feels different. She hasn’t brought him anything this personal in years. Ever since he took over their father’s operation, Max has become a closed book. Hard. Calculated. Cold, even.
The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and she steps into the hallway, making her way to the penthouse door. She doesn’t bother knocking. Max expects her by now.
The penthouse is a reflection of him — clean, sharp lines, monochrome tones, everything in its place. Expensive. Impenetrable. Just like him.
Max stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his back to her. The city lights cast shadows over his broad frame. He’s in a tailored suit, as always. Even at home, he’s never out of uniform, always dressed for business.
“Vic,” he says without turning around. He doesn’t need to see her to know it’s her. He always knows. “What brings you here at this hour? You usually text before showing up.”
Victoria exhales, trying to steady her nerves. “I need a favor.”
That gets his attention. Max turns, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they meet hers. He doesn’t say anything, just waits. That’s the thing about him — he never rushes, never speaks before thinking. It’s why he’s so dangerous. And effective.
“It’s not for me,” she adds quickly, stepping further into the room. “It’s for a friend.”
Max raises an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “A friend?”
She nods, hesitating for a moment. “It’s … complicated.”
He walks over to the bar, refilling his glass, then gestures toward it with a tilt of his head. “Drink?”
Victoria shakes her head. “No. I need you to listen.”
Max leans back against the bar, his eyes fixed on her. “I’m listening.”
She takes a deep breath, plunging in. “You remember Y/N? My friend from university?”
There’s the slightest flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment. He just waits for her to continue.
“She’s in trouble,” Victoria says, her voice lower now, as if speaking the words makes it more real. “Her husband — he hits her. She’s … she’s trapped. She can’t leave. He controls everything. All the money, the house, everything. She doesn’t have a way out.”
Max doesn’t react immediately, his face unreadable as always. But Victoria can tell he’s listening closely. He’s always been good at that, hearing what isn’t said.
“I told her you could help,” Victoria says, biting her lip. “I told her you’d represent her. Pro bono.”
Max raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “Pro bono?”
“You’re a lawyer, Max. And you’re the best I know.”
He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “I haven’t practiced law in years, Vic. You know that.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Victoria steps forward, her voice firm. “You’re still licensed, and you still know more than anyone else. She doesn’t have time to find another lawyer. She needs someone who can handle her husband — and he’s not just some random guy. He’s smart, careful. He knows exactly how to keep her under control.”
Max takes a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes flickering to the window before settling back on her. “And why should I get involved in this?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice hardens. “And because … you know what it’s like.”
Max’s jaw tightens, the first crack in his stoic exterior. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Victoria crosses her arms, stepping closer. “Dad used to beat the hell out of Mom. And you saw it, just like I did. You know what that does to someone. You know how trapped she must feel.”
Max’s eyes darken, but he stays silent, his grip tightening around the glass.
“She can’t do this alone, Max,” Victoria presses. “And I know you — if you get involved, you can get her out. You have the resources, the power. Hell, you’ve been running the goddamn mafia for the last six years. I’m pretty sure you can handle one abusive husband.”
Max’s expression hardens at the mention of the mafia. It’s a subject Victoria rarely brings up. But tonight, there’s no avoiding it.
Their father was a force of nature, larger than life, ruthless. A man who ruled with an iron fist both at home and in the underworld. But for all his power, for all his control, he had one weakness — his temper. And when he lost it, their mother bore the brunt of it. It’s a memory that neither Victoria nor Max can erase, no matter how many years have passed.
Their father insisted on education, though. “A smart leader is a dangerous leader,” he used to say. He forced both Max and Victoria to get degrees — real ones. Victoria went into business. Max chose law, not because he ever wanted to practice, but because he knew the value of understanding the system from the inside. It was a tool, a weapon he could wield in both worlds — the legitimate and the illegitimate.
When their father died, Max took over. It wasn’t a choice. It was an obligation. And he’s been running the empire ever since, using his legal expertise as just one more weapon in his arsenal.
But now, Victoria is asking him to use it for something different.
Max sets the glass down with a soft clink, walking over to the window. He looks out over the city, his hands in his pockets, the silence stretching between them.
“She’s scared, Max,” Victoria says quietly, her voice softer now. “She’s terrified, and she doesn’t know how to get out. I can’t just sit by and watch her go through this. And I know you won’t either.”
Max doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is distant, like he’s seeing something far beyond the city lights. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns back to her.
“What’s the husband’s name?” He asks, his voice low but sharp.
Victoria exhales, relief flooding her chest. She knew he wouldn’t turn her away. He never does. “Jonathan Harper.”
Max nods once, his expression unreadable. “I’ll look into him.”
“Thank you,” Victoria says, her voice barely above a whisper.
Max walks over to her, his eyes meeting hers with that intensity that always unnerves people. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation.
“Good,” he says, turning away again, already moving toward his desk. “Tell her I’ll take the case. But she needs to be ready. Once this starts, there’s no going back.”
Victoria nods, even though he’s not looking at her. “I’ll tell her.”
“And, Vic,” Max adds, his voice colder now, sharper, “you know what happens if this goes sideways. He’s not just some guy. I’m not going to pull punches if things get messy.”
Victoria swallows hard, but she doesn’t flinch. “I know.”
Max’s eyes flicker back to hers, and for the first time tonight, his expression softens, just slightly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
Victoria smiles, though it’s a sad smile. “I know you will.”
She turns to leave, her heart still racing, but lighter now. Max is involved. You’ll be safe. She’s sure of it.
Just as she reaches the elevator, Max’s voice stops her. “You’re a good friend, Vic.”
She turns, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite place — something softer than usual.
“So are you,” she says quietly.
The elevator doors close behind her, and for the first time that night, she allows herself to breathe.
***
It’s a quiet evening when you walk into Victoria’s house, your hands trembling slightly as you push the door open. The warm air from inside greets you, the faint scent of vanilla candles lingering in the air. But you can’t take any comfort in it. Your nerves are shot, and your heart hammers against your ribs with every step you take.
Victoria’s house is familiar, but tonight, it feels like foreign territory. You haven’t been here in months — haven’t been anywhere that felt safe in what feels like years. Your lips are swollen, your eye still tender to the touch, though the worst of the bruising has started to fade into ugly shades of green and yellow. You can feel the pulse of it beneath your skin with every beat of your heart, a constant reminder of what happened.
You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, especially not Victoria. And especially not her brother.
Victoria meets you at the door, her expression soft but concerned, her eyes immediately darting to your face. She’s trying not to show how horrified she is, but you can see it in the way her lips press together, in the tightening of her shoulders.
“Hey,” she says gently, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. Her arms are warm, firm around you, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into her.
“I’m fine,” you whisper, even though you know she doesn’t believe it.
She pulls back just slightly, looking at your face with a quiet sadness. “You don’t have to say that. Not with me.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “Is … is he here?”
“Max?” She asks, glancing over her shoulder toward the living room. “Yeah. He’s waiting inside. Don’t worry, he’s — he’s good at this kind of thing.”
Your stomach twists. You’ve never met Max properly. You’ve heard about him, of course. Victoria used to mention him all the time in university, back when he was in law school, back before he took over everything. But you’ve never been in the same room with him. And now? Now, it feels overwhelming.
You can’t stop thinking about how you look. How awful you must seem. A mess of bruises and broken pieces.
Victoria must sense your hesitation because she touches your arm lightly. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. But Max … he’ll help you. I swear.”
“I know,” you say, but your voice is small. “I just — I don’t want to waste his time. I can’t even pay him. I don’t have-”
“He knows,” Victoria interrupts, her voice firm. “I told him everything. He doesn’t care about the money, trust me.”
You glance toward the living room, anxiety tightening in your chest. “Okay.”
Victoria leads you inside, and you feel every step like it’s too heavy, like your body is made of stone. When you finally step into the living room, you see him — Max — sitting on the couch, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, assessing. He’s dressed in a black suit, the jacket hanging open, his tie loosened just slightly at the collar. His hair is slicked back, and his features are sharp, chiseled in a way that makes him look both intimidating and somehow … calm.
He stands when he sees you, but the moment his eyes land on your face, something changes in his expression. The cold calculation that had been there melts away, replaced by something much darker — something that looks a lot like fury.
For a moment, you think he’s angry at you, but then you realize it’s not you. It’s what’s been done to you.
“Jesus Christ,” Max mutters under his breath, his voice low, dangerous. He steps forward, but then stops himself, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “He did this to you?”
You don’t answer at first. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, the shame curling around your chest, making it hard to breathe.
Max looks at Victoria, and then back at you. His voice softens, though it’s still edged with that same cold anger. “Sit down. Please.”
You nod, moving to the couch opposite him, your body stiff, awkward. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone looking at you. But there’s no going back now.
Victoria sits beside you, her hand resting on your knee, offering silent support.
Max doesn’t sit back down. Instead, he stays standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gruff. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
You try to smile, but it’s weak, and your lip twinges with pain. “It’s … it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Max says, his voice sharper now, cutting through the air like a knife. “And it’s not going to happen again.”
You blink, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “I can’t — I can’t pay you, Max. I-I don’t have anything. Everything’s in his name. The house, the accounts … everything. I don’t even have a credit card.”
Max shakes his head, stepping closer. “You don’t need to pay me. That’s not why I’m doing this.”
Your throat tightens. “But I don’t want to-”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, his tone softer but still firm. “Don’t apologize. You don’t owe me anything. I’m going to help you, and I don’t need your money to do it.”
“But-”
“Listen to me,” Max says, sitting down across from you, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans in. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering. “I’ve seen this before. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. My father … he was the same way. He beat my mother for years, and she stayed because she thought she didn’t have a choice. But you do. You have a choice.”
You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you. “I just don’t know how to — how to leave. He controls everything. He’ll find me if I try to go. He always finds me.”
Max’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening. “Not this time. I promise you, once we start this, he won’t get near you again. We’ll make sure of it.”
Your heart pounds in your chest, the hope you’ve tried to bury for so long flickering faintly in the back of your mind. “But how? He’s … he’s smart. He’s careful. He’ll know if I try to leave.”
Max’s gaze sharpens, his voice low and deliberate. “He might be smart, but he’s not smarter than me. I’ll make sure we take him for everything he’s worth. You’ll get what’s yours, and he’ll have nothing.”
You stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he’s saying. It doesn’t feel real. The idea of being free, of having something — anything — of your own seems impossible. But the way Max says it, the confidence in his voice, makes it seem … possible.
Victoria squeezes your knee gently, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll take it one step at a time. But Max … he’s got this.”
You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears you’ve been holding back slip down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
Max leans back, his expression softening for the first time since you walked in. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to be anything but ready to fight back. And I’ll be right there with you.”
There’s a long silence in the room, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like you’re carrying it alone. Max’s presence is steady, strong, and somehow … comforting. You’re not sure how or why, but you feel like you can trust him. Like he’ll keep his word.
You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this.
***
The city lights flicker below, casting shadows on the polished floors of Max’s penthouse as he stands at the window, phone in hand. He’s never been the type to hesitate, but this call — it’s personal now. His jaw tightens as he stares out over the skyline, the weight of what he’s about to do settling in his chest.
You’re staying at Victoria’s tonight, safe for now. It’s been hours since Max left you there, but your face — the bruises, the haunted look in your eyes — still lingers in his mind. He can't shake it. The rage he felt earlier, seeing you like that, bubbles back up to the surface, but he channels it into cold calculation.
He dials the number Victoria had given him, the one listed under your husband’s name, Jonathan Harper. Max’s fingers are steady, even though his blood simmers beneath the surface. He presses the phone to his ear, waiting.
One ring.
Two rings.
On the third ring, the line clicks open, and a voice comes through, sharp and annoyed.
“Who the hell is this?” Jonathan’s voice is biting, laced with impatience. “It’s late. What do you want?”
Max takes a slow breath, his voice low, smooth as steel. “This is Max Verstappen. Y/N’s lawyer.”
There’s a pause, a brief one, and then Jonathan lets out a derisive snort. “Lawyer? She’s got a lawyer now? You’re joking, right? She can’t even afford to pay for groceries, let alone a lawyer.”
Max’s grip on the phone tightens. “She doesn’t need to worry about that. I’m representing her pro bono.”
Jonathan scoffs, the sound thick with disdain. “Pro bono? Let me guess, you’re one of those bleeding-heart types, huh? Think you’re gonna save the poor damsel in distress? She doesn’t need saving, you idiot. She knows her place.”
Max’s chest tightens, but his voice remains eerily calm. “Her place? The only place she’ll be is as far away from you as possible.”
Jonathan laughs, cold and condescending. “You think you can just take her away from me? She’s nothing without me. She doesn’t have a dime. She’s got no friends, no family that gives a damn. She’s worthless. The only reason she’s got a roof over her head is because of me.”
Max’s jaw clenches. “She’s filing for divorce.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, followed by a harsh, barking laugh. “Divorce? Is that what she told you? You must be even dumber than you sound. She can’t divorce me. She doesn’t have the guts. Besides, what’s she gonna get in the divorce? The clothes on her back? I own everything. And trust me, I’ll make sure she leaves with nothing.”
“You’re mistaken,” Max says, voice hardening. “She’s not walking away with nothing. You’re going to pay, and you’re going to pay big.”
“Pay?” Jonathan’s voice rises, anger seeping through now. “For what? For putting a roof over her head? For putting food in her mouth? I’ve been supporting her pathetic ass for years, and now she’s pulling this stunt? She’s nothing but an ungrateful little-”
Max cuts him off, his voice like ice. “Watch your mouth.”
The venom in Jonathan’s voice deepens. “I’ll say whatever the hell I want about her. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine. And you can’t change that, no matter what you do. You think a lawyer’s gonna scare me? I’ve seen your type before. You show up, throw around a few legal threats, and then crawl back under your rock when it doesn’t work out. But guess what? I’ve got a lawyer, too. And he’s ten times better than whatever pro bono hack you are.”
Max doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s heard men like Jonathan before. Hell, he’s dealt with men far worse. But something about this — about the way Jonathan talks about you — makes his blood boil in a way it hasn’t in years.
“You’re going to bring your lawyer,” Max says, his tone calm but laced with menace. “And you’re going to meet me. We’ll settle this properly. Or I’ll take you to court, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”
Jonathan spits another laugh. “You’re bluffing. You can’t take me to court. I’ll bury you, and I’ll bury her, too. You’ve got no case.”
Max’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You’d be surprised what I can do. I’m not just some lawyer. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
Jonathan’s tone shifts, unease creeping in for the first time. “Yeah? And who the hell are you?”
Max doesn’t answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, lets the weight of the question hang in the air. Then, quietly, but with the full force of his reputation behind it, he says, “I’m the man who’s going to destroy you.”
There’s a pause. Max can almost hear the gears turning in Jonathan’s head, the realization dawning. Jonathan doesn’t know the full story yet, but he’s starting to understand that Max isn’t just some random lawyer off the street.
“You think you’re tough?” Jonathan spits, but his voice falters, just slightly. “You think you can intimidate me? You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. I’ve got connections, money-”
“I don’t care about your money,” Max interrupts, his voice deadly calm. “And your connections? They mean nothing. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to meet me in person. Tomorrow. Noon. I’ll send you the location. Bring your lawyer. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a formality.”
Jonathan is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is colder, more calculated. “You think you can push me around? Fine. I’ll meet you. But don’t think for a second this is over. When I’m done, she’ll be crawling back to me, and you? You’ll wish you’d never gotten involved.”
Max’s lips curl into a grim smile, but there’s no humor in it. “We’ll see.”
With that, Max hangs up, the sound of the call ending echoing in the quiet room. He stares at the phone in his hand, his mind already working through the next steps, the strategies. But the rage — cold and burning at the same time — still simmers just beneath the surface.
He walks over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The burn of the alcohol does little to dull the edge of his anger, but it sharpens his focus. He thinks of you, your bruised face, the way you flinched when you talked about Jonathan.
Max doesn’t care about the money or the case. This isn’t about winning a legal battle. This is about something much bigger. Jonathan Harper is the kind of man Max despises — the kind of man who thinks he can take what he wants, hurt who he wants, without consequence.
Max has dealt with men like Jonathan his whole life. His father was one of them. He remembers the nights his mother spent hiding in their bedroom, her face swollen, her eyes red from crying. He remembers standing outside the door, helpless, listening to the sound of his father’s rage. He swore, even as a boy, that he would never be like his father. And now, he’s making sure men like him pay.
He takes another sip of whiskey, his thoughts hardening into resolve. Jonathan Harper has no idea what’s coming for him.
Max pulls out his phone again, sending a quick message with the meeting details: the time, the place. It’s an upscale restaurant, neutral ground. He doesn’t need to lure Jonathan into a dark alley. No, Max is going to do this the right way — through the law. And if the law isn’t enough, he has other means at his disposal.
He glances at the clock. It’s late, but he knows sleep won’t come tonight. Not with everything spinning in his head.
Max looks out at the city again, the skyline glittering like a sea of possibilities. Tomorrow, Jonathan Harper will realize just how outmatched he is. And by the time Max is done, he’ll make sure you’re safe. Completely safe.
And Jonathan Harper? He won’t have a damn thing left.
***
The restaurant is quiet, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of silverware against plates. You sit next to Max at a polished wooden table in a private room, tucked away from the rest of the patrons. It’s fancy — more than you’re used to — but everything feels off. Like you don’t belong here. You’ve been fidgeting with your hands for the past half hour, unable to sit still, as the minutes tick by.
Jonathan isn’t here yet.
His lawyer arrived on time, a sharp-looking man in a suit so clean it practically sparkles, sitting across from you and Max. He’s polite, overly so, but you can tell there’s no kindness behind his carefully measured smiles. The way he eyes you — it’s like you’re something beneath him, something he’s already decided isn’t worth much.
But it’s not the lawyer that’s making your stomach twist into knots. It’s Jonathan.
The lawyer checks his watch again, sighing lightly as if to signal his own annoyance. “I apologize for Jonathan’s delay. He’s … a busy man.”
Max doesn’t even glance at the lawyer. He’s been staring at the door for the last forty-five minutes, jaw clenched so tightly you think he might crack a tooth. His hand rests on the table in front of him, fingers drumming a slow, tense rhythm against the wood. Every second that passes, you can feel his anger growing — radiating off him like a storm about to break.
“It’s been forty-five minutes,” Max mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “He thinks he can just waltz in whenever he wants.”
The lawyer opens his mouth, but Max cuts him off without even turning his head. “He’s late. That’s disrespectful. To me. To her.” His voice is low, controlled, but the edge is unmistakable.
You lower your eyes to your lap, where your fingers twist nervously in the fabric of your dress. You hadn’t wanted to come to this meeting in the first place. Being here, waiting for Jonathan — it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you’re about to fall. The anxiety is suffocating.
“Hey,” Max’s voice softens, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze. “You’re doing fine. He’s the one who should be nervous.”
You try to smile, but it’s weak, and Max sees through it immediately. His expression hardens, but not at you — at the situation. At Jonathan.
“I won’t let him do anything,” Max adds, his voice steady. “You’re safe.”
You nod, though the tension in your chest doesn’t ease. You’re not afraid of Jonathan in the same way you used to be. Not exactly. It’s more the dread — the weight of knowing he’s going to walk in and say things that’ll hurt, that’ll drag you back down into the hell you’ve fought so hard to escape.
The door opens then, and you flinch, your breath catching in your throat. For a second, you think it’s Jonathan, but it’s just the server, bringing water to the table. Max watches you carefully, his eyes sharp, protective. You can feel him tense beside you, every muscle in his body on edge.
“Where the hell is he?” Max mutters under his breath, his patience clearly running thin. He checks his watch again, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.
The lawyer clears his throat, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Jonathan has a lot on his plate. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Max shoots him a look, the kind that silences any further excuses. “He’s almost an hour late. If he wanted to show any respect for this process — for her — he would’ve been here on time.”
You glance at the door again, half hoping Jonathan won’t show. That maybe he’ll just stay gone, and you can pretend for a little while longer that this is all over. But you know better than that. Jonathan always shows up, eventually.
And he does.
Nearly an hour after the scheduled meeting time, the door swings open, and there he is — Jonathan Harper, in all his smug, arrogant glory. He strolls in like he owns the place, not even glancing at you as he makes his way to the table. No apology, no acknowledgment of how late he is. Nothing. Just that same cold indifference you’ve seen so many times before.
You shrink back instinctively, your heart pounding, your hands twisting tighter in your lap.
“Well, well,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with mockery as he pulls out the chair across from you. He doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he stands there, looking down at you with that familiar sneer. “I see you finally found yourself a babysitter, huh?”
You flinch, the words hitting you like a slap. You can feel Max’s anger beside you, simmering just below the surface.
Jonathan sits down, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you to hire a lawyer. But then again, you’ve always needed someone to take care of you, haven’t you?”
The air in the room grows thick with tension, Max’s silence growing heavier by the second. His fists clench on the table, knuckles white, but he doesn’t move — yet.
Jonathan doesn’t even look at Max. He’s too busy reveling in his own cruelty. “I mean, come on. You couldn’t even manage to keep the house clean, let alone figure out how to divorce me. It’s cute, really. This whole act. Like you think you’re suddenly strong enough to stand up to me.”
Your chest tightens, shame flooding you, and you can’t bring yourself to meet Jonathan’s eyes. He’s always known how to hit where it hurts most.
Max’s voice cuts through the air, low and dangerous. “That’s enough.”
Jonathan’s eyes flick to Max for the first time, his smirk widening. “Oh, this must be the lawyer. What’s your angle, huh? You think you’re gonna play hero and save her from the big bad husband?”
Max leans forward, his voice cold. “I said that’s enough.”
Jonathan just laughs, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You’re not scaring anyone, buddy. You think I care about your little threats? I’ve got more money and more power than you can even imagine. And her? She’s nothing. She’s been nothing for years. You’re wasting your time.”
Before you can even process what’s happening, Max stands, his chair scraping back with a loud screech. His hands slam onto the table with a force that makes the glasses shake, his body leaning over the table, looming over Jonathan.
The sudden movement sends a jolt through you, and you glance up at Max, heart pounding. His face is inches from Jonathan’s, his eyes blazing with barely controlled fury.
“You’re going to shut your mouth,” Max says, his voice low, lethal. “Or I’m going to shut it for you.”
Jonathan blinks, his smirk faltering for the first time. But then, as if to mask his own fear, he laughs again, though it sounds more forced this time. “Oh, tough guy, huh? You think you’re going to intimidate me?”
Max leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends chills down your spine. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”
Jonathan’s smile returns, but there’s something colder behind it now. “You’re bluffing. She’s got nothing. And when this is all over, neither will you.”
Max straightens, his hands still planted firmly on the table, his eyes locked onto Jonathan’s. “Meet me at noon tomorrow. Bring your lawyer. Or don’t — it won’t make a difference. But I’m telling you now, you’re done. You’ll never hurt her again.”
Jonathan sneers, pushing his chair back and standing. He adjusts his jacket, glancing at his lawyer with a bored expression. “We’ll see.”
He turns without another word, walking out of the room like he’s already won.
You sit there, frozen, your heart still racing as the door clicks shut behind him. Max stays standing for a moment, his fists still clenched, his breathing heavy. Then, slowly, he relaxes, his shoulders dropping as he exhales a long, controlled breath.
You don’t say anything at first. You don’t know what to say. Everything feels raw, exposed.
Max turns to you, his eyes softening when they meet yours. “He’s not going to win. You hear me?”
You nod, though your body still feels tense, the weight of Jonathan’s words pressing down on you.
“I promise you,” Max says, his voice quiet but firm, “he’s not going to get away with this. Not this time.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him.
***
Jonathan grips the steering wheel with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. His friend on the other end of the call is laughing at something Jonathan said, some offhand comment about how pathetic you are — how you’ve always been pathetic.
“Can you believe she actually thinks she’s gonna win?” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I swear to God, it’s like she’s forgotten who’s in control. I’ve got everything — everything — and she’s sitting there with nothing, thinking some low-rent lawyer’s gonna save her.”
His friend’s laughter crackles through the speaker, fueling Jonathan’s ego. He glances at the dashboard clock — he’s late, but who cares? It’s not like Max and his little damsel in distress can do a thing without him. They need him there. They’re at his mercy. And that’s how it’s always been.
“Max, though,” Jonathan continues, “that guy’s a real piece of work. Acting like he’s some knight in shining armor. Bet he’s got his own skeletons. Probably looking to get a taste of what I had.”
He laughs cruelly, switching the phone to his other ear as he maneuvers through traffic. He barely pays attention to the road. He never does. There’s an ease to his movements, like the world bends to his will, like there’s no need to care about anything or anyone. Not you, not Max, and certainly not whoever might be in his way.
“Yeah, she was always weak,” Jonathan adds. “Clingy, needy … hell, even if she manages to win, she’ll still be nothing without me. Just a broken little girl playing house.”
The friend on the other line chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the tirade. Jonathan feeds off it, leaning into his own bitterness, his own inflated sense of superiority.
“She’s nothing without me,” he repeats, as if saying it out loud makes it more true, as if it cements his control over you. The idea that you might actually be moving on — finding freedom from him — twists inside his chest, but he shoves the thought away. No, you’ll never be free of him. He won’t let you.
Jonathan shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wheel, the city blurring past as he approaches the meeting point. He’s already imagining the look on your face when he walks in, late and unapologetic, just to remind you who’s really in charge. He smiles to himself, his lips curling into a sneer.
“She's probably trembling right now,” Jonathan scoffs into the phone. “Waiting for me to show up, like a good little-”
Suddenly, something feels off.
He presses the brake pedal out of habit as the traffic ahead begins to slow — but nothing happens. His foot sinks down to the floor, the pedal soft and useless beneath his foot. Jonathan’s heart skips a beat.
He tries again. Harder this time. But still, nothing.
“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes darting to the dashboard, hands tightening around the wheel. He presses the brake repeatedly, panic beginning to creep into his chest as the car continues to speed forward.
“Hold on,” he says to his friend on the phone, his voice sharp now. “Something’s wrong with the damn car.”
The brake doesn’t respond at all. The car picks up speed as it rolls downhill, buildings flashing by in a blur of glass and steel. Jonathan’s breath quickens. He yanks the steering wheel, swerving between lanes, his tires screeching as the car narrowly misses another vehicle.
“What the hell …” Jonathan’s voice is a strained whisper now. He slams his foot on the brake again, harder, and his whole body tenses. Nothing. No response.
His friend’s voice crackles through the speaker, confused. “What’s going on?”
“The brakes …” Jonathan mutters, his voice strained. “The goddamn brakes aren’t working!”
The friend says something else, but Jonathan barely hears it. His mind races, adrenaline surging through his veins. He yanks the wheel again, veering off the main road, trying to avoid the cars ahead, but the car is moving too fast. Way too fast.
Jonathan curses under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Panic claws at his throat, but he forces it down, refusing to let fear take over.
He’s not going to crash. He can’t crash.
He’s Jonathan Harper. He doesn’t lose.
His phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the passenger seat as he struggles to regain control. The buildings are coming closer, faster. His breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts as he wrestles with the wheel, trying to steer toward an empty alleyway. But the speed, the force of the car — it’s too much.
The last thing he sees before impact is a flash of brick and glass.
The sound of the crash is deafening. Metal crumples, glass shatters, the front of the car folding like paper as it collides with the side of a building. Jonathan is thrown forward, his seatbelt jerking him back just as his head slams into the steering wheel.
Pain explodes in his skull, his vision blurring as the world spins around him. The car is still now, steam hissing from the hood, the engine making a pitiful whine before going silent.
For a moment, Jonathan doesn’t move. His ears ring, his head swimming, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue. He tries to breathe, but his chest feels tight, constricted, like there’s something inside him squeezing the air out of his lungs.
Slowly, he lifts his hand to his face, touching his forehead. His fingers come away wet, sticky with blood. His own blood.
“Shit …” he groans, his voice weak, barely a whisper. He tries to move, to reach for the door, but something stops him. A sharp, searing pain in his chest. He gasps, choking on the breath, and a wave of dizziness washes over him.
The taste of blood is stronger now. It fills his mouth, thick and metallic, and when he coughs, crimson sprays across the shattered windshield.
Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.
He tries to lift his head, but it’s too heavy. His hands shake as he grips the steering wheel, trying to steady himself, but his vision is fading, the edges going dark. He coughs again, harder this time, and more blood pours from his mouth, thick and viscous, staining his shirt, pooling in his lap.
No. No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
Jonathan struggles, panic surging through him now. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves, but no air comes in, just the taste of blood and the sharp, stabbing pain that’s getting worse with every second.
He tries to call for help, but his voice is lost, buried beneath the gurgling, choking sound coming from his throat.
He’s dying.
The realization hits him like a freight train. He’s dying, right here, in the driver’s seat of his own car, choking on his own blood. And no one’s coming to help him.
His fingers slip off the wheel, falling limp at his sides as his vision narrows to a pinprick of light. He gasps, trying to suck in one last breath, but all he gets is more blood, flooding his lungs, choking him from the inside.
As the darkness closes in, Jonathan’s last thought is of you.
You, standing in that restaurant yesterday, small and afraid, but maybe — just maybe — stronger than he ever gave you credit for.
***
The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room. Each minute that passes only seems to grow heavier, the tension building with every tick. You sit in the same chair you did yesterday, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, stealing glances at the door every few seconds.
Max sits across from you, his expression unreadable but his fingers drumming lightly against the table. Jonathan’s lawyer is seated at the far end, flipping through some documents with a detached boredom that doesn’t match the mounting frustration you feel swelling in the room.
It’s been almost two hours. Jonathan was late yesterday, but this … this is ridiculous.
Max finally speaks, his voice calm but edged with annoyance. “Two hours. How much longer are we supposed to wait?”
The lawyer doesn’t look up, just shrugs. “I’ve been Jonathan’s lawyer long enough to know he’s rarely on time. You’ll get used to it.”
Max’s jaw tightens. You can tell he’s fighting to keep his anger in check. “This isn't a casual lunch meeting. It’s a legal matter.”
“Legal or not,” the lawyer replies, turning a page, “Jonathan Harper moves at his own pace.”
You bite your lip, feeling the weight of their words hang in the air. You want to speak up, to suggest maybe you should leave and try again another day, but your voice feels trapped. Instead, you clasp your hands together tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the gnawing pit in your stomach.
Max glances over at you, his expression softening for just a moment. He sees how tense you are, how uncomfortable you’ve been this entire time. He leans back in his chair, looking like he’s ready to explode but holding it together, probably for your sake.
“He’s deliberately wasting our time,” Max mutters, almost to himself, though the frustration is clear in his voice. His eyes flick back to the door, then back to you. “We’ll give him five more minutes. If he’s not here by then, we leave.”
You nod, grateful for the out, but before you can say anything, your phone buzzes on the table. The sound is jarring in the quiet room. For a moment, you freeze, staring at the screen as an unfamiliar number flashes across it.
Max’s eyes are on you immediately. “You gonna get that?”
You hesitate, but something tells you to answer. You slide the phone off the table and hold it to your ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Harper?” A woman’s voice, calm but urgent, crackles through the line.
Your heart skips a beat. You feel Max and Jonathan’s lawyer watching you, but their gazes blur as a cold shiver runs down your spine.
“Yes, this is she,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.
“This is Mercy General Hospital. I’m afraid I have some difficult news. Your husband, Jonathan Harper, was brought in around an hour and a half ago after a car accident.” The voice on the other end pauses as if giving you space to process.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Car accident? Your mind races, trying to make sense of what she’s saying.
“An accident?” You repeat, your voice shaking.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues, her tone softening, “but unfortunately, he didn’t make it. He passed away on the ambulance ride over.”
The phone slips from your fingers. You don’t even feel it hit the floor. Everything around you blurs, the room spinning out of focus as your body goes cold. For a second, all you hear is the ringing in your ears, drowning out everything else.
Max is out of his chair in an instant. He’s at your side before you even realize what’s happening, his arms wrapping around you just as your knees give out. You’re not crying. You’re just … empty. Hollow. The world feels like it’s closing in, suffocating, but Max is holding you up, his voice low in your ear.
“Hey, hey — easy. I’ve got you.” His words are steady, but you can hear the concern threaded through them. He lowers you into the chair gently, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.
You blink, trying to make sense of it. Jonathan is dead? He’s … gone?
Max crouches in front of you, his face level with yours now, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re still there, still processing. “What happened? What did they say?”
Your lips move, but no sound comes out at first. You have to swallow, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Jonathan … he’s dead. There was an accident.”
Max’s expression doesn’t change. He stays perfectly still, but you see something flicker in his eyes, something unreadable. He’s quiet for a moment, then he glances at the phone lying on the floor before looking back at you. “When did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “They said … they said he didn’t make it to the hospital. It happened over an hour ago.”
The lawyer finally looks up from his papers, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Jonathan’s … dead?”
Max straightens, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he turns toward the other man, his voice suddenly all business. “Yes, it seems there’s been an accident. He didn’t survive.”
Jonathan’s lawyer stands slowly, his face pale. He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if the gravity of the situation is just sinking in. “I … I’ll need to contact his estate. This complicates things.”
Max ignores him. He’s still focused on you, his thumb brushing lightly over your shoulder, grounding you, keeping you tethered as your world spins out of control.
You feel numb. The words echo in your mind: Jonathan is dead. Jonathan is dead. But you don’t know what to feel. Relief? Guilt? Fear?
Max crouches back down, his eyes never leaving yours. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and gentle but firm. “You’re safe now. Do you hear me? He can’t hurt you anymore.”
You nod, though the words feel distant, like they’re meant for someone else. You’re still struggling to catch up with the reality of what’s happened.
“I need you to breathe, okay?” Max continues, his hands still steady on your arms. “In and out. Nice and slow.”
You do as he says, inhaling shakily, then exhaling, trying to pull yourself back to the present, to this room, to the fact that you’re still here, even if Jonathan isn’t.
Max watches you closely, waiting until you’ve steadied yourself before speaking again. “We’ll go to the hospital. We’ll take care of everything. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here.”
His words are solid, something to hold onto as the world tilts around you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just breathing, letting the weight of everything settle. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours.
Eventually, you nod again. “Okay.”
Max stands and helps you to your feet, his hand steady at your back as you move toward the door. He picks up your phone from the floor, handing it to you without a word. You take it, but your fingers tremble so much that you can barely grip it.
As you walk toward the exit, Max’s presence is a constant comfort beside you. You glance at him, and for a fleeting moment, you see something in his eyes — something deeper than concern, something more intense. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the calm, steady confidence that he always exudes.
You don’t know what’s waiting for you at the hospital. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about Jonathan’s death, or what it means for your future.
But for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re going to be okay.
And that’s when you realize: you’re not alone anymore. Max is here. And for reasons you don’t fully understand, that thought makes all the difference.
***
The car hums beneath you, the soft rumble of the engine the only sound breaking the silence between you and Max. The city lights blur past the window, smudged streaks of white and yellow against the inky night sky. You barely notice the streets you're passing, barely hear the distant honk of horns or the murmur of the radio playing low in the background. Everything feels distant, like you’re watching your own life from somewhere outside of your body.
Max sits beside you, one hand gripping the steering wheel with calm certainty. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed for what’s just happened. You steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression. His face is as calm as ever, his jaw set, eyes focused on the road ahead.
But then you catch it — a flash of something. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk. It’s there for just a second, curling at the corner of his mouth before vanishing like it was never there. But you saw it.
And in that moment, something clicks.
You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as a realization settles over you like a heavy weight.
He knows.
He’s known for a while.
You blink, turning to face him fully now, your pulse quickening. “Max.”
He glances at you, his expression still steady, but something in his eyes shifts. “What is it?”
You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. It takes everything in you to push them out. “Did … did you have something to do with Jonathan’s accident?”
There’s a beat of silence. Max doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze on the road, his hand steady on the wheel, his fingers drumming lightly against the leather. But you can feel the air change between you, thickening with something unsaid.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and calm. “What makes you ask that?”
Your chest tightens. You can’t look away from him now, the truth pulling at you like gravity. “I saw your face. That little smile. You’re not … you’re not surprised that he’s dead, are you?”
Max doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush to deny it. He just sighs, like he’s been waiting for this conversation, like he knew you’d figure it out eventually. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he lets go of a breath.
“No,” he says simply, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not surprised.”
Your heart skips a beat. The air in the car feels suddenly heavier, pressing down on your chest. You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He lets the silence hang there, the weight of his words sinking in.
“Max,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “Did you … did you kill him?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightens, and he glances at you briefly, as if gauging your reaction. And then, after a long pause, he says it.
“Yes.”
The word hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your hands clench in your lap, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to process what you’re feeling. Shock? Fear? Relief?
“Why?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat tight. “Why would you …”
Max keeps his eyes on the road, his voice low but steady. “Because he hurt you. Because he would have kept hurting you if I hadn’t done something.”
You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. There’s no remorse in his voice, no hesitation. He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like killing Jonathan was just another necessary task, something he had to cross off a list.
“You didn’t have to …” you start, but the words die in your throat. Because part of you knows he’s right. Jonathan would have kept hurting you. And no one else was going to stop him.
Max glances at you again, this time his expression softening, though there’s still a cold edge to his eyes. “He didn’t deserve to live after what he did to you. I wasn’t going to let him walk away from that. Not after everything.”
There’s something dark in his voice, something you’ve never heard before. It sends a chill down your spine, but at the same time, you feel a strange sense of comfort in it. Max did this for you. He killed Jonathan because he thought it was the only way to protect you.
You swallow hard, your mind reeling. You should feel horrified, you should be angry or scared or disgusted. But you’re not. You’re not any of those things. Instead, you feel something else entirely — a strange, overwhelming sense of … relief.
Jonathan is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. And Max … Max made sure of that.
You take a shaky breath, the tension in your chest slowly easing. “You killed him for me,” you say, your voice soft but steady.
Max nods, his eyes still fixed on the road. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
His words hang in the air, and for a long moment, you don’t say anything. You let them settle, let them sink into your bones. He’s not ashamed. He’s not regretful. And somehow, that makes it easier to accept.
Finally, you exhale, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “Thank you.”
Max glances at you, clearly surprised by your words. His brows furrow slightly, and for the first time since the conversation started, he seems uncertain. “For what?”
“For protecting me,” you say, your voice firmer now, more certain. “For doing what no one else would have.”
Max’s expression softens again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand moves from the steering wheel, reaching across the small space between you. His fingers brush against yours, and then he gently takes your hand in his, squeezing it softly.
You look down at your intertwined fingers, the warmth of his hand grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. You squeeze back, letting him know that you’re okay. That you understand.
The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable anymore. It’s calm. Steady.
You lean back in your seat, your gaze shifting back to the city lights outside the window. Jonathan is dead. The nightmare is over. And somehow, despite everything, you feel like you’re finally free.
Max’s thumb rubs lightly over the back of your hand, and you turn to look at him again. His face is still calm, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something almost tender.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.”
You feel your chest tighten at his words, but not in the way it did before. This time, it’s different. This time, it feels like something is shifting between you, something you hadn’t noticed before but now feels impossible to ignore.
You don’t say anything. You just sit there, holding his hand, feeling the steady pulse of the city outside the car, and the steady pulse of Max beside you.
***
The hospital parking lot is almost empty, the few scattered cars gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. You and Max sit in silence, the weight of what’s just happened hanging heavy in the air. The hum of the engine dies as Max turns the key, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You stare at the hospital entrance, your heart pounding, your palms damp with nervous sweat.
It hits you — this is really happening. Jonathan is dead, and now you’re supposed to walk in there and pretend to be devastated. To mourn him, to cry for him.
Max shifts in his seat, turning toward you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He’s been calm the whole drive, unshaken, and now he leans forward, eyes locked on yours, his voice low and measured.
“Listen,” he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is light, but his tone is firm. “When we walk in there, you need to act the part. They’re going to expect tears, shock — grief.”
You swallow hard, the idea of playing the grieving widow making your stomach turn. “I don’t know if I can do this, Max.”
His hand lingers near your face, fingers ghosting against your cheek. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re stronger than you think. Just focus on what you need to do. No one can know that you’re relieved. You loved him, remember?”
A bitter laugh escapes you, but it dies quickly in the back of your throat. The irony isn’t lost on you, pretending to be a devoted wife to the man who tormented you. But Max is right. No one can know.
You nod, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I can do it. I’ll … I’ll cry if I have to.”
Max’s hand moves from your face to your hand, squeezing gently. “Good. And don’t worry about the rest. I’ll handle any questions, any details. Just play your part.”
You bite your lip, nodding again, your heart still racing but your mind clearing. You’ve played so many roles before — dutiful wife, obedient woman, silent sufferer. This is just another role to get through. Just another mask to wear.
Max releases your hand and pushes open the car door. “Ready?”
No, you think. You’re not ready. But you don’t have a choice. You force a smile, though it feels like it might crack your face. “Ready.”
The two of you walk toward the entrance, the automatic doors whooshing open to the sterile, cold smell of disinfectant and hospital walls. Your breath quickens as you step inside, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a tidal wave. Nurses bustle past, clipboards in hand, murmuring to one another, while the soft beep of machines hums in the background.
You feel exposed, like every person here can see straight through you, can see that the grief you’re about to display isn’t real.
Max leads you to the front desk, his hand resting lightly on your back in a gesture of support. He leans in toward the nurse on duty, his voice low and authoritative.
“We’re here to see Jonathan Harper,” he says. “He’s my … sister’s husband. We got a call.”
The nurse looks up, her expression softening with sympathy as she glances at you. “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says gently. “If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll call someone to come speak with you.”
You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. Instead, you let Max guide you to the waiting area, where you sit down in one of the stiff plastic chairs. Your hands are shaking, so you fold them in your lap, gripping your fingers tightly together.
Max sits beside you, his hand resting on your knee for just a moment, grounding you. His presence is reassuring, a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.
“Remember,” he says under his breath, leaning close enough that only you can hear. “You loved him. Show them that.”
You nod again, taking a shaky breath. You focus on your hands, on the feel of the cold plastic chair beneath you. You need to let the reality of the situation sink in — Jonathan is dead. He’s really gone. The man who hurt you is gone.
And you’re supposed to be devastated.
The thought makes your stomach churn, but you force yourself to push it aside. This isn’t about what you feel. This is about survival. About making sure no one suspects the truth.
A few minutes pass before a doctor approaches, a man in his mid-forties with graying hair and kind eyes. He kneels in front of you, his expression full of the kind of sympathy you don’t deserve.
“Mrs. Harper,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but … your husband didn’t make it.”
And just like that, you snap into character.
Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes widening as the weight of the words hits you. “No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “No, that can’t be … there must be some mistake.”
The doctor shakes his head gently, placing a hand on your arm. “I’m afraid there’s no mistake. We did everything we could, but the injuries were just too severe.”
You feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You’ve always been good at crying on cue. It’s something Jonathan hated about you, your ability to turn on the waterworks whenever you needed to. But now, it’s a weapon, a tool to make everyone believe the lie.
You cover your mouth with your hand, your body shaking with sobs that come more naturally than you expected. It’s almost too easy to cry for the life you lost, for the years of pain, for the woman you used to be before Jonathan destroyed her.
“I don’t understand,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “How … how did this happen?”
The doctor sighs, his face etched with regret. “It was a car accident. The paramedics did everything they could, but he passed away before he reached the hospital.”
You let out a soft, broken cry, your shoulders trembling as the grief pours out of you. You don’t have to fake that part. The relief feels like grief in a way, like a release of something you’ve been holding onto for far too long.
Max leans in, his hand on your back again, his voice low and soothing. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
The doctor stands, giving you a moment to compose yourself. “We’ll need you to come with us to identify the body, Mrs. Harper,” he says gently.
You nod, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “I … I can do that.”
The doctor gives you a small, understanding nod and turns to lead the way down the sterile white corridor. Max stays close by your side, his hand never leaving your back. As you walk, you focus on your breathing, on keeping the tears flowing just enough to sell the part.
You feel Max lean in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re doing great. Just a little longer.”
You nod, sniffling as you walk, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You’re not just playing the part of a grieving widow — you’re erasing the evidence, erasing the truth. You’re erasing Jonathan Harper from your life, once and for all.
When you reach the morgue, the doctor stops in front of a pair of heavy metal doors. He pauses, turning to you with that same sympathetic expression. “Are you ready?”
No. You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready for this. But you nod anyway, because what else can you do?
Max squeezes your shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’ve got this.”
The doctor opens the door, and the cold air hits you like a wave. The room is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering slightly as the doctor leads you toward a covered body on a steel table. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears as you take each step.
This is it. The final act.
The doctor gently pulls back the sheet, revealing Jonathan’s pale, lifeless face. His features are slack, his skin bruised and bloodied from the accident. For a moment, you can’t breathe. The sight of him — so still, so powerless — it’s like seeing a ghost. The man who held so much control over your life now lies broken in front of you.
You force a sob, your hand flying to your mouth as you step back, tears streaming down your face. “Oh God … Jonathan …”
The doctor watches you, his eyes full of pity, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. You’ve done your job. You’ve played your part.
Max steps in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close as you turn away from the body. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get out of here.”
You nod, still crying, still playing the part.
***
The car ride back is heavy with silence, the hum of the engine filling the void between you and Max. You stare out the window, watching the city blur by in shades of gray, your mind still reeling from the night’s events. Jonathan is dead. The words feel surreal in your head, like a distant truth you’re not quite ready to touch.
Max drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other resting on his lap, fingers tapping lightly as though he’s thinking. His face is calm, focused, but there’s something different in the air now — an ease in his posture that wasn’t there before. He’s done what he set out to do. Jonathan is gone, and now it’s just a matter of cleaning up the aftermath.
After what feels like an eternity, Max breaks the silence, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. “I had someone look into Jonathan’s will.”
Your gaze snaps to him, your heart skipping a beat. The words rattle in your brain, bringing with them a new layer of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
Max glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “Jonathan never updated it. He didn’t add you.”
The breath you’ve been holding releases in a sharp exhale, anxiety knotting in your stomach. Of course he didn’t. Of course, even in death, Jonathan would find a way to hurt you. You sink back into the seat, your head leaning against the cold window. “So … what does that mean? I don’t get anything?”
Max is quiet for a moment, but then his lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Not quite. The legal system will treat it like a case of forgetfulness. You were married, and he didn’t update his will, so you’ll still be the main beneficiary. It’s a loophole.”
You frown, trying to process his words. “Are you sure?”
He chuckles softly, his voice dripping with confidence. “I’m a lawyer, remember? Trust me. It won’t be a problem.”
You stare at him, your mind buzzing. Max always seems to have the answers, always one step ahead of everyone else. You’ve barely had time to think about what Jonathan’s death means for you — financially, legally, emotionally — but Max has already covered all the bases.
“It feels wrong,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Like … taking his money after everything.”
Max raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a look of mild amusement. “After everything he put you through, I’d say it’s more than fair. You deserve every cent.”
The bitterness in his tone is palpable, and for a moment, you see flashes of the man who took control of the situation with such ease. He doesn’t just see this as a legal matter, there’s something personal about it for him. Something about Jonathan’s abuse struck a nerve, and you realize again just how far Max is willing to go to protect you.
“But what if people start asking questions?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anyone to think I-”
“Stop.” Max’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, firm but not harsh. He reaches over, placing his hand on yours. The warmth of his touch calms you, steadying the racing thoughts in your mind. “No one is going to question anything. You were his wife. You’re entitled to everything. No one’s going to think twice.”
You stare at your intertwined hands, the weight of his assurance sinking in. Max always seems so certain, so sure of himself. He makes everything sound simple, even when it’s not. Even when you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “It just feels so … complicated.”
Max squeezes your hand, his voice softening. “I know it does. But I’ll make sure it’s not. You won’t have to worry about any of this.”
His words are like a balm to your nerves, but there’s still a flicker of doubt gnawing at you. You’ve been living under Jonathan’s thumb for so long, every part of your life controlled by him, that the idea of having any freedom — especially financial freedom — feels foreign. You’re not used to having power, and the thought of inheriting everything Jonathan left behind feels like stepping into unfamiliar territory.
“What did he leave behind?” You ask after a moment, your voice quiet.
Max’s eyes flicker with something — an unreadable emotion — but his tone stays steady. “More than enough to ensure you’re taken care of. He wasn’t exactly a modest man.”
You nod, biting your lip as your mind runs through the possibilities. Jonathan was always secretive about his finances, never letting you see the full picture. But you knew he had money — more than enough to maintain the lavish lifestyle he forced you into, the one that felt like a cage. Now, that money is yours, and the thought leaves a strange taste in your mouth.
“I don’t want it to feel like … blood money,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Max’s grip tightens on your hand, his voice firm. “It’s not blood money. It’s justice. He took so much from you. Now, it’s time you take something back.”
You look at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but there’s none. Max’s conviction is unwavering, his belief in what he’s done — and what he’s doing — absolute. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this realization that Max sees the world in such clear-cut terms. Right and wrong. Justice and vengeance.
And somehow, you’ve fallen right into the center of it all.
As the city lights flicker by, you let out a soft sigh, resting your head against the seat. “I don’t know what to do with it all. The money. The house. Everything.”
Max’s eyes soften, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to decide right now. One step at a time. The most important thing is that you’re free.”
The word ‘free’ hangs in the air, and for a moment, it feels like a foreign concept. You’ve spent so long living in fear, tiptoeing around Jonathan’s moods, that the idea of being free — truly free — seems almost impossible.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice small. “I’ve never been on my own before.”
Max is silent for a moment, then he reaches over, brushing a thumb across your knuckles. “You’re not on your own. You have me. You have Victoria.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth is, you don’t feel alone. Not with Max sitting beside you, guiding you through every step of this mess. But the idea of relying on someone else again — especially after everything with Jonathan — it makes your stomach twist with uncertainty.
“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Max’s lips curl into a soft smile, but there’s something deeper in his eyes — something you can’t quite place. “You don’t have to repay me. You’ve been through enough. Let me take care of this.”
The car slows as you approach Victoria’s house, the familiar sight of her front porch coming into view. Your heart clenches as you realize that this — this strange, messy situation — is your new reality. Jonathan is gone, and with him, the life you once knew.
Max pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, the silence between you thick and charged. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Max turns to you, his expression softer than before, his eyes searching yours.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I promise.”
You nod, though you’re not entirely sure you believe it yet. But there’s something about the way Max says it — something about the certainty in his voice — that makes you want to believe.
As you reach for the door handle, Max’s hand brushes yours, stopping you for a moment. “And if you ever need anything — anything at all — you come to me. Understand?”
You look into his eyes, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest. “I understand.”
With a final squeeze of your hand, Max lets you go, and you step out of the car, the cool night air hitting your skin. You walk up to Victoria’s front door, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But as you turn back to see Max watching you from the driver’s seat, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.
For the first time in a long time, you’re free. And maybe, just maybe, you’re strong enough to figure out what that means.
***
The restaurant is one of those upscale places with white tablecloths and a quiet hum of conversation, the kind of place that feels almost too polished for the three of you to have anything resembling a casual lunch. You sit across from Max, watching him, trying to get a read on him the way you’ve been doing ever since everything happened. It’s hard to tell with Max. He always seems so composed, like everything is part of a plan that only he knows.
Victoria, sitting next to you, has been doing most of the talking, catching Max up on the little things that have been going on — her job, mutual friends, things that feel oddly normal considering how not normal your life has been lately. You pick at your salad, your appetite still shaky after everything that’s happened.
“So,” Victoria says, after taking a sip of her wine. “What’s the plan with the house?”
The question catches you off guard, though you’ve been thinking about it non-stop. Jonathan’s house. The house you lived in with him. The house that still feels like it’s haunted by his presence, his cruelty, the fights that rattled through its walls. You look down at your plate, avoiding Max’s eyes.
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I can’t … I can’t stay there.”
Victoria reaches over, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Of course not. You shouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re still welcome to stay with me as long as you need. My home is always open for you.”
You glance up at her, gratitude warming your chest. Victoria has been nothing but supportive through all of this, offering you a safe place to land when everything felt like it was crumbling. But even though you’ve appreciated every second of her kindness, the truth is … you feel like a burden.
“I don’t want to impose,” you say softly. “I’ve already stayed longer than I should have.”
Victoria waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not imposing at all.”
“I don’t know,” you continue, fidgeting with the napkin in your lap. “I just … I feel bad. It’s your space. I don’t want to be in your way.”
Before Victoria can respond, Max clears his throat, drawing both of your attention to him. He’s been quiet for most of the lunch, observing, listening. Now, he sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
“You could move in with me,” he says, so casually that it takes a moment for his words to register.
Your head snaps toward him, eyes widening in disbelief. “What?”
Even Victoria looks taken aback, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait — what?”
Max shrugs, his expression calm, as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on the table. “I’ve got plenty of space. The penthouse is way too big for just me anyway.”
Your brain scrambles to catch up with what he’s saying. Move in with him? Into his penthouse? You’re not sure how to respond, your mind immediately filling with reasons why that’s a bad idea.
“Max, I-I can’t just move in with you,” you stammer, feeling your cheeks heat up. “That’s … I mean, it’s your home. I don’t want to-”
“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Max cuts in smoothly, as if he’s already anticipated every one of your protests. “Like I said, it’s way too big for one person. You’d actually be doing me a favor.”
Victoria blinks, looking between the two of you, her surprise turning into a curious smirk. “I mean, it’s not the worst idea,” she says, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become. “Max does have that ridiculous apartment. It’s like living in a luxury hotel.”
You shake your head, still trying to wrap your mind around the suggestion. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone again, especially not after …”
Your voice trails off, but Max knows exactly what you’re thinking. He leans forward slightly, his gaze intent. “You wouldn’t be dependent on me. This isn’t about control, it’s about giving you a safe space to figure things out.”
His words hang in the air, their weight settling over you. Max always knows how to say the right thing, how to make it sound like everything is under control. And maybe it is, in his world. But in your world, everything still feels like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.
“I don’t know …” you murmur, your fingers twisting the napkin in your lap.
Max reaches across the table, his hand resting on top of yours. His touch is firm, grounding. “I’m not asking you to decide right now. Just think about it. You don’t have to figure everything out at once.”
You glance at Victoria, hoping she’ll have some kind of advice, but she just grins, leaning back in her chair as if she’s thoroughly entertained by the entire conversation. “Honestly? I think it’s a good idea. You’d have more space to yourself, and you wouldn’t feel like you’re cramping my style.”
“I don’t feel like I’m cramping your style,” you mutter, giving her a playful glare.
She laughs, but there’s a softness in her eyes as she looks at you. “Look, you’ve been through hell, and I think the last thing you need right now is to worry about where you’re staying. Max is offering you a chance to take some of that stress off your plate. You should take it.”
You swallow hard, your gaze flicking back to Max. He’s watching you intently, waiting for your response. And while every instinct in you is screaming to refuse — to keep your independence, to not get too close — the truth is, you’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being afraid, tired of not knowing what’s going to happen next.
Max’s offer feels like a lifeline, and as much as you hate to admit it … you need one.
“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
Max nods, his expression softening. “That’s all I’m asking.”
The conversation shifts after that, Victoria taking over with a story about a disastrous date she had earlier in the week, but your mind stays stuck on Max’s offer. Move in with him? The idea feels foreign, like stepping into a life that’s not your own. But then again, everything about your life has felt foreign since Jonathan died.
Later, as the three of you finish your meals and the waiter clears the plates, Victoria leans over and whispers in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “You should say yes.”
You glance at her, your eyes widening. “To what?”
“To moving in with Max,” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I mean, come on. A penthouse? You’d be living the dream.”
You roll your eyes, though her words stir something in your chest. “It’s not about the penthouse.”
“Right,” she says with a knowing smirk. “It’s about Max.”
Your face heats up, and you quickly look away, hoping she doesn’t notice the flush creeping up your neck. But of course, Victoria notices everything.
“You like him, don’t you?” She teases, nudging you with her elbow.
You shoot her a glare, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anger. “It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you for a second. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”
You groan, leaning your head back against the chair. “Can we not do this right now?”
Victoria laughs, but she doesn’t push it further. Instead, she just gives you a soft smile, the kind that says she knows exactly what’s going on, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself.
By the time lunch is over and the three of you are standing outside the restaurant, the sun warm on your skin, you still haven’t made up your mind. Max’s offer feels too good to be true, like stepping into a different world, a world where you don’t have to be afraid anymore.
But as Max pulls you into a quick hug, his strong arms wrapping around you for just a second too long, you start to wonder if maybe … maybe it’s not too good to be true.
Maybe it’s exactly what you need.
***
The late afternoon sun casts golden light over the city as you stand at the entrance of Max’s penthouse building, staring up at the sleek, glass structure. It still feels surreal. A part of you wonders how you got here — how your life has shifted so quickly from the nightmare of Jonathan to this strange, uncertain new chapter.
Max stands beside you, keys in hand, effortlessly calm like always. He glances over, his dark eyes warm. “Ready?”
You nod, gripping the handle of the box you're holding a little tighter, though your nerves buzz underneath your skin. “Yeah. Ready.”
The moving truck is parked a few feet away, filled with your belongings. You don’t have much, just some clothes, books, a few personal items, and the memories that you’ve tried to leave behind. Victoria offered to help today, but Max insisted that he could handle it. You’re still not sure how you feel about that — about Max doing so much for you — but you’ve stopped protesting. Every time you try, he brushes it off like it’s nothing.
Max leads you into the lobby, the doorman greeting him by name. You follow him into the elevator, clutching the box to your chest. The ride up is silent, save for the low hum of the elevator. When the doors open, Max steps out first, turning back to give you a reassuring smile.
“Let's get these up to the apartment,” he says, his voice steady, like moving you in is just another ordinary task for him.
You step out of the elevator and into his penthouse. The doors open into a sprawling, open-plan living room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city. The space is sleek, modern, but somehow still comfortable — just like Max himself.
He sets his box down and glances over at you. “We can start setting things in your room if you'd like. The spare bedroom is down the hall.”
You try to hide the way your breath catches in your throat as you nod. “Sure. Thanks.”
As you begin moving boxes from the truck to the penthouse, you find yourself increasingly distracted by Max. Every time he bends to lift a box, his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt, the sinewy strength in his arms drawing your attention. His movements are fluid, effortless, as though this is nothing for him.
And it's not just that he’s strong — it's the ease with which he carries himself. There’s no posturing, no arrogance. He’s doing this because he wants to help, because he sees you struggling and wants to make things easier.
You try not to stare, but it’s impossible not to notice the way his shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders or the way his biceps flex when he lifts heavier boxes with one hand, like they weigh nothing at all. He catches you glancing once or twice, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.
After a couple of trips back and forth from the truck, you’re standing in the living room, trying to decide where to start unpacking. Max steps beside you, brushing a bit of dust from his jeans, and glances around the space.
“Where do you want this stuff?” He asks, motioning to the remaining boxes.
“I guess I’ll start with the bedroom.” You bite your lip, glancing toward the hallway. “It’s not a lot, really. I don’t want to take up too much space.”
Max shakes his head. “You’re not taking up space. Like I said, this place is too big for one person. Besides,” his voice softens, “you deserve to feel comfortable. Make it yours.”
Something about the way he says that, like he genuinely cares, makes your heart skip a beat. You nod, feeling your throat tighten as you head down the hall with him. The spare bedroom is just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and more space than you’ve ever had in any room you’ve lived in.
Max sets the box down near the door, watching as you take in the room. “What do you think?”
“I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, shaking your head. “It’s … beautiful. It’s too much, Max.”
He steps closer, his presence warm and solid next to you. “It’s not too much. It’s exactly what you need. And besides, I want you here.”
You swallow, trying to process the weight of his words. He wants you here. Max has always been protective of you, ever since you met him through Victoria, but this is something else. It’s not just protection — it’s … something more. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.
As the day wears on and more boxes make their way into the penthouse, you start unpacking, trying to make sense of this new chapter. Max works alongside you, quietly helping without ever making you feel like you owe him anything. Every time you glance over at him, he’s there, steady and calm, grounding you in a way you never expected.
After a while, Max heads back to the truck to grab the last few items, leaving you in the apartment alone. You take a moment to breathe, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. It still doesn’t feel real, being here, surrounded by luxury and safety. You’ve spent so long being afraid, walking on eggshells around Jonathan, that this feels almost … too easy. Too good.
Max’s voice calls out from the hallway as he returns, carrying the final box. “That’s the last of it.”
You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”
He sets the box down with a quiet thud, then turns to face you, his dark eyes steady. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” You cross your arms, feeling a mixture of gratitude and something else — something heavier. “I don’t even know how to start repaying you for all of this.”
Max steps closer, the air between you shifting, heavy with unspoken tension. He tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips, though his eyes are serious. “I’m not doing this because I expect anything in return.”
“I know,” you whisper, looking up at him. “But still.”
He reaches out, brushing his thumb across your cheek in a gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. “You’ve been through enough, okay? You don’t owe me anything. All I want is for you to feel safe.”
The warmth of his touch lingers even after he pulls his hand away. You nod, though your throat feels tight, overwhelmed by the way he looks at you, like he actually means it. Like he’s the one person in your life who doesn’t expect you to give something back.
The two of you stand there for a moment, the weight of everything that’s happened settling between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize that maybe — just maybe — you’re finally safe.
Max’s phone buzzes, breaking the silence. He glances down at the screen, his expression shifting back to that calm, collected demeanor you’ve come to know. “I need to take this call. Are you okay unpacking the rest by yourself?”
“Yeah,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”
He nods, already heading for the door. But before he leaves, he pauses, turning back to give you one last look.
“If you need anything,” he says, his voice low, “I’m here.”
You nod again, watching him leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he disappears. Once he’s gone, you let out a long breath, sinking down onto the couch.
This is your life now. And somehow, despite everything, it doesn’t feel as scary as it used to.
***
The scent of simmering tomatoes and garlic fills the air as you stand in Max’s kitchen, stirring the pot of sauce slowly. The space around you feels both intimate and strangely unfamiliar, a far cry from the cold, silent kitchens of your past. Here, in Max’s penthouse, everything feels alive, warm.
Max leans against the counter beside you, watching the sauce bubble. He’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, his sleeves rolled up and his tie long discarded. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before — domestic, almost casual. You’re still getting used to it, the idea of Max being more than just the quiet force of nature who’s been protecting you. Here, in the soft glow of his kitchen lights, he seems … human.
“Are you sure it needs more basil?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow at the pile of fresh leaves you’ve already tossed into the pot.
“Trust me,” you say with a smile, turning the spoon in your hand. “It does.”
Max chuckles under his breath and takes the spoon from you, dipping it into the sauce for a taste. He blows on it gently, then takes a slow, thoughtful sip. His eyes narrow as he considers the flavor, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Not bad,” he admits. “But I think you’re overestimating the power of basil.”
“Basil makes everything better,” you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.
He smirks, setting the spoon down on the counter before leaning back against the cabinets, his arms folding across his chest. “We’ll see. I’ll let you have this one.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head as you go back to stirring the sauce. Max watches you quietly, his eyes lingering on you in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest. You’ve been in his penthouse for a few days now, and things between you have settled into an easy routine. It’s nice — this strange sense of normalcy.
But every now and then, when you catch him looking at you like that, you’re reminded that there’s nothing entirely normal about this.
“So,” you start, trying to focus on the sauce instead of the way Max is watching you. “Do you cook often?”
Max shrugs, still leaning back lazily against the counter. “Not really. Usually, I have someone come in to do it, but … I don’t mind doing it myself sometimes.”
You nod, stirring the sauce in silence for a moment. There’s a calmness between you, a quiet comfort that has become a regular part of being around Max. But there’s also something else. Something unspoken.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the question.
Max tilts his head, watching you for a moment before a small smile creeps onto his lips. “You know, you ask a lot of questions.”
“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “And you never answer them.”
He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Alright. Let me think.”
There’s a pause as Max considers his answer. Then, after a moment, he leans in a little closer, his voice dropping just slightly.
“When I was in law school, I almost dropped out. My dad wanted me to be a lawyer, to have something legitimate on the side. But halfway through, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the honesty. “Really? But you stuck with it.”
“Yeah,” Max nods, his expression thoughtful. “I stayed because of Victoria. She said I was too stubborn to quit.”
You smile softly, stirring the sauce as you consider his words. There’s something oddly comforting about hearing that — even Max, the man who always seems so sure of himself, had his moments of doubt.
Before you can respond, Max reaches for the spoon again, dipping it into the sauce for another taste. This time, he doesn’t blow on it first, and the heat catches him off guard. He winces slightly, pulling the spoon away from his lips quickly.
“Too hot?” You ask with a grin, watching his reaction.
“Just a little,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But as he does, a small streak of sauce remains on the corner of his lip, bright red against his skin.
You chuckle softly, pointing at his face. “You’ve got something right … there.”
Max pauses, his hand hovering near his mouth as he tries to find the spot. But before he can clean it off, something inside you stirs — a sudden impulse you don’t fully understand. Without thinking, you take a step closer, reaching out to him.
His eyes meet yours as you lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. The space between you shrinks, and before you can second-guess yourself, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth, tasting the faint hint of tomato and basil.
The moment is quick, fleeting, but the electricity in the air lingers long after you pull away.
Max freezes, his dark eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The kitchen is quiet except for the low simmer of the sauce on the stove.
You swallow hard, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. “I — sorry. You had … some sauce.”
Max blinks, his gaze softening as the corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost amused smile. “I noticed.”
Your heart races as the weight of the moment hangs between you, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But then Max steps closer, his presence warm and steady, his voice low.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly, his eyes searching yours.
“I … I know,” you murmur, your breath catching in your throat as he inches even closer. “But I wanted to.”
For a moment, Max just looks at you, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. And then, slowly, he reaches up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.
“You know,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re full of surprises.”
You let out a breathless laugh, your skin tingling under his touch. “Is that a bad thing?”
His thumb grazes your cheekbone, his touch gentle but firm. “No,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not at all.”
The tension between you crackles in the air, thick and charged, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you standing in the kitchen, the smell of tomato sauce and garlic surrounding you like a haze.
Max’s hand lingers on your face for just a second longer before he pulls away, clearing his throat and stepping back. The distance between you returns, but the weight of what just happened still hangs in the air, unspoken.
“I should, uh …” He glances at the pot, his voice a little hoarse. “We should finish dinner.”
“Yeah,” you agree quickly, trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing in your chest. “Dinner.”
Max turns back to the stove, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sauce again as though nothing happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that something did happen — that something between you shifted in that moment, even if neither of you is ready to acknowledge it yet.
As you move around the kitchen together, preparing the rest of the meal, the atmosphere is lighter, but there’s an undeniable tension simmering beneath the surface — something neither of you can ignore, no matter how hard you try. Every time your hands brush, every time your eyes meet, it’s there, lingering just out of reach.
And though neither of you says it out loud, you both know that whatever this is between you … it’s far from over.
***
The clink of dishes fills the kitchen, a peaceful rhythm as you and Max stand side by side at the sink. The scent of the meal you cooked together still lingers in the air — garlic, basil, and rich tomato sauce — its warmth a comforting backdrop to the easy silence that has settled between you.
You rinse the plates, passing them to Max, who dries them with a towel and places them in neat stacks. It’s strange how domestic this feels, how normal. After everything that’s happened, after all the chaos and tension, this moment feels almost surreal in its simplicity. The steam from the hot water rises, blurring the edges of your thoughts as you hand him the next plate.
There’s a calm between you, but also something unspoken. A simmering energy that’s been lingering ever since that brief, impulsive kiss earlier. Every time your hands brush, every glance you exchange — it’s there, lingering in the air like a spark waiting to catch.
You try to focus on the task in front of you, scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate with a sponge, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the way Max’s lips felt when they grazed yours. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at you afterward. And how, even though neither of you has mentioned it since, you know he hasn’t forgotten either.
Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly squeeze the bottle of soap a little too hard, and a burst of bubbles shoots out, landing on Max’s arm. You blink, startled, then burst into laughter as you see the suds clinging to his sleeve.
“Whoops,” you say, biting back more laughter as Max looks down at his arm, then back at you with raised eyebrows.
“Whoops?” He repeats, his tone dry but with a playful glint in his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”
You shake your head, still giggling. “I swear I didn’t! You just-”
Before you can finish your sentence, Max reaches out, swiping a finger through the bubbles on his arm and flicking them back at you. You gasp as the soapy foam splashes your face, catching you completely off guard.
“Max!” You protest, laughing even harder now as you wipe the bubbles from your cheek. “That was not fair!”
Max smirks, leaning casually against the counter with the towel still in his hand. “Payback.”
You narrow your eyes playfully, but you can’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to dissolve in the laughter, replaced by something light and easy. For a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into a different reality — one where the two of you can just be like this. Normal. Happy.
But then, as the laughter fades, the silence between you shifts again, the air thickening with something else. Something heavier.
Max is watching you, his eyes dark and intense, the playful smirk fading into something far more serious. His gaze lingers on your face, tracing the curve of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls as your breath quickens.
The mood changes so fast it almost knocks the air from your lungs. One second, you’re laughing, and the next, the tension between you is back, sharper and more urgent than before.
You can feel it — the pull between you. It’s like a magnetic force, drawing you closer together, even though neither of you has moved. The bubbles, the dishes, everything else fades into the background as Max takes a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Max …” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. But you don’t know what else to say. You don’t know what this is, this charged energy building between you, but it’s impossible to ignore.
Max takes another step, closing the distance between you, his hand still holding the towel loosely at his side. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. Just this moment.
You’re not sure who moves first. Maybe it’s both of you at once. But suddenly, Max’s hand is on your waist, pulling you toward him, and his lips crash into yours.
The kiss is hard, almost desperate, like all the tension that’s been building between you has finally snapped. His other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, pressing you back against the counter.
You gasp against his lips, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer. The cool surface of the cabinets presses into your back, but you hardly notice it. All you can focus on is Max — on the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips move with a hunger that makes your knees go weak.
For a split second, you can’t think. Can’t breathe. All you know is that you want more — need more. Max’s kiss is consuming, overwhelming, and you find yourself lost in it, lost in him.
His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb brushing against the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan against his lips.
That sound seems to snap something in Max. He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged. His eyes are wild, dark with an emotion you can’t quite name.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks, his voice rough, low. His thumb still strokes your skin, a gentle reminder of the fire burning between you.
You nod, your heart racing. You can barely find your voice, but when you do, it’s filled with certainty. “Yes.”
That’s all it takes.
Max crashes his lips against yours again, harder this time, more intense. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist as he presses you further into the cabinets. The towel he was holding drops to the floor, forgotten, as both of his hands find their way to your body.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. His kiss is rough, insistent, and you can feel the barely restrained desire in the way his hands roam your body, the way his mouth claims yours like he can’t get enough.
The kiss deepens, growing more heated by the second, and you lose yourself in the sensation of it all — the taste of him, the feel of his hands on you, the way his body fits so perfectly against yours. It’s like nothing else matters in this moment, like the world outside this kitchen doesn’t even exist.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, Max pulls away again, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.
You’re both silent for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your hearts. Max’s hands are still on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let go.
When he finally opens his eyes, they’re softer now, the wild intensity from earlier replaced by something deeper. Something more vulnerable.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
You smile, your heart swelling at his words. “Me too.”
He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips — this one slower, more tender, like he’s savoring the moment. When he pulls back, there’s a small smile on his face, and you can’t help but smile back.
There’s a calm between you now, a quiet understanding. Whatever this is between you, it’s real. It’s undeniable. And as you stand there, wrapped in Max’s arms, you know that things between you will never be the same again.
***
“Is that …” One of the men, Gregory, squints toward the entrance of the exclusive restaurant, pausing in the middle of a flirtatious exchange with the hostess. His words trail off, confusion clouding his features.
“What?” Brian, the stockier of the group, follows his gaze, annoyed that Gregory stopped mid-conversation. “What’s up, man?”
Gregory gestures with a tilt of his chin toward the door, where a woman has just stepped in. The place is dimly lit, but something about her seems familiar, though they can't quite place her.
“Do I know her from somewhere?” Gregory mutters, his brow furrowed as he leans back in his chair. The hostess, sensing their distraction, uses the opportunity to walk away, leaving them with menus but no promises of a table anytime soon.
Brian cranes his neck to get a better look. “Wait … yeah, she looks familiar.” His eyes narrow, trying to make out her face in the low light as she stands by the coat check with a man. The guy is tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He’s effortlessly helping her out of her coat, revealing a very obvious baby bump underneath her fitted dress.
“That can’t be …” Gregory’s voice drops, his eyes widening. He leans forward abruptly, his voice incredulous now. “No way. It can’t be her.”
Brian is staring hard now too, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Holy shit. Is that …”
“It’s Y/N,” Gregory finishes, his tone a mix of disbelief and amazement. “No fucking way.”
Both men stare openly now, their jaws slack. This can’t be the same Y/N they remember. The meek, quiet wife of their old friend, Jonathan Harper. The one who always seemed so timid, always a little on edge, looking small beside Jonathan's larger-than-life personality.
“Didn’t she …” Brian begins, but the sentence dies in his throat as you turns, facing their direction for a brief second. There’s no mistaking it now. It’s definitely you.
“But she looks …” Gregory is still fumbling for words. Different is an understatement. The woman they remember had been quiet, always fading into the background whenever Jonathan had his friends over. The Y/N they’re looking at now is glowing, confident, carrying yourself in a way they’ve never seen before.
“Jesus, man,” Brian mutters under his breath, eyes still locked on her. “She’s pregnant.”
Gregory snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “And with someone else? This quick after Jonathan? What the hell?”
Brian leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone taking on a gossipy edge. “Guess the widow moved on real fast, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Gregory's expression darkens. “She sure doesn’t look like she's grieving anymore.”
The two of them exchange knowing looks, already jumping to conclusions. In their minds, the version of Y/N they remember wouldn’t have been able to survive without Jonathan — without a man to take care of her. But here you are, very much alive, very much pregnant, and very much with someone else.
Brian’s eyes flicker back to your new partner. “Who the hell is the guy?”
“Beats me.” Gregory leans forward, intrigued. The man looks polished, strong, and carries himself like he’s someone important. He’s not standing too close, but his body language is protective, subtle but noticeable. He’s keeping an eye on you, as if ready to act if needed.
Gregory turns back to Brian, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Should we go say something?”
Brian looks at him, eyes gleaming with the kind of self-satisfied anticipation of someone about to stir trouble. “Hell yeah, we should.”
They exchange smirks, feeling a sudden surge of superiority. After all, you had been part of their circle by extension of Jonathan. You were Jonathan’s wife — emphasis on were — and to them, this move you pulled, getting knocked up by someone else and flaunting it in public, doesn’t sit right.
“Let’s see what she has to say for herself,” Gregory mutters, already starting to rise from his seat.
But as the two men stand up, ready to saunter over, something makes them pause.
The man at your side reaches up to adjust his suit jacket, and as he does, the fabric pulls back just enough to reveal something. Tucked into a holster at his side is a sleek, black gun, the metal gleaming subtly under the restaurant's dim lights.
Gregory stops mid-step, eyes widening. “Holy shit.”
Brian notices it at the same time. The two exchange glances, the smugness draining from their faces, replaced with a mix of uncertainty and alarm.
“Did you see that?” Brian hisses, his voice dropping several octaves.
Gregory nods, frozen in place, his gaze locked on the gun. He looks back at you, now laughing softly as the man beside you places a protective hand on the small of your back. You have no idea they’re watching you, no idea they were even thinking about approaching you. But your partner? He’s fully aware.
Max turns his head just enough to catch their eyes, and though he doesn’t say a word, his message is clear. The slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth says everything. Don’t even think about it.
Brian swallows hard. “Who the hell is this guy?”
Gregory shakes his head, suddenly regretting the entire idea. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around to find out.”
They both sit back down, their bravado evaporating as quickly as it had come. They exchange another uneasy glance, neither of them willing to admit they’ve just been scared off by a single look, but both fully aware that they want nothing to do with whatever’s going on here.
“Maybe she’s not our business anymore,” Brian mutters, grabbing his glass of whiskey and taking a long, deliberate sip.
Gregory nods, his eyes flickering back to you one last time. You’re completely engrossed in your conversation with the man, your hand resting on your belly as you smile softly up at him. Whoever this guy is, he’s clearly important to you. And as much as they hate to admit it, you don’t look like the fragile, breakable woman they remember.
In fact, you look happier than you ever did when you were with Jonathan.
“Yeah,” Gregory agrees, his voice subdued. “Maybe she never was.”
The two men settle back into their seats, the waitress bringing over a basket of bread and menus they’d long since forgotten about. They exchange a few more words, but the energy has shifted. The gossip that once seemed so juicy has lost its appeal.
As they half-heartedly resume their conversation, their eyes drift back to you and Max every so often. They can’t help it. There’s something captivating about the way you hold herself now — something different from the woman they once knew.
Brian, ever the more curious of the two, finally leans back in his chair and lets out a low whistle. “She really moved on, huh?”
Gregory shrugs, pushing his bread around on the plate in front of him. “Guess so.”
But as the night wears on, neither of them can shake the image of you and your new life. The woman who was once a shadow in the background of their lives is now someone they barely recognize. And for the first time, they realize that maybe — just maybe — they never really knew you at all.
Across the room, you and Max remain unaware of their scrutiny, wrapped in your own world, where the past no longer has a hold on either of you.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#max verstappen#mv1#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#max verstappen x female reader#max verstappen x y/n#red bull racing#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen drabble
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sevika general headcanons 𝜗𝜚
WARNINGS: 18+, sexual content, mommy kink, biting, squirting, slapping, spit play, degradation, dacryphilia, ignoring safe words, implied age gap, sevika is mean
AN: i got carried away… ;] not proof read!
SFW
Initially, she wanted nothing to do with you.
Like at all.
Once she realized that her feelings for you were anything more than platonic, she wanted to throw you off the piltover bridge.
She was so incredibly frustrated with herself because, how did she let this happen?!
You’ll definitely notice she starts smoking a hell of lot more frequently and spends most—if not all—of her free time in the brothel— anywhere you’re not around.
But of course, she can only run from her feelings for so long, and she eventually caves; letting you in.
Because of her upbringing, she has quite a hard time adjusting to having a girlfriend.
If its not anger, she has a hard time expressing herself. And if she’s not angry and it’s something trivial? More often than not she’ll end up accidentally hurting your feelings with her harsh tone.
One time, when the two of you had started dating, she’d asked you, "Have you ever done this before?” and it shocked you because you didn’t know if she was implying something or—
When you’d sputtered back a flushed, “Done, what?” she rolled her eyes and retorted, "Had a girlfriend, dumbass." Her tone stern but not necessarily angry. Later, she would have to console you after you admitted she’d hurt your feelings.
She swears she doesn’t mean to— that’s just how she talks!
Not to mention her heavy handedness??? Like omg.
She’s so heavy handed.
You’ll end up with tiny bruises scattered everywhere because of how hard she’ll grab your hand or your arm.
When she places a hand on your lower back to guide you it’ll feel more like a shove.
She has this cute little habit of kicking your legs under the table—for fun or to get your attention— and she swears it’s a soft little nudge.
But when you show her the red and purple blotches afterwards, she’ll relent.
It’ll take her a while, but she learns.
She learns to be more gentle and handle you with care.
She’ll also learns how to recieve love and affection!
It was quite foreign for her, like it would be for most people in the undercity. At first it made her uncomfortable— the constant little touches, the chaste kisses to the cheek, the hugs.
You’ll notice that she’s super standoffish when you do these things. Just staring at you with this unreadable expression.
It’s not that she didn’t like it, she just wasn’t used to it, and she didn’t quite know how to feel about it.
Don’t be misconstrued though, because once she solidifies the idea that this is normal behavior, she’ll be all over you.
I headcannon that her biggest display of affection is physical touch. She just loves to touch you in any way possible.
If you’re sitting on a couch or a bench, personal space is not an option. She’s presses herself right up against you, thighs touching and all.
If you’re going for a walk, she’s holding your hand or your wrist. Sometimes she’ll even wrap her hand around the back of your neck.
If you’re sitting at a table she’s got a hand on your thigh, or wrapped around your ankle when you cross your legs.
Loves to just play with your fingers or lay her head in your lap. Please play with her hair!! She’ll grab your hands and place them on her head if you don’t, grumbling at you for not already doing your “job”.
I also think she would just love quality time, because she’s clingy! The two of you don’t even have to talk, as long as you’re there she’ll be content with just sitting in silence and enjoying your company. And if she’s not busy, you always have hers.
She wants to do everything with you, laundry, shopping, studying, napping— all of it. She would sit in the bathroom while you poop, if you’d let her.
She hates leaving you alone, and despises when you leave her side. “It’s too dangerous out here, Darlin’…” is what she says everytime, “Who’s gonna protect you?”
She’s got a long list of petnames for you. More often than not you’ll hear:
“Darlin’..” “Baby..” “Pretty girl…”
Flying from her mouth with whatever little things she says. Sometimes when she’s feeling playful, she’ll name you after whatever you have on at the moment.
For instance if you’re wearing glasses, she’ll call you glasses. If you’ve got on a button up, she’ll call you button.
She won’t ever admit it but she’ll appreciate it greatly if you have your own pet names for her aswell. They’ll make her look away in the efforts that you don’t see the giddy smirk that she swallows.
She can’t have you knowing you make her all soft.
Speaking of which.
She’s the definition of “grumpy”. Like everything she does, she has to grumble about it. Want her to grab the remote? Fine, she’ll do it, but she’s going to grumble the whole time. Grab your jacket? Ok, cool, but you’re gonna hear this grumbling monologue, something about how you, “Couldve grabbed it yourself..”
She’s definitely the type to say “No.” when you ask her to do something, and then do it anyway.
She loves to pretend that she’s stone cold but she’s actually a huge softie when it comes to her little gf! (wife)
She loves to just look at you. Would definitely make others say, “Wow, look how she’s looks at her—”
Multiple times day you’ll catch her just idly staring at you, and it makes you self conscious— starting to touch at your hair and clothes. When you question her about it she’ll just say, “What? I can’t look at my pretty girl?” and kiss the corner of your lips.
She listens to you so intently, like she’s hanging onto every word, and blinks slowly at you like a cat. If you’re venting and just want her to listen? You got it. Come take a seat on her lap and she’ll hear everything you have to say; rubbing circles on your back with one hand, and holding yours with the other, just looking up at you with the occasional, “Mhm..”
And if you wanna talk about something silly? Go right ahead! She’ll listen all the same, offering her two cents every now and then or a soft chuckle. She’ll never turn down an opportunity to hear your voice.
She loves when you ask to arm wrestle
Likes to watch you try to pull her arm down with two of yours, smiling softly at your efforts before kissing your forehead and saying, “Better luck next time, princess.”
Don’t even try with an actual wrestling match— she tosses you around so easily, it makes you embarrassed. It slips your mind sometimes, her brute strength, because you’ve gotten so used to her being soft with and around you.
But when she pounces, pinning you in all of five second— without an ounce of a struggle— let’s just say it’s always a humbling experience. “My baby’s gotta get stronger,” She’ll always say, beforing tossing you over her shoulder with a chuckle.
She loves to give you random little kisses. Some on your cheeks, a few where your neck meets your shoulder. Behind your ears, on the palm of your hands. Every last one of your knuckles. Of course your precious lips.
She loves your lips. Loves when you get all done up and pretty so she can watch you put lip gloss on; before she messes it up by kissing you so she can watch you do it again. “Oh, don’t fuss at me,” She’ll smirk from behind you, watching you redo your lipstick in the mirror. “Just wanna kiss my pretty girl…” She’s kisses your cheek. You’re better off doing your makeup when she’s not around… if she’s ever not around.
And when you tell her you love her for the first time, she smiles softly, "I love you too." Sevika says gently, "I just don't quite understand what you see in me." The crimeboss chuckles, "A big, rough, hardened criminal.. doesn't exactly seem like a popular relationship choice, darlin'." She teases, looking down at you with a crooked grin.
Her grin softens into a look of admiration as you explain that the love you have for her is beyond those things, because you knows she’s more than that. "You see into me like no one else." She admits quietly, "You see past the walls, and the mask, and even the facade." She continues, "You see all the pieces I work so hard to keep covered up." Sevika adds on, chuckling softly as she looks down at you. "You're the only one who does that, y'know?" She admits, "You're the only one I allow to see me for who I really am."
NSFW
Come, come. Let’s discuss.
There’s so many things that really get Sevika going, and with you as her pretty little girlfriend, it doesn’t take much. She won’t admit it, but in those moments where she’s just staring at you, she picturing the most ungodly scenes. It gets worse once you realize how often it is you catch her staring.
She can’t help it. She’s always riddled with flash backs of you getting slutted out. While she’s working at the brothel, playing poker, having meetings with Silco— it doesn’t matter. It’ll just randomly cross her mind and she’ll realize: she can’t wait to come home.
Sevika loves it when you call her Mommy. It makes her feel powerful. It strokes her ego. It gives her a warm fluttering feeling in her chest everytime you let it slip from your lips. Often times, she’ll like to make you repeat yourself, just so she can hear you say it over and over and over again.
She loves to bite and she loves to be bitten. It’s something so primal about it that warms up her core and makes her soak. She’ll let out deep rumbles when you bite into her arm or shoulder, never applying too much pressure. She’s told you before that you don’t have to hold back, but you always do. She doesn’t.
You see, Sevika likes to fluctuate. Not between top and bottom, but hard and soft.
Sometimes she wants to be so gentle with you. Kissing you passionately, hugging you tight, caressing you all over, giving you slow deep thrusts so she can show you how much she really loves you.
Other times she wants to be rough. She wants to toss you around, and pull your hair. Leave marks and choke you until you can’t breathe. Impose on you with her harrowing size and strength.
It’s even better when she finds the middle ground.
She’ll always ease you into everything, just to make sure you’re on the same page.
When she’s feeling particularly soft, she’s loves to service you. She’ll lay you on your back and kiss you everywhere, she likes to see how worked up it’s gets you. Pressing soft wet kisses down your neck and chest, undressing you as she does so.
And she’ll smirk as you’re left in your underwear, leaning down to press a soft kisses against your stomach. She’ll move lower, kissing your hips and your thighs before kissing your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. "I'm gonna take these off, that okay, Baby?" She’ll ask, already knowing your answer, her fingers toying with the waistband.
And she will laugh, seeing how you eagerly nod your head, a breathless, “Yes, Mommy.” falling from your pretty lips. She’ll hum to herself lowly. God, She loves it when you call her that. And she’ll free you of your panties because, how could she resist such a sweet plea?
And once she sees how wet your pussy is, she’ll whistle, “Phew, what’s got my baby so worked up?” And run her fingers over your slit, gathering up the mess on her fingers to taste. Sevika will eat your pussy for hours. And please don’t test this theory— because you’ll regret it.
It doesn’t matter if you buck your hips away, she’ll just wrap her arms around your hips effectively locking them down, and continue to have her way. “Let Mommy eat, pretty..” She’ll chastise, and you’ll have no choice but to oblige.
And when she’s done eating your pussy, she’ll position you to sit in front of her and lean on her bare chest so she can fuck you with her fingers until you squirt all over them. She loves the access she has here. She gets to kiss all over your neck and shoulders and rub at your nipples, all the while pressing her palm against your clit while her fingers press against that spongey spot inside you.
And don’t even think about telling her you can’t take anymore, because it’ll fall on deaf ears. She’ll swallow up your pleas in a sweet kiss, telling you, “Nonsense, Baby. Mommy knows you can handle s’more..” Trust me, when she’s feeling soft, she’ll never take you beyond your means. She knows her princess.
She’ll kiss you so passionately you both never want to stop, rutting her pussy against yours precisely. You just know she’s had some practice. She likes to look deep into your eyes, holding you there by your cheeks the whole time. Pressing her forehead against yours while she whispers to you.
“My pretty baby… you feel s’good..” She’ll murmur against yours while she lips, before sucking on them sweetly. She’s so sweet when she’s soft.
But when she’s hard: She’s nasty.
Filthy and vulgar, and driven by nothing but the urge to ruin. In these times, it’s hard to get through to her. Nothing you say will get through her head unless it’s, “Yes, Mommy” or a direct response to what she’s just ordered you to do.
Keyword ordered.
She’ll have you stripped in record timing, gripping both of your wrists harshly, pinning them above your head, “These stay here, Understand?” She’ll say, her tone authoritive with no room for argument. And you’ll nod your head like a good girl for her.
When she spreads your legs, that’s where they better stay, otherwise she’ll slap your pussy, hard, and that’ll just be your first warning. She’ll grill you down with a hard stare, and you’ll know not to make that mistake again.
She’ll bring two fingers to your lips, and tap against them. "Open up for Mommy, baby." She’ll order, tone stern. And when you do, she’ll fuck your throat with those fingers, feeling you gag and watching the spit slide down your throat. And she’ll lick it all up just to spit it back in your mouth. “Good girl…” She’ll purr.
When she’s like this, she has a dark look in her eyes. It’s a primal look, and if you glance away too quickly you’ll miss it. She’s likes to fuck you hard during these times, hardly any qualms for your limits.
She’ll always have her handy strap prepared and waiting. Thick and long and heavy. She likes it that way. She likes to feel like the man.
She’ll grin, somewhat cruelly, and her eyes will meet yours in a flirtatious wink. "You like the view, pretty girl?" Sevika asks softly, her hand gently stroking the toy in her hand, like it’s a real dick, getting it all wet with lube. And how could you not? Her cut physic on full display, muscled and scared… so manly.
Sevika will take you through so many positions, you won’t have the energy to roll over in your sleep at night. She’ll take you in missionary first, “Mommy’s gonna break you in now, Baby.” She’ll growl, and she’ll keep her promise, bottoming out in one single thrust. Hard. She loves that look of pain that washes over you. She’ll wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze as she ruts into you.
She’ll fuck you like she hates you, but you know it’s all love when she’s slapping your face, and filling your mouth with her fingers.
And when she thinks that’s not enough? She’ll grip the back of your legs and push them up to your chest, effectively folding you up before drilling into you. She’s got you in a mating press.
And she’ll chuckle away at the tears that form in your eyes, your moans flying out in a mantra. She’ll grin down at you, her lips pulling back into a cocky smirk. "Yeah, good girl.." There’s a lewd slapping that fills the room. "How does that feel, sweet girl?" She’ll ask, sticking her fingers down your throat again, "Is Mommy hitting all the right spots, baby?"
And this’ll go on until she’s made you cum a few times. She likes to watch the expression on your face when you come undone, tears falling from your eyes.
But don’t think your done, no, she’s just getting started.
She’ll pull out and physically toss you over, shoving your head down with brute force and pulling your ass up. She’ll push her dick back in, slowly so you feel it. “S’good right?” She’ll ask, “Mommy filling you up?” and she’s back to drilling you like she never stopped.
She’ll lean over you, wrapping a muscular arm around your throat and putting you in a headlock. She’ll snicker evily in your ear as you cry out at the new angle, “Ohhh, Mommy’s fucking you good, huh? Right there?” She’ll tease, beating that spot in relentlessly.
If you get too loud she’ll have no choice but to squeeze that arm around your throat, snickering at the way you tap at her arm, “So pretty…” She’ll say in your ear, driving her hips into yours, “Tell Mommy how much you love her..”she’ll say, knowing you can’t respond. The drool will run down your chin and she’ll just lick it up, muttering, “Such a messy girl, huh?”
When shes feels her primal needs are satisfied, she’ll return back to that soft, loving “Sevi” that you know. Cleaning you up and giving you kissies. Rubbing all of your sore spots and telling you how much of a good girl you were.
And as you both cuddle in your shared bed, she’ll watch as you fall asleep on her chest, a small smile forming on her lips as she lets herself doze off as well. <3
please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list to be notified every time i post, xx
#sevika#arcane#arcane headcanon#league of legends#arcane league of legends#sevika arcane#sevika x reader#sevika smut#lesbian#wlw#arcane s2#arcane season 2#ao3
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The Secret Folders - Or Surprisingly Exposed
Seulgi x Male Reader
word count: 4.5K
The horror movie flickers across the TV screen, casting dancing shadows around Seulgi's dimly lit living room. But you can barely focus on the generic slasher plot - not with her sitting so close beside you on the plush leather couch. Your best friend since college is wearing those damn gray pajama pants again, the ones that hug every curve of her toned legs and petite frame. Combined with a loose t-shirt that's always sliding off her shoulder, giving a glimpse of her collarbone; she's the perfect mix of casual comfort and unintentional sexiness that's been driving you insane lately.
"Earth to spacehead," Seulgi says with a playful nudge, breaking you from your wandering thoughts. "That's like the third time you've jumped at absolutely nothing. The movie's not even at a scary part yet."
You force what you hope is a casual laugh, hyper-aware of how her half-bare shoulder brushes against yours as she shifts position. "Just tired I guess. Long week at work and all that."
"Bullshit," she counters with that knowing half-smirk that makes your stomach do backflips. "I've seen you marathon horror movies until 4 AM after double shifts. Try again."
"Maybe I'm just getting old and jumpy?" You attempt deflection, but your voice comes out higher than intended.
Seulgi pauses the movie mid-scene, turning to face you fully with her legs tucked under her.
"Or maybe," she draws out the words slowly, dark eyes studying your expression, "you're distracted by something else entirely. Or should I say... someone?"
Your heart rate kicks up several notches. There's a glint in her eye that you've never seen before - something predatory and knowing that makes your mouth go dry. "W-what do you mean?"
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean." She leans in slightly, her vanilla-scented shampoo filling your senses. "See, the other day when I borrowed your laptop to print those work documents? I may have accidentally stumbled across some... interesting folders."
The blood drains from your face as realization hits.
Fuck.
Those folders.
The ones you thought were safely buried in obscure subfolders with innocuous names. The ones filled with carefully edited split-screen videos - porn on one side, usually featuring petite Asian women who looked just like...
"Your face is doing that thing it does when you're panicking," Seulgi observes, seeming almost amused by your deer-in-headlights expression. "The same look you had that time we almost got caught sneaking into the campus pool senior year."
You open your mouth to speak but no words come out. How do you explain away folders full of porn videos meticulously edited to display alongside photos of your best friend? There's no platonic explanation for that level of obsession.
"I have to say," she continues casually, as if discussing the movie rather than your darkest secret, "I'm a little hurt you didn't just tell me you were into me. We've been friends for what, six years now? That's a long time to keep those kinds of feelings bottled up."
"Seulgi, I..." you start, then falter. "I never wanted to mess up our friendship. You mean too much to me to risk that. And I know those folders were fucked up. I promise I'll delete everything! I'm so sorry you had to see that-"
"Shh." She presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing your rambling apology. "I'm not finished. Because while I was surprised to find those folders... What surprised me more was realizing how much they turned me on. Damn, I didn't know you were such a dirty boy."
Your brain short-circuits at her words, unable to process this turn of events. Seulgi takes advantage of your stunned silence to slide closer.
"Want to know a secret?" she whispers, her lips barely an inch from your ear. "I've thought about you too. All those times we've had sleepovers, sharing my bed... I'd lie awake wondering what would happen if I just rolled over and kissed you. If I told you how wet I get when you look at me with those hungry eyes you think I don't notice."
"Fuck," you breathe out shakily as her hand lands on your thigh, fingertips tracing idle patterns through your sweatpants. "Is this really happening?"
"That depends," she replies with mock thoughtfulness. "Do you want it to be happening? Because I saw those videos you like... all those pretty Asian girls taking it up the ass... is that what you want to do to me? Do you want me to be your anal princess?"
Your grip on the couch cushion tightens as arousal shoots through you at her blunt words. Hearing your best friend talk like this is driving you crazy.
"Don't worry, I always wanted this too," she continues, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Do you remember all those times I'd sit in your lap for no reason? When I'd 'accidentally' grind against you while reaching for something?" She grins wickedly. "That wasn't accidental at all. I've been trying to make you hard for months."
Your mind races back through countless moments - Seulgi plopping down on your lap during movie nights, wiggling her tight little ass against your crotch as she "got comfortable." How many times had you gone home afterward to jerk off thinking about it?
"I could feel it, you know," she continues, her voice dropping lower. "How hard you'd get. Sometimes I could even feel your cock twitch through your pants. It made me so wet knowing I was affecting you like that."
You groan, unable to help yourself. "Fuck, Seulgi..."
"And you know what really got me hot?" She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear. "Sometimes I could feel your cock right against my asshole through our clothes. The way it would press right there... god, it made me want to just pull my pants down and let you fuck my ass right then and there."
Your cock is straining painfully against your jeans now as Seulgi's dirty confession pours out. She notices, of course, and presses her palm firmly against your bulge.
"You still haven't answered me: all those videos you picked - they were all anal scenes. Is that what you think about? Fucking my tight little ass?"
Unable to form words, you just nod. Seulgi's hand squeezes your cock through your pants.
"Tell me," she demands. "I want to hear you say it."
Swallowing hard, you force yourself to meet her intense gaze. "Yes. Fuck yes! I think about your ass all the time. Every time you wear that fucking leggings, I can see every curve, how tight and perfect it is. I go home and jerk off thinking about spreading those cheeks and burying my cock in your ass."
Seulgi moans, grinding the heel of her hand against your erection. "Keep going. Tell me more."
The dam breaks and all your pent-up fantasies come pouring out. "I think about eating your ass first, getting it nice and wet with my tongue. Spreading you open and licking you until you're begging for my cock. Then sliding into that tight hole inch by inch while you take it all..."
"Fuck," Seulgi gasps, her free hand sliding between her own legs. "I knew we had a connection. Want to know a secret?"
You nod eagerly, hypnotized by the way she's rubbing herself through her pants.
"I have toys," she confesses. "Butt plugs, dildos... I use them in my ass almost every night thinking about you. Imagining it's your thick cock stretching me open instead."
That confession breaks the last of your restraint. With a growl, you grab Seulgi and pull her into your lap, crushing your lips together in a desperate kiss. She responds immediately, grinding her ass against your cock as her tongue invades your mouth.
You grab her firm ass with both hands, squeezing and spreading the cheeks through the fabric. Seulgi moans into your mouth, rolling her hips to create more friction.
"Bedroom," she pants, breaking the kiss. "Now. I need you to fuck my ass properly."
You don't need to be told twice. Standing up with Seulgi still wrapped around you, you carry her down the hall to her room, hands firmly gripping her ass the whole way. She attacks your neck with kisses and little bites that make your cock throb.
Once in her bedroom, you toss her onto the bed and she bounces with a giggle that quickly turns into a moan as you grab the waistband of her pajama pants and yank them down. Her tiny black thong comes with them, leaving her lower half completely exposed.
"Fuck, look at that ass," you breathe, taking in the sight of her small, perfectly round cheeks. You've imagined this view countless times, but reality is so much better.
Seulgi wiggles her hips teasingly. "Touch it. I've been waiting so long to feel your hands on me."
You don't hesitate, climbing onto the bed and running your palms over the smooth globes of her ass. Her skin is incredibly soft and warm under your touch. You squeeze and knead the firm flesh, spreading her cheeks to reveal her tight pink hole.
"God, it's perfect," you groan, rubbing your thumb over her puckered entrance. Seulgi pushes back against the touch with a whimper.
"Taste it," she demands, arching her back to present herself better. "I want to feel your tongue in my ass."
You dive in eagerly, spreading her cheeks wide and dragging your tongue from her dripping pussy up to her asshole. Seulgi cries out, pushing back against your face as you circle her rim with firm licks.
"Yes, fuck, just like that," she moans. "Get my ass nice and wet for your cock."
You alternate between broad licks and pointed jabs with your tongue, gradually working the tip past her tight ring of muscle. Seulgi's whole body shudders as you tongue-fuck her ass, her pussy dripping onto the sheets below.
"More," she begs. "Stick your tongue in deeper. Get me ready for that thick cock."
You redouble your efforts, gripping her ass cheeks hard enough to leave marks as you bury your face between them. Your tongue pushes deeper into her hot channel while your nose presses against her taint. The musky, intimate taste of her ass only makes you harder.
Seulgi reaches back and spreads herself even wider for you. "That's it, eat my fucking ass. God, I've dreamed about this so many times."
You pull back just enough to spit directly onto her hole, watching it clench and relax. "Me too. Every time you sat on my lap, I wanted to bend you over and tongue-fuck this perfect little ass."
"I knew it," she pants. "I could feel how hard you'd get. Sometimes I'd grind back extra hard just to feel your cock pressing against my asshole through our clothes."
You press your thumb against her spit-slicked entrance, watching it slowly sink in to the first knuckle. Seulgi moans and pushes back, taking it deeper.
"Look how eager your ass is," you tease, working your thumb in and out. "Such a greedy little hole."
"Only for you," she gasps. "I've been saving my ass for your cock. Now stop teasing and fuck me already."
But you're not done exploring yet. You've fantasized about this too long to rush it. Pulling your thumb out, you replace it with two fingers, slowly working them into her tight channel.
"Fuck yes," Seulgi hisses. "Stretch me open. Get me ready for that big dick."
You pump your fingers steadily in and out of her ass, watching in fascination as her hole grips and releases them. Your other hand slides around to find her clit, rubbing the swollen nub in time with your thrusts.
"Oh god," she moans, rocking between your fingers. "That feels so fucking good. Add another finger, please. I want to be nice and loose for you."
You comply, working a third digit into her stretched hole. Seulgi's back arches beautifully as she takes it, a long moan escaping her lips.
"Such a good girl, taking it so well," you praise, scissoring your fingers to open her up more. "I can't wait to feel this tight ass wrapped around my cock."
"Please," she whimpers. "I need it. Need your cock in my ass so bad."
You continue finger-fucking her ass while your other hand works her clit, building her up slowly. Seulgi's moans get higher and more desperate as she approaches orgasm.
"That's it," you encourage. "Cum for me. Cum with my fingers in your ass."
Seulgi's whole body tenses as she crashes over the edge, her ass clenching rhythmically around your fingers as she cums. You work her through it, only stopping when she collapses bonelessly onto the bed.
"Holy fuck," she pants, looking back at you with glazed eyes. "That was so good."
You slowly withdraw your fingers, admiring how her hole stays slightly open. "Just wait until you feel my cock in there."
"Yes please," she purrs, rolling onto her back. "But first, get naked. I want to see what I've been missing."
You quickly strip off your clothes, your cock springing free rock hard and leaking. Seulgi's eyes go wide as she takes in your size.
"Fuck, you're bigger than my toys," she says appreciatively. "No wonder I could feel you so well through your pants."
She sits up and pulls her t-shirt off, revealing small, perky breasts with hard nipples. Your mouth waters at the sight of her toned body, tight abs leading down to her bare pussy.
"Come here," she beckons, reaching for your cock. "Let me get you nice and wet first."
You move closer and Seulgi wraps her small hand around your shaft, stroking slowly. Pre-cum leaks from the tip and she uses it to lubricate her movements.
"I've wanted to touch your cock for so long," she admits, leaning in to lick a stripe up the underside. "Every time I felt it getting hard under me, I wanted to pull it out and suck it."
Her tongue swirls around the head before she takes you into her mouth. You groan as she sucks you deeper, her hand working what doesn't fit.
"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing," you pant, threading your fingers through her hair.
Seulgi hums around your cock, the vibrations making your legs shake. She works you expertly, alternating between deep throat attempts and focusing on the sensitive head.
After a few minutes of this heavenly torture, you have to stop her. "Wait, I don't want to cum yet. I want to save it for your ass."
She releases you after a long suck on the tip. "Mmm, yes please. I want you to cum deep in my ass."
Seulgi rolls over onto her hands and knees, presenting her ass to you once again. "I need your cock in my ass so bad, babe. The lube is on the nightstand."
You grab the bottle and drizzle it generously over her hole and your cock. Using your fingers, you work it into her ass, making sure she's well-prepared.
"Ready?" you ask, lining yourself up with her entrance.
"God yes," she moans. "Fill my ass with that big cock."
You press forward slowly, watching the head of your cock stretch her tight ring of muscle. Seulgi whimpers as you breach her, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"You okay?" you check, pausing to let her adjust.
"Yes, don't stop," she pants. "Keep going. I want all of it."
You continue pushing forward inch by inch, groaning at the incredible tightness of her ass. Seulgi rocks back slightly, helping to work you deeper.
"Fuck, you're so big," she gasps. "My ass feels so full."
Finally, you bottom out, your hips pressed flush against her ass cheeks. You both moan at the sensation of being completely joined.
"How does it feel?" you ask, running your hands over her back.
"Amazing," she breathes. "Better than I ever imagined. Start moving, please. I need you to fuck my ass."
You pull back slowly until just the head remains inside, then push back in at the same pace. Seulgi's ass grips you like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through your body.
"God, your ass is perfect," you groan, establishing a steady rhythm. "So fucking tight around my cock."
"Yes, fuck my ass," she moans. "Use my tight little hole. I've been saving it just for you."
You gradually increase your pace, watching in fascination as her ass swallows your cock over and over. The sight of your shaft disappearing into her stretched hole is hypnotic.
Seulgi reaches between her legs to play with her clit as you fuck her ass. "Harder," she demands. "I can take it. I want you to really fuck me."
You grip her hips tighter and start pounding into her ass with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with both of your moans and gasps.
"Yes, just like that," she cries. "Fuck my ass hard. Make me your anal whore."
Her dirty talk spurs you on and you slam into her even harder, watching her small body jolt with each thrust. Your balls slap against her pussy, adding to the obscene symphony of sounds.
"You like that?" you growl, spanking her ass cheek. "Like having your tight little ass stretched around my cock?"
"God yes," she pants. "I love it. Love feeling you so deep in my ass. Don't stop, please don't stop!"
You can feel her getting close again, her ass clenching rhythmically around your cock as she works her clit faster. The extra tightness is bringing you closer to the edge too.
"Gonna cum soon," you warn, your thrusts becoming more erratic.
"Inside," she begs. "Cum in my ass! Fill me up with your hot load."
The combination of her words and her tight ass proves too much. With a final deep thrust, you explode inside her, painting her walls with rope after rope of cum. The feeling of being filled triggers Seulgi's own orgasm and she screams your name as she cums hard around your cock.
You continue pumping slowly, working both of you through your climaxes until you're completely spent. It's when you collapse forward, careful not to crush her smaller frame. Both of you pant heavily as you come down from your respective highs.
"Stay inside me," she murmurs when you start to pull out. "I want to feel your cum in my ass as long as possible."
You comply, remaining buried in her stretched hole as it continues to pulse around your softening cock.
"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, bringing your face closer to kiss her neck. Her tight hole squeezes you and you can feel your cum starting to leak out around your shaft.
"I can't believe we finally did this," Seulgi says softly, turning her head to look at you with those beautiful eyes that always drive you crazy. "I've wanted you for so long..."
"Really?" you ask, genuinely surprised. "I had no idea. I mean, I've always been attracted to you too but I figured I wasn't your type."
She lets out a little laugh. "Are you kidding? You're exactly my type. I've been fantasizing about you fucking me like this for years." She rolls her hips slightly, making you both moan as your semi-hard cock shifts inside her cum-filled ass.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you ask, running your hands up and down her smooth back.
"Same reason as you probably - didn't want to risk ruining our friendship," she admits. "Plus I wasn't sure if you saw me that way. I mean, you were always so shy, never showing any obvious interest, despite your glances at me... It was hard to decipher what you really wanted."
"Well, now you know what I really want. Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about that perfect little ass of yours?" You give her ass cheeks a squeeze for emphasis. "Or those cute little tits? Or those fucking gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock?"
Seulgi moans softly at your words, her ass clenching around you again. "Mmm tell me more... What else did you think about doing to me?"
You can feel your dick starting to harden again inside her as you continue: "Fuck, everything. Bending you over every surface in my apartment. Watching you bounce on my cock. Filling all your tight little holes with cum. The way you'd look with my dick stretching out that pretty mouth..."
"God yes," she whimpers, beginning to slowly grind against you. Your cock is definitely getting hard again now, making her gasp as it swells inside her ass. "I used to imagine you just grabbing me one day and taking what you wanted. Pushing me up against a wall and shoving your big cock inside me..."
"Yeah? You wanted me to just use you like a little fucktoy?"
"Yes! Fuck yes," she confesses. "I wanted you to treat me like your personal cumslut. Make me take that fat cock however you wanted..."
Your dick is fully hard again now, throbbing inside her cum-filled ass. You can feel your previous load still leaking out around your shaft as she continues grinding against you.
"Well now we can make up for lost time," you tell Seulgi as you pull out of her slowly, laying on your back on the bed as you pull her on top of you. "I'm going to fuck this tight little ass whenever I want now. Fill you up with load after load of cum..."
"Promise?" she asks breathlessly, grabbing your cock in her hand as she slowly reinserts it into her ass, sitting on top of you. The new angle lets you fully appreciate her perfect petite body - those perky tits, flat stomach, and that incredible ass currently impaled on your shaft.
"Fuck yes I promise. But now I want to see your perfect little body riding my cock..." You grab her hips and thrust up into her, making her cry out in pleasure.
"Oh god! Yes! Let me ride you," Seulgi purrs. She starts rolling her hips experimentally, getting used to the feeling of controlling the penetration. Your previous load of cum makes obscene wet sounds as she moves, some of it leaking out around your cock and dripping onto your balls. The sight of your thick shaft disappearing into her tight little hole is fucking mesmerizing.
"Fuck, you look so hot like this," you groan, gripping her slim hips. Her ass clenches around you at the compliment, making you both moan.
"Yeah? You like watching me bounce on your big cock?" she asks breathlessly, starting to lift herself up and down properly now. The way she moves is absolutely perfect - she clearly knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.
"God yes, love watching this tight little ass take my cock," you tell her, giving her ass cheeks a squeeze. "Such a perfect little slut, riding me like you were made for it..."
Seulgi throws her head back and really starts going for it, bouncing enthusiastically on your dick. Her small tits bounce with the movement and you reach up to pinch her hard nipples, making her cry out in pleasure. The wet sounds of your cum squelching around your shaft get even louder as she picks up speed.
"Fuck! Your cock feels so good in my ass," she pants, grinding down hard against you. "Love feeling it stretch me open... Love having your cum inside me..."
You thrust up to meet her movements, driving your cock deeper into her tight hole. The way she's riding you is absolutely incredible - her ass is still gripping your shaft like a vice even after taking your first load. Every time she drops down, taking you balls deep, she lets out these perfect little whimpers that drive you crazy.
"That's it baby, ride that cock," you encourage her, running your hands up her sides to cup her tits. "Show me how badly you've wanted this..."
"Wanted it so bad," she moans, bouncing faster. "Dreamed about riding your big cock like this... Feeling you stretch my tight little ass..."
Her dirty talk spurs you on and you start thrusting up harder, making her cry out with each deep stroke. The sight of your shaft disappearing into her perfect ass over and over, still slick with your previous load, is absolutely incredible. Some of your cum is leaking out around your cock, running down onto your balls in thick white streams.
"Such a perfect little anal slut," you growl, squeezing her tits roughly. "Taking my cock so well, begging for more... Were you always this much of a cumslut or is it just for me?"
"Just for you," she gasps, grinding down hard. "Never wanted anyone else like this... Never begged for anyone else's cum..."
Her words make your cock throb inside her and you start really pounding up into her tight hole. The way she's moving her hips is absolutely perfect, grinding down to take you as deep as possible before lifting up until just the tip remains inside her. Her ass clenches around you each time she rises up, like she doesn't want to let your cock go.
"Fuck yes, ride that dick," you encourage her, gripping her hips tightly. "Show me how badly you want another load in this tight little ass..."
"Want it so bad," she moans, bouncing frantically now. "Want you to fill me up again... Want even more of your hot cum deep inside me..."
The sight of her riding you like this is absolutely incredible. Her perfect little body bouncing on your cock, her tight ass gripping and milking your shaft, the way your previous load is leaking out around your cock - it's all driving you crazy with lust.
"Gonna fill this tight hole up again," you grunt, squeezing her ass roughly. "Paint your insides white with another huge load..."
"Yes! Please cum in my ass again," she begs, grinding down hard. "Want to feel you pump me full... Want your hot cum deep inside me..."
You can feel your orgasm building as she continues riding you frantically, her tight hole milking your cock perfectly.
"Fuck, I'm close," you warn her, gripping her hips tightly. "Gonna fill this perfect little ass up again..."
"Do it! Cum inside me," she moans, grinding down hard. "Fill me up, mark me as yours..."
A few more bounces and you're there, groaning loudly as you start pumping another huge load deep in her ass. Seulgi cries out and clenches around you, her own orgasm hitting as she feels your hot cum flooding her insides.
"Oh god, yes! I can feel it," she gasps, grinding against you as you continue spurting inside her. "So much cum... Filling me up so good..."
You thrust up a few more times, making sure to deposit every drop of cum as deep as possible in her tight hole. When you're finally spent, she collapses forward onto your chest, her sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, both of you breathing heavily as your softening cock remains buried in her thoroughly fucked and cum-filled ass.
"That was fucking incredible," you pant, running your hands up and down her back.
"Mmm it really was," she agrees, nuzzling against your neck. "Best night ever. We definitely need to do this again. Like, a lot."
"Oh we will," you assure her with a grin. "I meant what I said - I'm going to use this perfect little ass whenever I want now. You’re mine. Officially. No take-backs.”
Her grin softens into something more genuine, and she cups your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “So we’re doing this? Like, actually doing this?”
“Hell yes, we are,” you reply without hesitation. “We’ve wasted enough time pretending we didn’t want this. And now that I know how good we are together, you really think I’m letting you go?”
She pulls you into a kiss, slow and deep. “Good. Because I don’t want to go anywhere. I'm stuck with you now.”
“Stuck with me?” you repeat, smirking. “Babe, I'm the one who'll have to deal with your insane ass from now on. If anyone’s ‘stuck,’ it’s me.”
“Oh, please,” she fires back, rolling her eyes. “You love my insane ass.”
“Damn right, I do,” you say, sliding a hand down to squeeze it for emphasis. “And I plan on showing you just how much, every chance I get.”
She laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck. “God, we’re so screwed up. Who the hell starts a relationship like this?”
You shrug, leaning down to kiss her again. “Us, apparently. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The two of you stay tangled up in each other, talking and teasing until the conversation drifts back to the years of near-misses and unspoken feelings. It’s all out in the open now, and for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.
—
You slowly open your eyes, still groggy from last night's intense activities. The morning sunlight filters through the curtains of Seulgi's bedroom, casting a warm glow across the messy sheets. Your naked body feels pleasantly sore as memories from yesterday flood back - how your petite best friend discovered those edited porn videos you made of her, and instead of getting pissed off, she got turned on. Who would've thought sweet little Seulgi was such a dirty girl?
The bed beside you is empty but still warm. You stretch lazily, enjoying the lingering scent of sex in the air mixed with her perfume. Your morning wood is already throbbing as you replay highlights from last night - Seulgi's tight little ass bouncing on your cock, her moans when you ate her holes, the way she begged for more...
The bedroom door opens and there she is - your best friend in all her sweaty glory. She's wearing a sports bra that shows off her perky tits and skin-tight leggings that hug every curve. Her skin glistens with perspiration, loose strands of hair sticking to her flushed face. Your cock instantly gets even harder.
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Seulgi chirps, grabbing a towel to wipe her face. "Hope you don't mind, I always do my morning workout. Gotta keep this body tight, you know?" She strikes a playful pose.
"Fuck, you look incredible all sweaty like that," you growl, drinking in her athletic form. The way those leggings cling to her ass should be illegal. "Your body is fucking perfect."
She bites her lip, clearly pleased by the compliment. "Mmm, someone slept well I see," she says, eyeing your obvious erection beneath the sheets. "Still naked under there?"
"Want to come find out for yourself?"
"Actually..." Seulgi's eyes gleam with mischief. "I could use some extra cardio. Work up even more of a sweat..."
You throw back the sheets, exposing your rock-hard cock. "Get that sexy ass over here then."
Seulgi saunters toward the bed, her hips swaying. The musky scent of her post-workout sweat hits your nostrils and makes your mouth water. When she gets close enough, you grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you.
"Mmm, someone's eager," she giggles, grinding against your erection through her leggings.
You bury your face in her neck, inhaling deeply. The salty tang of her sweat mixed with her natural scent is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to taste her glistening skin, trailing up to her ear.
"Fuck, you taste so good all sweaty," you growl. "I want to lick every inch of you."
Seulgi moans as you suck and nibble at her neck, leaving marks. Your hands roam over her toned body, squeezing her ass through those sinfully tight leggings. You've fantasized about her in workout clothes so many times, and now you finally get to live it out.
Your mouths crash together in a heated kiss. She tastes like mint - must have brushed her teeth before working out. Your tongues battle for dominance as you grind against each other. One hand slides up under her sports bra to pinch a hard nipple.
"These fucking leggings," you groan between kisses. "Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about ripping them open and fucking you in them?"
"Show me," she purrs. "Make those dirty fantasies real."
You don't need to be told twice. Gripping the fabric between her legs, you tear a hole right over her pussy and ass. The sound of ripping material fills the room as Seulgi gasps.
"Fuck yes, ruin them," she moans. "I love how fucking nasty you are."
You run your fingers over her exposed holes. Her pussy is already dripping wet, her asshole still slightly gaped from last night's pounding.
"I gotta admit, I'm gonna miss these leggings," Seulgi whines, but her pussy visibly clenches at the dominant display.
"I'll buy you new ones," you reply, tearing the hole wider until it extends from her lower back to her upper thighs. The torn edges frame her holes perfectly. "Now get to work on my cock while I eat this pretty pussy.”
She straddles your face in reverse, giving you a perfect view of her holes as she wraps her lips around your throbbing shaft. You groan at the wet heat enveloping your cock, the vibrations making her moan around you.
You spread her ass cheeks wide, admiring how her holes glisten with arousal. Her pussy is swollen and pink, cream already gathering at her entrance. Her tight asshole clenches invitingly.
"Such a pretty view," you murmur before diving in, dragging your tongue from her clit all the way up to her asshole. She shudders and moans around your cock, taking you deeper.
You alternate between broad licks through her folds and targeted flicks against her clit, gathering her tangy juices on your tongue. Her thighs start trembling as you suck her sensitive nub, her own oral efforts becoming sloppier as pleasure overtakes her.
"Mmmph!" she gags slightly as you thrust up into her throat, your hands gripping her ass to hold her in place. Tears gather in her eyes but she doesn't pull away, relaxing her throat to take you deeper.
You release her clit with a wet pop. "Good girl, taking my cock so deep while I eat this pussy." You punctuate your words by spearing your tongue into her dripping hole, tasting her deepest parts.
Her hips start grinding against your face as you tongue-fuck her, smearing her juices all over your chin. The torn leggings frame the erotic sight perfectly, the ripped edges emphasizing how thoroughly you're debauching her.
You pull back slightly to admire your work - her pussy is even more swollen now, her inner lips puffy and glistening. Her clit stands out prominently, begging for more attention. Above, her asshole clenches rhythmically, practically begging to be played with.
You drag your tongue up to circle her puckered entrance. Seulgi's whole body jerks at the contact, a muffled moan vibrating around your cock.
"Your ass is perfect," you murmur against her skin before diving back in, circling her rim with firm pressure. Her resistance melts away as you continue the rimming, replaced by breathy moans and hip rolls against your face.
You alternate between her holes - tongue-fucking her pussy until she's dripping, then moving up to tease her ass until it's quivering. Her own oral efforts match your intensity, her throat muscles massaging your cock as she deep throats you.
"Such a dirty girl," you growl between licks. "Getting your ass eaten while deepthroating cock... I bet you were planning this when you invited me to watch a fucking horror movie yesterday.”
She pulls off your cock with a gasp. "And it worked so we- Oh fuck, don't stop... feels so good..." She immediately swallows you back down, sucking with renewed vigor.
You focus your attention on her asshole, pointing your tongue to breach the tight ring of muscle. She practically squeals around your cock as you tongue-fuck her ass, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.
Her pussy is dripping steadily now, cream coating your chin and neck. You reach up to gather some on your fingers, using it to lubricate her asshole as you continue eating it. One finger slides in easily alongside your tongue, making her whole body jerk.
"Gonna make you cum just from eating your ass," you promise, working a second finger into her tight hole while your tongue continues circling the rim. Your other hand moves to her clit, rubbing quick circles on the swollen nub.
She's barely sucking your cock anymore, just holding it in her mouth as she pants and moans. Her hips rock desperately between your fingers and tongue, chasing her release.
"That's it baby, ride my face," you encourage, curling your fingers inside her ass while flicking her clit rapidly. "Want to feel you cum all over my chin..."
Her inner muscles start fluttering around your fingers as her orgasm approaches. You double down on your efforts, tongue and fingers working in harmony to push her over the edge.
She pulls off your cock with a cry as she starts cumming, her whole body convulsing. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuck!" Her pussy gushes, coating your chin and neck with cream as her ass clenches rhythmically around your fingers.
You work her through it until she's whimpering from oversensitivity, then slowly withdraw your fingers. Her holes clench around empty air, still quivering from the intense orgasm.
"I-I n-need your cock in my pussy," she pants. "You didn't even fuck it last night because you were so focused on my ass. Time to make up for that."
You give her holes one last long lick before letting her climb off your face. Seulgi turns around and straddles your hips, rubbing her dripping pussy along your shaft.
"Watch how easily your big cock stretches my little hole," she purrs, positioning you at her entrance.
You groan as she sinks down, taking you balls deep in one smooth motion. Her pussy grips you like a vice, so hot and wet around your throbbing member.
"Fuck, you're so tight," you growl, gripping her hips. "Ride that cock, baby. Show me how bad you want it."
Seulgi starts bouncing on your shaft, her perky tits bouncing in the sports bra. Sweat drips down her toned stomach as she works herself on your cock. You reach up to pinch her nipples through the fabric, making her clench around you.
"Your pussy feels amazing," you moan. "So fucking wet for me."
She speeds up her movements, slamming down to take you as deep as possible. Her pussy makes obscene squelching sounds as your cock pistons in and out of her soaking hole.
You thrust up to meet her bounces, making her cry out each time you bottom out. Her pussy cream coats your shaft and balls, making everything deliciously slick. You can feel her inner walls fluttering as she gets close to cumming again.
"Play with your clit," you command. "I want to feel you cum all over my cock."
Seulgi reaches down to rub her swollen nub while continuing to ride you. Her movements become more erratic as pleasure builds. You grab her ass cheeks, spreading them wide and teasing her rim with your thumb.
"Fuck! I'm gonna cum on your cock!" she screams. Her pussy clamps down on your shaft as her orgasm hits. You keep thrusting through her climax, prolonging the waves of pleasure.
When her spasms subside, you pull out of her drenched hole. Your cock is coated in her cream, making it perfect for what comes next.
"Get on your hands and knees," you growl. "Time to stuff that tight little ass again."
Seulgi quickly assumes the position, arching her back to present her ass, the torn leggings frame her still-twitching holes perfectly. Her pussy is still pulsing from her orgasm, cream dripping down her thighs. Her asshole winks invitingly, already loosened from your fingers and last night's fucking.
You kneel behind her and rub your slick cock between her cheeks, teasing both holes. "You want my cock in your ass, don't you? Such a dirty girl, getting off on having both holes used."
"Please," she moans, pushing back against you. "Fuck my ass! I need it so bad!"
You press your cockhead against her tight rim, watching it slowly stretch around you. Despite being fucked there just hours ago, she's still deliciously tight. You grab her hips and steadily push forward until you're balls deep in her ass.
"Fuck yes," Seulgi pants. "Your cock feels so good stretching my ass!"
You start with slow, deep strokes, watching your shaft disappear into her hungry hole. Her ass grips you perfectly, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. You reach around to rub her clit, making her moan louder.
"Such a good little anal slut," you growl, speeding up your thrusts. "Taking my cock so deep in your ass while I play with your pussy."
Seulgi pushes back to meet each thrust, clearly loving the double stimulation. Her pussy drips steadily as you pound her ass, adding to the lewd sounds filling the room. You give her ass a hard smack, watching it jiggle.
"Harder!" she begs. "Wreck my fucking ass!"
You grab her hips tight and really start hammering into her. Your balls slap against her pussy with each thrust as you drill her asshole. Sweat drips down your chest, mixing with hers where your bodies meet.
The sight of your cock stretching her tight rim combined with her wanton moans has you getting close. You increase the pressure on her clit, wanting her to cum again before you finish.
"Gonna cum again," Seulgi gasps. "Keep fucking my ass just like that!"
Her whole body shakes as another orgasm rips through her. You feel her asshole spasm around your cock as she screams in pleasure.
“Fuck, I'm almost there,” you moan. “This time I'm gonna cover your little body with my cum.”
You pump into her stretched asshole a few more times, savoring the tight grip before withdrawing with a wet pop. Her gaping hole clenches around empty air as she quickly flips onto her back, her abs glistening with fresh workout sweat. The torn leggings frame her lower half perfectly, her pussy still dripping from her previous orgasms.
"Fuck, look at you," you growl, furiously stroking your cock as you kneel between her spread legs. Your shaft is slick with her ass juices, making obscene squelching sounds as you jerk it. "So fucking hot all sweaty and messy for me..."
Seulgi runs her hands over her damp skin, pinching her hard nipples through her sports bra. "Come on baby, mark me up. Want to feel your hot load all over my abs..."
Your cock throbs harder at her words. She looks like a fucking goddess lying there, skin golden and gleaming with perspiration, hair messy from getting railed, lips swollen from sucking your cock. The contrast of her still being partially clothed in her workout gear while being completely debauched is driving you wild.
"Play with yourself," you command, stroking faster. "Want to watch you rub that clit while I cover you in cum..."
She immediately slides a hand between her legs, fingers circling her swollen clit. Her other hand pushes her sports bra up to fully expose her perky tits, rolling a nipple between her fingers.
"Please," she whimpers, hips bucking as she pleasures herself. "Need your cum so bad... want you to paint me with it..."
You can feel your orgasm building, pressure mounting in your balls. Your cock is angry red and leaking precum steadily. Seulgi notices and licks her lips.
"Are you gonna cum for me baby?" she purrs, spreading her legs wider. "Want to feel it hot and thick all over my sweaty body... want you to mark your territory..."
"Fuck... gonna cum so hard for you..." you grunt, your hand a blur on your shaft. The wet sounds of her fingering herself mixed with your jerking is obscene.
"Do it," she demands, her fingers moving faster on her clit. "Fucking cover me... want to feel it splashing on my skin..."
Your orgasm hits like a freight train. The first rope of cum shoots out with incredible force, landing in a thick stripe from her collarbone down between her tits. The second and third spurts paint her ribs and abs, hot white streaks stark against her shiny skin.
"Yes! More!" she cries out, her own orgasm hitting as she watches you mark her. "Cover me!"
You continue cumming, decorating her sweaty stomach with rope after rope of thick seed. Some lands on the torn edges of her leggings, soaking into the fabric. The final few spurts dribble onto her lower abs, mixing with the sweat pooled in the grooves of her muscles.
When you're finally spent, you sit back to admire your work. Seulgi looks absolutely debauched - covered in sweat, cum, and pussy juice, workout clothes torn and disheveled, hair a mess. Your cum is already starting to run down the sides of her torso in rivulets, mixing with her sweat.
She runs her fingers through the mess on her stomach, spreading it around like lotion. The sight of her rubbing your seed into her sweaty skin makes your spent cock twitch weakly.
"Mmm, so much cum," she purrs, gathering some on her fingers and bringing them to her mouth. She maintains eye contact as she sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "Love how it mixes with my sweat... makes me feel so dirty..."
She continues playing with the cum on her body, alternating between spreading it around and tasting it off her fingers. Some has dripped down to her pussy, mixing with her own juices.
"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her enjoy your mess. She gathers more cum on her fingers and offers them to you. You eagerly suck them clean, tasting the salty mixture of your cum and her sweat.
"Love marking you up like this," you say as she continues rubbing the cooling cum into her skin. "Looking all sweaty and used, covered in my load..."
"Mmm, me too," she sighs contentedly. "Want you to do this every time I come back from working out... mark your territory all over my sweaty body..."
The combination of the visual, her dirty talk, and the various fluids coating her skin makes your cock start to harden again despite having just cum. Seulgi notices and laughs.
"Already getting hard again? Such a horny boy..." she teases, running a cum-covered finger down your shaft. "Save that energy for the next workout... want you nice and pent up so you can cover me in an even bigger load..."
You spend the next few minutes trading lazy kisses and caresses, enjoying the afterglow. Seulgi's skin is still flushed and glowing with sweat. Her sports bra is stained with your cum, marking her as yours.
"I should probably actually shower now," she says eventually. "Want to join me? I could use help getting clean... or maybe getting dirty again."
"Lead the way," you smirk, admiring her ass as she heads to the bathroom.
—
After the shower, you throw on some clothes and head to the kitchen. While Seulgi makes coffee, you raid her fridge for breakfast ingredients. The domestic scene feels surprisingly natural after the intensity of your sexual encounters.
"I still can't believe this all started because you caught me making porn edits of you," you say, cracking eggs into a pan.
She laughs. "I mean, I was shocked at first. But then I watched them and... fuck, they were hot. Made me realize how much I wanted you."
"Could have saved us both a lot of sexual frustration if we'd admitted it sooner."
"True. But making up for lost time has been pretty fun," she winks. "Plus now I have a personal trainer who really knows how to motivate me."
Breakfast becomes less about eating and more about stolen touches. Her fingers graze yours when you pass her a plate, and your knees bump under the table like it’s on purpose. Each bite of food comes with a side of heated glances that linger too long. The energy between you is still electric, even after having sex twice just this morning, alive with the kind of hunger that never truly fades.
Seulgi reaches across the table, her thumb brushing a crumb from your lip. Her touch lingers, her gaze heavy with desire. "We’re really bad at pretending this isn’t gonna happen again in about five minutes, huh?"
You grin, pushing your plate aside.
"Who’s pretending?”
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the art & science of parenting 101 | jay park
✰ summary: the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009)— in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal. what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade. warning: sleep deprivation is guaranteed. and maybe, just maybe, some unexpected feelings for your disaster of a partner. good luck!
✰ pairing: jay park x y/n [ft. enha members!]
✰ genre: fluff, comedy | e2l!au, college!au, (fake)parenting!au, he fell first, she fell harder type beat
✰ contains: mentions of parenting & parental neglect (sorta, only a smidge of like five words), crack! bc if you know me i self indulge in crack whoops, jay & y/n being opposites & school rivals, jay's annoying smirk like a million times, reader & jay are psych majors, jay's also a photographer, cheesy ass kisses, jay & reader are awkward! so awkward! there’s SO much tension . but in a cute awkward crush way
✰ wc: 20.5k [ONCE AGAIN -- this was not intentional..if you know me i just have too much fun writing sometimes & get too attached to the characters...]
✰ a/n: omg it’s finally done. tell me why it took me so long to finish, i promise i didn’t mean to but life’s been busier lately :’) aNyways! ugh i luv writing e2l!jay for some reason,,,he fits the trope so well in my eyes heh but i hope you all like him & the characters as much as i enjoyed writing them !!! as busy as i am i love indulging in my crack x enha writes :P hope u enjoy & tell me what you think <333
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
Welcome to PSY1009, The Art & Science of Parenting 101! Throughout the next 12 weeks, we’re going to dive deep into the wondrous world of parenting—dirty diapers and all. To kick off our course, we’re starting with our campus-famous project: raising your very own robot baby for the first half of the semester (with the help of your assigned partner, of course). Before our first class, we ask that you complete this pre-project questionnaire on your current views and opinions about parenting. No pressure—there are no right or wrong answers (maybe only judgements from your future robot offspring)!
Q1 – The Art & Science of Parenting 101 aims to apply different psychological approaches to parenting. What theories and methods do you believe are important to parenting?
Y/N's Submission [8:25AM, September 18th]:
"I strongly believe that effective parenting revolves around a strict routine, which can be reinforced through the principles of operant conditioning, as developed by B.F. Skinner. Proper feeding schedules, consistent nap times, and regular development check-ins are essential—I think a structured timetable would ensure a baby's needs are met efficiently and consistently. With a set schedule and a focus on developmental milestones, I believe we can maximize a child's growth potential, even if it's just a robot baby.”
Q2 – What do you expect to learn and gain out of this co-parenting experience?
Y/N's Submission [8:29AM, September 18th]:
"I expect to confirm that a well-organized system is the key to successful parenting. I want to test my hypothesis that if you follow a set structure, yes, even with a robot baby, things will run smoothly. I am hoping that this experience runs smoothly with no unnecessary surprises.”
✭・.・✫
Satisfied with your answers, you click 'submit' and close your laptop, feeling a wave of satisfaction as you settle into your seat—center of the second row—as you wait for the 9AM lecture to start.
It's 8:30AM.
You're the only one in the room.
Yeah, you're a little early. So what? One can never be too prepared. You've waited for this course forever, and you're determined to not only ace it (like you do with every class) but to dominate. So yes, coming early is characteristic of you, as you want to ensure you get the best seat in the classroom: center of the second row—center to get the best view of the professor's podium, and second row to be close enough to show you're engaged, but not close enough that it screams, Look at me, I'm a tryhard!
It's clear you've come prepared. Plus, this class isn't just any ordinary elective—it's the elective to take. Only the top students majoring in psychology get in, available only through direct invite by the professor. If you were invited to PSY1009, it meant you were the crème de la crème of psychology students. The best of the best. The elite. The—
Your train of thought is derailed when an all-too-familiar figure strolls into the room with that signature smirk. Backpack slung lazily over one (1) shoulder (as if two straps are too much effort), hair clearly still bedhead status, wearing whatever clothes he fished off The Chair (you know, the one—where all questionable, semi-clean laundry lives).
He strolls past you—of course—and plops down right in front of you. Front row.
Try-hard.
"Y/N, fancy seeing you here," Jay Park spins around, a knowing look plastered on his face, eyes gleaming. "I missed seeing that frown of yours all summer."
"What are you doing here, Jay?" You roll your eyes and scoff at his comment. "Don't tell me you got into this class. It's for serious students."
Jay's grin only widens to your despair. "Contrary to your deeply misinformed opinion, Professor Kim actually loves me. I'm a great student."
“I don’t believe it,” you deadpan back. “You never turn your assignments in on time, and quite frankly, I'm surprised you were even able to find this classroom."
Jay shrugs, unfazed. "What can I say? Professor Kim doesn't just look at deadlines, she looks at talent. Guess that says a lot about me, huh?"
You mumble something under your breath about ‘talent for procrastination’ but before he can fire back, Professor Kim walks into the room, cuing the silence of all the students who've filled up the class.
"Good morning, class! I'm so happy to see so many familiar faces."
Jay turns his head back towards the front of the room, as you instantly straighten up, flashing your favorite professor a smile. This is officially the fifth course you've taken with Professor Kim. It's no secret you’re one of her biggest fans—the countless early mornings you've spent waiting at your computer, finger hovering over the ‘enroll’ button the second registration opens so you can be one of the first students to sign up for her classes have proven that. Challenging but rewarding, her classes are always worth the effort. And yet, for reasons beyond your comprehension, Jay Park—Jay Freaking Park—somehow always ends up in the same classes. Every. Single. Time. It’s like a curse.
A loud, messy, procrastinating curse…
…that just so happens to have a side profile almost as annoyingly good that it only pisses you off more.
You wonder if he’s actually here to learn or if he’s just here to spite you. Because, honestly, the amount of classes you’ve shared with him is no longer a coincidence. Five semesters in a row? Suspicious.
But realistically, and unfortunately, Jay does study the same major as you, which means those last five semesters? Oh, those were five long semesters of endless debates on discussion boards, in-class duels over psychological theories, and the infamous showdown for the TA position in Professor Kim's Intro to Psychology course. And the worst part? Neither of you got the job because Professor Kim—in a diplomatic twist that made zero sense to you—deemed you both 'equally qualified.' So, the job went to the third best candidate instead. Tough luck.
You open up your laptop again, opening a perfectly organized Google Doc, ready to take notes on whatever pearls of wisdom Professor Kim is currently bestowing about your upcoming project—which, in hindsight, you should really be paying attention to. You should be. But something so ridiculous, so blood-boiling, pulls your attention elsewhere.
Jay's desk is completely...empty.
No laptop. No notebook. Not even a measly little pencil. Did he bring an empty backpack? Or did he just walk in here like he's casually waiting for someone to present him his grade on a silver platter? He's just sitting there like this is a casual hangout—probably expecting his robot baby to parent itself while he simply supervises (oh, how you pity the poor soul who ends up as his partner).
Before your self-induced inner monologue spirals into complete rage, you suddenly hear your professor's voice cut through the class, breaking you out of your mental rant.
"Y/N and Jay."
Wait. What?
Your head snaps up so fast it's a miracle it didn't pop off your neck and roll away.
You blink. You must have misheard.
"Y/N and Jay," Professor Kim repeats as if she could read your confused expression, voice too nonchalant for the life-wrecking news she's about to deliver: "You two are partners."
The words hit you like a bus. No, not even. The words hit you like a bus driven by a T-Rex that flips over, crashes into a building, and explodes into a million ashy pieces. And there you are—standing right in the middle of the wreckage, somehow still alive to suffer through every second of it—while Jay, smug as ever, whips around in his seat to face you.
And of course, there it is: that look of his that screams 'This is going to be so much fun for me, and so much pain for you.'
"Guess we're parents now, Y/N!" Jay chimes, his voice dripping with so much sarcastic enthusiasm you swear he just got handed an Oscar for Most Annoying Human. If that tone were a substance, you'd bottle it up and use it as insect repellent. On him. Repeatedly.
You blink at him, you're sure—you're praying—this has to be some elaborate prank. Maybe Jay bribed Professor Kim with his rare attempt at turning in an assignment on time just to mess with you. Or maybe the universe just hates you and this is your karma for stealing your roommate's last ramen packet that one time a year ago.
But no, Professor Kim keeps rattling off other pairs like it's business as usual, as if your entire academic career and sanity isn't currently being flushed down a metaphorical toilet, while you sit there, paralyzed, your brain rapidly melting into a useless puddle from the sheer thought of being paired with him.
"What's wrong, Y/N?" Jay teases as he leans over the back of his chair towards you, puppy dog eyes on display. "You don't want to play house with me?"
You narrow your eyes at him, mentally wielding your imaginary bug spray like it's a holy weapon.
"I don’t," you reply flatly. "In fact, I’d rather perform open-heart surgery on myself with a plastic spoon than co-parent with you."
Jay’s eyes light up as his hand goes to his heart. "Aw, you really know how to make a guy feel special. This is why I like our little relationship, you know?"
"Relationship?" You scoff loud enough to make the people sitting three rows behind you to glance in your direction. You bring your voice down to a whisper, leaning towards him. "The only thing we have in common is a shared oxygen supply."
"See, that’s the spirit," he says, turning back to face the front like he didn't just ruin your life. And somehow, that pisses you off even more. Is it his voice? His stupidly perfect hair? The fact that he has the audacity to breathe in your general direction? At this point, he could literally sneeze, and it would still feel like a personal attack.
Is it too late to switch majors? Or schools? Maybe even countries? Surely, restarting your entire college career as a super senior would be better than spending the next six weeks parenting with Jay. Jay Park, who has probably never held anything more fragile than a Red Solo Cup.
Jay Park, who is just sitting there, all calm and collected, clearly loving every second of your misery.
While you're frozen in pure, unadulterated horror.
Your grade? Plummeting as we speak. Your robot baby? Probably going to need therapy by day two. And you?
You're screwed.
Q1 – The Art & Science of Parenting 101 aims to apply different psychological approaches to parenting. What are your current theories and methods that you believe are important to parenting?
Jay’s Submission [10:09AM, September 18th]:
"I think babies need more freedom to explore and make their own choices, even if that just means grabbing random things. Bowlby's attachment theory leans towards a secure attachment, but I don't think that means hovering over them 24/7. It's about being there when they really need you, not scheduling every second of the day. I also believe letting babies learn through their own experiences is key. Strict behaviorism, such as Skinner's, sounds exhausting and I don't think a rigid system is what makes a good parent. Babies are messy, and that's okay."
Q2 – What do you expect to learn and gain from this experience?
Jay's Submission [10:12AM, September 18th]:
"I'm hoping to learn how to be a responsive, yet flexible parent without overcomplicating it. The goal is to find balance between being hands-on without hovering. And, I think this whole robot baby thing will teach me how to handle unpredictable situations—because no matter how much you plan, life is going to surprise you. And also, being able to say I know how to change a diaper under 30 seconds sounds pretty cool :)"
✭・.・✫
Jay's screwed.
Like, completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed.
He was already kinda skeptical he’d make it past his 40s if he kept living the way he does, but now? Now, he’s not even sure he’ll survive the next 24 hours. Why? Well, today’s the first official meeting with you—as co-parents—at the campus coffee shop at 12PM sharp.
It's 12:17PM.
He's late.
Seventeen whole minutes late. To your meeting. And you're basically the human embodiment of an atomic clock. You’re probably sitting there, checking your watch every few seconds, calculating his absence down to the millisecond. Jay can practically feel the murderous vibes you’re radiating from halfway across campus.
And while Jay sometimes finds your need for punctuality weirdly endearing (but don't tell anyone that), he also values not getting scolded on a Saturday morning (12PM is still morning to him, don't judge), especially when he could be sleeping in.
As the café comes into view, Jay considers just throwing the towel in. Maybe he could fake a sudden illness, or better yet, skip town and maybe fake his own death or something.
There's no point. Knowing you, you'd probably hunt him down for sport.
With a sigh, Jay pushes open the door to the café, bracing himself for impact.
And there you are. Exactly how he imagined.
Seated at a small table by the window, papers perfectly aligned, laptop open, and two different colored highlighters placed meticulously side by side. Your foot taps in perfect sync with the café's background music, your eyebrows knitted together in focus, and your teeth chewing your bottom lip as if you're about to crack the Krabby Patty secret formula. The window next to you allows the afternoon sunlight to spill through and reflect off of you, making you look...dare he say it...almost pretty.
If Jay wasn't fearing for his life, he might have actually stopped to admire the view. Might have.
When Jay finally reaches your table—17 minutes and 46 seconds late (but who's counting)—you look up, meeting his gaze with a look that's somewhere between not surprised but definitely not impressed.
"Well, well," you say, quirking your mouth up ever so slightly that Jay thinks he might see you smile for the first time in, like, ever. "Look who finally decided to join us! Must be nice living on Jay Standard Time."
Jay flashes his usual, unbothered smile as he pulls out the chair across from you. "Oh, c'mon, Y/N. Seventeen minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of life."
"Yeah? Tell that to our future robot baby when you're seventeen minutes late to feed it and its batteries die."
"Yikes. That got dark quick," Jay's mutters, grin wavering. "But hey, glad to see you're finally accepting the fact that it's our future baby!"
"Future robot baby," you peer your eyes at him from above your laptop. "Anyways, did you read the guidelines?"
Jay rubs the back of his neck as he leans back into his chair. "Uh, define 'read'."
Without missing a beat, you slap a packet of papers down on the table. "Here's the breakdown. Feeding schedules, emotional development tracker, diaper changes, mood swings—the whole shebang. We're going to have to approach this strategically."
"Woah, okay," Jay's eyebrows shoot up, his brain trying to catch up with the words you just spewed at him. "First, how the heck is a robot going to develop emotionally—that's a little scary if you ask me. Like, dystopian, Black Mirror, scary. And second, since when is parenting just following a spreadsheet? Isn't part of it, you know, winging it?"
At the words winging it, your eye twitches so violently, Jay half-expects you to reach across the table and strangle him with his own hoodie strings.
"Winging it?" You shut your laptop and lean forward. "Winging it is exactly how we end up with a malfunctioning robot baby that starts a fire and fails us. Parenting is all about structure, consistency—"
"—and having a little fun," Jay cuts in, mouth quirked with mischief. "I mean, what's parenting without some chaos?"
"Chaos," you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him, "is what you bring into my life on a daily basis."
"Yeah, and yet you secretly love it," Jay shoots back, leaning in to meet you, as if daring you to disagree.
You stare at him, unblinking. It's either you're plotting his slow and painful demise or seriously considering what he just said. No in-between.
And yet, somehow, Jay almost finds it endearing how you can look like the world's most innocent golden retriever while also simultaneously sending him six feet under with just one agonizing glare. Almost.
Finally, you sigh, "This isn't a joke, Jay. This is 40% of our grade."
"And I'm 100% ready!" Jay shoots back with a wink, to which you respond with a full-body eye roll.
"Oh yeah? Alright, Mr. Ready-for-Anything, what's your brilliant plan?"
"Hmm," Jay leans back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head as if he's got it all figured out (he doesn't). "Well, for one, I was thinking maybe...shifts. We split responsibilities based on our schedules. I'll take the baby on certain hours, you take it other hours, and we'll spend our free days together. And if we're not together and there's a baby crisis, we stay on call."
In complete honesty, that came from out of nowhere. Jay didn't even know any ideas were subconsciously cooking up within him until the words tumbled out of his mouth before he realized it. But there's no way he was going to tell you that, not when you don't immediately tear his idea to shreds. In fact, you actually look...impressed?
Or so he thinks. Jay definitely needs to get better at this whole 'reading your expressions' thing.
"Huh," you murmur to yourself, fingers tapping against the table. "That's...not the worst idea you've ever had."
Jay feels elated. Validation? From you? Phew, this means his life is spared. Thank god.
Jay flashes you a satisfied smile and while you don't return it, he hopes you're secretly softening. Just a little. Behind that straight face, you're probably low-key impressed, but no way are you letting him see that.
"Don't get too excited," you say, as if you've got some sixth sense for whenever Jay throws a mental victory parade. "This is only day one. Of, like, 42. We've got a long way to go."
"Okay, okay," Jay raises his hands in surrender, though there's no hiding the smirk on his face as he still mentally takes the win. "Message received. Let's just figure out our schedules?"
You nod, pushing your laptop aside to make space for a sheet of paper you've already prepared—because of course you're prepared. It's like you're about to whip up some elaborate high-stakes legal contract that probably involves blood signatures.
"Okay," you say, clicking your pen, picking a bright blue that basically stabs Jay's eyes by simply existing, but whatever makes you happy, I guess. You write 'Jay's Schedule' at the top, neatly highlighting it with a pink highlighter that somehow hurts even more. Jay wonders if this is a secret ploy to blind him into submission. He wouldn't put it past you.
"What's your typical weekly schedule like?"
Jay squints, clearly thinking hard, as he tries to remember what a 'typical' week looks like for him. Mostly it's a mix of spontaneous decisions, power naps, and gym sessions sprinkled between classes.
"Uh...well," Jay rubs the back of his neck. "I usually sleep in until like 11...sometimes noon, depends on the vibe, you know? Classes after that, gym a couple times a week, maybe? And, um, naps are non-negotiable. Make sure you pencil those in too."
Your pen freezes mid-air, hovering like you're considering whether to throw it at his face or not.
"Naps? Non-negotiable? For someone who wakes up at 11AM? We're raising a child, Jay, this requires commitment!"
Jay raises a calm eyebrow. "Hey, sleep is very important for brain function! You wouldn't want me underperforming as a parent, right?"
Your eye twitches. "No, Jay. That's already my biggest fear."
But instead of escalating the snark, you bite your lip, clearly restraining yourself from unleashing a full lecture on time management. Jay struggles to stifle his own laugh at your reaction. If looks could kill, you'd have him buried under six feet of color-coded charts and to-do lists by now.
Finally, you sigh, accepting your fate and jotting down ‘Jay’s naps: apparently crucial for survival’ in your notes with a frown drawn next to it, while Jay gives you an approving nod from across the table.
"Alright, my turn," you flip the page over with dramatic flair, carefully writing 'Y/N's Schedule' in the same stab-your-eyes-blue and pink highlight combo as Jay mentally braces himself for what's to come.
"So," you continue, starting with that no-nonsense tone that's clearly meant to be serious—but to Jay, there's something almost charming about how strict you are. "I wake up at 6."
Jay's brain immediately short-circuits. Forget charming. You’re downright crazy.
"6? As in AM? On purpose?"
You blink back at him, as if he's the one saying something ridiculous. "Yes, Jay. On purpose."
His mind reels, purely amazed, yet utterly horrified at the thought. 6AM? Who does that? He's seen 6AM before, sure, but only when he's stayed up all night, probably cramming for an exam. His mornings start at 10AM at best, and that's very, very rarely. There are birds chirping at 6AM. Who wants to live in a world where birds chirp you awake?
When he doesn't respond—still in pure shock—you keep going, undeterred by his obvious existential crisis. "I usually have class at 8AM until 1PM, then I try to pick up a shift here," you gesture around the very café you two are in, "and then—"
"Wait, wait," Jay holds up a hand, needing a mental pause button. "You work here?"
"Yeah," you nod, like it's the most casual thing ever. "Why, is that surprising?"
Jay squints at you. He's never considered the idea of you pulling espresso shots and dealing with caffeine-deprived college students—he's always pegged you more as a 'quiet math tutor for third-graders' type. Or maybe someone who sells cute stationery at the campus bookstore, organizing pens in rainbow order or something. But now that he's picturing it, yeah, it kind of makes sense. Maybe that's why you're so uptight all the time—too much exposure to coffee fumes. Or, more likely (and evidently), you're just an insanely busy person.
He likes the coffee fumes theory better.
"I guess not," he admits, then surprises even himself by adding, "that's kind of impressive, though."
He gives you a genuine smile, and you blink back, as if searching for the hidden jab that's usually lurking beneath his words. But it's not there this time...oddly. Slowly, your expression softens, and you give him the tiniest of smiles. "Thanks? It's alright, I guess."
It's nothing big—no, not at all—but Jay feels a weird sense of accomplishment at your reaction. Better than nothing.
He leans in over the table, all faux-innocence—eyebrows raises, large puppy eyes and all. "Does this mean you can get me a free coffee?"
You lean in too, mirroring him, and he's not sure why his heart skips a beat at the close proximity.
"Yeah...no. Nice try."
Jay groans, throwing himself back in his chair dramatically. Worth a shot.
"Anyway," you continue, totally unfazed, "I usually work here until 5, then Mondays I have a study group for Econ 301, and club meetings scattered throughout the week."
Jay's head spins for maybe the nth time since he's sat down. Honestly, you lost him way back at 'class until 1PM.' Your schedule is like some kind of twisted Sudoku puzzle, except much more intimidating.
"So...you're, like, busy...all the time?" he asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth as his brain tries to process how anyone can function like this.
You give him a look that almost convinces Jay himself that he's the crazy one here. "Yes, Jay. I am."
"Wow, okay. So why did you even take this class? What happened to being committed? You don't even have time to breathe."
You narrow your eyes, and he swears you're about to launch into some motivational TedTalk. "It's called efficiency, Jay. Also, I like to challenge myself. That's what parenthood is about, after all."
Jay stares at you like you've just self-declared yourself a cyborg.
"Oookayyy," he drawls, dragging out the word because, honestly, he's 99% sure you've completely lost it. The remaining 1%?
It's slightly impressed by your sheer, terrifying level of commitment. He's over here winging life, including this conversation, while you've practically mapped out the rest of your entire existence.
"Do you even, like, sleep? Or is that optional for you?"
You shoot him an amused glance, half-joking, half-serious. "Sleep is for the weak."
Jay raises an eyebrow. "Good to know I'm weak, then."
You stifle a laugh, but Jay catches the brief twitch of your lips before you quickly compose yourself. He’s known you for so long, and yet, this might be the first time he’s seen even a hint of your guard slipping. It’s subtle, barely there, but he notices. And for some reason, it makes him smile. You’re always so put together, so serious—but this small crack in your armor? Jay can’t help but appreciate it.
Maybe, just maybe, he could get you to soften up more if he tried hard enough. And yeah, he’s definitely going to try.
But before he can try to tease you more, you snap back into business mode, instantly scribbling down more notes. "Alright, so let’s just split the baby's care based on my work schedule and your...nap schedule, apparently."
Jay leans back in his chair, catching that flicker of amusement in your voice—despite the serious look on your face—and he fights the urge to push a little more. There's something about that side of you—not the one behind the cold wall you've built of color-coded schedules and deadlines—that he wants to see more of. Somehow.
"Works for me,” he shrugs and grins at you, “but if the baby's anything like me, it'll nap a lot. You might have it easy."
"And if it’s anything like me,” you mutter, barely pausing, “then it’ll easily get annoyed by you.”
Jay catches the ghost of a smile on your face, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it—which he definitely is. It’s enough to keep him intrigued. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand like he’s watching some fascinating show.
You don’t notice him staring—or maybe you do, but you’re too busy pretending you don’t. Either way, there’s a small, almost imperceptible shift in your body language that Jay senses. Your shoulders aren’t as tense, and you don’t look like you’re mentally calculating how many minutes you have left before you can escape this meeting.
Jay decides to take advantage of the moment. “So…do you think our robot baby is also going to be a superhuman genius? Like in a you way?”
You finally let out a laugh, to his surprise, and he feels so satisfied he has to bite his lip to hold back a smile. “Definitely, but also part crazy. Like in a you way.”
Jay chuckles, mentally declaring this conversation a victory. Your laugh fades but for a split second, he catches you studying his face like you’re trying to figure out what his deal is. And he doesn’t mind it at all—because, for once, you’re not giving him the usual death glare that sometimes seems permanently reserved for him.
Then, just as he starts to settle into this very rare, almost… pleasant vibe between you two, you suddenly snap back to reality, capping your pen and standing up.
Jay frowns as he watches as you turn towards the coffee bar, not ready for this conversation to end just yet.
"Wait, where are you going?" he blurts out, sounding more tragic than intended.
You pause, turning back with a knowing look that sends his pulse tripping.
"Do you want a free coffee or not?"
The following Monday, at exactly 9:55AM, you and Jay are handed your robot baby—Jisoo, as Jay somehow convinces you to name it after his favorite celebrity—at the end of your class.
You didn't even try to put up a fight. The moment Jay's eyes lit up at the idea, you knew you'd already lost. After three whole minutes of bickering and one PowerPoint titled 'Why Our Baby Deserves to be Named After Star Quality,' you realized there was no saving it. He had arguments. He had fan chants memorized. For a robot baby. Your robot baby.
"Admit it, Jisoo has star quality," Jay beams, proudly looking down at the robotic baby in the baby carrier that came with her.
You look from Jisoo to Jay, then back to Jisoo, unimpressed. "It's a robot, Jay. Not your bias."
Jay just shrugs, unbothered. "Bias or not, she deserves only the best."
He glances down at the robot, which blinks its eyes open and closed with a soft whirring noise, its chubby plastic arms flopping lifelessly by its sides.
There's a beat of silence as you both stare down at it, unsure of what to do next.
"It's kind of creepy, right?" you finally mutter, breaking the knowing silence between you two.
Jay snorts. "Not even 'kind of.' A lot." He leans in to inspect it, his brows furrowed, "So, does it just…sit there?”
You huff, already pulling out the meticulously detailed notes you took during class. "No, it's on schedule. It says here it won't eat for another three hours and it has a clean diaper, so everything should be fine. Babies are predictable once you understand their needs, Jay."
Jay lifts an eyebrow as he turns to face you, "Right...because in real life, babies are totally like robots and are totally predictable. Got it."
You open your mouth to respond, probably with something unnecessarily snarky (you don't know what yet though, you haven't gotten to that part yet), when a loud, high-pitched wail shatters the air, cutting through the now-empty classroom you two are in. The robot baby's face contorts into an exaggerated crying expression, its mechanical arms flailing (which you didn't even know was possible) like it's preparing for takeoff.
"What the—" Jay instinctively jumps back like Jisoo is a grenade on her last few seconds. "Why's it doing that? What did you do?"
"I didn’t do anything!" You snap, panic slowly rising as you flip through your notes quickly. "It's not supposed to be crying! It shouldn't be hungry, and it's definitely not tired yet!"
The wailing intensifies, vibrating through the room as the cries echo louder and louder, Jisoo clearly not caring about your carefully crafted timeline. You glance down at your schedule. Why is it crying?
You groan and snatch Jisoo out of the carrier, awkwardly holding her in a way that's probably not safe for any life form, real or otherwise. The wailing doesn't stop. In fact, it gets louder, as if Jisoo's personally offended by your existence.
"Hold her!" You quickly thrust her into Jay's arms, a horrified expression written all over his face. "You deal with it."
"Deal with what? It's a robot!" Jay stares at the baby in his arms like it's going to explode. "Oh god, are we even sure this is safe?"
"Yes, Jay! It's a baby!" You're sure you're borderline going insane from the combination of the screeching baby and Jay's apparent lack of brain cells.
Jay's eyes widen as Jisoo practically vibrates with the force of its cries. He tries to mimic the way you were holding her, cradling her against his chest like she's made of glass. It doesn't help. Jisoo keeps wailing, and now Jay looks genuinely distressed.
"Uh, shh, little buddy, it's okay...Should I, like, burp it? Sing to it?"
“Sing?” You give him a look like he’s completely lost it, but Jay’s already humming off-key under his breath.
The baby, predictably, continues screeching.
You both just stand there, staring at the baby, then at each other, the panic palpable in the room. Jay continues bouncing it lightly, as if this will magically solve everything. “Does it have an off switch?” he asks, glancing at you like you've parented a robot baby before.
You continue to frantically flip through your notes, pages rustling in a blur. “No, Jay! We can’t just turn off our baby!”
“Well, I don’t know, Y/N, but I’m pretty sure babies aren’t supposed to sound like they’re summoning a demon,” Jay retorts, his tone climbing the ladder of panic. "Maybe she's hungry or something."
You’re still too busy scanning your notes as you shake your head in disagreement. “It can’t be hungry, it's not supposed to be!"
Jay just shakes his head, gently cradling the baby even though he's sure it's about to lift off into space from how much it was shaking right now.
“Sometimes you can’t schedule everything, Y/N. Maybe it just needs a bottle, like, right now.”
The idea frustrates you. “But it’s not time yet. If we feed it off-schedule, it’ll mess everything up for the day.”
The baby’s cries reach a shrill pitch, like it’s protesting your protest. Jay looks at you, then back at the crying baby, then back at you again.
“I think it’s already messed up, so maybe we just... feed it?” he says, half-grinning, half-exasperated.
You hesitate. It feels wrong. Babies are supposed to follow patterns, stick to a routine...or so you thought. You let out a frustrated sigh, your brain bleeding from the sheer sound of the glass-breaking screams.
“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing the bottle from the supply bag. “But if this throws off the whole schedule, it’s your fault.”
Jay grins, but there’s something softer in his expression behind it as he watches you struggle with the bottle...and your need for control. “Deal.”
You hand the bottle to him, and he places the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The wailing stops almost instantly. The sudden silence is deafening, and both of you are stunned for a moment, looking down at the baby who’s now peacefully drinking.
You let out a small gasp of relief and turn your head up to look at Jay, who's widened eyes meet yours.
Jay lets out a held breath. “Well. That was traumatic.”
You roll your eyes, though there’s a slight twitch at the corner of your lips as you mutter, “I think I just lost three years of my life."
Jay watches as you carefully take Jisoo from his arms and place her back into the carrier, making sure everything is in order. He’s still catching his breath, but he glances at you—relaxed, for once, after the panic—and it makes him feel something weird. He almost laughs.
“I dunno,” he says, a little teasingly. “I think we handled that pretty well.”
“Great, now just five weeks and six days of this left." You give him a look, but there’s a tiny, fleeting smile this time. "I just don't understand why it was crying. It's not supposed to need food until—"
Jay cuts you off with a chuckle. “Y/N, it’s a baby. Real ones don’t run on algorithms. They just... cry when they need something. Like this little gal. I mean, you can't exactly schedule crying, right?”
The silence stretches for a moment as you watch him, realization dawning a little slower than you’d like to admit. “I guess,” you mutter reluctantly, earning yourself a content-looking Jay.
"Look at us—team effort," Jay says, as he beams a smile to you before glancing at Jisoo. "We're naturals at this whole parenting thing."
"Yeah, okay," you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face says differently as you reach out to unnecessarily fuss with the small blanket in Jisoo's carrier.
Jay's eyes light up at your response. "A smile? The Y/N gave me a smile? Admit it, we make a great team, huh?"
You scoff, but the smile on your face proves there's no bite to it—Jay knows there's no bite to it.
Maybe, just maybe, he has a point.
You'd never admit it to him, though.
Not yet.
To your pleasant surprise, the past two weeks have been...weirdly smooth. Like, suspiciously smooth. You and Jay have somehow managed to fall into an actual routine—dropping off and picking up Jisoo like two semi-functional adults who almost know what they’re doing. You still wouldn’t call it 'seamless', as Jay himself struggled with having a consistent schedule for once in his life, but at least you’ve gotten through the weeks without major incidents or spontaneous combustion.
That doesn't mean you'll admit to anyone—least of all yourself—that you and Jay might actually make a decent team. His parenting methods are still objectively abysmal...to you, at least. I mean, just the other day, he almost put Jisoo's diaper on upside down. Upside down. You didn't even know that was possible, but leave it to Jay to surprise you more and more.
Despite his questionable approach to baby care, Jisoo's still alive (you think), and somehow you've managed not to explode at him yet (key word: yet). So, that's...something, I guess.
Today, though. Today is a different beast entirely.
It's Sunday, and miraculously, you've managed to give yourself the evening off. No café shift, no emergency club meetings. The stars have aligned, and for once, you have free time. And what did you decide to do with this rare gift from the universe?
Spent it with Jay. Parenting. Together. In his apartment.
You blame Professor Kim for this cruel twist of fate. Something about submitting photographic evidence of co-parenting. After all, this is a partner project.
Teamwork, she called it.
You like to call it pure suffering.
Which brings you here, standing outside Jay's apartment with a tote bag of baby supplies on one shoulder, Jisoo's carrier on the other, and a silent prayer on your lips. If this apartment is even half the disaster you're imagining—frat house, landfill, or some unholy combination of both—you're fully prepared to turn around and run for the hills.
You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever horrors await behind the door, and knock three times.
Precisely five seconds later, the door swings open, and...yep, there's Jay. His hair is a mess, his clothes are rumpled, and you can't tell if he's been a) napping, b) playing video games, or c) all of the above.
"Hey," he greets you with a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded like he's still half-asleep.
It's 6PM.
You stare at him, deadpan. "You look like you've been hit by a truck."
Jay snorts as he raises an eyebrow. "You should see the truck."
Before you can fire back with something equally sarcastic, you catch a glimpse of his apartment over his shoulder, and—you blink, confused. Wait. Wait.
Well this can't be right.
You were expecting a disaster. Maybe a few pizza boxes, a stray sock on the floor, some suspicious stains on the couch. But no. Instead...it's clean. Like, really clean.
The floors are spotless, there's a shelf with neatly stacked books, and are those...framed photos on the walls? Like, actual art? Your own apartment doesn't even have actual art, just print outs from Walgreens of photos you thought were cute on Pinterest and your Justin Bieber posters you got from a magazine back in high-school. Damn, now you're starting to feel ashamed.
You do a double-take, your brain struggling to process what's happening, as Jay still stands in front of you, confused at your gawking. "Y/N? You good?"
You snap your mouth shut, as you spot a vacuum neatly tucked in the corner of the living room. "I...I'm just surprised you even know what a vacuum is."
"You'll learn I'm full of surprises, Miss Y/N," he says, casually leaning against the doorframe as he looks down at you, his gaze making you shift in your stance in front of him. "Come on in."
You step inside cautiously, like you're waiting for something to jump out at you—maybe a camera with someone saying 'You've been pranked, this isn't Jay's actual apartment!'
But nope. His apartment is just...nice. It smells like eucalyptus and citrus, for crying out loud.
You set Jisoo's carrier down on the couch, the robot itself still fast asleep, as your eyes scan the room, still half-expecting to find a hidden mess somewhere. But instead, something else catches your attention.
On the wall, next to his kitchen, there's a collection of professional-looking photographs, all framed neatly. This is what caught your eye earlier. You find yourself slowly walking closer to get a closer look: landscapes, city stresses, a few candid shots of people—all in the same style, same camera quality, same angles. You tilt your head, intrigued.
Jay comes up behind you to see what you're looking at and you turn to him, "Are these...yours?"
"Oh," he scratches the back of his neck, looking almost shy. "Yeah. I do some photography sometimes. Just a hobby."
You blink up at him. Jay Park? A photographer? This was not on your Jay Park Bingo card.
"Huh," you say, before realizing how dumb you sound. "I didn't know you were into that."
"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, Y/N. Full of surprises, remember?" Jay replies, his head tilting to match yours with a cocky smile, which—ugh, okay fine—makes you feel just the tiniest bit flustered. Not that you'll admit it.
"Oh, really?" You raise an eyebrow. "And here I thought your only hobbies were napping and showing up late."
"That's just the surface level," he says with a wink, walking over to his coffee table and grabbing his laptop. "I was actually editing photos before you showed up."
Intrigued, you follow him to the couch and sit beside him as he flips open the laptop. You squint at the editing software on the screen—full of layers, sliders, and all sorts of professional-looking tools that immediately make your head hurt. Jay scrolls through the images, and honestly?
They’re good. Really good. Like, if you didn’t know better, you’d think some of them could be in a magazine. And not the kind of magazine you got your Bieber Fever posters in.
"Wow," you say, nodding, genuinely impressed. "That’s… actually really cool."
Jay freezes, his head snapping toward you with a look of disbelief. He stares at you, eyes narrowing like you’ve just broken some unspoken rule. "It's been ten seconds...you just gave me an actual compliment without a sarcastic follow-up."
You let out a small giggle. "Geez, you always make me sound like some soulless witch or something."
Jay grins, leaning back in mock thought. "I mean… soulless witch might be a bit much. But, like… emotionally unavailable overlord? Maybe."
You burst out laughing before you can stop yourself, the sound catching Jay off guard. He looks at you, wide-eyed, like he’s just witnessed a rare phenomenon. And maybe he has—because even you can’t remember the last time you laughed this freely.
"Wow. I should annoy you more often," Jay smirks, clearly way too satisfied with himself. You’re not entirely sure if he meant it to sound that smooth, but your brain certainly processed it that way. Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, and you quickly clear your throat, a small, flustered smile playing at your lips.
You try to gather yourself, praying your voice doesn’t betray you. "Don’t push your luck, Park," you manage, but the teasing edge in your voice is softer than usual—way softer. And, of course, Jay knows it. You know it. You’re still smiling, and—unfortunately for you—so is he.
Jay suddenly clears his throat as he shifts in his seat, "So...should we order like a pizza or something? Are you hungry?"
And because the universe apparently has a personal vendetta against you, your stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a sound—one that resembles between a whale’s mating call and a frog being strangled.
Jay stifles a laugh, trying to act casual but failing miserably. "Okay… pizza it is."
“Shut up,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove that’s just enough to make him fall back into the couch cushions.
"No, you tell your stomach to shut up," Jay snickers, grabbing his phone to place the order.
You’re about to fire back with something—anything—but a soft wail interrupts you from the baby carrier.
"Someone needs attention," you say, scooping Jisoo up and cradling her in your arms. “It’s about time for her to eat anyway.”
As you juggle Jisoo with one hand and dig through the baby bag for her fake bottle of milk with the other, Jay watches you from his spot on the couch, a curious look in his eyes. “While you feed her, I’ll take care of the pizza. I’m guessing you’re more of a plain cheese type, huh?”
You freeze for a second, then whip your head around to give him a mock-offended look. “First, you think I’m a soulless witch, and now boring? I at least add pepperoni and sausage. Give me some credit.”
"Okay, okay, noted," Jay lifts his hands up in surrender, "So adventurous. I'll remember that next time you call me irresponsible."
You roll your eyes at him as you adjust Jisoo in your arms, holding the bottle steady at her mouth. It’s quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the soft hum of your fake baby and Jay tapping on his phone.
Suddenly Jay puts his phone down, turning to you with an unreadable expression. “You’re really serious about this whole parenting thing, huh?”
You blink, still rocking Jisoo in your arms. You're thrown off by the sudden shift and sincerity in his tone.
“Well… yeah. I think it’s important, you know? Responsibility, structure… that’s what makes people feel safe. Especially kids. They need to know they’re taken care of.”
Jay’s expression shifts as he listens, a more thoughtful look settling on his face. “You're a strong believer of that, aren't you? Structure and schedules and all that?"
His voice is a lot quieter now, lower, and you realize you've never really had a serious conversation (that wasn't a class debate) with him before—at least not long enough to hear this version of Jay. The serious Jay. And if you're being honest, it's making you a bit flustered. You hesitate, hoping your voice doesn't crack or something equally embarrassing.
“I mean… I guess so. I was raised that way. My parents always had everything planned out. It was like...nothing ever went wrong because there was always a system, a backup plan.”
Jay raises an eyebrow, leaning forward a little in his seat. “But didn’t that feel, I don’t know... suffocating? Like, what if things don’t go according to plan? You can’t control everything.”
Your first instinct is to scoff, but something stops you. It's a valid question, and for some reason, you don’t feel the need to throw up your usual defenses for once. That's new.
“Maybe sometimes,” you admit. “But I don’t know any other way. It just feels like if you’re not prepared, things fall apart. And that’s the worst feeling—like watching everything crumble because you weren’t ready for it.”
Jay is quiet, studying you with an intensity that feels new. His teasing smirk is gone, replaced with something more serious. “Yeah, I get that. I didn’t have a lot of structure growing up. Parents were kinda… there, but not really. I think that’s why I don’t plan much. Life happens whether you’re ready or not.”
You blink as you sit back in your seat, absorbing his words. It’s the first time you’ve really thought about Jay outside of his 'laid-back' image of him you've had in your head, and honestly, you’re surprised by how heavy his words feel.
“But…you’re actually good with Jisoo,” you say, almost cautiously, unsure if you’re diving into uncharted territory. “You’ve been handling this project better than I thought you would.”
Jay laughs softly, shaking his head as he looks at Jisoo in your arms. “It’s just a robot baby, Y/N. No big deal if I mess up.”
"It’s not just about the robot baby,” you counter, realizing you're saying more than you intended. “You actually care. You’re not graded on how well you change diapers or keep her entertained, but you’re still putting in effort. You’re trying. And that matters.”
There's a beat of silence as you see Jay pause. For once, he doesn't have a comeback. Instead, he's just looking at you—really looking at you—like he's trying to figure something out, and you feel the heat slowly creeping back onto your face. You're sure you're turning an unflattering shade of red under his gaze on you, and part of you, no, all of you, is begging for him to say something immediately before you combust.
Then, with a suddenness that almost makes you jump, he leans over and nudges your arm lightly. “Okay, Dr. Phil. Don't go getting all soft on me now."
You let out a playful scoff to mask your relief, thankful for the release of tension in the air. But something about the conversation lingers in the air, hanging like a question neither of you is ready to ask. And despite the teasing, your mind can’t help but circle back to how Jay had looked at you—serious, curious… something else.
Before you can dwell on it too long, the doorbell rings. Saved by the pizza gods. Jay springs up from the couch to answer the door, and you gently place the now-snoozing Jisoo back in her carrier. The conversation still swirls in your head as you watch Jay grab the pizza, too caught up in your thoughts to not even question how suspiciously fast it arrived.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching Jay at the door from your spot on the couch, your thoughts too heavy for someone who is literally holding a pizza box.
For someone who sure likes to plan everything out, you definitely weren’t prepared for Jay Park—and how he's quickly becoming the exception to every rule you've ever made.
✭・.・✫
The first thing that jars you awake is a piercing scream—Jisoo's, of course. Your eyes shoot open as you squint into the dim light, your eyes adjusting and blinking your way out of the accidental nap you fell into. You're trying to make sense of your surroundings through your blurry vision when...it hits you.
This isn't your room. You're still at Jay's apartment, wedged into the corner of his couch, and apparently, you fell asleep. Post-pizza-food-coma style. And also apparently, your mutual robot child has decided now was a perfect time for a meltdown.
The second thing you notice is the faint background noise of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire still playing on Jay's TV in front of you. Your memory jogs back to when you two finally came to a consensus on which movie to watch over dinner, and naturally, the deciding factor ended up being 'young Robert Pattinson,' and no, it wasn't your deciding factor. You didn't expect Jay to even have an opinion on this, but apparently, his love for Cedric Diggory is a hill he's willing to die on.
And then... that brings us to the third thing. A sound from the other end of the couch—Jay's soft snores. You two must have dozed off at some point during the movie somehow and of course, he's still passed out cold, totally oblivious to the screams of robotic despair coming from the baby carrier seated between you two. You glance over at him, out cold with his head tilted back, looking completely unbothered by Jisoo's increasingly offended screams.
But even through all these realizations, what really slaps you awake, more than Jisoo or Jay or Cedric Diggory, is the smell. It hits you like a rogue sock to the face, and for a moment, you're convinced that Jay definitely has some biological-grade garbage decomposing somewhere in the apartment after all. The smell is like a powerful, radioactive wave, and all you can think is, What in the world is this guy hiding in here? And why is it now coming to life?
You sit up from your spot, still half-asleep, and follow the foul scent in horror until you realize the source.
Jisoo.
Sure, you have changed Jisoo's diapers plenty of times over the last two weeks, but before? There was no smell. At most, you get these weird, vaguely sticky robotic poops in her diaper that barely registered. Now? Now it’s like Professor Kim somehow remotely gave Jisoo a software update and coded her to emit a scent so pungent that it feels borderline illegal. You're convinced this is Jisoo’s final boss form–peak realism unlocked–solely just to spite you and your nostrils.
While you’re here on one end of the couch, one button away from confirming an Amazon Prime order to ship over a bottle of bleach for you to dip your nose into, Jay is still in blissful dreamland, not even flinching. You stare at him in disbelief, hoping your sheer mental outage might magically wake him up. No such luck.
You grab the throw pillow that's wedged under you and chuck in right at his face.
"Jay!" You're still half-asleep, so your voice comes out like a strangled whisper, somewhere between pleading and passive-aggressive murder.
Jay jolts, sitting up with a sleepy yelp, blinking in confusion. "Huh? What happened? Is Cedric okay?" His panicked gaze darts around the room wildly before they finally settle on you, across the couch.
"What happened?" You raise a finger to the screaming, stinky, betrayal-machine between you two. "That happened, Jay. Jisoo happened."
Jay blinks slowly, squinting at Jisoo, his brain clearly struggling to boot up, and then makes the fatal mistake of sniffing the air. The realization suddenly dawns slowly, and you can see the look of horror hit.
"Oh my god, how is she even capable of...of that?!" His voice breaks three octaves as his hand shoots up to pinch his nose.
"I don't know!" You squawk, equally traumatized. "She's never done this before—I didn't even know she could!"
Jay groans and rubs his eyes, hoping this is all a bad, bad dream. No such luck, yet again. He glances around helplessly. "So, uh, who's changing her?"
You shoot him a glare as you get up from the couch and start looking for the baby bag. "We're changing her, Jay."
"We?" Jay winces, inching towards Jisoo with all the enthusiasm one has when approaching a radioactive waste barrel. He slowly reaches down to take Jisoo out from the carrier and he starts muttering to himself. "Great. Fine, this is fine. Just another bonding moment with our adorable robo-daughter."
He finally picks her up, reluctantly holding her at arm's length like she's a ticking time bomb. It's so ridiculous that, despite the war-crime-level smell permeating the room, you can't help the small laugh that you let out.
"What?" Jay glares at you, though a look of amusement tugs at his lips. "You think this is funny?"
"No," you say, barely stifling your giggles. "It's just—you're holding her like she's about to explode."
Jay gives you a doubtful look. "Y/N, I'm not convinced she's not about to explode."
You shake your head, still giggling as you shuffle the carrier off the couch and lay out a blanket, turning Jay's couch surface into a makeshift changing station. "Alright, c'mon. Lay her down and hold her legs up. I'll handle clean-up duty. And maybe...brace yourself."
Jay exhales like a man about to face his greatest fear. He gently lays Jisoo down and lifts her legs up with the tips of his fingers, his face still contorted as if you're both dealing with a toxic hazard. At this point, it probably is.
"Oh my god," he breathes. "This is it. This is how I die."
You crouch down in position so you're at level with the couch and say a mental prayer before you pull open the tiny diaper. The moment you do, the both of you immediately recoil as a scent that should not even be allowed to exist wafts up and fills the room.
“Oh god.”
The scent is so ungodly it feels like it came from the depths of hell itself and punched you both right in the face. It doesn’t just waft up–it attacks. You’re pretty sure you lost at least another three years off your life from one breath alone.
"That's not legal," Jay chokes as he flings himself back at the sight, dropping Jisoo’s little toes in the process, flailing around as if the air itself betrayed him. "There's no way that's legal."
You freeze in sheer horror, staring at the scene before you: Jisoo’s somehow realistic poop smeared across every surface of her bottom it possibly could spread to, the stench intensifying with every passing second.
Jay starts pacing the room, spiraling into an existential crisis. “No, no, no, this isn’t normal. This is—this is a crime scene! This can’t be right.”
“Jay,” your voice is muffled as a hand tries to cover both your nose and mouth from the contaminated air, “focus!”
Jay looks at you from across the living room, wide-eyed and pale, like a deer caught in headlights. “You expect me to—in this economy—”
“Grab. The. Wipes.”
Jay groans and he stumbles back towards you, hesitantly rifling through the baby bag. His hands finally find the pack of wipes and he peers over your shoulder from behind you, as if you’re his shield.
“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you going to help?”
“I am helping,” Jay protests weakly, waving the pack of wipes like they’re a magic wand that might save you both.
You roll your eyes and turn back to Jisoo, “Okay, grab her legs again. I’ll wipe.”
His eyes watch in horror as he reaches over you to take hold of the robot’s feet. With a deep breath, you start furiously scrubbing Jisoo’s little body, trying your best to breathe as minimally as possible, sticking your hand out towards Jay whenever you need a new wipe.
“I signed up for fake parenting, not surviving a biohazard. This isn’t bonding; this is trauma,” Jay incoherently mumbles, placing a wipe in your hand.
"I think this trauma is exactly what we're supposed to be learning and 'bonding' from," you retort, carefully tossing a soiled wipe into the designated waste bag.
"Oh, so Professor Kim is forcing us to bond over mutual suffering? Very sweet," Jay deadpans as he hands you another wipe.
"Exactly. Parenting at its finest."
Finally, after you definitely lost three years of your life, the horror show is over. Jisoo is cleaned, diapered, and—somehow—actually looks peaceful for once. Like she didn't just commit a crime against humanity.
Jay exhales, looking at her with a newfound joy. "Well. She's definitely...less terrifying when she's not screaming and emitting toxic fumes."
You plop yourself on the couch and cradle Jisoo like she's a tiny, innocent angel instead of the cause of your collective suffering. “I’m genuinely afraid to know what they put in her system for this to happen.”
Jay collapses onto the couch beside you, visibly relieved. "Whatever it was, we did it. We survived. We did that."
You can't help but laugh, still a bit punch-drunk from the adrenaline and exhaustion of it all. "We better get an A+ on this project."
Jay chuckles, leaning his head back against the couch. The room falls into a brief silence, just the two of you sitting there, basking in the weird accomplishment of it all. Then, as if on cue, you both start laughing—a deep, exhausting kind of laugh that two people only share after a 'you had to be there' type moment. There's something about the whole ordeal—how ridiculous, how hilariously awful it was—that just makes it impossible to not laugh.
Jay grins, nudging your shoulder with his. "Now do you think we make a pretty good team?"
You roll your eyes at him. "I don't know...depends."
Jay raises an eyebrow, "Depends on what?"
"Depends on whether you can make it through the rest of the project without crying again," you quip, lips twitching into an amused grin.
Jay gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. "Excuse you, I did not cry. My eyes were sweating from Jisoo's toxic fumes. A completely normal biological response, thank you very much."
"Sure, Jay," you deadpan, shaking your head.
"Besides," he continues, leaning back smugly, "I did all the heavy lifting. Literally. I held the live grenade."
You snort, glancing down at Jisoo in your arms before handing her off to Jay. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're stuck with me, partner," he grins back, rocking Jisoo in his arms. "You too, Jisoo."
You lean back into the couch, watching Jay coo at the now-peaceful baby. Somewhere between his flair for over-the-top dramatics, his secret love for young Robert Pattinson, and (for some reason) endearing passion for photography, you realize…maybe Jay Park isn’t the complete disaster you thought he was.
"Yeah," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I guess I really am stuck with you."
And for the first time since this ridiculous project started, you don't mind that as much as you thought you would.
Jay would like to make a few things clear.
First of all, none of this is his fault.
He hopes you understand that, as his thumbs fly over the keyboard of his phone like his life depends on it. Because in a way, it does.
Jay [11:32 AM]: “i swear it’s not my fault, but my friend, jake, his entire load of laundry is now the color of strawberry milk. and apparently i’m the only one that can help him. can I drop jisoo off with you for like… an hour? tops?”
He stares at his phone, waiting for your response like you hold the key to his survival. Because, in a way, you do.
He hears Jisoo coo from her carrier, like even she knows how dire this situation is. Finally, his phone lights up with a buzz.
Y/N [11:33 AM]: “i’m volunteering at a dog adoption event on campus, but sure, drop her off here :)”
Jay blinks at his phone. A dog adoption event. Of course, you'd be saving puppies on a Saturday. Of course. Like some kind of unreasonably perfect human. And here he is, about to save a fully grown man from having to wear solely pink t-shirts for the next week. Fantastic.
With a sigh, Jay turns to Jisoo, who blinks back a stare that can only be described as the (robot) baby equivalent of good luck, bro.
By the time Jay reaches campus, he's bombarded with the sight and sound of...dogs. Dogs everywhere. It's as if he's entered the chaotic lovechild of a Disney movie and a petting zoo, complete with wags, barks, and the smell of kibble. And then he sees you.
You're smack in the middle of a fenced playpen, laughing, surrounded by every breed of fluffy chaos imaginable and passerbys cooing 'aww' at the sight. And what a sight it is.
You look ridiculously happy, and for some reason, that makes something in Jay's chest feel weirdly tight. He wonders what it must feel like to be able to make you smile that widely, that brightly. It's unnerving. He's not used to seeing you so relaxed, so content—or maybe he's just not used to noticing how good you look when you're not glaring at him.
"Y/N!" a voice calls from the volunteer tent, snapping Jay out of his daydream. Jay watches from the distance as you haul a golden retriever pup into your arms and walk over to the tent, naturally falling into conversation with your friend and immediately organizing papers. Meanwhile, Jay stands there, dumbfounded at your unbothered, graceful rhythm that you seem to fall into like second nature.
Jay thought he had you figured out, filed neatly in his mental drawer of uptight-control-freaks-that-happen-to-smell-like-roses-and-have-perfect-smiles, but now? Something about the way you look right now—so confident, so caring, so...natural—catches him off guard.
Now, you're like some serene multitasking goddess in the middle of pure chaos.
That brings us to the second thing Jay would like to clarify (more so to himself): he definitely doesn't think you look good in, like, an attractive sense, or anything insane like that. Absolutely not. He just is simply impressed at how you seem to manage and carry yourself quite elegantly. This is pure admiration. Admiration, okay?
But...while he's here, staring in 'admiration', it suddenly hits him—you're not just good at taking care of Jisoo. You're good at taking care of everything.
And that makes his heart do a weird flip.
The realization that he's been staring for way too long jolts him back to the present. Focus, Jay. There's a Jake somewhere out there, lost in a sea of pink underwear.
Jisoo carrier in hand, Jay manages to push his way through the dog-packed crowds until he reaches you, but the second you turn around, flashing him that wide, carefree smile that he's still not used to, he's back to stumbling over himself.
He’s 99% sure he audibly gulps.
“Oh, Jay, you made it!” you say, shifting the puppy to one side of your arms to free a hand to grab Jisoo's carrier immediately. Your smile is disarmingly genuine. Jay thinks he may need to sit down.
“Uh, yeah—um, thanks for taking Jisoo," he swallows, his voice barely steady as he's unsure what this feeling is that came over him. He doesn't know if it's the fact that he's seeing you in a completely different light right now, carrying both a live, adorable puppy, and a (not-so-live) baby, but something is different, and he's at a loss for words. "You look pretty—uh…busy.”
He curses himself. Busy? Really?
“Oh, no biggie,” you give him an easy, encouraging grin, one so casual that it really shouldn't make his knees feel like Jell-O. "Honestly, I'd be out here every weekend if I could. But you of all people know my schedule."
Of course, you'd say something like that. Jay tries to think of a normal response, but his brain is spinning with all sorts of not-normal things about you—like how you look so aggressively pretty right now.
And it’s a little infuriating.
"Yeah, no, totally," Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his head. "Because who doesn't want to be covered in dog hair and slobber for fun?"
You roll your eyes, smiling. "Says the guy who's about to be knee-deep in a laundry crisis. Isn't that a little messy, too?"
Jay huffs, feeling himself return just a little bit back to normal. “Listen, Jake’s a special case, okay? You can’t just leave him in that pink laundry disaster and expect him to survive.”
"Right..," you laugh, rocking back and forth on your feet, your smile lingering as a comfortable silence falls between you.
Maybe it's the way you're looking up at him, or the fact that a literal golden retriever is currently nuzzled into your neck, but Jay is doing everything in his power to keep his cool. You're looking at him in a way that isn't remotely judgmental (for once), and it's throwing him completely off-balance.
Before Jay can pull it together and say something else, another voice calls your name, waving you over to a different table. You turn back to Jay, giving him an apologetic glance.
"Do you mind watching Jisoo—and, um, this puppy—for a sec?"
Before he can answer, or even process your words, he's standing there with an actual puppy in one arm, and Jisoo in her carrier in the other, and his life has become a circus he never auditioned for.
"Sorry! They just need me real quick!" You say with a grateful smile as you hurry off.
As you rush off with another apologetic smile, Jay's brain, for better or for worse, decides that grin of yours is now his mental screensaver. He watches you go, dumbly smiling before he catches himself.
Not attraction, he reminds himself. Totally not attraction.
He looks down at his arms—one occupied by a carrier with a robot baby, the other holding a wriggly puppy.
"Bet no one's ever been in this situation before," he mutters, awkwardly standing there as he waits for your return. Honestly, Jay has never felt so awkward or nervous before. Right now, he feels like the epitome of the standing emoji, just simply existing and there, waiting for your next command and hoping he doesn't screw it up.
Jay tries to hype himself up. You can do this, Park. It's just a dog. And a baby. And you.You've got this. You totally having everything und—
Before he can finish his mental pep talk, the sound of your laughter rings from across the event, making Jay's head snap over in record time. He tries not to look—he really does—but the sound is too angelic to not. But right when he does look over, he immediately wishes he didn't.
You're standing there between two of your friends, and you're giggling. With some guy he's never seen before. And this guy, is nudging your shoulder and making you laugh so hard you're practically doubling over. He feels a distinct twist in his chest.
Jay’s definitely not jealous. Nope. Not even a little. It's just...curiosity. Pure, innocent curiosity about what that guy could possibly be saying to make you laugh so hard. Because Jay has never seen you laugh like that with him—ever.
And suddenly, the longer you continue laughing with that guy, Jay feels something hot and uncomfortable bubbling up inside.
Fine, it’s jealousy.
Definitely jealousy. He scowls at himself. Now he’s basically a bitter standing emoji, clinging to Jisoo and a puppy while glaring from afar.
And there Jay stands, bitterness levels maxed, holding both a puppy and a robot baby, while across the way, your roommate Esther gives you a knowing smirk while you're recovering from your giggling fit. Your giggling fit which was caused by Heeseung making a comment about how he stepped in dog poop more times than the average human-being accidentally should.
“You didn’t tell me that was Jay Park,” Esther says, trying not-so-subtly to sneak a glance at the bitter standing emoji himself, awkwardly shifting his feet in the distance, avoiding to look in your direction. “You said he was annoying, lazy, and a pain to be around. You didn’t mention he’s a total cutie.”
“He was annoying, lazy, and a pain to be around,” you scoff, though you're clearly not thinking that right now as you catch a glance of him trying to balance both the puppy and Jisoo. "But...I don't think he's so bad anymore."
You definitely don't add that he's a total cutie. Okay, maybe you think it, but saying it out loud is a whole other thing.
“Oh, so you totally like him,” Heeseung snickers from your other side, nudging you again.
You make a sound that's half out-of-tune trumpet, half hiccup, before breaking into a laugh to cover your sudden panic. "No, I don't!" You clear your throat, trying to stay cool.
"We're just—look, we're just stuck together for this project. That's all. Even if I did like him, which I don't, he definitely doesn't like me back. We're probably just going to go back to bickering with each other to no end."
“Right,” Heeseung chimes in, giving you a look that says he's clearly unconvinced. “Just saying, though—someone who doesn’t like you wouldn’t be staring at you like that, and looking at me like I just committed a third-degree crime just for breathing in your direction."
You follow Heeseung’s gaze and, sure enough, you catch Jay trying to look casual while bouncing the puppy and acting like he totally didn’t just get caught. Your eyes meet, and he does a 180 so fast he nearly launches Jisoo into orbit.
You quickly turn back to your friends, heat rising to your face as you catch Esther and Heeseung giving each other a knowing look before smirking at you. You roll your eyes and grab the both of them by the back of their shirts, turning them in the direction of the event, "Okay, okay, enough with the delusions. Shouldn't you guys be signing off some puppies or something?"
"Don't say we didn't tell you so!" Esther calls after you as you turn on your heels towards Jay, furiously convincing yourself that they're so wrong.
There's no universe in which Jay Park, the Jay Park, would ever be into you. The Jay Park, who can get any girl he wants, the Jay Park who's just too different from you, the Jay Park who you proclaimed your school rival (self-proclaimed). Absolutely not.
When you get back to him, Jay’s desperately trying to look natural—so, naturally, he’s scratching the puppy’s belly while Jisoo clings to his chest like a tiny koala. Your heart gives a little traitorous squeeze, but you ignore it. Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.
“Looks like he likes you,” you say, trying to sound casual as you nod to the puppy, who's squirming excitedly under Jay's attention.
“He’s adorable,” Jay replies, blushing faintly as he shifts the puppy around. “So, uh, everything okay over there?” he asks, totally not imagining a deep, romantic conversation to explain your laughter.
You’re caught off-guard, blinking, wondering if Jay somehow became psychic and caught onto your previous train of thoughts about him, until you realize what he meant. “Oh! Yeah, they just… needed help with paperwork.”
Jay’s expression hardens ever so slightly as he tries to imagine a world where paperwork could possibly be that funny. “Cool, cool,” he nods stiffly, side-eyeing Heeseung in the distance who’s still chatting with Esther.
"Well," Jay shifts awkwardly as clears his throat, "I should get going to Jake. He's probably in tears by now, honestly."
You frown at that, and Jay instantly self-identifies himself as the worst person on the planet. He barely resists the urge to apologize for everything he's ever done, from breathing in your direction to any other crime against humanity he's committed in your eyes.
"Aw, come on," you say, teasingly, though even you're not sure why. It's just...fun having him around. "Stay a little longer. For the puppies!"
Jay opens his mouth, fully ready to decline when he catches sight of your expression—those big, pleading eyes that make it impossible to say no.
And that's it. He's doomed. Right then and there, Jay knows he's doomed.
Is Jay currently surrounded by more puppies than he ever thought could physically exist in one place? Yes.
Does he think your puppy eyes are somehow cuter than all the puppies combined? Annoyingly, also yes.
And so, Jay would like to make some new things clear, for the record:
First, there is no way any of this is his fault. If Jake ends up crying over outfit choices and demands to know why Jay ditched him for puppies, Jay has a rock-solid explanation. He’ll explain the situation, which obviously couldn’t be helped. Hanging out with you? Totally justified. Perfectly valid.
And second, well—Jay would like to clarify that it's official now. Whatever he was feeling before? Yeah, definitely attraction.
Your fingers drum against your blanket. You stare blankly at your bedroom ceiling. You let out another deep sigh. You toss and turn, adjusting your position for maybe the hundredth time. It's no use. You're bored.
And that, in itself, is a shocking revelation. You're never bored. Your schedule is usually packed to the brim—between assignments, club meetings, work shifts, and impromptu Save the Puppies campaigns, there's hardly room for boredom. But today?
Today, life has gifted you a rare stretch of free time. No assignments to finish, no midterms to study for, no dog adoption events or café shifts. And apparently, you have no idea how to handle that.
You turn to look at Jisoo, who's chilling in her spot on your bed next to you, not having a single ounce of consciousness for you to share your boredom with.
With another sigh, you grab your phone and scroll aimlessly through your apps. You eventually land in your Photos app and swipe through mindlessly until a recent picture stops you in your tracks.
It's a selfie Jay took of the two of you, Jisoo sandwiched between your faces. The infamous day of the pizza-night-turned-accidental-nap-turned-godforsaken-poop-incident. You'd submitted the photo to Professor Kim as proof of your co-parenting efforts, but now, looking at it again, you can't help but smile.
It's strange. The memory should be traumatic—okay, it is traumatic—but in hindsight, it's also...kind of fun. The chaos, the banter, the way Jay somehow managed to make everything feel less overwhelming just by being there.
Funny enough, that day was also the last time you remember having any sort of free time, and you remember complaining that you had to spend the day with Jay of all people. But now, looking back at it, you honestly did have fun. Being with Jay was...fun.
Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before it unconsciously drifts towards the Phone app. You hesitate, realizing with a jolt that you're one tap away from calling Jay. It's like your brain suddenly shut off and something took over you. What's gotten into you?
You blink at Jay's contact on your phone, your thumb still hovering over his name.
No. Bad idea.
You don't need Jay to entertain you just because you're bored. You're perfectly capable of having fun on your own...obviously. Obviously, even though the last hour of groaning and ceiling-staring suggests otherwise.
Besides, Jay's probably busy doing...whatever it is Jay does at 4PM on a Saturday. Napping, probably.
And what would you even say? Let's hang out? Like some middle schooler asking out their crush? Not to mention, you already have your 'Jisoo' plans in two days, so it's not like you have an excuse to see him.
You sit up abruptly, shaking your head as if to clear the fog of ridiculous thoughts. Seriously, do you even hear yourself right now? Looking for an excuse to see him? Since when did you need excuses for anything, let alone something as absurd as spending more time than necessary with Jay Park?
This has to be some kind of stress-induced meltdown. It's the only logical explanation. All those late-night study sessions, midterm panic attacks, Jisoo diaper changes, and endless extracurriculars must've finally fried your brain. And now, here you are, teetering on the edge of reason, actually wanting to see Jay Park.
Great. Now you have a new problem.
Because as much as you try to convince yourself otherwise, the truth is glaringly obvious: you want to see him. And that, more than any amount of free time or boredom, is the real problem.
You've officially lost it.
I've officially lost it, you chant in your head as your thumb hovers dangerously close to Jay's name on your screen again.
I've officially lost it, the words grow louder, taunting you, as you hover over the call button.
I've officially lost it, your thoughts scream as you give in, pressing down and watching in horror as your screen shifts to Calling Jay Park.
And now, your heartbeat picks up with every ring. You can't decide what's worse—him answering or him ignoring the call. Maybe if he doesn't pick up, it'll be a sign from above that you're better off leaving his madness alone. Maybe—
"Hello?"
Your train of thought screeches to a halt.
"Y/N? Are you there?"
"I'm here!" You blurt out, your voice jumping two octaves higher than usual. Real smooth, Y/N.
"Hi...what's up? Are you okay? Is something wrong?" His voice is soft over the phone, a little concerned, like you're about to tell him Jisoo had another diaper emergency.
You falter for a moment, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. "No! Nothing's wrong! I just—uh–" Quick, think of something normal!
"I was wondering what you're up to."
"Me?" He sounds genuinely surprised, and you can practically hear the smile in this voice. At least, you think. Or, once again, you've officially lost it. "I'm at the campus gallery, setting up for my photography showcase. It's tonight."
The campus gallery. His photography.
You blink, this is news to you. You vaguely remember Jay asking if you could watch Jisoo tonight, and he hadn't given you a reason back then, but this is why he couldn't be on Jisoo duty today. Because of his showcase.
"Wait, really?" You ask, hoping the interest in your voice doesn't show too much.
"Yeah. I didn't mention it? Guess I forgot," he chuckles lightly. "It's not a big deal, just a student showcase. I'm just setting up now, making sure my pieces are hung straight and stuff."
You swallow, a sudden wave of curiosity washing over you. You find yourself smiling to yourself, feeling a wave of endearment wash over you for some reason. The idea of Jay being completely focused and serious about a passion of his is...it's nice. It’s hard to reconcile the carefree, sarcastic guy you know with the thoughtful perspective he must have to capture the kinds of photos he does.
"You should come by," he says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but you think you catch a small, hopeful note in it. "If you're free, I mean. No pressure."
You hesitate, your mind racing. Go? Don't go? It's just a showcase. It's not like it means anything. Right?
"I'll think about it," you manage, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Cool." There's a smile in his voice again. "Let me know. I'll save you a front-row seat."
"Front row seat? For a gallery?" You deadpan, rolling your eyes as if he can see if over the phone.
"Hey, I'm just being a good host."
"Hmmm," you smile to yourself again. "Maybe. We'll see."
But your decision was made the second he suggested that you should come.
It doesn't mean anything. Friends come support each other all the time, right? Wait—
Are you and Jay even friends? You shake your head, trying to dismiss the warmth starting to spread in your chest.
It's just photography.
It's just Jay.
Nothing to overthink here.
✭・.・✫
“Okay, Jisoo, in and out,” you whisper to the robot baby in the carrier that's perched in your arms as you stand frozen outside the campus gallery doors. "We're just stopping by to say hi. Two minutes max. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Nothing dramatic."
Jisoo stares back at you, wide-eyed and unhelpfully silent, which you take as strong moral support. "Thanks, Jisoo," you mutter, like a lunatic seeking validation from a robot.
Maybe you shouldn't even go in. It's basically the end of the event anyway—what are the odds he'd even notice you didn't show? Slim. Probably. Right?
It's not like you didn't have a valid excuse for your lateness. You did have to change Jisoo’s diaper before you left, and that was a whole thing. But let's be real.
The real delay? The real delay was you standing in front of your closet for a solid half hour like a contestant on America's Next Top Existential Crisis. What do you even wear to casually drop by someone's photography showcase? Something that says, Hey, I'm effortlessly supportive, but I totally don't care if you notice me (yes I do).
Spoiler alert: that outfit does not exist.
And then—because clearly, you love to torture yourself—you spent another thirty minutes pacing around your room trying to figure out why you cared so much in the first place.
It's Jay. Jay. The guy who thought sticking googly eyes on Jisoo's bottle would make her drink faster. Why are you stressed? Why are your palms sweating?
But despite all that, you somehow made it here, standing outside the gallery with your stomach doing flips like you're about to walk into your own trial. You made it all the way here, so might as well go in, right?
You swallow hard, adjust your grip on your emotional support robot baby, and push the door open.
And there he is.
Center stage, right where he belongs—or at least where he seems to thrive. Standing in front of a massive wall of his framed photographs, the studio lights catch his profile just right. It's almost unfair, like he's been personally photoshopped by the gods themselves. He's surrounded by a small crowd, gesturing animatedly with his hands as he speaks, his smile so bright you're convinced it's starting to hurt your eyes.
But his eyes? There's this sparkle in them. Not the usual playful glint you've grown used to, but something deeper, softer. You've never seen him look so alive, so utterly in his element, and it's doing weird things to your chest.
You can't help but wonder—what does it feel like to make him look that happy? Not that it matters, obviously.
It's just a thought.
A completely useless, irrelevant, go-away-right-now kind of thought.
If you weren't busy trying not to trip over your own feet and accidentally drop Jisoo, you might have stopped to take it all in. To admire the way he looks standing there, talking about something he clearly loves, like he's found this magical pocket of the universe where nothing else matters. Might have.
But instead, your thoughts screech in a halt, jolting you out of your daydream.
Abort mission. This was a terrible idea.
Why did you come here? Why is your face hot? Can Jisoo smell fear?
Before you can think of a single coherent reason to not turn around and bolt, Jay glances up. And he spots you.
His eyes light up even more—if that's even physically possible. "Y/N?" He calls out, grinning widely.
Great. Now you're here. He's happy to see you. You're standing in the middle of his gallery with a robot baby that can most definitely smell your fear.
Fantastic. Just fantastic.
Jay's voice cuts through your existential spiral, "Y/N!" He's waving you over as he calls out your name again, like you're a long-lost friend who's just returned from war.
Well, to be fair, you are fighting a war—against your own dumb feelings.
"Hey!" You croak, trying to sound casual but ending up somewhere between a dog's favorite squeaky toy and a rusty car horn. You internally flinch at your own voice.
"Wow, you came," he says, his sweet smile still on display as you shuffle over to where he's standing. "And you brought Jisoo! My biggest fan."
He reaches out to cup Jisoo's cheeks, and you almost smack yourself in the head for feeling jealous over your own robot baby.
"Yeah, well," you start, trying to sound nonchalant. "I figured, you know, project partners should support each other...teamwork and all that."
Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "Right. Teamwork. Totally."
You shift your weight from one leg to another, awkwardly looking up, eventually landing your eyes on the wall behind him, scanning the photos on display. Each photo is so him—a little chaotic, a little bold, but somehow...strikingly beautiful. There's a photo of a rainy city street, the light catching every droplet; a close-up of a sunflower against a brilliant sky; a candid of a kid laughing, his face tilted up toward the sun.
You suddenly feel a weird, warm pull in your chest. It’s one thing to see Jay cracking jokes and making sarcastic comments during late-night baby meltdowns. But this? This is a side of him you’ve never seen before—one that’s thoughtful, intentional, passionate.
You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until Jay speaks up, his voice softer now. “Do you like them?”
You blink, startled, and then nod a little too quickly. You hope he doesn't notice (he does).
"Yeah. I mean...these are really good, Jay. You're–" you cut yourself off, realizing you're about to say something embarrassing. ''–talented," you finish lamely.
"Thanks," Jay tilts his head, looking almost shy. "That means a lot, actually."
His voice is so genuine that it throws you off. You weren't prepared for this level of sincerity. It makes your stomach flip in a way that's both exciting and mildly terrifying.
Jay gestures toward the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets like he's trying not to fidget. "I wasn't sure if this was your kind of thing, thought you'd be busy and stuff, but I'm glad you came. I, uh..," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, "I was kind of hoping you would."
Oh.
Oh?
OH.
Your brain immediately short-circuits. He hoped you'd come? Like...in a we're-in-this-together-as-project-partners way, or in a please-let-this-mean-something-more-than-project-partners way? Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? Should you call someone? Should you call him? No, wait, you're already talking to him—focus!
You clear your throat and try to channel every ounce of chill you simply do not possess. "Well," you say, attempting to keep your voice steady and failing miserably, "I'm here."
It comes out barely louder than a whisper, and you immediately regret every life decision that's led you to this moment. But then Jay smiles—soft, something smaller, more private—and it's like the world shifts slightly off its axis.
"Yeah," he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that makes you forget how to breathe. "You are."
And just like that, the noise of the environment dissolves, and the rest of the world shrinks to nothing but the space between you and him. The moment feels impossibly big like it might swallow you whole, and yet so small it could shatter with the slightest breath.
You're pretty sure you're about to combust. Explode. Turn into a human firework fueled entirely by sheer tension and whatever it is that's happening right now. God, why does he have to look at you like that? Like you're not standing here internally unraveling?
You break eye contact to glance down at Jisoo, and you're positive she's giving you a look that screams, Stop being weird, you two.
"Anyway!" You blurt out, desperate to break the tension. "Which one's your favorite?" You gesture to the photos, your eyes darting anywhere but his own.
He laughs, and the sound is warm and unguarded, "C'mon, I'll show you."
He grabs your free hand without thinking, tugging you toward the far end of the wall. And just like that, you're helplessly following him, heart racing again, wondering how the hell you got here—and why you never want to leave.
So much for in and out.
Jay pulls you towards the far end of the gallery, his hand wrapped around yours like it's the most natural thing in the world.
It's not.
Your brain is in full-blown meltdown mode. Red alerts, sirens blaring, a voice screaming, "WE'RE HOLDING HANDS, PEOPLE!"
But there's no way you're about to let him see how much this is affecting you, so you shove the chaos down, pretending like your hand isn't currently experiencing the touch equivalent of fireworks...and hoping that it isn't sweaty.
"This one," Jay says, stopping in front of a photo that's somehow both ordinary and magical. It's a simple shot of your campus football field, taken from the bleacher stands. You've stood in those very bleachers too many times to count—for school events, games, the occasional half-hearted attempt to pretend you like sports. But somehow, in this shot, the field looks...different.
The grass glows like it's soaked in liquid gold under a sky caught between dusk and twilight. The field is empty, yet it doesn't feel lonely. There's something about it that Jay managed to capture—like it holds a thousand stories and secrets, quietly hopeful in its stillness.
"It's beautiful," you murmur, the words slipping out before you can catch them.
"Yeah," Jay lets out a breath. "It's my favorite spot on campus. I go there a lot when I need to think or just...get away a bit."
You glance at him, startled at the sudden vulnerability in his voice. Jay never strikes you as someone who gets lost in his head; he always seemed too confident, too effortlessly sure of himself. But right now, he's not looking at you—he's staring at the photo, like he's seeing something beyond it.
"I took it on one of those days—I was just overthinking a lot about life. About who I am, I guess," he continues. "I didn't think it'd turn out good or anything, but...I don't know. It felt right."
Your chest tightens. There's something so raw in the way he's speaking, like he's letting you see a side of him he usually keeps hidden. It makes you wonder how many other layers Jay Park has, and why it feels so important to uncover them all.
The silence between you stretches as you watch Jay continue to study his own photograph. There's a softness in his gaze, a quiet vulnerability that makes you feel like you're seeing him a way few people ever do.
But then he blinks, breaking the moment, and suddenly he's looking at you. You stiffen, panic bubbling up at the possibility that he might've noticed you staring at him.
"Sorry," he says, his voice carrying a self-deprecating chuckle. "It's really cheesy and stupid."
You find yourself shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. "No! Not at all, really," you blurt out, the words stumbling over themselves in their rush to escape. You feel the heat creeping up your neck, mortified at your sudden intensity.
Jay raises an eyebrow, amused, but doesn't say anything, so you clear your throat and try again, softer this time. "I mean it. You have a good eye, Jay." You mean it more than you've meant anything in a while, and you hope he knows that.
For a second, he just looks at you, like he's taking note of something, his head tilted ever so slightly. And then, slowly, his lips curve into that small, genuine smile that makes your chest feel annoyingly warm. "Thanks, Y/N."
Your heart does a little somersault. Oh great. There it goes again.
And as if Jisoo can sense the moment might be getting too serious, she lets out a cry. You stumble back, jump scared enough by the loud and sudden sound, and Jay reacts instantly, steadying you with his hands on your shoulders.
"You okay?" He asks, his face so close that you can now confirm there are literal, actual flecks of gold in his eyes. Of course there are.
You blink. I've officially lost it. Completely, utterly, hopelessly, lost it.
You nod, your voice stuck in your throat. Am I okay? No. No, you are not okay. You are decidedly not okay.
Jay clears his throat, stepping back—though his hands linger a beat longer than they probably need to, but still a second too short than you should probably want to.
You want to scream into the void.
"Looks like it's time for Jisoo's dinner," he says lightly with a small chuckle.
You fumble for words, your brain still offline. "Uh—yeah. I left her bottle at my place, and I should probably get going anyways," you manage, your voice a little too breathless for comfort.
Jay glances at his watch, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, something hopeful flicking in his eyes.
"I'm pretty much done here," he says, tilting his head towards the door. "It's late. Let me walk you home."
You hesitate, torn between insisting you're perfectly fine on your own (you're not) and letting him (you want to). But the way he's looking at you—like it's no big deal, like he simply wants to—makes the decision for you.
"Okay," you say, quieter than you mean to, and before you can second-guess yourself, Jay's already taking Jisoo's carrier from your arms, effortlessly shifting it onto his own.
"Let's go," he says, flashing you a small smile that feels like a punch to your stomach in the best way possible.
And just like that, you're walking side by side into the cool night air, your breaths visible in the chill, easily falling into a comfortable rhythm as you walk through the quiet campus, the streetlights above casting long shadows ahead of you.
There’s something easy about walking with him like this. It shouldn’t feel this natural—your heart’s doing somersaults and pirouettes like it’s auditioning for a circus—but it does. You steal a glance at him, and he’s focused on the path ahead, his profile calm and soft in the glow of the lights.
"So," Jay breaks the quiet as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, "Can you believe the project's almost over?"
You let out a small laugh, tilting your head. "Honestly, no. Feels like just yesterday I was praying you'd drop the class."
Jay laughs, a sound that seems to echo in the quiet environment. "Wow, Y/N. I thought we were bonding."
"We were," you tease, turning to him with a barely concealed smirk. "I just also thought you were going to be a disaster of a partner."
He scoffs, giving you a mock-offended look. "I proved you wrong, right? I was amazing since day one."
"You handed Jisoo to me like she was a bomb, Jay," you remind him, unable to stop yourself from laughing.
"I was assessing the danger!" Jay protests, his grin widening. "And excuse me, I've stepped up. I've made bottles, I've cleaned her, I even know how to put on a diaper the right side up!"
"Jay, the fact that you had to learn which way was right side up is concerning in itself," you manage to let out with a giggle.
"Details, details," he waves a dismissive hand. "Point is, I'm practically father of the year."
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. A sharp breeze suddenly hits the both of you, and you visibly shiver from the lack of warmth your outfit provides. All that time choosing an outfit, and you still couldn't pick a weather-appropriate one. Stellar, Y/N.
And of course, Jay notices immediately. Before you can so much as form a protest, he's shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, your body immediately stiffening as his hands brush against you lightly in the process.
You open your mouth to say something—anything, even just a whispered thank you—but Jay beats you to it, sparing you the effort of finding actual, coherent words.
“So,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just sent your brain spiraling, “what do you think you’ll do when it’s over?”
"Uh," you blink, still needing a second to reorient yourself. "Sleep, for once."
Jay laughs again. "Fair. You deserve it. But you'll miss me, right?"
"Not even for a second," you deadpan without hesitation.
"Liar," he teases, bumping your shoulder lightly.
You reach your building all too soon, the doors looming in front of you like an unwelcome reminder that this walk, this moment, is about to end. You stop just before the steps and turn to face him, rocking on your heels.
"Okay, maybe a little," you admit, shrugging. "But only because you make me look like the competent one by comparison."
"Wow," Jay shakes his head, but there it is again. The smile—the small, amused one that makes his eyes crinkle just enough to be unfairly attractive.
You glance up at him, wishing the walk had been just a few blocks longer. Or a few miles.
"Well," you say finally, forcing your gaze away from his own. "Thanks for walking me. And for carrying Jisoo."
You reach for Jisoo's carrier, and Jay hands it over without hesitation, but not before shrugging like it's no big deal.
"No problem," he says. Then, as you're adjusting the carrier on your arm, he adds, "And thanks again, Y/N. For coming tonight. It really meant a lot."
Your heart does that stupid fluttery thing again it's been doing all night, and you're starting to think you need a medical consultation.
"Yeah, well," you clear your throat. "Partner support, you know?" You sound dumb, Y/N. Dumb.
Jay smirks, but there's something gentler in his expression now, a flicker of something you can't quite name.
"Goodnight, Y/N. And goodnight, Jisoo," he says, giving a small wave to the baby carrier, making you giggle slightly.
He takes a few steps back, his hands slipping into his pockets, and gives you one last smile before turning to walk away. But before he gets too far, something bursts out of you, unwarned.
"Jay!"
He stops, turning on his heels, his brows lifting in surprise. "Yeah?"
You step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you, suddenly hyper-aware of how your voice wavers. "Um, I was wrong. You're...not all that bad." Why am I doing this? "I'm sorry if I've been...you know, intense. These past few years."
Jay blinks at you, his surprise turning into something softer. You take a deep breath, pushing through the self-inflicted awkwardness.
"You've been a really good partner," you add, offering a small, genuinely smile. "And well...you're pretty cool."
His studies your face for a moment, the look longing and careful, like he's piecing together something fragile. A faint smile tugs at his lips, and there's a warmth in his expression that sends heat rushing to your cheeks.
For a moment, the two of you just stand here, caught in the glow of the streetlamp. The world around you feels distant, like someone's hit the mute button on everything but the sound of your heartbeat.
Jay's smile widens ever so slightly, and he nods, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll see you around, Y/N."
He takes a few steps backward, his gaze holding yours until he finally turns and starts walking away. You watch him disappear into the night, the outline of his figure fading with the streetlights, and only then do you realize you've been holding your breath.
As you step into your building and climb the stairs to your apartment, the night replays in your head on a loop—his laugh, his smile, his everything.
When you finally reach your door, you lean against it for a moment, his large jacket still wrapped around you. Your thoughts crash into you all at once, and two things become alarmingly clear:
You are completely, utterly, hopelessly in like with Jay Park.
You're in so much trouble.
“Congratulations, everyone!” Professor Kim clasps her hands together at the front of the classroom, a wide smile on her face. “You’ve survived six weeks of parenting. Hopefully, you’ve learned something useful—and that it hasn’t scared you off from actual parenthood one day. Each baby had a monitor tracking its status, so I’ll be extracting that data, combining it with your progress reports, and factoring it into your grade.”
Jay leans toward you from his seat next to you, his breath warm against your ear. “That’s a little creepy…she’s going to take Jisoo apart? The poor thing.” His smirk is half-guilty, half-amused, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from laughing out loud.
This is new. Six weeks ago, he was Mr. Front-Row Enthusiast, and sometime between then and now, you’ve somehow managed to convert him into your next-row-back partner. He’d grumbled at first when you insisted about your theory that the front row screamed try-hard, but since then, he doesn’t even glance at the seats up front anymore.
“Grades will be out soon! I’ll see you all next week,” Professor Kim announces. “And don’t forget to submit your reflection posts!”
The shuffle of bags and jackets fills the room as students thank her on their way out. Slowly, the lecture hall empties, until it’s just you and Jay lingering at your seats.
“Well,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you stand. “That’s it. No more parenting lessons for us.”
Jay heaves a dramatic sigh, his lips pulling into a pout that’s far too endearing for your peace of mind. “I can’t believe it. I already miss Jisoo.”
You chuckle lightly but feel an odd tug in your chest. “Right? I got so used to carrying her and her baby bag everywhere. It’s weird not having her around.”
And it is weird. You never thought you’d feel this way about a glorified hunk of plastic and wires, but now, without Jisoo, something feels…off.
Or maybe it’s not just Jisoo. Maybe it’s the fact that this project, unexpectedly enough, turned into an excuse—a reason to spend so much time with Jay. Now that it’s over, what happens next?
The thought hangs between you as the two of you head out of the building. The campus is alive with the hum of students, the energy buzzing around you as everyone heads to their afternoon classes. You both stop outside, standing awkwardly side by side as the silence stretches.
No more 'Jisoo days' to plan for. No more excuses to text. No more shared tasks or inside jokes.
Will he go back to his front-row seat, forgetting these last few weeks? Or will he—will you—pretend none of this ever happened?
Jay shifts beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flicker to yours, then away again, as if he’s waiting for you to say something first.
“Well,” you finally say, breaking the quiet because it’s just too heavy to bear. “I have to head to my next class.”
“Right. Yeah,” Jay says quickly, too quickly, his hands both fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. “Makes sense.”
He hesitates, his mouth opening like he’s about to add something, but then he stops. You notice the way he’s looking at you, like there’s a thousand things he wants to say but can’t figure out how to start. You feel that familiar heat creep up your neck, the same one you tend to get whenever you’re around him nowadays.
“Alright,” you finally say, shifting on your feet. “See you around, then?”
Jay’s lips turn up in a small, almost longing, smile. “Yeah. See you.”
He doesn’t move, though. Neither do you. It’s like both of you are waiting for the other to take a step away first, and the pause grows longer and longer until you can practically hear the universe screaming at you to just go already. It’s getting unbearably uncomfortable for all of us, Y/N.
And when you finally start to turn, before you can even take three steps, his voice stops you.
“Hey.”
You glance back over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Jay scratches the back of his neck, looking like he’s fighting some kind of internal battle. “Uh, you were also a really good partner. You know, with Jisoo. I mean, you were kinda terrifying at first with all your color-coded schedules and spreadsheets, but…”
His smile softens, and his voice drops a little. “You were great. Really. I think I learned a thing or two from you.”
Your stomach flips in a way that’s both infuriating and addictive.
“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound casual even though your brain is short-circuiting. “Means a lot from someone who had to Google which way a diaper goes.”
He laughs, the sound bright and warm in the cool air. “Okay, one time, Y/N. Let it go.”
“Nope.” You grin, turning fully toward him now, your nerves settling under the familiarity of teasing. “You’ll never live it down. It’s my parting gift to you.”
Jay presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “Wow. I pour my heart out, and this is what I get in return?”
“Exactly.”
He chuckles again, shaking his head before finally stepping back, breaking the invisible bubble that’s been holding you both in place. “Alright. I’ll see you, Y/N.”
“Bye, Jay,” you say, forcing yourself to turn and start walking away.
You make it a few steps before you hear his voice a second time, softer this time, almost hesitant.
“Y/N.”
You glance back, your heart skipping a beat.
Jay looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips curve into a small, lopsided smile. “Text me when you get home later tonight, okay? After your day is done.”
You blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“Just…so I know you got there safe,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. But the way his voice dips at the end betrays him.
Your chest tightens in a way that officially feels dangerous. But you know you never want to get enough of this feeling.
“Okay,” you manage to say, the word quieter than you meant, but it was the most you could muster up with the bubble stuck in your throat.
Jay nods, his smile widening just a little. “Good.”
And this time, when you turn away, you can’t stop the smile that sneaks onto your face.
✭・.・✫
By the time you get home, it’s late, and the apartment is quiet. Esther is nowhere to be found—probably out with Heeseung or at the library pretending to study. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, the routine feeling strangely empty without Jisoo’s carrier on your arm and her baby bag strapped to the other.
With a sigh, you find your way to your room and collapse onto your bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Jay’s parting words have been echoing in your head all day, barely letting you focus during the rest of your classes—“Text me when you get home.”
You hover over your messages for a second longer than necessary, typing and deleting a draft once, then twice, then a third time, before finally hitting send:
Y/N [8:52PM]: home safe 👍
You stare at the screen for exactly three seconds before flinging your phone across your bed. You roll over, face buried in your pillow, half hoping he doesn’t reply so you don’t have to overanalyze the significance of a thumbs-up emoji.
But, of course, your phone buzzes almost instantly.
Jay [8:53PM]: good 👍 sleep well.
A small, ridiculous smile tugs at your lips. You really shouldn’t be this giddy over such a mundane exchange, over a thumbs up emoji, but somehow, here you are.
And that’s when you start going insane. You shoot up from your spot in bed.
Why did he tell you to text him? Does he say that to everyone? Or was it just…you? And why does he keep looking at you like that? You’ve never been the kind of person to spiral like this, but lately, everything about Jay has you unraveling in ways you don’t know how to handle.
Clearly.
You groan, flailing your arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Get it together, Y/N,” you mutter to yourself, but it’s no use. Every little interaction from the past six weeks replays in your head on a loop—his laughter, his stupid jokes, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp buzz from your phone. You glance over, half expecting a random notification (the other half hoping Jay double texted you) but instead, it’s the one you’ve been waiting for without realizing it:
Professor Kim: Final grades are posted!
Your heart leaps. Practically fumbling with your phone, you open the grading portal, scanning the page with a held breath. And there it is, staring back at you in bold letters:
Semester Project Grade: 100%
“YES!” you exclaim, punching the air like a successful cartoon character. You’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt, practically bouncing in bed. It’s the kind of happiness that makes you feel like you’re going to burst if you don’t share it with someone.
And there’s only one person you want to share it with.
Before you know what you’re doing, your closet doors are wide open, your hands rifling through. Your hands land on his jacket—the one he lent you after the showcase—and something about it feels right. You shrug it on, ignoring the way it smells faintly like him (and comfort), and grab your keys without a second thought.
By the time you realize what you’re doing, you’re already halfway to Jay’s apartment. It’s not like you had a plan—just this overwhelming need to see him.
Because somehow, he’s become the first person you want to share everything with, want to experience every moment with, want to feel every feeling with, and that thought is both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
But you’ve never been so sure of anything else before.
Your breath hitches as you reach his familiar door, hand raised to knock. You hesitate for a moment, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this is. Who shows up at someone’s place at this hour, unannounced, just to tell them about a grade? What if he already saw it and didn’t even think twice? You look insane, Y/N. Insane.
But then you think about the way he looked at you earlier, the way he smiled when he said “good job.”
And you knock.
✭・.・✫
Jay doesn’t know what’s happening. One second, he’s on his couch editing photos, and the next, someone’s trying to break down his door. At least, that’s what it sounds like. The pounding is so aggressive it makes his mug of tea tremble slightly on the table.
Heart racing, Jay tosses his laptop aside and scans the room for a weapon. Nothing. Great. In a flash of panic, he grabs the TV remote because, sure, it’s sleek, ergonomic, and maybe intimidating in the right light.
Bracing himself for certain doom, he yanks the door open—
“Oh.”
It’s you.
At his doorstep.
Unannounced.
In his jacket.
Jay flatlines. All he can do is stare at you in the oversized jacket—his oversized jacket—looking like you walked straight out of one of his dream scenarios. The rational part of him is trying to keep it together, but the feral part of his brain is screaming She’s in my clothes. Marriage now.
You tilt your head, studying his expression. “Jay? Are you…okay?”
He blinks, realizing he’s been standing there for a good five seconds with his mouth slightly open.
“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Uh—what’s up?”
“Well first, why are you wielding a TV remote like it’s a sword?”
Jay glances down at the remote in his hand, then back at you.
“…I thought you were a robber.”
“A robber?” you repeat, struggling not to laugh. “What kind of robber knocks?”
“I don’t know, maybe a polite one!”
You let out a giggle and shrug. “Fair enough. But anyway, I’m here because—did you see?”
“See what?” He frowns, confused, and still recovering from his adrenaline rush.
“Professor Kim posted our grades! We got a 100%!”
Jay stares at you for a second before the words sink in. “Wait—what? We got a hundred?”
“Yes!” You’re practically bouncing, a bright smile lighting up your face. “A perfect score, Jay!”
He laughs and steps forward, grabbing your shoulders in his hands. “No way. We actually did it?!”
“We did it!” You beam back, jumping up and down. “We crushed it!”
Jay’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt, but he doesn’t care. There’s something about seeing you this happy, standing in his doorway like a whirlwind of energy, that makes his chest feel way too full, too complete.
And for a moment, the two of you are just standing there, caught up in the moment, smiling at each other like idiots.
When the excitement dies down, Jay notices the way you’re still slightly breathless, like you’d run all the way here.
“Wait,” he squints. “You could’ve just texted me, you know.”
“Oh,” you shift your weight, suddenly looking a little shy. “Yeah. But I just…wanted to see you.”
Jay blinks. His brain is once again malfunctioning.
“Oh.”
Oh?
OH.
“Yeah. So…here I am,” you add, failing miserably to conceal the wobble in your voice.
“Here you are,” he repeats, his voice back to that soft tone that knows how to make your heart go into overdrive.
His eyes flicker to yours and stay there as the air between you suddenly feels heavier. Charged.
“Is that all?” Jay asks, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.
“Uh,” you clear your throat, looking anywhere but at him. “I guess.”
Jay leans against the doorframe, studying you with that stupidly charming smirk of his. “Well, then.”
“Well, then,” you echo, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever encountered (spoiler: it’s not. That would be Jay’s face. But we’re not admitting that just yet).
Neither of you moves. Not even a millimeter. The silence stretches so long that you’re pretty sure somewhere in the world, a Netflix show just autoplayed its next episode.
Then, suddenly, Jay watches as your face cycles through the emotional Olympics: panic, resolve, regret, and whatever it is that makes your eyebrows do that cute scrunch thing he secretly loves.
“I should go,” you say, finally breaking the silence, your voice quieter now. “Sorry for barging in like this.”
You look down at your feet, hands still mindlessly playing with the sleeve of his jacket. Jay’s stomach twists at the sight—at the quiet, unsure way you’re suddenly retreating.
No. Absolutely not. He doesn’t know where his bravery is coming from (he suspects it’s sheer desperation), but he refuses to let you leave like this.
Before you can fully turn away, Jay reaches out and gently grabs your sleeve, tugging you back like you’re his favorite person in the world—which, spoiler again, you totally are.
“Wait,” he says, pulling you close enough that you bump into his chest. Both his hands find their way to your waist, steadying you with an ease that feels practiced. Like it’s where his hands were always meant to be.
And that's when Jay knows for sure: he likes you. He likes you bad. Painful highlighters, confusing spreadsheets, and all. He likes the way you carry your stubbornness like a badge of honor. He likes the way you chew on your pen when you're deep in thought. The way you turn his every sarcastic comment into a competition he's somehow thrilled to lose.
“You forgot something,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low as his eyes search yours, then your lips, then your entire face.
Your heart stumbles, your brain short-circuits, and you’re pretty sure your face is now the color of a stop sign.
“Oh, uh, the jacket?” you stammer, looking down at where he grabbed your sleeve, grasping for any logical explanation. “You’re right. Sorry, I almost—”
But before you can finish, Jay does something both incredibly bold and incredibly reckless. He leans in and presses his lips to yours.
For a moment, you freeze. This isn’t real. Is this an alternate universe where Jay kisses you instead of just driving you insane?
But then, the realization sinks in—Jay is kissing you. Like, actually kissing you. And wow.
The first touch of his lips sends a rush through your entire body, like every nerve has suddenly woken up all at once. He’s hesitant at first, almost like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, but when you don’t—when you finally let go of all the confusion, overthinking, and denial—you lean into him, your hands both instinctively reaching up, gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself as you kiss him back, now realizing how much you desperately wanted this.
And that’s all the encouragement Jay needs.
His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers brushing the hem of the jacket you’re wearing—his jacket, you remember with a strange, fluttering thrill. The kiss deepens, gentle but insistent, a slow, breathtaking unraveling of all the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks.
It’s like the air shifts around you, the space between you collapsing into nothing. You feel his breath, warm against your skin, and the faintest hitch in it when your hand moves up to lightly curl against the back of his neck.
He’s so close, and everything about this moment feels right—his familiar scent, the steady warmth of his hands on your waist, the way he tilts his head slightly to meet yours like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
Your heart pounds, the world spinning just a little too fast and too slow all at once. It’s electric, and dizzying, and somehow everything and nothing like you imagined (because, yes, you’ve imagined it—so what?).
Jay pulls back just slightly, his forehead brushing yours as he grins, his voice a playful mumble against your lips, not wanting to break the kiss. “You can keep the jacket.”
Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as you clutch at his arms for balance.
“Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“I’m a multi-tasker,” he replies, deadpan, his lips turning into a teasing smirk as he leans in and steals another quick kiss. He starts to pull back again, but you don't let him—your hand catches his sleeve as you dart up and chase his lips for one more peck, light and fleeting, but enough to make him smile like a fool. You're completely, utterly, hopelessly obsessed with him.
"Besides," he adds, the words smug as his arms tighten around you, "I've already sacrificed my jacket. Might as well give up my dignity too."
You roll your eyes, “You’re still an idiot.”
“And yet, I’m the idiot you kissed back,” Jay fires back, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
You shake your head, your voice soft and teasing. “You’re so—”
The words trail off as you meet his gaze again, and before you can even think about stopping yourself, you tilt your head up, close the remaining distance between you, and kiss him first this time.
Jay freezes for a second, caught off guard, before he fully melts into the kiss again, one hand instinctively curling around your waist to keep you as close as possible. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no holding back—just the two of you in the quiet of his doorway, and the overwhelming certainty that neither of you wants to let this—this moment, this feeling—to end.
When you finally pull back, Jay’s eyes are sparkling, his gaze holding an undeniable warmth.
“You know,” he starts, voice light but tinged with something deeper, “if you keep doing that, I might start thinking you actually like me or something.”
You raise an eyebrow, leaning in just close enough to make him squirm, your smirk playful.
“And if you keep talking,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing, “I might change my mind.”
Jay blinks, momentarily stunned, before letting out a breathless laugh, his arms instinctively circling your waist again, pulling you just a little closer. “Noted. Say less. I’ll shut up forever. You’re stuck with me now.”
Stuck with Jay? As in a more-than-project-partners kind of way?
Yeah, you think, meeting the smile he’s giving you.
You don’t mind that idea one bit.
✭・.・✫
Now that the six weeks of parenthood is over, we ask that you write a reflection post in response to your pre-questionnaire answers we asked you at the beginning of the project. Were your expectations met? Exceeded? Any surprises along the way?
Y/N’s Submission [11:15AM, October 30th]:
Parenting, even with a robot baby, turned out to be nothing like I expected. I’ve learned that no matter how much you plan, babies (and life) have a way of completely ignoring your carefully crafted schedules. It was frustrating at times, but it also made things…unexpectedly fun.
Speaking of unexpected—let’s just say my partnership for this project caught me completely off guard, in the best way possible. Turns out, some surprises are worth breaking the plan for :)
Jay’s Submission [11:30AM, October 30th]:
Honestly? I expected surprises, but I wasn’t ready to lose three years of my life over a diaper change—or nearly go deaf from tantrums. Safe to say, I learned the hard way that being a little prepared isn’t such a bad idea.
But here’s the thing: turns out, babies (and certain project partners) have a way of growing on you. Who knew spreadsheets and sleepless nights could actually be…kinda great? I guess what I’m saying is, sometimes the best things aren’t planned. And also, I know how to change a diaper in 30 seconds now. The right side up :)
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
the end! let me know what you think °ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ°
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Do you think you could a reverse of you "attractive things they do without realizing" with the bat boys?
♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS YOU DO . . . that make them go crazy ! — part 1
— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts, mention of reader’s hair
© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
BRUCE WAYNE
simply attending gala with him
the gala was in full swing, the soft hum of conversation and the tinkling of crystal glasses weaving through the grand hall. bruce wayne stood at the center of it all, the undisputed star of the evening, yet his focus wasn’t on the crowd. it was on you.
you stood beside him, your hand lightly wrapped around his forearm, a subtle yet intimate gesture that spoke things without saying a word. the way your fingers rested there, so effortlessly claiming him as yours, sent a warmth spreading through his chest—a feeling that, for once, wasn’t from the weight of responsibility or the burden of his double life. it was softer, lighter. it was you.
bruce’s sharp eyes, trained to assess every detail in a room, couldn’t help but linger on you. the dress you wore was nothing short of perfection—not that it could have been anything else. he had ensured it. every stitch, every line, every fold of fabric had been crafted with you in mind. he had selected the finest material, rich and smooth beneath the touch, ensuring it draped over your figure with the kind of elegance that turned heads the moment you stepped into a room.
the deep hue of the gown complemented his suit nicely, catching the light in subtle ways, as though it, too, was vying for his attention. the neckline framed your collarbones delicately, and the way the fabric hugged your form made it impossible for his mind not to wander to how well he knew every curve beneath. the gentle train swirled around your heels like liquid, moving with you in an almost hypnotic rhythm, every step making his heart beat just a little faster.
bruce had commissioned it specifically for you, worked with the designer himself to ensure it would fit you like a second skin—tailored to highlight everything he found most captivating about you. it wasn’t just vanity, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the way every person in the room couldn’t help but notice you. no, it was deeper than that. dressing you in the finest fabrics, wrapping you in elegance, was his way of saying what words often couldn’t: you’re extraordinary, and the world should know it.
to you, he wasn’t just bruce wayne, gotham’s elusive billionaire. he wasn’t the brooding vigilante who prowled the night. he was just . . . bruce. and in that moment, he felt more real, more whole, than he had in years.
he tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you, and his lips tugged into the faintest of smiles—a rare expression, softer than most would ever see. the subtle scent of your perfume reached him as you leaned closer to whisper something, your voice a low melody against the backdrop of the room. he didn’t even catch the words; he was too lost in the curve of your smile, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the warmth of your touch radiating through the fabric of his suit.
his thoughts betrayed him, wandering ahead to a quieter moment later, when the gala was over, and it was just the two of you again. but for now, he stood tall, the perfect host, his hand moving to cover yours on his arm. his thumb brushed against your knuckles, a silent gesture of affection and gratitude. he didn’t say it aloud—he didn’t need to—but he was thinking it with every fiber of his being: you’re the most beautiful thing in this room, and you don’t even know it.
seeing you work at his office
bruce leaned back in his leather chair, the polished desk between you serving as the only barrier to his unraveling thoughts. you stood on the other side, flipping through a file with the kind of focus that made his chest tighten, utterly oblivious to the effect you were having on him. the pencil skirt you wore hugged your hips in a way that felt almost sinful, every line and contour designed to torment him. the fabric clung just right, emphasizing the curve of your waist and the sway of your body each time you shifted. and then there was the blouse—white, crisp, and perfectly fitted, the faintest hint of skin peeking where the buttons strained against your figure. it was driving him to the edge.
the sharp click of your heels echoed softly as you moved around the room, your voice calm and professional as you recounted details of a recent meeting, flipping a page in the file without missing a beat. but bruce wasn’t listening. not really. his gaze followed the way your fingers smoothed the papers, delicate but deliberate, and his mind betrayed him. those same hands . . . what would they feel like tangled in his hair, tugging him closer? or splayed against his chest, nails dragging lightly as he pressed you against the wall?
he shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as he tried to force himself back to the present. but it was impossible. the way the soft material of your blouse tucked into that pencil skirt left just enough to the imagination while teasing at everything he wanted to do to you. his mind raced ahead, envisioning the fabric bunched around your hips, your voice losing its composed edge as he silenced every word with his lips
you glanced up at him suddenly, your eyes catching his, and for a moment, his composure faltered. his sharp blue gaze was darker now, focused entirely on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his tongue darted across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
“are you almost finished?”
“just a few more minutes.”
his thoughts raced ahead, imagining the way your name would sound falling from his lips, low and rough, as he pulled you into his lap. how your soft gasps would fill the room, mingling with the shuffle of papers and the creak of leather as his control finally slipped. bruce’s mind was already plotting, already deciding just how many minutes he’d let you finish your work before he gave in.
DICK GRAYSON
the quiet hum of the city filtered through the slightly cracked window, the distant sounds of gotham settling into the night. dick sat cross-legged on the couch, his hair still damp from a quick shower after patrol, wearing a loose gray shirt and sweatpants. you were tucked into the corner of the couch, legs pulled up to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, your chin resting on your knees. there was something so effortlessly comfortable about the way you curled into yourself, the soft glow of the lamp painting your features in warm hues.
he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger, caught by the way the corners of your lips curved into a gentle smile as you listened to him recount something ridiculous wally had said earlier. it wasn’t just your smile, though it always had a way of knocking the air out of his lungs—it was the way your gaze stayed fixed on him, warm and attentive, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.
“are you even listening?” he teased, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head to catch your gaze more fully.
you laughed softly, a sound that melted into the quiet of the room like it belonged there. “i am,” you insisted, shifting slightly to prop your chin higher on your knees, the movement drawing his attention to the curve of your bare shoulders beneath the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing—his sweatshirt, he realized with a pang of fondness.
“good,” he said, his voice softer now, his lips curving into an easy smile. but he didn’t pick up where he left off. instead, he found himself studying the little things: the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyes glimmered with quiet amusement, the small, almost unconscious sway of your head as you rested against your knees.
“don’t stop,” you murmured, your smile widening.
dick chuckled, shaking his head. “i wasn’t sure if my story could compete with . . . well, you,” he said, his tone light but tinged with the kind of sincerity that always made your chest tighten.
“flatterer,” you teased, but the way your cheeks warmed didn’t escape him.
when you arch your back in a chair
he had only meant to grab a drink and check in with you, but the second he entered the room and saw you sitting at the table, all coherent thought vanished. he froze in place, his gaze drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you were leaning forward in your chair, your elbows braced on the table and your back arched just slightly as you studied whatever had your focus. it was innocent—completely unintentional—but to him, it was anything but.
the way your shirt clung to your frame as you bent forward made his mouth go dry, the curve of your back teasing him in ways that had his imagination running wild. his eyes lingered on the dip of your waist, the way the soft fabric stretched just enough over your hips, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering further—thinking about how easy it would be to step behind you, trail his hands down that arch, and pull you closer.
dick swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but it was hopeless. his gaze snapped back to you as if on instinct, and this time, it wasn’t just the curve of your back that had his attention. it was the way your body moved, every subtle shift of your weight making his thoughts spiral deeper. he could almost feel the press of your skin against his palms, the heat of you beneath his hands as he tipped you just slightly further forward . . .
jesus, get it together, grayson, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair and trying to clear his head. but the damage was done, and now every inch of him was on edge, his pulse thrumming in his ears. it wasn’t fair how effortlessly you drove him crazy—how just existing could send his thoughts careening into territory that made him shift uncomfortably in place.
you glanced up suddenly, breaking him out of his haze. “hey, you good?” you asked, your brows furrowing slightly in concern.
the sound of your voice jolted him back to reality, though his heart was still racing. “fine,” he managed, his voice just a little rougher than usual. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool despite the heat simmering beneath his skin.
but you weren’t convinced. there was a hint of amusement in your eyes as you leaned back slightly in your chair, giving him that knowing smile that always made his knees weak. “you sure?”
dick’s jaw clenched as you shifted again, his gaze flickering down to the curve of your waist before he caught himself. stop it. stop it right now. but then you tilted your head, and that damn teasing glint in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.
he took a step forward, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, his face suddenly inches from yours. his voice was low, rough, almost a growl. “you’re making it really hard to concentrate, you know that?”
JASON TODD
adjusting your skirt
jason had been leaning against the doorway, half distracted by his own thoughts, when the sight of you adjusting your skirt snapped his attention to full focus. you were standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the waistband and wiggling it higher on your hips, a casual, innocent motion meant to get the fit just right. but to him, it was anything but casual. his eyes locked on you, darkening as he watched the way the fabric shifted, sliding up the curve of your thighs with each subtle movement.
jesus christ, he thought, jaw tightening as he tried to tear his gaze away. he failed. the small adjustment—the roll of your hips, the way your hands smoothed the material over your figure—felt like it was designed to torment him. he muttered a quiet curse under his breath, barely audible but enough to let his frustration escape.
that little motion shouldn’t have had this kind of hold over him, but it did. the way you moved, so natural and effortless, made his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. his fingers twitched at his sides as he imagined stepping behind you, sliding his hands over yours to help—not that you needed it, but damn if he wouldn’t enjoy it anyway.
you turned slightly and caught his reflection in the mirror, green eyes shooting up to meet yours as if he hadn’t been blatantly staring. “everything okay, jay?”
jason cleared his throat. “yeah,” he said, though his voice was rougher than usual, betraying him. he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning heavier into the doorway, his tongue darting across his bottom lip as his gaze flicked down again. “just . . . keep doing what you’re doing.”
you have him a look—equal parts amused and curious—but went back to adjusting the skirt, smoothing it out once more. jason bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay put instead of crossing the room, grabbing your hips, and showing you exactly what that little movement of yours did to him.
this woman’s gonna be the death of me, he thought, his pulse hammering as he pushed off the doorway, muttering another curse under his breath. he needed to walk away before he did something reckless—something that would guarantee you wouldn’t be leaving that room anytime soon.
when you rant to him
jason leaned back on the couch, arms draped lazily over the backrest, but his focus was anything but casual. his eyes were locked on you as you paced the room, hands gesturing wildly while you went off on a rant about something that had you fired up. he couldn’t even remember how the conversation started—it didn’t matter. what mattered was the light in your eyes, the way your whole face animated with every word, and the fire in your voice as you got lost in your thoughts.
there was something magnetic about the way you threw yourself into it, like the world disappeared except for the thing you were so passionate about. it didn’t even matter if he understood half of what you were saying—though he was trying, really, he was—but he couldn’t look away from you long enough to focus on the details. he was too caught up in the way your brows furrowed slightly when you were deep in thought, or the way your lips curved when you hit on a point you knew was good.
and that voice. it was captivating, filled with conviction and energy, a side of you that came alive when you cared about something. jason’s heart thudded in his chest as he watched you, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
every now and then, you’d glance at him to make sure he was keeping up, and he’d give a small nod, biting back the urge to say something dumb like, i’m not paying attention to your words, but i’m hanging on every second of you. instead, he’d murmur a quiet “yeah,” or “makes sense,” just to keep you talking.
but, damn, the way your whole body moved when you were this invested—it sent his mind places. there was a certain confidence in it, an unintentional sway in your steps as you walked back and forth, your gestures strong but graceful. it drove him crazy in the best way, made him want to grab you mid-rant, pull you onto his lap, and kiss you senseless just to see if that fire would transfer to him.
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Juno
Based off of the song Juno, I tried my hand at writing song inspired one shots again! this one is filthy but I hope you guys enjoy it anyways.
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WC- 3.5k
Warnings- heavy breeding kink, cum play, soft dom H, slight restraining, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up yall)
It had been a long fucking day.
Being the boss wasn't for the weak, apparently. Harry had been through the ringer today especially. People unable to communicate, an overly long and exastrubsating meeting, having to terminate an employee, all of it had made him itchy for the day to end- only for him to have to stay late to fix a problem. He had felt guilty texting his girlfriend that he was going to be home late, telling her his day had been a bit hellish.
Thankfully, he had been blessed with one of the most incredible women in the world, who assured him she was fine, not to worry about her and she would see him when he got home- but he hadn’t expected just an incredible sight to greet him as he opened the bedroom door.
It was like a vision he’d see in the most incredible of dreams.
Y/N was stretched out on the bed, her head propped up on a pile of pillows. She was wearing a tiny, frilly pink babydoll nightgown that barely covered her assets and showed off her legs- god, her fucking legs. The delicate fabric shimmered in the soft lighting, catching Harry's eye and drawing his gaze downward. Dragging his eyes down the perfectly wrapped present, he counted every single one of his blessings.
“Hi.” She spoke softly, clambering up to her knees and crawling to the end of the bed. “I missed you today, H.”
Harry's heart skipped a beat as he watched her crawl towards him, his eyes taking in the delicate nightgown that flowed over her curves in all the right places, riding up her thighs as she sat on her knees waiting for him. He felt a surge of love wash over him, his exhaustion melting away at the sight of her. Crossing the room in long strides, he met her at the end of the bed. "I missed you too, baby," He murmured. “What’s all this, hm?”
“I got a package today. This was what was in it.” She shrugged, running her hand down her waist to show it off. “I figured you had a rough day, but you like when you see the pretty things I buy. I thought…. Maybe this would make you happy.” Her hands ran over his chest, peering up at him through her lashes. “I wanted to make you happy. I love you so much.”
His eyes softened, warmth spreading through his chest as he took in her words. She really had no idea how much she affected him, how much he absolutely adored her. Reaching out, his fingers brushing against the delicate, shimmery fabric, slowly running it up her thighs until it bunched around her waist. "It makes me very happy, my sweet girl." He murmured, his voice raspy as he took in the sight of her bare hips and thighs. "Come here." Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he urged her to straddle his lap, which she did without complaint.
“I know it’s hard to be the boss all day.” Her voice was silky as she ran her finger through his hair, the gel keeping it back having failed hours ago. The man looked slightly disheveled, and that did something to her. “I know you need to come home and have a soft place to land. You’re so good to me. I brag about you to my friends all the time. About everything.” Even the not so appropriate bits. She couldn’t help it! “I want to be the one to help you make your fantasies come true. You pay the bills here, so…” Shrugging her shoulders, she bit down on her glossy lip. “I figured I’d give you something pretty to come home to.”
Harry's large hands palmed her ass, squeezing lightly as she straddled him, her warmth pressing against him. Her words, her kindness, her thoughtfulness, it all made him want to be a better man. She was the soft place he landed every day, his happy place. He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers combed through his disheveled hair. “You are… incredible. Fuck me. Can’t believe you’re real.”
“Do you like it?” Pressing her lips to the corner of his, she hooked her finger in his shirt and tugged the half undone tie to the ground. “What I put on for you? I know you like to say M’your little angel. Figured this was a little angelic for you.”
He growled softly in approval, his hands tightening on her ass as her fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. "It's perfect, just like you." He sighed, his voice hoarse with the amount he had yelled today, and his desire for the girl on his lap. His hands roamed over her curves, his touch gentle but greedy. The man could never get enough of her. He loved how she would let him have his way with her, no matter what he desired. Nothing and no one could compare to how she made him feel, playing into every base level instinct he had. "My little angel... Dressed like that... S’almost unfair."
Y/N let out a giggle, loving the effect she had on him. Knowing he was such a powerful man and yet he had a weakness in her was more arousing than she could have prepared herself for. She loved being his soft spot, his little angel. “It is fair, though. I wore it just for you. And I decided…” This was the part she had been nervous about all day. The decision she had made. She wanted him to lock her down. “I know we aren’t married yet, but I don’t think I can let you wait any longer to give you what you want.” Brushing her nose against his, she spoke against his lips. “I think m’gonna let you get me pregnant.”
Harry's breath hitched, his eyes widening for a moment before they filled with a heat that almost burned her. "Y/N..." He growled, his voice low and loaded. "Are you sure? We can wait if you're not ready." Even as he said the words, his hands tightened on her, pulling her closer against him. He wanted it, he wanted her, like this, forever. When she nodded to agree that she was absolutely sure, he let out a deep groan, eyes wild as they searched her own. " Say it again. Please."
“I want you….” She purred, leaning in so their chests were pressed together. “To get me pregnant. Knock me up.” Smearing their lips together, she sucked a soft kiss to his bottom lip before murmuring again. “Put a baby in me.”
A shudder ran through him at her words, his control snapping. "Fuck, Angel..." He groaned, crashing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. She tasted so fucking good, so much like his. He couldn’t get enough. One hand tangled in her hair while the other slid down to grip her thigh, squeezing, owning. Pulling her down fully, he ground up against her, letting her feel how hard she made him. It had started the moment he walked in to see her splayed out on the bed, but this was something else. His weakness. "You want my baby?"
“Uh-huh.” She giggled against his mouth, turning it into a whimper as she felt his cock rub up against her. Since coming to the decision she had been wet, aching for him to actually do it. She wanted to keep him, lock him down in every sense of the word. Be the only one for him. She wanted to be the mother of his children, all of them. There was no patience for waiting. The ring could come later- she had known he got one anyway. “I want to be yours so badly. I need it.”
"Shit, baby, you already are.." Standing up and with her in his arms, he turned them over and set her down on the mattress with her back against it, looking at her with intense eyes. "M’going to give you my baby, my everything. You're going to be so fucking pregnant with my child, everyone's going to know it." Fumbling with his belt, he tossed it down and hurriedly stepped out of his trousers, letting his shirt fall off his shoulders as he watched her sit back up.
Her hands went for his briefs, tugging them down with shaky fingers. Y/N was just as needy for it as he was, and it showed. He let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as she wrapped her hands around his shaft and pumped slowly, leaning down to lick the tip. He twitched in her grasp, throbbing in her palm.
"That's it, baby..." He encouraged softly, his hands tangling in her hair as he guided her head down, slowly thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. "Just like that. Get it nice n’wet for me." He pulled out, his breathing heavy.
She came back up for air, her hand pumping him slowly as she looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. "Open up for me, sweetheart. Stick out your tongue." He watched intently as she obeyed, baring her neck and tilting her head back. He wrapped a hand around the base of his erection and slowly pumped, his eyes rolling back as he grew harder. "Thatta girl..." He guided the tip to her lips, rubbing the head on her bottom lip.
He fed her his length slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he savored the hot sensation of her mouth wrapping back around him. He pulled back and thrust into her mouth again, his hands tangling in her hair and guiding her head. "Look at me, Y/N. Keep your eyes on me."
Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks as she looked up at him, her mouth stretched around his thick girth. She hummed against him, eyes watering as he thrust further into her mouth. She looked so good, taking him like that, and he couldn’t help but groan, his pace quickening. "That's my good girl. Such a sweet little thing f’me."
He gently thrust in and out of her mouth, his hands cradling her head. "Relax your jaw for me, Y/N... that's it... jus’ like that." He praised her softly, his voice a husky whisper. "You're doing so well, m’love." He thrust a little deeper, pulling back quickly when she gagged slightly, his eyes flashing with concern. "Careful, careful. Breathe through your nose, baby, you can take it… Y’know how to do it."
She breathed in through her nose as he instructed, her chest rising and falling. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes from the push but she didn't pull away, determined to please him. Her hands came up to grip his thighs for balance as he continued to slowly thrust. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked gently, her tongue swirling around the tip each time he pulled out.
He was absolutely stunning, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his chest heaving with each breath. The sight of his strong thighs tensing and flexing under her hands, the way his abs clenched... it was almost too much. She wanted to memorize every detail. She needed to be his, forever. His skin was flushed and damp with exertion, his hair disheveled. He was the picture of raw, masculine beauty. And he was all hers..
It was adorable, how she whimpered at the loss of his cock as he pulled it from her mouth, but he needed to have her fully. Claim her in the way she had promised to let him. “Mmm, shit. Baby, you’re too good. S’okay.” He panted, pulling her up by her arms and crushing his lips against hers. "I need inside, love. I can't...I can't wait any longer. I need t’put my baby in you."
She nodded eagerly against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck as he adjusted her against the fluffy duvet. Never in her life had she been this fucking horny, but that was simply the way the man tended to affect her. Her legs spread wide for him, her heels digging into the bed as she watched him move to hover over her. Positioning himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips firmly, admiring the beauty that was his angel underneath him. "Y/N...look at me, sweetheart. Keep your eyes on me, okay?" His voice was gentle, loving, but his face was contorted with raw, unbridled desire.
"Need you t’watch while I knock you up." He grit out, pressing forward and filling her with one long thrust. Letting out a low groan as he bottomed out, his eyes fluttered shut in rapture. "Oh, fuck." He hissed, reveling in the feel of her wrapped around him. This was what he needed, the remedy to his long day. Always her. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust to his size. It was a stretch, and he knew it. "Okay?" he asked softly, his hips flexing forward slightly.
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were glued to his, wide and glassy as he filled her completely. The sensation of being so full, so stretched, was overwhelming. It never got old. When she got tipsy and slightly loose lipped, it was one of the things she alluded to with her friends- how big he was, how fulfilled he made her. She could feel every thick inch of him inside her, his heavy balls pressing against the plush of her ass. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she adjusted to his size, her walls clenching around him in a desperate attempt to keep him inside. "S’so good.”
He began to move, slow and deep at first, savoring the exquisite drag of her silken walls. "That's it, baby... take it. Take every inch of me." He whispered, his hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm. One hand slid down to rub tight circles over her clit as he fucked into her. "Gonna fill this sweet cunt. Pump you full of me."
His cock stretched her, a dull, delicious ache as he drove into her again and again, the wet sounds of the thrusts filling the room. He angled his hips, searching for that perfect spot inside her. He always did. He loved to make her go crazy, see her buck and cry out when he got it. They fit together so well, sometimes it was hard to believe they’d found each other naturally. When did find it he heard it, music to his fucking ears. The borderline frantic cry as she grabbed his arms where they held her hips, her back arching off the bed. "Yes, there! Just like that." Her nails dug into his forearms as he hit her spot dead on with each thrust.
His balls slapped against her ass with each deep stroke, the sound echoing through the room. “Yeah, I found my spot. Didn’t I?” He crooned, smirk on his face as he kept it up. If there was anything he allowed himself to be smug about, it was how good he made his woman feel. “S’good, I know. Hitting right where my girl needs. God, you’re fuckin’ perfect. Dressing up for me…” He grit his teeth. “Tellin’ me I can finally give you a baby. You love me, don’t you sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I do. Shit, Harry.” She cried out, her voice high-pitched as her inner walls tightened around his thick shaft. She could barely think, let alone speak, with him filling her so perfectly. “Y-Yes, I love you so much- Please, please, please, please!” She chanted, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as he continued to fuck into her sopping cunt. “Please what, baby?” He taunted, looking down at her beautiful form. It was the prettiest picture only he got to see. “What d’you want?”
“I-I want you to-” She gasped as he hit her spot again, her toes curling in ecstasy. “I want you to knock me up, H. Please knock me up, get me pregnant like y’wanted. I don’t care, just wanna feel you inside me, I want my tummy to grow, I want all of it.” She pleaded, tugging him down to her as she felt her eyes water, looking up at him. “Please, baby- please, please.”
His face contorted as he looked down at her, love and possession shining in his eyes. "You're really going t’let me breed you like that, huh? All for me?" He grit out with clenched teeth, his hips snapping forward as his hands gathered her, wrapping around her wrists and pinning them above her head. "Y’want to carry my baby, grow round with it inside you?"
"Yes, yes, yes." She chanted with a lovedrunk smile on her face, her back arching as he took her harder. The new angle had him hitting impossibly deep. "Please Harry, I need it. Need you to fill me up, make me yours. I want everyone to know I'm your girl, carrying your baby." Her voice broke, overwhelmed with pleasure. "Fuck, I'm getting close."
"That's it, cum on my cock like a good girl." He growled, feeling her tighten around him like a vice. "Milk me, I'm gonna pump you full. Gonna flood this fertile little cunt with my cum." His balls drew up tight as he pounded into her relentlessly, the wet squelch of her arousal obscene in the room. "Fuck, m’close too. You want it baby?"
Y/N could barely speak as her orgasm took her faster than she had anticipated. It was his voice, his promise that took her there. The sensation was indescribable. Like being consumed, each hard thrust sending wave after wave of intense heat through her veins. She could feel every ridge and vein of his thick, pulsing length as it slid in and out of her slick hole. Her whole body was alight, every nerve ending on fire as he stretched her to the limit. The pressure built and built, her muscles tensing as the first waves of her release washed over her.
"Please, please... I want to feel you, inside me, filling me up. I want your baby, Harry. I want you to breed me." Her words were barely coherent, her mind fogged with desire as he continued to thrust into her, his powerful hips driving his thick cock home again and again. She could feel the heat of his body, the tautness of his muscles as he held back, intent on pouring into her just as she'd begged. “Wanna be the only one.”
“Shit.” He whined weakly, losing all resolve to hold on. Hearing her beg for it was the final straw on his composure. This was a day he had dreamed of, and she had so willingly handed it over to him. It was his turn to give it to her, just as he promised. “I’ll give it to you baby. Give you everything- only t’you. Fuck.” With a feral groan, he lost all control, slamming into her one final time as he erupted inside her. His hot, thick cum flooded her, painting her insides as he filled her to the brim. She could feel it pouring in, the warmth spreading through her belly as he continued to pump her full, his cock jerking and twitching inside her. “Take all of it.”
Her mouth parted on a silent 'O' as she felt him surge inside her, his warmth spreading through her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he released her hands, and her fingers immediately digging on his back as she found a way to cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist to hold him closer. She didn’t want him to leave, wanted him to stay buried.
"That's it, baby... take it all." He encouraged softly, nuzzling her neck as he slowly thrust in and out, relishing in the feeling as he pulsed inside of her.
She moaned softly, her head tossing on the pillow. "It feels so warm, so good... S’so much inside of me. I love you so much." She whispered, a fucked out smile painting her lips. "I hope it takes."
Pulling out slowly, his cock glistened with them combined as he held her open, his load leaking out of her. The scene was absolutely filthy and everything he had hoped to see when they tried this. "Look at you... so full of my cum. So fucking perfect." He gently held her thigh open with one hand, his fingers on the other spreading her open to show off his work. "Look at how full you are, baby."
She whimpered, her eyes fluttering open as he displayed her to him. "Harry... It's so much. I can feel it dripping out of me. Don’t waste it." She whispered, her voice tiredly giddy. "We should try for round two... just to be sure, right?"
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Juno
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader Word count: 2.2k (lol this was supposed to be a drabble) Rating: Explicit - 18+, MDNI
Summary: Your honeymoon with Joel is off to a bang.
Warnings/tags: honeymoon sex (it’s very feral), unprotected PIV sex (they’re trying to get pregnant but be smart IRL!), oral sex (m and f receiving), big fat breeding kink, pussy pronouns, creampie, cumplay, mentions of foreplay over the clothes, sort-of/accidental voyeurism, very loud sex, rough sex, mentions of marriage/family planning/birth control use, dom!Joel, feral!Joel, references to pregnancy, no outbreak!AU, cursing (but honestly swear words should be the least of your worries for this story lol), Reader is female, has hair that is long enough to put into a ponytail, and able bodied but otherwise not described (it’s you, boo!), no use of y/n
a/n: This is what happens when a horny invasive thought is allowed to take root in my brain. My darling menace @for-a-longlongtime sent me this Reel and it made me… think about things. Combined with the inspiration of the song Juno by Sabrina Carpenter, this is FILTH. Just… filth. But since @mountainsandmayhem and @alltheirdamn literally begged me to write this, here you are, written in a near-fugue state. Not beta’d, we’re doing this thing unprotected, just like Joel lmao. Banners by @saradika-graphics.
MASTERLIST
a/n pt 2: psssssst. Do you like Joel Miller? Do you want *more* Joel Miller? How about a series where not only Joel is your husband, but Frankie is your boyfriend? If so, tap here for SoCal to NorCal, my ongoing series!
I should have closed that damn sliding door.
You knew exactly what was going to happen as soon as you stepped foot into the immaculate, stylish Greek vacation suite you’d booked for your honeymoon with your new husband, Joel Miller. You’d spent the long flight teasing each other incessantly - the lightest of caresses, lingering kisses, surreptitious groping and heavy petting under the luxe blankets afforded to you by your first class seats. Joel couldn’t keep his hands off you most days, but now, fresh from your beautiful wedding as his darling wife? He was absolutely insatiable.
Joel had barely shut the front door on the endlessly kind bellhop before he was on you, ravenous with desire. His large hands began peeling off the soft layers of clothing you’d worn on the airplane, kissing you fervently and moaning into your mouth. You wove your fingers through your hair, tugging lightly when he kissed down your neck.
“Fuck, Joel,” you whined, and you felt him growl lowly before nipping at your pulse point.
“Been waiting hours to take you apart, baby,” he murmured. Sucking a hickey onto the column of your throat, he laved the spot with his tongue to soothe the light pain. “Teasing me when you knew I couldn’t do shit about it.”
You pulled back on his hair with a yank, making him hiss. “You asked for it. You were the one rubbing circles against my clit through my sweatpants. My panties are ruined because of it.”
“Not my fault your pussy is so juicy,” Joel chuckled. “Especially now that she knows she’s gonna getting dicked down as many times as she can take it in a day.”
A couple months before your wedding, you and Joel discussed your desire to start trying for children. You’d thrown away your birth control after that conversation, but resolved to use other forms of protection until after the wedding.
You nor Joel had packed a single condom for this trip.
“Fuck me, Mr. Miller,” you breathed, moving your hand from his hair down his body to his rock-hard cock. He groaned when you made contact.
“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Miller,” Joel hummed, walking your naked body backwards towards the bedroom as you pulled at his clothes.
Now, you’re realizing that the sliding door to the ocean-view balcony is cracked open, allowing a lovely coastal breeze in but also letting your cries of pleasure float into the wind. Joel’s face is buried in your drenched pussy from behind you, his slurps and smacks obscene, not to mention his moans of ecstasy at the taste of your juices. You lay your chest onto the bed and take it - that’s all you can really do. You’re trying to stifle your sighs and moans, but your husband’s expert tongue is making that increasingly difficult.
“Oh god, right there,” you whimper, and your first orgasm of the day rolls through your body slowly, unfurling like the fragrant blossoms in the white-washed courtyard of the villa. He continues moaning and lapping up every drop of your essence while your body shakes.
One more hard suck on your clit, and then Joel is pulling you back onto your hands and knees on the plush cream bedding. He crawls towards your body, grabbing your hips with one warm hand while the other loosely grips his shaft, rubbing the head of his cock through your folds.
You whine. “Please, Joel.” You’re not above begging when it comes to Joel’s cock.
Joel growls in arousal and begins to feed you his length, inch by inch. You bite your lip, trying to quiet the involuntary moans that the stretch of his girth seem to rip out of your throat. The villa is private, but you still have neighbors - you’d rather not have to face them at the dinner buffet later after they heard exactly how well your honeymoon was going so far.
“Such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” Joel praises you, his eyes never leaving how good his length looks sawing in and out of your soft pussy, shiny with your slick. The phrasing makes your cunt clench on him, which nearly shoves him off the proverbial ledge. He throws his head back, attempting to collect himself, and then notices you drawing circles around your aching clit.
“Desperate to come again already?” he questions, quirking an eyebrow at you. You nod your head, pressing harder and swirling faster around your nub.
“Then fucking come for your husband,” Joel grits out, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust of his hips. On the last word, you explode yet again, burying your mouth in the crook of your elbow to quiet your cries. Your pussy spasms over his length, nearly sending him over the edge, and you’re absolutely gushing for him, slick and juices running down your thighs.
Joel yanks himself out of your body, not ready to come yet. You cry out in disappointment, but he hauls him and yourself up off the bed.
“Kneel,” he commands. You drop to your knees onto the plush sheepskins rug, legs like jelly already. His hard cock bobs in front of your face, coated with the evidence of your orgasm. Your mouth opens and you drop out your tongue like a welcome mat.
Joel nearly comes at the sight before him.
“Suck,” he says simply. Grabbing your hair into a ponytail, Joel guides your blazing hot mouth onto his shaft, controlling the speed of your blowjob with his hands. He tries to avoid thrusting into your throat too hard, but he knows you like it rough. The taste of your own pussy is all over his dick, and it makes you dizzy with need.
You play the good girl, sucking and licking as directed by Joel’s moans and hand, but soon enough he’s hauling you off your feet to put you back onto the bed. His cock is an angry red color at the tip now, precum continuing to bubble out of the slit.
“Wanna try out something new,” he mutters, laying you down on your back. He pushes your legs to your shoulders, nearly folding you in half, and guides your hands to the back of your thighs to hold them open. You feel so exposed, but it makes a thrill run up your spine. Joel kneels with his knees just under your ass, leaning over you, before taking his hand and running it through your soaked folds, reveling in the filthy wet sounds your center makes for him. You whine, desperate for more. Joel places your calves on his shoulders as he leans forward, caging you with his body. One hand drops to the bed to steady himself, while the other grabs his cock and lines himself up again.
“Have you ever tried this one?” Joel asks you with a smirk.
You smile wickedly back, knowing what you need to say to egg him on. “Can’t say I have. Wasn’t exactly trying to get bred.”
You see Joel’s eyes flash at the last word, a ferality burning in his irises. A near-snarl erupts from his mouth as he bottoms out in one powerful thrust. A loud moan rips from your throat, and you slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, remembering the balcony door is still open. Joel shoves your hand away, grinding deeper into your cunt, brushing against your cervix. You can barely breathe with the intensity of pleasure racing in your veins.
“Oh yeah?” he challenges, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back home, eliciting another loud cry from you. “If you wanna be bred so bad, I’m gonna make everyone at this resort know exactly how much you want it.” With that, Joel sets a punishing pace, his hips and balls slapping against your slick skin. The wet sounds of your mutual pleasure ricochet through the room, and probably outdoors. In this position, all you can do is lay there and moan and cry and take it. Your pussy continues seeping slick, wave after wave running down your ass and thighs, dampening the heavenly bedding.
You’ve never been so fucking wet in your entire life, and Joel knows it.
“God, this pussy is so fucking juicy for me, huh? Just want to get bred that bad, huh?” He mutters to you as he fucks into you so deep that you nearly feel him in your throat. You’ve long since lost your ability to silence your noises, a steady stream of loud gasps and cries emanating from your mouth. Joel just feels so fucking good inside of you, and suddenly you start babbling.
“Yes, baby, I’m so fucking wet for you,” you moan, the pleasure coiling in your bones with every thrust of Joel’s thick girth inside you. “You’re so deep, you fill me so good, don’t stop don’t stop don’t stooooopppppppp –” Your words are cut off by a silent scream as you come for a third time. The pleasure shimmers across your limbs and a shaky moan finally snakes its way out of your throat.
He growls, fucking into you even harder. “Good fucking girl, let me hear you,” Joel grits out. He picks up his pace, clearly getting close to his own orgasm. The increase in speed releases a surprised scream from you, your loud cry stuttering from the sheer force of Joel’s thrusts into you. His hips are a blur, and your third orgasm begins to build into your fourth, the intensity ratcheted to new heights.
“That’s right, scream for me,” he moans, his thrusts getting erratic as his peak approaches. “Want me to fill up this messy pussy, get it even messier? Gonna fuck you so full it has no choice but to take.”
Joel’s words cause a riot of tingles to cascade across your skin. “Yes, please, fuck me full, Joel. Give me your cum, make it stick, give me a baby, please,” you cry, and Joel slaps your ass hard, and you scream again. There’s no doubt that everyone within a mile radius can hear the two of you, but your head is so full of pleasure that you really couldn’t care less. All you can think about is Joel, his cock, and how badly you want to be dripping with his cum.
“Oh god, honey, I’m gonna come,” Joel whimpers, and to send him over the edge, you clench down on his cock as hard as you can. He gasps. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna cooooooo–”
Joel shoves his cock as deeply into you as possible, bellowing loudly in ecstasy, triggering your own orgasm to crest at the same time. His release is so intense that it feels like his hot cum is jettisoning directly into your uterus, filling you to the brim. He pumps shallowly into you, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.
When the last spurt of his spend lands in your womb, Joel collapses on top of you, rolling you to the side, still buried within your clutch. Your sweat-slick limbs tangle as you both try to catch your breath. The gentle breeze flutters the curtains.
Everything feels hazy and perfect.
Eventually you come to, pressing kisses to Joel’s completely blissed-out face, eliciting a soft smile across his plush lips. You kiss your husband softly, slowly, and sensually. He gives your nose a peck, and then buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent deeply.
“Fuck, that was…” Joel starts, lost for words to describe what just happened.
“... incredible,” you finish his sentence, beaming at him. You intertwine your fingers, so elated that Joel is really yours forever.
Joel nods and kisses you one more time, then moves to untangle your aching limbs, massaging your muscles with his strong hands. He pulls out of your messy center slowly with a groan, watching as his cum begins to seep out of you. You watch as he scoops away the runaway seed, pushing it back into your cunt. A brief flush of arousal pulses in your veins at the sight.
“Gotta keep it where it belongs,” Joel croons, winking at you as he walks towards the bathroom to rinse off and grab you a towel. You giggle, moving to prop your legs and hips up on your pillows, allowing his release to pool & settle inside you. The idea of finally having a baby with the love of your life makes your insides flutter with joy.
While you rest, you pull up Snapchat, curious to see what other fellow travelers are up to in the area. You tap around the map, watching stranger’s stories of sailing excursions, lounging on the shore, and eating delicious food. You notice a Snap story in the same vacation complex as your rental, and you tap on it excitedly, hoping to get a sense of some fun things to do in the area.
The video opens up in selfie mode as a blonde, sunglasses-wearing traveler records himself outside on his villa’s patio, laughing quietly and rubbing his arm awkwardly with the caption “Sounds like our new neighbors on holiday in Greece are having a whale of a time… Only been here 10 minutes!” In the background, a woman can be heard screaming with ecstasy, clearly having sex, her voice stuttering as whoever she’s fucking is giving it to her hard. You then hear a slap, then another cry of pleasure.
Wait a minute.
Not a slap… a spank.
Your nerves frost immediately and heat blazes up your neck as your mouth drops open, realizing that the couple having very loud sex… is actually you and Joel.
Oh no.
...I REALLY should have closed that damn sliding door.
MASTERLIST
Tagging in case you, too, are horny for Joel (please let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tags!): @mermaidgirl30 @sin-djarin @perotovar @qveerthe0ry @nerdieforpedro
@itwasntimethatdidit40 @yxtkiwiyxt @almostempty @almostfoxglove @guiltyasdave
@legendary-pink-dot @arcanefox207 @dancingtotuyo @musings-of-a-rose @milla-frenchy
@yopossum @polaroidpascal @chippedowlmug @magneticecstasy @reggiesfilthylittlesecret
#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe#user: lotusbxtch#I don't know much but I do know that Joel Miller has a fat breeding kink#I mean look at the man#it's very obvious
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things chris does that makes you question your friendship | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. unestablished relationship headcanons wc 725 (library) + (request)
best friend!chris who's very physically affectionate with you. he'll kiss your small scratches and bruises better, he'll hold hands with you when crossing the street and 'coincidentally' forget that he's doing so after you cross, he'll give you back-hugs to 'warm you up' when it's freezing cold outside, and he'll find himself wrapped around you, stomach to stomach with his face buried in your neck after a long and tiring movie night. he'll fake like he's still asleep when you wake up from your nap together just so he can cuddle with you longer.
best friend!chris who spoils you rotten. there's no such thing as spending your own money when you and chris go out together. he absolutely insists on getting everything with his own card and doesn't like you spending your own money. in a way it's his way of showing that he can provide for you, physically, and financially. you want ice cream? use his card. a new chanel collection just dropped? use his card. your favorite artist is going on tour? use his card, and actually get a ticket for him as well. even if you tell him he doesn't have to do it, he does so anyway. cause what kind of boyfriend is he to not help his girlfriend?
best friend!chris who insists on being close to you. he's always next to you. he'll force himself into a spot beside you, even if it means he has to come in between his own friends. something about being close to you just brings him a comforting solitude where he just melts in your presence. he'll genuinely get sulky if he can't get close to you like he wants to, it usually doesn't happen that often though because once he practically begs and pleads with someone to trade spots with him they usually do.
best friend!chris that flirts with you constantly. he's done it for so long that it's just become a part of your dynamic and his usual flirty comments are played off as jokes. it takes a keen eye to notice the hopeful gleam in his eyes that trail over your face, gauging your reaction and hoping that you realize that his attempts at flirting with you are real and are much deeper than his usual playfulness. his comments will start to go from cringy pick-up lines to genuine heartfelt compliments that make your heart flutter.
best friend!chris who shows a genuine interest in your hobbies. he always indulges in your interest, he'll rewatch all of your favorite movies with you over and over again and listen intently while you explain the plot for the 50th time like it was the first time. he also gets extremely defensive on your behalf when someone shit-talks your interest and will genuinely get into arguments over it even if it's not something he'd indulge in without you asking him to.
best friend!chris who wants to impress you. he can't stop himself from adjusting his oversized hoodie, and running his fingers through his hair when he gets word that you're coming over. suddenly he notices all of the pepsi cans he left astray, and dirty socks laying around his bedroom. he'll nag at matt and nick for not cleaning up after themselves while loading the dishwasher despite him also being one of the main perpetrators for the filth. by the time you arrive, the house is spick and span and chris is fresh out of the shower with a new tracksuit set that he's never worn before. his smile spreads a thousand miles wide when you give him a compliment, all of his hard-work paying off in his favor.
best friend!chris who's concerningly overprotective. he always keeps an eye on you, especially in crowded areas. he won't let you leave his eyesight and will always have his ears perked in case you call him in need. he's quick to stop a guy from getting too close to you. his excuse always being that 'they're sleazy' and 'only want one thing.' when really he can't stand the sight of seeing you possibly settling for someone who'll give you less than you deserve when he knows he can give you a lot more.
best friend!chris who makes you question if what you two have is really just a friendship.
' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @madifilipowiczslvt @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @oliviagirlsworld @koilaniazul
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo imagines#christopher sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo headcanons#chris sturniolo fanfic#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo
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The Birdritch's Nest part 25
masterpost
“That is a lot of plants,” Jason said. He swept his eyes over the space as he slipped his lock picks back into their little pouch.
“He has a botanist friend, apparently, and she keeps giving him plants,” Dick explained as he squeezed past Jason and into the apartment.
“Why are you here again?”
“Because I have a car which is better to carry all of Danny’s stuff in than your bike,” Dick explained. He went over to the wall of plants in front of the windowed corner and squinted down at something on his phone.
Jason pulled out his own phone to glance at what Tim had sent. “You say ‘all Danny’s stuff’ like the list was long. The guy hasn’t exactly been demanding.”
“The ‘guy’ expects to actually go home in a few days,” Dick pointed out.
“And is an adult and so can, you know, actually go home,” Jason retorted.
“Damian’s attached.”
“…I concede to your point,” Jason said once that thought sunk in. “Double the clothing asked for?”
“Basically. Make sure that he has a weeks worth, Alfred can always do laundry,” Dick said before letting out a little noise of triumph and doing something over by the plants. “There, watering system turned on.”
“Congratulations, you’re a genius,” Jason drawled. “Now go get his medication gathered up and snoop a little while you’re at it.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to be snooping,” Dick, words a teasing sing-song as he passed by.
Jason flicked him off. “Like you wouldn’t anyways. I just want to know what you find.”
“Only if you tell me what you find in the bedroom.”
“Deal.”
The bedroom was almost startlingly normal after the plant filled living main room. It didn’t look like Danny really spent much time in it beyond sleeping. The bed was absentmindedly fixed, a black down comforter over pale blue sheets. There was a paperback on the nightstand next to a lamp and a pocket sized notebook with a pen clipped onto the bent and battered cover.
It was the first thing that Jason picked up.
The notebook was obviously where Danny made notes when he was already settled in bed. As Jason flipped through the pages there was everything from to-do lists to invention ideas to… a lot of thought about wings. Jason turned the notebook in his hands. That page wasn’t in English. The language felt like it was on the tip of Jason’s tongue but he just couldn’t get it out.
Maybe some sort of dialect?
Jason couldn’t actually read it, but there was enough to piece together from similarities that tugged on his memory. Enough to understand it was about the wings. Something about the process of change? Aging?
“Hey Jay?” Dick interrupted, scattering Jason’s thoughts. “Can you read the label on these bottles? There’s some serious printing issues happening, I can’t even tell what language it’s in.”
The pill bottle felt oddly cold in Jason’s hand when he took it from Dick, but maybe the bathroom just had shit heating in this place. It would be just like Gotham builders to mess that up.
“Oh, that’s the same thing Danny is writing in here,” Jason said passing the notebook to Dick. “It’s something about wings and getting old, I think, but I can’t really read it.”
“Read it? I don’t even know what it is. Gives me a headache just to look at it,” Dick grumbled as he flipped through the notebook. “The whole bird thing has really been on his mind, hasn’t it?”
Jason gave a little huff. “Do you blame him? The guy has wings now. It would be on my mind too.”
“Yeah… guess I really can’t,” Dick said and snapped a picture of the page with the unknown writing to send to the group chat. “Any idea what it is?”
“Nope. It’s like it’s a distant dialect or that it uses some of the same alphabet of something I learned some of once. Like how Chinese and Japanese use some of the same characters, you know?” Jason explained as he opened the side table drawer and then quickly closed it again. That was more than he needed to know about Danny. “Maybe something from when I was catatonic in the league, who knows. There were a lot of languages in that place.”
“Cass or Damian might now it then,” Dick said as he eyed the drawer Jason had now moved away from.
“Don’t, trust me,” Jason said. “Did you get the medications you needed to grab?”
“Yeah, they’re in the bag. Just a standard bathroom, really. Though he keeps his toothbrush in this old mug with a hero I don’t recognize on it, someone called Phantom.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell, but it sure sounds like a hero name. Add it to the list,” Jason said as he started on gathering up the requested clothing and extra enough to last a week. “Check the closet to see if there are any shits in there that work around wings.”
Jason rolled his eyes as Dick threw the closet doors open dramatically and focused on his task. Jeans, sweatpants, underwear, what he guessed was pajamas were all added to the bag.
“So, nothing that looks like it was made for wings,” Dick said and tossed some normal shirts and a few sweaters into the bag. Jason sighed and folded them neatly. “Maybe he hasn’t had time to find any yet? It hasn’t been that long since the bird thing and seems it all started there. Or maybe he’s just always home when he’s had then?”
“Better let Alfred know then. He’ll want to get something as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, good point,” Dick agreed.
While Dick stepped out of the bedroom to call Alfred, Jason took the time to double check the list. It really was pretty basic. Jason didn’t know if Danny was just trying to not be demanding or if the guy didn’t need much, but Jason went ahead and put the bedside paperback and notebook in the bad too. Jason slung the duffel bag Dick had brought over his shoulder (he totally could have ridden his bike like this) and took a little bit of time to snoop through Danny’s bookcase while Dick finished the call. Sci-fi, horror, old text books, and a ton of notebooks filled the shelf with knickknacks and a few figures. Jason at least had to give Danny points for having some of the sci-fi classics, even if the range of works was pretty limited.
“Okay, Alfred is on it,” Dick said. “Anything else we need to do?”
“Nah, I think we’re good,” Jason said. Something made him not want to look through the notebooks, like they had already done enough snooping. It was an odd feeling. “Let’s get going, I’m hungry for whatever dinner is.”
“You’re always hungry,” Dick said.
Jason shrugged rather than dealing with how true that statement was. “I’m a growing boy.”
“You’re a trash pit.”
“Yeah, you want to go there, cereal boy?”
“Leave my cereal out of it!”
---
AN: I do love writing Dick & Jason so much. Can you tell I have an older brother? Also sorry for the mistakes I'm sure are abounding. Guess who turns out to be anemic? This critter! Maybe getting that fixed will help...
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i don't have any words to describe the cruelty of the israeli occupation. in the last year, around 17,000 palestinian children have been murdered by the iof.
a blockade has been imposed on gaza. no aid has entered gaza since may. this means that the supply for things like baby formula, flour, medicines, vegetables and clothes is running low. prices for all these things have increased.
because of the israeli manufactured famine, mothers in gaza are facing extreme difficulties in giving birth and taking care of their newborn babies. the miscarriage rate has risen drastically. expecting mothers are not able to consume the prescribed amount of calories that is required for a fetus to properly develop. they are having c-sections without anaesthesia. there is no baby formula in the north of gaza.
despite all these hurdles, life prevails. babies are being born in gaza everyday, under the genocide. they are loved and cared for by their families. their loved ones are doing what they can to feed the little ones and ensure their safety. these babies have a gentle kind of love that prevails over everything, even when surrounded by death and destruction.
@suad-khaled is a mother to a beautiful five month old baby named khaled. baby khaled needs formula and warm clothes to stay safe and healthy. unfortunately, it is difficult to purchase these things as they are very expensive. his health is deteriorating and he needs medicines too.
please consider donating to her so that she can feed her child. the baby formula is very expensive and is necessary for proper development of her child. i also urge you to read suad's story in her own words here.
donate here || verification [#279]
@appsa @buttercuparry @timetravellingkitty @schoolhater @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness
@jezior0 @neptunerings @khanger @determinate-negation @transmutationisms
@sylvianritual @imjustheretotrytohelp @sunflowersmoths @maaszeltov @heliopixels
@zigcarnivorous @armysurplus @executing @venus-is-in-bloom @lesbianmaxevans
@furiousfinnstan @paparoach @celadonwanderer @forgetfulrecord @lesbianmaxevans
@fading-event-608 @repulsion @noncathartic @gusherbug @autisticmudkip
@erectiledisfigurement @tiredguyswag @briarhips @fly-sky-high-09 @maoistyuri
@noble-kale @tamamita @aflamethatneverdies @elfilibusterismo
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Buttermilk
It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au
Part 2 | masterlist
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Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him.
“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression.
You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.
He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway.
You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair.
“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply.
It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat.
Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.
That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch.
The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap.
It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings.
Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months.
You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days.
John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.
He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief.
“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly.
His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften.
“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son.
“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”
I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby.
Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t.
When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again.
“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”
“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”
You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now.
There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself.
The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on.
“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice.
“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details.
He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.
Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.
With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it.
“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?”
You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck.
“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive.
You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down.
He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy.
You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth.
“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile.
“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting.
He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are.
“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass.
You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down.
He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends.
“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”
And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back.
You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you.
Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.
So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness.
You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.
In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.
You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture?
The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding.
“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way.
That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous.
“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs.
“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”
Your eyes widen.
“Wait—I don’t need to—”
You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin.
There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place.
He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel.
“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do.
“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”
It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.
With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet.
His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.
“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations.
“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy.
“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—”
Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep.
Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts.
“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest.
You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun.
You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric.
Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent.
The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water.
“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”
He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple.
The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—
You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root.
The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better.
All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room.
Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead.
At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs.
As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast.
You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep.
“Not bad,” you whisper.
Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.
#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#price/reader#john price x reader#john price x you#price x you#captain john price x reader
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Pleaseeee can you fo more homicipher reaction to mc who is very cheerful in every situation like shes either giggling or smiling, she's so unserious and oblivious af too.
⊱ Homicipher Characters’ Reactions to an MC Who Is Cheerful and Oblivious ⊰ || Multiple Character Headcanons
╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Machete, Mr. Hood, Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Minor Spoilers for Homicipher (Mr. Scarletella’s Part), Minor Canon-typical Mentions of Violence. Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~2,100 words. Request: “Pleaseeee can you fo more homicipher reaction to mc who is very cheerful in every situation like shes either giggling or smiling, she's so unserious and oblivious af too.” Author’s Note: This was such a fun request to think about since a human like this existing within the other world would pretty much be a living, walking target – like, you’d probably be dead so quickly if you were oblivious or naïve or too trusting (like me when I first played through the game and was smiling every time a hot monster man talked to me 😭). Since you didn’t specify any characters, I just picked a handful that I thought would have varying reactions to the type of reader you requested. I hope you enjoy!
→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡
╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯
👣: Mr. Crawling loves your cheerful and friendly personality, finding it a breath of fresh air within the other world. It draws him to you even more, like a moth to a bright flame. He likes how you sometimes just randomly giggle or laugh. He does it, too, so it’s nice to meet someone so similar to him! He definitely feels this sense of kinship with you when he notices all the similarities you two share. Mr. Crawling does everything in his power to keep you safe, wanting to protect you from everything or everyone attempting to harm you in the hopes you don’t lose that sparkle – that light within you.
👣: He’s already very protective of you, and your obliviousness to the other world and its residents makes that feeling even stronger. He is aware that your friendly and trusting nature will be taken advantage of in the world he calls his home, so he somehow manages to take a more proactive role when it comes to keeping you safe… if that was even possible (it’s ON SITE if he sees Mr. Stitch near you. Mr. Crawling knows how that particular resident acts, and he would prefer not to have him kidnap or try to eat you…).
👣: Whenever you laugh, he also laughs – you do the same thing with him, too, so you both kind of bounce off of each other and act like the other’s personal echo. Any other resident who sees the two of you kind of thinks you have a few screws loose, watching from afar while you both just randomly laugh together without a care in the world. Honestly, Mr. Crawling thinks it’s nice to be able to laugh with someone else like this.
👣: Overall, your personality manages to make him love you even more (if that was even possible). Mr. Crawling does everything in his power to make sure you never stop smiling, never once making you feel like you’re not supposed to laugh even if it may not be seen as appropriate in the situation. He doesn’t care that sometimes your obliviousness results in both of you finding yourselves between a rock and a hard place. He will be there by your side until the day you tell him to leave – his love for you is unconditional, and that’s just a fact no matter what kind of person you are.
🗣️: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped also finds himself immensely endeared to you and your personality. He loves how happy you are all the time, and he finds his mood improving whenever you’re around, too! It’s wonderful to have someone like you around, someone who is always so cheerful and upbeat, especially considering the place you have found yourself trapped in. He appreciates it – appreciates you, as a whole – but that doesn’t mean he has no reservations about your personality…
🗣️: His anxiety spikes whenever he thinks too much about what you were potentially getting up to whenever he wasn’t around, worried about you getting taken advantage of or giggling at the wrong question and ending up injured, or worse, dead. He really enjoys spending time with you, you’re like a ray of sunlight in such a dark place, and the thought of that being gone after having just experienced it is… quite an unpleasant thought (he doesn’t know what sunlight is, but he can vaguely remember a yellow warmth from a time long forgotten that you remind him of). If he had a body, he’d probably be ripping his beloved hair out just because of how oblivious you can be.
🗣️: Mr. Chopped is definitely the type to just start scolding you point-blank, telling you that you need to be more careful – his beautiful hair is going to turn grey at this point with how often he worries about you! Please don’t make him worry… It’s not good for his metaphorical heart. He even lectures you about how he typically tells the difference between people he can trust (like you, Mr. Silvair, the Hairdresser) versus people he knows he can’t trust (like the Hooded Child or Mr. Stitch) in the hopes it will have you thinking about your safety more.
🗣️: Sometimes he feels a sense of helplessness whenever he thinks about you and the fact he can’t do anything to keep you safe; it’s something he opens up about to Mr. Silvair whenever you’re not around. Mr. Chopped finds himself wishing that he had a body, even though you had assured him he was perfectly fine in your eyes without one. He just wants to help and protect you the way that others you knew were capable of doing. Whenever you sense he’s feeling down, though, your bright smile is enough to wash away his worries about your well-being, even if only for a moment.
🔪: Doesn’t understand why you’re so chipper all the time. Honestly, I feel like Mr. Machete would find it annoying, the fact you’re always smiling or giggling at one thing or another. He’ll purposefully chuck his sword at you in the hopes that it will scare you, make you wipe that stupid smile off your face, but it never does… It falters a bit, sure, but it never fully goes away, and that just pisses him off more.
🔪: He kind of makes it his mission to try and break you, to see how or what he can do to finally make you get angry or upset. After all, you never really fight back when he tries to start things with you, and that’s boring. He wants you to get frustrated at him, wants to see you throw a punch or try to hit him after another attempt at making your smile disappear, yet you never do. You remain smiling, and you’re oh-so blinding whenever you do, and he hates it. He hates you (or does he? He isn’t even sure himself… emotions are too complicated).
🔪: Overall, Mr. Machete has mixed feelings toward you. He can respect the strength it takes to keep a smile on your face, to remain positive and happy in a place filled to the brim with violence and death… That doesn’t mean he likes it, though, hearing your laughter whenever he does something you find endearing or if you see something you find amusing. It’s a sound that's headache-inducing, yet it also makes him want to pick you up and squeeze you (I’m a firm believer that he would have cuteness aggression). He has a love-hate relationship with you.
🔪: Mr. Machete also finds himself fed up with your obliviousness and naïvety, especially regarding other residents. He’s getting sick and tired of you finding yourself in trouble and, when it finally sets in you’re in danger, you call to him for help. Why the hell are you calling for him? You got yourself into this mess, and you’ll figure out a way to get out of it… Well, that’s what he says, but he usually takes care of whatever resident you found yourself in a conflict with, or he tosses you effortlessly over one shoulder and absconds if he doesn’t think it’s a fight he can win (don’t ask him why he even bothers saving you – he doesn’t know the answer, either).
🪓: Your cheerful and peppy attitude, the way you’re always smiling brightly and warmly at everyone you meet, makes Mr. Hood feel both endeared to you and worried about you. You do realize you just agreed to give that resident your heart, right? If he wasn’t here, you most certainly would have died, and that’s not exactly a thought he wants to entertain. He felt protective over you since the first moment you met, and that feeling had not died down once (even if looking after you had made him feel like he’d aged a century).
🪓: Always places himself between you and other residents when you attempt to communicate with them, using himself as a shield just in case you accidentally agree to something absurd or laugh at the wrong thing. Mr. Hood really shifts into teaching mode after cases like these, making sure you know exactly what certain words mean and when not to laugh, smile, or blindly agree to things. Honestly, if you were oblivious and overly trusting, he would feel it was his duty to stay by your side at all times and would be worried about what would happen if he left you alone.
🪓: However, despite the persisting feeling of worry your personality and some of your traits bring him when watching you interacting with most of the other residents, he can’t help but enjoy your presence. It’s new, and he surprisingly likes hearing the sound of your laughter. He finds your personality and behaviors to be cute, even though they bring you trouble more often than not. Most of the time, sometimes unconsciously, Mr. Hood finds himself resting his hand on the top of your head, patting it softly whenever you look up and smile at him so brightly.
🪓: Mr. Hood, despite finding that your obliviousness and your inability to take most things seriously typically ends up with you winding up in troublesome situations that could have been easily avoided, he still wouldn’t change a single thing about you (he has no problem staining his hands with more blood to keep you safe – killing residents while protecting you at the same time is something he’s good at, after all). Your smile is just too bright, your laugh almost infectious, and all he wants to do is make sure it never fades. He feels a strange ache in his chest whenever you take his hands into yours and tug him along, laughing all the way. He doesn’t understand it, but he also doesn’t have the desire to understand it, either.
🩸: Your personality intrigues him, and he finds himself desiring to know what you’re thinking about. What makes you so happy? How can you continue to travel through the other world, facing one traumatic event after another, with a smile constantly plastered on your face? A person like you is new to Mr. Scarletella, and he wants to be around you more. He wants to figure out how he can be the person making you smile and laugh in such a way – he wants to be able to bathe in the warmth and brightness your aura radiates.
🩸: Mr. Scarletella doesn’t make his presence known most of the time throughout your journey, but he watches you from afar, keeping an eye on you. However, if he does need to step in to keep you from harm, he will. Your reaction to him is unlike anyone else he's met, though. Most people who saw the man with the red umbrella would scream and run the other way, terrified of the story that was intertwined with his existence, but you didn’t. Honestly, it makes him want you more – you’re new, you’re different – and he likes it… likes you. There’s something about the sound of your laughter and your happy-go-lucky nature that makes him feel alive, in a way.
🩸: However, because of your obliviousness and naïvety, when he asks for your name and you just give it to him without a second thought… well, it makes his goal a lot easier. If I’m being 100% honest, being oblivious or overly trusting around Mr. Scarletella is not a good mix. Because he finds you interesting and different from other humans he’s seen before, he’s pleased that you’re his now – heart, body, and soul. You forget everything about yourself after, though, and he doesn’t find you as appealing as he once did (he low-key kind of regrets asking for your name).
🩸: For feel-good purposes, though, we’ll just ignore the last point and continue with the fluff… So, overall, Mr. Scarletella would find you fascinating and would find himself wanting to be near you in any capacity, whether it be as your master or your servant, he wouldn’t care so long as he got to be with you. He honestly wonders how you’ve managed to live for as long as you have considering your general attitude towards most things, but he’s glad that you did. Being with you makes his lungs feel like they’re full of fresh air, and he gets a pleasant tingling sensation in his body whenever he hears your laughter echo through the dilapidated hallways of the other world.
#🌸 . plum writes#homicipher#文字化化#homicipher x reader#homicipher x you#mr crawling#mr chopped#mr machete#mr hood#mr scarletella#mr crawling x reader#mr crawling x you#mr chopped x reader#mr machete x reader#mr machete x you#mr hood x reader#mr scarletella x reader#mr scarletella x you#homicipher imagines#homicipher headcanons#imagines#headcanons#fluff
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soft dom!hee with shy!reader maybe? doesn’t have to be virgin reader necessarily, love all ur fics btw
® ❛ WHY ARE YOU SO SHY BABY? IT'S JUST ME.
FEATURING. lee heeseung & fem!r GENRE. smut! they are friends exploring dangerous territory omgg, softdom?heeseung & shy!r WDCT. 970 WARNINGS. SMUT PG18 ofc, bare grinding? humping? yeah. ( D𝒾RECTORY? )
NIE.NOTES ╱ wrote smut after a while, hope y'all like it ㅠㅠ tried to make it as softdom as i could idk .. my freaky ass kept going down the degradation route for some reason.
“what if it's me?” heeseung’s voice is hoarse, his steps carefully calculated as he gets closer to you.
“what if it's me who wants to see you like that?” his breath shaky, hands trembling in his soft grip on your waist and heart running a mile a second.
his eyes bore into yours. what if the one who wants to touch you all over, is me? what if the one who gets to see you moan and writhe underneath, is me? what if the one who makes you cum, is me?
and that's how you find yourself on heeseung’s bed, legs spread and head lolling back onto the pillow. back arching prettily in soft whimpers as his fingers tease you over the hello kitty panties.
god i should've worn sexier panties─
“fuck baby, these panties are so hot,” his eyes focus on the way the fabric rubs against you, wet and slick. the innocent hello kitty print soaked─ drenched like you already fell over the edge once. there was something so undeniably erotic about it; heeseung couldn't pin point, but it made him so hard he could barely think straight or feel embarrassed at all.
his thumb glides over the slit in lewd squelches, groaning at the way you seem to squirm at every slide.
“you're so sensitive─ so responsive. if i knew you were like this earlier i’d have touched you sooner,” heeseung grunts at just the possibility of having you under him this exact way, any more than once. oh how much he regrets not grabbing this chance any sooner, like how was he even going on with his life as just a friend when he could have had this?
your hands reach up to cover your face at his words. utterly embarrassed at the kind of things leaving his mouth, your hot friend vocalizing his hot thoughts about you: it made your skin burn with fervour. craving more but feeling bashful admitting it, especially to your friend.
“don't hide your pretty face baby,” his touch grips daint at your wrists and pries off your hands, holding them down by the side of your head. staring at each and every inch of your flushed face before he sits up to unbutton his jeans.
pulling his cock out of his boxers and jerking it off in a couple of slow strokes. wiping at the tip and smearing the precum across the entire length. his eyes lock with yours as he squeezes around the head once, hissing with pleasure at the way you seem to be so entranced at the sight of him. eyes wide and lips parted while you watch, hauling your body up to rest against your elbows on the bed;
so eager, so needy. the sexual undertones in your gaze gleaming right out despite the nervous and abashed front.
he grabs at your thighs softly, tugging you flush against him, his cock twitching over your damp panty clad pussy. one finger hooking at the side to hold it up just until he shoves his cock in, sandwiched between the wet cloth and your gushing folds.
“fuck,” heeseung chokes on air at the feel of you against him, no barriers, entirely pressed bare right into your most intimate and sensitive part─ it's heavenly. the moan you let out when he thrusts, almost breaks through his self restraint,”just─ let's just try this first─ fuck you feel so good baby,” his voice wavering and breath stuck in his throat.
he paws at your breasts, fondling one as he keeps grinding and thrusting. his eyes dropping to close with the immense amount of pleasure coursing through his veins, but the sight of you under him: clutching the sheets and bucking your hips to chase the high─ he doesn't want to miss even a second of it.
“hee─ it feels so─” moan.
“i know baby, i know,” his fingers brush back the hair sticking to your cheeks, hunching over your body to graze his lips against yours. mouth falling open as he mimics your expressions; albeit out of pure bliss of watching you feel good. of knowing that he's the one making you feel good. so good that you have forgotten all about how shy you were about the whole idea.
the slippery sensation of your panties soaked with precum against the tip and the slick burning heat of your pussy rubbing against the underside of his cock paired with your raw and lewd expressions is too much to bear. the sounds you let out going straight to his balls. tightening up with each little gasp and whine that falls off your pretty lips.
“i'm so─ ngh─” your words die down into a soft whimper, sucking your lower lip in between your teeth in an attempt to suppress the loud moan bubbling at the back of your throat. heeseung barely holds himself back from cumming at the sight.
“fuck me too baby,” he hurriedly grabs your waist, hands squeezing and holding you tight before his thrusts speed up. sliding sloppily, his tip hitting right against your clit each time.
shit shit shit. heeseung feels you pulse against his cock as you tumble off the edge, cumming in whiny chants of his name, your back arching off the bed again. fuck she's so hot. his own orgasm being pulled out of him like a wave of lighting, cum spurting out in jets onto your clit.
it's dizzing. his cock twitching as he watches your eyes roll back and your body slump onto the mattress. chest heaving for breath, skin glistening with sweat and eyes glazed over.
it's gonna be engraved in his mind. it's a done deal. he's never gonna see you normally again. not after knowing how you look.. when you are like─ this.
“see─ it wasn't so bad, was it?”
NSFW taglist 。open! @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp
#enhypen smut#enhypen imagines#enhypen heeseung smut#heeseung smut#lee heesung smut#enhypen drabbles#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard thoughts#enha smut
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