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pucksandpower · 2 months

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Good Girl

Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Summary: Max wants to take care of you in every way possible, so you let him (much to your father’s displeasure)

Warnings: 18+ content

The muffled sound of raised voices catches Max’s attention as he walks past the back of the Mercedes motorhome. He slows his pace, straining to make out the words.

One of the voices unmistakably belongs to the Austrian team principal but the other is higher-pitched … feminine. Max’s curiosity is piqued as a snippet of the argument reaches his ears.

“But I hate it, Papa! I’m miserable!”

He knows that voice, even though it is now fraught with anguish. Max stops in his tracks, hesitating. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his concern for you overrides his better judgment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Liebchen,” Toto Wolff’s gruff tones reach Max’s ears. “This is for your own good. You need to finish your degree and make something of yourself.”

“I don’t want to make something of myself!” You cry out, your words laced with despair. “I just want to be happy!”

Max’s heart clenches at the pain in your voice. He’s never seen you anything less than perfectly composed, always carrying yourself with the poise expected of a team principal’s daughter. To hear you so distraught tugs at something deep inside him.

“Don’t be absurd,” Toto scoffs. “Happiness doesn’t come from idleness. It comes from hard work and achievement.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry rich then!” You retort, defiance tingeing your tone.

A surprised laugh bursts from Toto. “Is that what you think? That some wealthy man will sweep you off your feet and give you everything your heart desires?”

“Why not?” You sound small and vulnerable now. “At least then I wouldn’t be so miserable all the time.”

“I didn’t raise you to be some man’s ornament,” Toto snaps, his voice taking on a hard edge. “You’re my daughter — strong, intelligent, and capable. Finish your studies and make your own success. That’s an order.”

There’s a bitter silence, and Max can picture the imperious set of Toto’s jaw, the fire in his eyes when he’s crossed. He feels for you, truly, but he also knows how stubborn and uncompromising your father can be.

You sniffle, and Max’s heart twists imagining your lovely face crumpled with tears. “I … I can’t, Papa. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Toto’s voice is like a clap of thunder, making Max flinch. “I’ll hear no more. Get it together, Y/N. That’s final.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps, and Max instinctively steps back into the shadows as Toto storms out from behind the motorhome, his expression thunderous. He brushes past without sparing Max a glance.

Only you remain, your soft cries tearing at Max’s soul. Before he can overthink it, he rounds the corner towards you.

You’re a vision even with your eyes reddened and cheeks stained with tears. Max has admired you from afar for years, secretly yearning for more than your warm smiles and friendly small talk. Seeing you so undone breaks his heart.

“Y/N?” He murmurs, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. You jump, gasping at his sudden presence. “I … I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Heat floods your cheeks as you hurriedly wipe at your face. “M-Max? I … you shouldn’t have ...”

“Hey, it’s alright.” His thumb strokes your shoulder in a soothing gesture. “I’ve been there too — feeling crushed under the weight of expectations. It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh escaping you. “You don’t understand. My father, he’s … it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it for me,” Max says simply, holding your gaze. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. Get your mind off everything for a little while.”

Your eyes widen, and you nibble at your full lower lip — a gesture Max finds utterly captivating. “Oh, I … I couldn’t. Papa would be furious if he found out.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” The words slip out before Max can reconsider their forwardness. Heat prickles at the back of his neck, but he refuses to look away. “Just take a night for yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

You worry at your lip, internal conflict playing out on your expressive features. Max can practically see the warring thoughts flitting through your mind.

“Please,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind your ear. Your breath catches at the gentle contact. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Something sparks in your eyes — acceptance, resignation … or perhaps a hint of excitement? Max couldn’t say. But when you nod, his heart stutters in his chest.

“Okay,” you whisper, sending Max’s pulse racing. “I’d like that.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up outside your hotel at 8 tonight.” He takes a chance, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with his knuckles. “Wear something pretty for me?”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in a small grin, and Max feels like he could float away at the sight. “It’s a date.”

With a dimpled wink and a last caress of your silken cheek, Max turns and saunters away, already counting down the hours until he can sweep you off your feet — however briefly. He only hopes one night in his company provides a respite from the burdens weighing you down.

You watch Max stride away, a curious fluttering taking wing in your stomach. Despite the turmoil still lingering from your fight with your father, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you at Max’s tender attention.

There was a heat in his eyes that had your breath catching — a scorching intensity you’ve never noticed from him before. Like he was seeing all of you, the pain and insecurities you typically hide from the world, and accepting it all without judgment.

His gentle touches had set your skin tingling, leaving you flushed and flustered in a way you’re unaccustomed to. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you the way Max did — like the weight of all his focus was centered on you alone, searing into your very soul.

Despite the circumstances, you find yourself unexpectedly … excited for tonight. To temporarily shed the burdens your father is so intent on piling onto your shoulders. To let someone else take the lead for once, absolving you of responsibility and expectations.

To let Max take care of you.

The thought sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Allowing yourself a moment of selfishness, of disregarding your father’s disapproval, you relish the delicious sense of anticipation unfurling within you.

For once, you think as you head inside to prepare yourself for your clandestine date, you’re going to indulge your own desires — if only for a few hours. Your father may call it idleness, but you call it sanity.

And if Max’s heated gaze is any indication, he seems more than happy to oblige you.

***

Precisely at 8 PM, Max idles his sleek Valkyrie hypercar outside your hotel’s entrance, eagerly scanning the revolving doors. He doesn’t have to wait long before you emerge, and the sight of you has his breath catching in his throat.

You’ve opted for a slim-fitting cocktail dress in a deep burgundy hue that clings to your curves in all the right places. The plunging neckline and thigh-grazing hemline leave just enough to Max’s imagination, stoking a slow burn of desire low in his belly. Your hair tumbles in artful waves over one shoulder, and you’ve accentuated your lips with a sultry red stain that makes Max’s mouth go dry.

He barely registers popping the passenger door and rounding the car until he’s standing before you, drinking in every delicious detail from your smoky eye makeup to the skyscraper heels lending those gorgeous legs an endless line.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, voice thick with undisguised appreciation. “You look … incredible.”

A becoming flush steals across your cheeks at the naked admiration in his tone. Ducking your head shyly, you murmur, “Thank you, Max. I wasn’t sure if this was too much or ...”

“Not at all,” he cuts you off firmly, unable to tear his hungry stare away from you. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

Offering his arm, he escorts you to the car and helps you inside before joining you in the driver’s seat. As he pulls away, he has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the road rather than drifting hungrily over every dip and swell of your body.

Max selects one of the finest restaurants in the city — an intimate establishment where the lighting is dim and romantic. The maitre d’ leads you to a secluded table in the back, discreetly ensuring your privacy.

Once seated across from you, Max can’t resist reaching across the table to take your hand, marveling at how tiny and delicate your fingers feel engulfed in his calloused grip. It’s a heady sensation, being so close and allowed to touch.

One he wants more of.

You go to take a leather-bound menu with a shy smile, but Max simply slides it aside and shakes his head.

“Don’t strain yourself tonight, schatje,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Let me take care of everything.”

Surprise flits across your lovely features, but then understanding and gratitude replace it as you nod mutely. He can sense the relief in you at being temporarily absolved of responsibility, even over something as simple as choosing your meal.

A subtle tilt of his head summons the waiter, and Max orders a selection of the finest dishes and robust wine for you to share — decadent fare perfectly suited to indulging your every whim this evening.

As the waiter departs, Max leans back and simply drinks you in, admiring the elegant line of your neck and curve of your jaw. You seem to bask under his appreciative scrutiny, almost … preening for him. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” He asks lowly, searching your face. “After everything with your father earlier ...”

Your eyes shutter briefly at the mention of Toto, but you regain your equilibrium swiftly and offer Max a patently forced smile. “I’m alright. Just … trying not to think about it too hard tonight.”

“Good.” He strokes his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. “Because tonight is about forgetting all your cares and letting someone else handle everything for once.”

The promise in his words has your pulse fluttering wildly in your veins. You know you shouldn’t indulge this … whatever this is … with Max. That it could court disastrous consequences. But there’s something about him — about the way he looks at you, touches you, and speaks to you — that just saps your will to resist.

Perhaps it’s the bone-deep weariness you’ve been carrying from your ongoing battles with your father. Or the guilty craving you haven’t allowed yourself to admit to — the need to simply surrender control for once and let someone else bear the burdens weighing you down.

Whatever it is, you find it impossible not to fall headlong into the solace Max is offering so freely.

The waiter reappears with a bottle of bold Cabernet, carefully filling your glass before departing again. Max lifts his in a silent toast, and you mimic the gesture, reveling in the rich notes that flood your senses.

From there, the evening slips into a blissful cocoon of easy conversation and succulent food that Max deftly applies himself to serving you bite by bite. Each time his long fingers brush your lips as you accept a morsel, a frisson of electricity zips through you.

He pays immaculate attention to your smallest reactions, quickly discerning your preferences even before you voice them. It’s uncanny — and utterly disarming — how seamlessly Max seems to anticipate your every need without fuss or demand.

You can’t recall the last time you felt so … cherished. So indulged and seen. Like Max’s entire world revolves around you and you alone in these stolen moments.

It’s heady and intoxicating, this total surrender of control. And as the hours wind down over lingering sips of wine and heated looks, you find yourself all but drunk on the experience … on Max.

Eventually, once the dining room has emptied and the candles burned low, Max summons the waiter to settle the check with an imperious wave of his hand. He declines your attempts to assist, fixing you with a look that brooks no argument.

“Tonight is my treat,” he says simply, dropping a small fortune onto the tray with a casual air. “I’m not done taking care of you yet, schatje.”

A delicious shiver races down your spine at his words, your thoughts growing hazy and unfocused under the scorching weight of his stare. You can only nod numbly, incapable of voicing even token protest.

Pushing back from the table, Max rounds it in two long strides and pulls you to your feet, linking hands with yours. He holds your gaze as he brushes a kiss across your knuckles, letting his lips linger in a way that has heat pooling low in your belly.

“Back to my hotel?” He husks, voice gone rough in a way that steals your breath. “Or shall I take you home, printsesse?”

For a long, dizzying moment, the two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes, the intimate moment stretched taut like a tightrope. Then, as if in a trance, you find yourself shaking your head slowly.

“Your hotel,” you whisper before you can reconsider. It’s utterly mad, this reckless pull you’re surrendering to. But God help you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

A slow, heated smile curves Max’s lips as he nods sharply. Without a word, he tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts you from the restaurant.

You move almost in a fugue state, allowing Max to lead you with a surety you envy as he bundles you into his gleaming sports car once more. The ride to his hotel passes in a blur, punctuated only by the possessive weight of Max’s palm on your thigh and the fevered glances he keeps sending you from the driver’s seat.

By the time the valet has whisked his car away, all you can clearly process is the burn of Max’s fingers tangled with yours and the thrumming weight of his presence at your side. Everything else — anxiety, obligation, expectation — fades into insignificance under his piercing gaze.

He tugs you into the shadows of the hotel atrium and crowds you against a corner, his free hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw reverently. You go pliant against the hard plane of his chest, tilting your head back to maintain the searing lock of your gazes.

“Still with me, Y/N?” Max rumbles, the rough velvet of his voice sending sparks of need ricocheting through you.

You nod slowly, unconsciously wetting your lips — an action which has Max’s eyes riveting on your mouth hungrily. “Yes, Max. I’m here.”

His thumb brushes over the fullness of your lower lip with maddening tenderness. “Good girl.”

Those two words should not affect you the way they do — like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath while simultaneously stoking a raging inferno within. You can’t even begin to process the riot of sensations they provoke.

You simply let yourself be swept away in the wake of Max’s intensity, melting into the solid shelter of his embrace as he claims your mouth in a devouring kiss.

Max’s kiss quickly grows fevered and consuming, his tongue delving hungrily to explore the honeyed depths of your mouth. You melt against him, fingers clutching at the hard planes of his back as you surrender to the dizzying haze of desire he’s stoked within you.

He walks you backwards without breaking the molten seal of your lips, until your back meets the wall with a muffled thump. Emboldened by your soft whimper, Max pins you there with the solid weight of his body, hips tilting into yours as his hands roam feverishly over your curves.

You’re drowning, overwhelmed by the potent storm of Max’s passion. It sweeps away every stray thought, every lingering worry about duty and obligation, leaving you delirious and pliant in his arms. All that exists is the scorching brand of his mouth, the iron strength of his embrace, and the maddening friction of him pressing you into the unforgiving wall.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined. More intense, more explosive, more overwhelming in its ability to strip away every pretense and doubt until there’s nothing left but raw need.

Max finally releases your lips with a ragged groan, pressing his brow to yours as you both gulp down air in harsh pants. His palms smooth over your hips, up your sides, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin material of your dress.

“God, printsesse,” he rasps, voice wrecked in a way that has you clenching with fresh desire. “You’re so fucking perfect, do you know that?”

You can only whimper, thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind as he ducks to mouth wet, open kisses along the column of your throat. Every brush of his lips is like a brand, searing into your very core.

“And tonight ...” Another nip at your racing pulse has you arching shamelessly into him. “Tonight you’re mine. All mine.”

His hands slide beneath the hem of your skirt, bunching it around your waist as his fingers trace the lace edges of your stockings. You keen softly at the electric jolt of sensation, nails scoring down his shoulders and back.

“Max ...”

“Shhh, schatje ...” His tongue laves at the hollow of your throat, lips trailing a heated path up the line of your jaw until he’s devouring you again. The demanding sweep of his tongue robs you of breath, of thought, of everything but the exquisite present of his touch. “Just let go. No thinking. I’ll take care of everything.”

His words are like a mantra, a siren’s call urging you to surrender utterly to the exhilarating oblivion he offers. To shed every burden and float away on the current of his undivided devotion.

So you do. With a broken whimper, you sag in his arms, giving yourself over completely to Max’s intoxicating command. The doors of your suite can’t come soon enough.

Max can barely keep his hands off you during the agonizing elevator ride up to his penthouse. As soon as the doors close, cutting you off from prying eyes, he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, hands roaming feverishly over your body.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps against the slick column of your throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. Of having you.”

You whimper shamelessly as his teeth graze the thundering pulse under your jaw, hips rocking helplessly against his muscled thigh that’s wedged between your legs. The delicious friction has sparks of pleasure-pain arcing through your nerves in dizzying waves.

With deft motions borne of practiced skill, Max strips you of your dress, leaving you clad in only a scrap of wine-colored lace before lifting you easily. You lock your legs around his narrow hips as he mouths hungry kisses along the swell of your chest, callused palms kneading the generous curve of your backside.

The elevator judders to a halt and the doors slide open, but neither of you pay it any mind. Max simply shifts you higher in his arms and carries you down the hallway, your shared gasps and muffled groans echoing off the plush carpets and paneled walls.

Finally, he’s nudging open the door to his suite with his shoulder, barely waiting for it to click shut again before slamming you against the nearest surface. You scarcely register that it’s a sturdy oak desk before Max is divesting you of the remaining flimsy barriers between your bodies with sharp tugs and deft fingers.

He stands you before him, towering and scorching with building intensity as his gaze tracks from your flushed face down to where your thighs are already starting to grow slick in anticipation. A punched-out groan tears from his chest.

“Fuck, printsesse,” he growls, palming the rigid length straining against his slacks as he drinks in the sight of you laid bare before him. “So fucking gorgeous. Made for me.”

With a sharp nip of his teeth against the swell of your breast, he urges you back until you’re bent over the desk’s edge. Cool wood presses against the heated flesh of your belly and breasts, making you gasp.

“Max ...” you keen, reaching for him with shaking hands.

But he bats them away with a low rumble, pinning your wrists against the desks’ burnished surface. His lips scald a path down your spine as he looms over you from behind, thick cockhead prodding teasingly at your entrance.

“So responsive, schatje" he praises in a gravelly rasp, free hand gliding down to pluck at your engorged nipples. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

You can only whine wordlessly, squirming against the delicious torture of his touch as he takes his time mapping every dip and swell of your body. Marking you as his own by searing himself into your senses through each languid caress.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of exquisite torment, Max sheaths himself in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He stills for a long moment, buried to the hilt, broad chest plastered to your back as you both shudder and gasp for air.

“Max … oh fuck, Max please ...”

With an animalistic growl, he complies — withdrawing nearly all the way before snapping his hips in a punishing grind that has your nails scoring the desk’s glossy veneer and guttural cries tearing from your throat.

From there, it’s a haze of sweat-slicked skin and desperate keens, of Max taking you apart with lavish, calculating precision. He’s utterly relentless, wringing every ounce of pleasure from your joined bodies until you’re hovering in a blissful state of oblivion.

It’s everything and yet not enough all at once. You’re ruined for anyone else, forever branded by his ferocious intensity. You’re addicted to the escape he offers from your doubts and burdens.

And as Max’s harsh grunts and increasingly erratic thrusts signal his impending release, you welcome the sweeping wave of darkness that accompanies your own shattering climax.

You’re his now. Utterly and completely. And you’ve never felt so free.

Later, with the tangled sheets pooled around your waists, Max gathers you close and strokes idle patterns over your flushed, sweat-slicked skin. Sated and boneless in the aftermath of his lovemaking, you curl into the strong circle of his embrace with a contented sigh.

Idly, Max’s fingers trail through your tousled locks, nails scraping lightly over your scalp in a way that tingles with delicious sensation. You make a soft sound of pleasure, earning a rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your brow.

“Feel better, printsesse?” He murmurs, voice a low rasp that strokes over you like velvet.

You manage a lazy nod, humming into the heated dip of his throat as you nuzzle closer. “Much better. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, schatje. Truly.”

You lapse into a comfortable silence, savoring the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear and the soothing drag of his fingertips over your skin. For the first time in ages, your thoughts are utterly quiet, every worry burned away by the man beside you.

It’s like floating in a warm sea, cradled and buoyed by Max’s strength and devotion. Every breath comes easier, your soul unburdened and free in a way you can’t recall experiencing before. You want to bottle this precious feeling forever.

Eventually, Max breaks the tranquil quiet with a murmured, “Tell me why you hate university so much.”

You tense reflexively at the simple question before letting out a shuddering breath, curling closer to Max’s solid frame.

“It’s just … not me. Not who I am,” you mumble, struggling to articulate the turbulent storm of emotions your father’s demands have been stirring within you. “I’m expected to act and think a certain way, to follow rules and meet standards that I can’t bring myself to embrace. It’s suffocating.”

You pause, sifting through your scattered thoughts for the right words. “I’ve never known anything but expectation and obligation, Max. It’s like … being slowly crushed under this ever-increasing weight of being someone I’m not while being denied any chance at discovering my true self.”

Max’s arms tighten around you protectively, his lips brushing over the crown of your head. “So stop,” he says, the simplicity of his words at odds with the complex web of anxiety and disappointment your life has become.

You shake your head wearily. “I can’t. You know my father — he’ll cut me off without a second thought if I so much as breathe about dropping out again.”

Despite the hefty inheritance awaiting you, Toto has always been resolute that his children earn their share through grueling hard work and achievement. To do anything but, even for a moment, is a grievous failure in his eyes.

“No,” Max’s tone brooks no argument, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to live like that anymore.”

One corded arm slips beneath your waist, rolling you until Max is looming over you, his chiseled features grave and intense. “You have me now,” he states with quiet certainty, words ringing with the weight of a solemn vow. “I’ll take care of you, schatje — no matter what. Even if your father cuts you off.”

The conviction in his voice steals your breath, your heart clenching almost painfully at the naked promise in his eyes. “Max ...” you start to protest weakly, but he quiets you with a brush of his fingertips over your lips.

“Hear me out,” he says, tone gentle but uncompromising. “What if … what if you just dropped out? Quit this half-life that’s slowly killing your spirit and let me take care of you?”

He leans in until his brow is resting against yours, eyes searching the depths of your own. “I know this is new between us. But I’ve wanted you for so long, printsesse. And I know — down to my very soul — that we’re meant for each other.”

A tremulous exhale escapes you, your chest tightening as Max’s words wrap around your heart in a heated embrace. It’s insane, surely — to take such a risk based on attraction and a single incredible night in his arms. But the vision he paints of safety and freedom sings an inescapable siren song you can’t resist.

“I … I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, suddenly afraid to break the delicate spell woven around you both.

“Say yes.” He kisses you reverently, until your lashes flutter shut at the tender onslaught. “Say yes, and let me take care of you, printsesse. The way you deserve to be cherished.”

God help you, but you can feel your resistance crumbling in the face of Max’s single-minded intensity and undeniable allure. He’s everything you’ve been missing — freedom, passion, and hope for something more than the crushing prison of expectation.

So with one last, shaky exhalation, you give in.

“Okay,” you breathe, the dam finally bursting as tears of bewildered relief prick your eyes. “Yes, Max. Yes.”

He claims your lips in a searing, triumphant kiss that leaves you lightheaded and clinging to him. When you part, his smile is brighter than a thousand suns.

“Tomorrow morning,” he vows fiercely against your swollen mouth. “First thing — you’re calling your university and withdrawing. No arguments.”

Your chest clenches sharply at the directive, fear and anxiety lancing through you at the enormity of what you’ve just agreed to. The crushing weight of your father’s disapproval already feels like a lead shroud.

But Max is there, holding you close and peppering your face with soothing kisses. “Shhh, schatje,” he croons, stroking your hair. “Don’t overthink it. This is what you want, isn’t it? To finally be happy and free?”

You manage a jerky nod, melting into the safety of his solid strength. “Y-yes. But ...”

“No buts,” he reproves gently, capturing your gaze again. “It’s you and me now, Y/N. I’ll handle everything else, I swear it. All you need to focus on is finding what makes you happy again. The rest is my problem. Understand?”

You suck in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, wrestling your scattered thoughts into a semblance of order. What Max offers — this safe harbor from all the pressures slowly drowning you from without and within — is everything you’ve been desperate for. Your own private rebellion against the rigid expectations suffocating you at every turn.

If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to take this lifeline.

With a tremulous smile, you curl into Max and nod against his chest. “Okay. I understand.”

“Good girl,” he praises, satisfaction and triumph ringing in his tone as he cradles you tenderly. “Everything’s going to be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

His fingers stroke through your tresses again, the repetitive sweep quickly lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The first of what you hope will be many where you don’t fret and stew over responsibilities and failures.

The last coherent thought that drifts through your mind as you let Max’s strong heartbeat under your ear lull you under is one of bone-deep contentment and relief.

You’re finally, blissfully free.

***

The first faint rays of dawn filter through the gauzy curtains, rousing you from the most restful sleep you’ve had in longer than you can remember. For a blissful moment, you simply bask in the cocoon of warmth and safety enveloping you — the solid weight of Max’s arm draped possessively over your waist, the clean, musky scent of him surrounding you.

Then the gravity of your decision the previous night comes crashing back in a dizzying wave. Your breath hitches in your chest as apprehension and anxiety spark to life once more.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Max stirs behind you with a quiet rumble, nosing aside the tumbled locks at your nape to press a hushed kiss there.

“Morning, printsesse,” he murmurs, voice still roughened from sleep in a way that has something inside you clenching with need. “Sleep well?”

You can only nod, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in your throat as you twist in the circle of his arms to face him. His brow furrows at the clear trepidation playing over your features.

“Hey now,” he soothes, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “None of that, schatje. You know what you need to do.”

Your teeth snag your lower lip in a nervous gesture as you give another jerky nod. Yes, you know. You agreed to call your university this morning and make your break official by withdrawing.

It should be a relief — knowing you’re finally free of all those crushing expectations and obligations. And yet ...

Max must read the swirling doubts and fears etched into the tense lines of your body. Because he simply gathers you closer, cradling the back of your head against his broad chest as his free hand strokes over your hip in a soothing caress.

“I know it’s scary, letting go of everything you’ve been groomed for,” he murmurs, the steady thump of his heart under your ear already working its magic in calming your turbulent emotions. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? To be happy?”

Another nod, this one more decisive. Because despite the trepidation gnawing at your resolve, you know deep down that it will be worth escaping the slow atrophy of your spirit.

“Then trust me. Let me take care of you, just like I promised.”

He tilts your chin up until your gazes lock, his eyes burning with so much intensity and conviction that your breath catches.

“Make the call,” he urges in a low rumble, searing you to your core. “Be brave and take the first step towards your freedom. Towards us.”

Us.

The word reverberates through your veins with dizzying potency, stoking the blossoming embers of hope and longing that have been kindled to life under Max’s tender, all-consuming attentions. He’s right — you do want this. Want him and the scorching promise of something more that he offers.

So with a shuddering exhale, you reach for your phone with trembling fingers and scroll through your contacts. It’s only when you tap the university’s number that the vise around your chest constricts.

You’re really doing this. Cutting ties with everything that’s suppressed your true self for so long.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit call.

Max soothes you through every stumbling assurance and confirmation that yes, you’re formally withdrawing from your degree program, effective immediately. When the call ends, he cradles your face in his large, calloused palms and simply holds your gaze as you struggle to get your breathing under control.

Then, slowly, a smile blooms over his striking features.

“Well done, printsesse,” he praises, the rough timbre of his tone reverberating through your very bones. “So brave for me.”

And then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a drugging kiss that swiftly banishes any lingering doubts or regrets thrumming through you. His taste, his scent, his unbridled passion — all of it combines into an intoxicating force that strips everything else away until only sensation remains.

He murmurs silken endearments to you as the desperate, frantic press of his lips gentles into something softer and infinitely more tender. Until finally, he’s simply cradling you close, peppering whisper-light caresses over your brow, your lashes, the flushed apples of your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, gleaming with pride as he drinks in your dazed, thoroughly kissed expression. The profoundly peaceful one you haven’t witnessed on your own features in ages. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

And in that suspended moment, everything else — your father’s disappointment, your uncertain future, and the world at large — fades into irrelevance compared to the serenity of being in Max’s arms. Of having his full attention and accepting the release he offers so freely.

A few hours later, Max is escorting you through the familiar paddock with a possessive hand cupping your lower back. There’s a bounce to your strides that hasn’t existed for longer than you can recall, a giddy sense of lightness like all the burdens you’ve been carrying were finally, blissfully lifted away.

You’re practically glowing, the radiant joy suffusing your every pore in a stark transformation from the tense young woman who fought so hard to hide her unhappiness under a brittle veneer.

So caught up are you in the heady exhilaration of your new lease on life that you very nearly don’t register the familiar, thunderous bellow ringing out over the motorhomes.

“Y/N Wolff! Just what in the hell is going on here?”

The blood drains from your face as your father’s irate voice cleaves through the peaceful moment. Beside you, Max stiffens, his palm searing a brand against the small of your back as he half-turns to face the oncoming storm that is Toto Wolff.

Your father is stalking towards you both with the implacable force of an enraged bull, features contorted into a mask of fury that would cow most grown men into instant submission. But not Max. If anything, his shoulders go back as he shifts incrementally in front of you in a subtle, shielding motion.

“Papa, please let me explain-”

“Explain?” Toto roars as he draws up mere feet away, face mottled and spit flying as his blistering glare swings between you and Max. “Explain why I received an email this morning informing me that my own daughter has willfully withdrawn from the university without so much as consulting me!”

You flinch bodily as if struck, guilt and dread roiling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach. No matter how much he’s stifled you or how right this decision feels, your father’s disapproval is every bit as crippling as you’d feared.

“But Papa ...”

“I have half a mind to cut you off without a cent to your name for this unseemly lack of respect!” Toto’s massive hands are clenched into meaty fists at his sides as he fights visibly to regain control over his temper. “You spoiled, selfish girl. All that I’ve sacrificed to give you every opportunity is being thrown back in my face!”

Beside you, Max has gone rigid with rage at the verbal assault being levied upon you. The set of his jaw and rapid flaring of his nostrils are the only outward signs of the barely leashed fury trembling through his frame.

“Toto,” he bites out in a tone of forced calm that still somehow comes laced with subtle menace. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Y/N is an adult making her own choices ...”

“Enough!” Toto cuts him off with a contemptuous slash of his hand, bristling with scorn as he glares daggers at the younger man. “I should have known you’d have something to do with this blatant disregard for responsibility. Just like a driver to think only with what’s between his legs rather than his brain!”

A shocked hush falls over the paddock as mechanics and crew alike abruptly still at the team principal’s uncharacteristic loss of composure. Never before have they witnessed Toto’s infamous ire directed towards his own daughter and her … well, whatever Max is to you now.

But Max remains supremely unbowed before the fury radiating from the much larger man. If anything, Toto’s words seem to enflame his quiet indignation into something hotter. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists as he takes a bristling half-step forward, fully inserting himself between you and your irate father.

“No, Toto,” he growls, the timbre of his normally lilting accent gone dark and thrumming with promise. “That’s quite enough. You’ll not speak to Y/N like that again — not while I’m here.”

Toto blinks, seeming caught off guard by Max’s outright challenge … before a bark of disbelieving laughter rips from his chest.

When he speaks again, his words are bitten off and cruel. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose,” he sneers in your direction, mouth curled in an ugly sneer. “You’ve become the useless little trophy that I always dreaded having for a daughter. Just another parasite leeching off a wealthy man’s success while contributing nothing of value herself.”

Your breath leaves you in a painful wheeze, like you’ve been gut-punched. Tears of shame and wounded pride prick hotly at the corners of your eyes. Is that really how your own father sees you?

That’s the final straw for Max. With a vicious snarl, he very nearly lunges for Toto — only stopped by your panicked grasp around his rigid forearm and a breathless cry for him to stay back.

“Max! Please!”

The naked anguish bleeding into your voice seems to penetrate his haze of seething fury. He pauses, still trembling with scarcely restrained wrath, but nods once in silent agreement to your desperate plea. Behind his unflinching glower, you can glimpse the simmering promise that your father will face severe retribution in his own due time.

But for now, he forces himself to remain impassive and immovable by your side. No longer antagonizing but issuing a clear warning all the same.

The elder Wolff eyes Max with open disgust before shaking his head violently and spitting onto the concrete floor. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Verstappen. Just you wait. And you!” He wheels on you with fresh outrage blazing in his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I won’t make you regret this ridiculous, childish display! You’re cut off, Y/N. Not a single cent until you return to your senses!”

His final scathing words slice into you like a blade, reopening all the wounds of disappointment and failure that have long festered under his stringent demands. You curl in on yourself with a soft, pained noise, unable to even raise your head properly.

Until Max is there.

Cocooning you protectively in the scorching circle of his arms, he gathers you to his chest and simply … holds you. One hand cradles the back of your skull while the other strokes over your back, soothing and petting until some of the rigid tension seeps from your frame.

“It’s alright, schatje,” he murmurs against your hairline, voice rough yet infinitely tender in a way that has tears stinging hotly against your lashes. “There’s no need for this. I’ve got you, printsesse. You’ll never want for anything, not while I’m here.”

His fierce promise rings with so much conviction, so much quiet authority that it bypasses all your ingrained doubts and hesitancies straight to the hollow pit of worthlessness that’s been carved out within you over the years. Soothing that profound ache and filling it with the warmth of Max’s oath.

Because somewhere in the eye of this turbulent storm, you’ve found your shelter.

“I won’t let him hurt you anymore,” Max continues in that same low, reassuring tone. One hand cradles your nape while the other settles against the small of your back, grounding you against the solidness of his strength. “Never again, I swear it.”

So you let yourself unravel against him, forehead pressed to the steady thrum of his pulse as years’ worth of tears flow unchecked down your cheeks. For the first time, you don’t feel shame or weakness in surrendering so utterly to another’s care and protection.

He murmurs wordless endearments and soothes your disheveled tresses as the storm breaks around you both. Making promises as uncompromising and eternal as the rising of the sun itself.

“Everything will be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’ll sort it all, whatever it takes. This is our new start together. And I’ll never let you go.”

***

For the remainder of the weekend, you’re practically glued to Max’s side in the Red Bull garage. A permanent fixture nestled against his solid bulk, soaking up the quiet strength and support he provides like a soothing balm over the raw, aching wounds left by your father’s scathing vitriol.

With Max, none of the biting insecurities and self-doubts that have plagued you for so long can gain purchase. He simply won’t allow it — not with the way he gathers you up in his embrace at every opportunity, lips constantly seeking out your brow, your temple, the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmurs reassurances too low for anyone else’s ears.

And when it comes time for the lights to go out, Max doesn’t so much as compete as utterly dominate, blowing the rest of the field into the weeds. You watch with breathless awe from your spot in the garage as he carves through the field lap after punishing lap, pulling out a lead that turns him into a missile disappearing over the horizon in a blur of ear-splitting power.

By the final lap, Max is so far ahead that he simply has to bring his car home for a staggering 42 second victory. You’re one of the first to greet him after he clambers from the cockpit, all but throwing yourself into his sweat-slicked embrace with a joyful exclamation the second his boots hit the ground.

The cameras inevitably flock, capturing the moment Max lifts you clean off your feet in a bone-crushing hug as his team erupts into jubilant celebration around you both. But Max’s eyes only have focus for you, darkened and blazing with the same all-consuming intensity that’s been ignited behind his ribs since the first moment you let yourself surrender to him wholly.

Later, once the press obligations and podium formalities are complete, Max bundles you away with brisk efficiency — not even needing to explain where you’re headed. You simply follow his lead, gripping his hand tightly as he shepherds you to a private airstrip where his jet awaits.

Your heart skips erratically as you settle into the plush leather seats and Max seals you both inside the luxurious cabin, shutting out the rest of the clamoring world until it’s only the two of you in your own private oasis. Even after everything that’s happened between you in such a short span, you can’t quite shake the giddy disbelief that any of this is truly real.

But then Max is there, sinking onto the seat beside you and gathering you into his side like you’re made to nestle against him for the rest of time. His calloused palm curves over the nape of your neck, thumb stroking over the flutter of your pulse as he presses his brow to your temple and simply … breathes you in.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he murmurs, so low you feel the rumbling timbre in your bones more than hear it. “Just you and me now.”

The jet engines whine to life, as Max tips your chin up to capture your gaze. You go utterly breathless under the weight of his scorching stare, the fevered grey of his irises swirling with so much naked promise that your pulse kicks up several perilous notches.

“Where are we going?” You somehow find the means to whisper, unconsciously licking your lips in a gesture that has Max’s eyes riveting there hungrily.

Rather than answering right away, he nuzzles his mouth over the delicate line of your jaw until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “Home,” he rumbles, sending delicious shivers cascading through you. “We’re going home to Monaco, schatje. Where you and I can start our new life together.”

Your breath hitches audibly at the raw yearning, the adamant possession threaded through his words. The implication that you — his everything now, just like he is yours — will be shacking up in his private sanctuary away from prying eyes and unending scrutiny.

Just the thought alone has a molten thrill of anticipation blooming low in your belly. To be utterly alone with Max, isolated from the outside world and every toxicity that’s weighed down your every step until now. To finally spread your wings and breathe the first tendrils of long-denied freedom as his partner, unburdened of expectation or judgment for once.

Is there anything you crave more than that?

As if privy to your innermost thoughts, Max shifts until he can cup your face in his palms. The kiss he brushes over your lips is searing yet paradoxically soft around the edges — like he’s sealing an unspoken promise to cherish you wholly. To be your shield from a world too cruel and demanding when left to its own devices.

“Our new beginning,” he murmurs against your mouth, words scalding with the same intensity as his embrace. “I can’t wait to show you our home, printsesse. To have you all to myself for once.”

The plane surges into its takeoff run, leaving the ground behind as Max’s grip tightens incrementally, hands smoothing over the sloped curves of your neck and shoulders. There’s a sense of possession layered into his touch, a heady feeling that twines through your body until everything is gilded in need.

Languidly, he works his way across the cradle of your throat, painting the fragile hollows with the blistering heat of his lips and tongue. You shudder against him, nerves set alight and already keening for more of his undivided worship.

“I have the most gorgeous penthouse overlooking the marina,” he continues on a low purr, lips shaping endearments against your feverish skin. “Sweeping terraces with hot tubs and daybeds where you can lounge and not have a single care, schatje.”

Your lashes flutter closed in a dazed sweep, head tipping back against the plush headrest to allow Max easier access as he lavishes attention along the fragile dips of your collarbones. You can’t process anything beyond the raging heat blazing to life under his coaxing touch, exquisitely overwhelmed in the most delicious way.

“Mmm, and of course it’ll need some changes, no doubt,” Max rumbles, nosing aside the loose fall of your hair to trail open-mouthed kisses along the fragile column of your neck. “New furniture maybe. Whatever strikes your fancy to make it our space.”

He captures your wandering gaze with his own heated one then, a brow cocked in silent invitation. Somehow you gather enough mental function to nod breathlessly, surrendering control over yet another crucial element of your new life to Max’s steady and capable hands.

“Perfect. I’ll have the best interior designers come around to work their magic. That way you won’t have to strain yourself with all those pesky decisions.”

Relief crests through you in an almost dizzying wave at Max’s implicit assurance that he’ll handle everything, as always. That your only role in this brave new world you’ve embraced will be resting peacefully in the shelter of his care and devotion.

As if in reward, Max finally claims your lips in a kiss that scatters what few coherent thoughts still clung to your lust-drunk brain. His hands roam freely, mapping every sloping curve and silken plane as he lays you back against the buttery leather seats to hover over you.

“Don’t worry about a single thing from now on, printsesse,” he vows in a husky rasp, trailing smoldering kisses along the delicate skin over your thundering pulse. “Just let me take the reins and show you a life without all the endless strain and misery you’ve endured.”

His fingers drift up to wind through your tumbled hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp as your eyes drift shut in blissful surrender. You’re floating, suspended in a state of hazy, unfocused euphoria with only Max’s low timbre washing over you.

“I’ll make sure you never want for anything again. That pretty head of yours won’t have to trouble itself over choices or tedious trivialities any longer.” A searing kiss is pressed to each of your fluttering eyelids, like he’s sealing each promise behind the delicate barrier of bone and flesh.

“No decisions, no worries,” he murmurs, nibbling a path down the delicate arch of your cheekbone. “Just bliss and contentment and pleasure as far as the eye can see. You’ll exist only for my warmth and protection from now on. To be cherished every second of every day for the rest of our lives.”

More kisses, like balms of heated adoration poured over your sensitized skin. You keen softly on each breath, body arching helplessly into his skilled caresses as he worships you with his hands and mouth.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he croons, slowly stripping you down to chase the slope and hollow of your form with his lips. Every fevered, burning press sears his devotion into your flesh, your consciousness spiraling inward until only Max’s raspy declarations anchor you in blissful desire.

“Let it all go. Forget everything but this — us, our love, our new start. Nothing but sweet oblivion from now until eternity.��

You shudder, boneless and needy in his cradling embrace even as serenity steals over your limbs. Max’s heated weight on top of you is an anchor keeping you grounded in a sea of molten liquid pleasure, his impossible heat seeming to bleed into your very bones with each passing moment.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” he praises in a voice like rumbling thunder, lips shaping words of adoration against the swell of your navel as your eyelids sag heavily. “So perfect and made for me alone. To take such good care of you from this day until my last, printsesse. To give you the world and then some.”

Unconsciousness beckons, cradling you in its downy soft embrace until only the sound of Max’s worshipful murmurs penetrates the enveloping cocoon of warmth and safety surrounding you. It’s the sweetest surrender imaginable, floating away on a sea of rippling, indulgent bliss with your beloved at the helm to guide you home.

The last threads of awareness slip from your grasp as Max shifts and settles behind you, pillowing you against his chest. With a contented sigh, you burrow deeper into the furnace of his solid strength and let the rhythmic thud of his pulse lull you under. His fingers stroke idle patterns through your hair, the rhythmic sweeps like a metronome steadying your descent into deepest slumber.

“Sleep now, printsesse,” he commands in that same soft, indulgent tone that wraps around your soul. “We’re headed for our paradise.”

His deep rumble quickly lulls you under again, cradled in the safety of his arms. The last coherent thought spinning lazily through the cozy haze enveloping you is one of profound gratitude and trust.

You know, deep in your bones, that Max will make good on his promise to cherish you without reservation. To shield you from expectations and disappointment alike.

So you let his softly murmured endearments and the steady cadence of his heartbeat under your cheek sing you into blissful, worry-free dreams of the life he’s vowed to craft for you both.

It’s everything you’ve ever yearned for yet been too afraid to reach out and claim.

Until Now.

Until Max.

***

The early morning sun filters through the curtains as Max stirs awake. His eyes flutter open and immediately drift to you, lying peacefully beside him. A soft smile plays across his lips as he takes in your features — the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fans out across the pillow. In this moment, you look so beautifully unburdened, free from the worries that so often trouble your mind.

Max reaches out, tenderly brushing a few stray strands from your forehead. You don’t stir, lost in the depths of a dreamless slumber. Good, he thinks. You need this rest, this escape from the harsh realities that have been weighing you down.

His thumb traces along your cheekbone as his mind wanders back to the distressing news a few days prior — your father revoking your paddock access in a bitter act of retaliation. Max’s jaw tightens at the memory of the anguish clouding your eyes when you relayed the email to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Max had said simply, pulling you into his embrace. “You’re with me now.”

And just like that, the tension seeped from your shoulders as you allowed yourself to melt against him, letting his presence anchor you. Max knew then what he had to do — create an oasis for you where none of your troubles could penetrate.

Leaning closer, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple. “Wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “It’s a new day.”

You stir slightly, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness slowly trickles in. Max watches, transfixed, as awareness blooms across your features. For a suspended beat, there is only serene blankness, a clean slate unmarred by the demons that so often still haunt you.

Then your gaze finds his, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in a soft, wondering smile. “Max ...”

“Morning, printsesse.” He brushes his knuckles along your jaw. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, as if trying to grasp at fleeting tendrils of thought. But there is nothing there to catch, only a tranquil emptiness. “Good,” you murmur at last. “Really good.”

Relief washes over Max at the simplicity and peacefulness in your tone. He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. You melt into him, pliant and trusting, and he commits every little thing to memory — the warmth of your skin, the faint taste of sweetness on your tongue, and the way your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair.

When you finally part, you are both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes. They are clear, untroubled pools reflecting back at him.

“That’s it,” he praises softly. “No worries, no stress. Just … here. Present with me.”

You nod, something vulnerable yet beautiful flickering across your features. Max recognizes it as the look you get when you fully surrender yourself to him, allowing him to take the lead, to care for you in the way you so desperately need.

Brushing his thumb across your lower lip, he holds your gaze. “What would you like for breakfast, hmm? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You nibble on your lip for a moment before shaking your head. “Don’t know. You choose.”

His heart clenches at the utter trust in your words. Nodding, he leans down to graze another deep kiss across your mouth before slipping from the sheets. As he pads across the plush hotel carpet to call room service, he can feel the weight of your eyes tracking his every movement.

Once the order is placed, Max returns to the bed, stretching out beside you as he pulls you against his chest. You burrow closer with a contented sigh, looping an arm around his waist.

“What do you want to do until breakfast arrives?” He asks, carding his fingers through your tousled hair.

You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against the bare skin of his torso. “Don’t care,” you mumble drowsily. “Just … this.”

A profound sort of tenderness blooms in Max’s chest. He knows you would be amenable to anything, so long as it allowed you to exist in this carefree, thoughtless state a while longer.

“Alright, then just this,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your crown.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, lazily trading soft caresses and occasional whispered endearments. Max finds himself lulled by the steady thump of your heartbeat against his ribs, the gentle ebb and flow of your breathing.

He has no notion of how much time slips by before there is a crisp rap at the door, jolting you both from the tranquil bubble. Your eyes widen slightly, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Max smooths his palm along the line of your spine. “Just breakfast, nothing to worry about.”

You seem to remember then, the tension melting from your frame as you peer up at him with trusting eyes. He brushes his thumb across the delicate arch of your cheekbone before carefully extricating himself from your embrace to answer the door.

While the server situates the laden cart inside, Max rejoins you on the bed, rearranging the plump pillows behind you so you can sit upright. You immediately slot yourself between his outstretched legs, reclining against his chest. His arms wind around your middle as you both survey the impressive spread laid out before you.

“What looks good?” He prompts, resting his chin atop your head.

You chew your lip for a moment. “I don’t know … everything?”

He chuckles, splaying one hand across your stomach. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to go hungry, now would I? How about we start with this-” He leans over, snagging a ripe strawberry from the platter and holding it to your lips. You part them obediently, eyes sliding shut as you savor the sweet burst of flavor.

Max nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he praises in a low rumble.

You shiver against him, tilting your head in a silent plea for more. He happily obliges, feeding you bite after bite until the platter is decimated. His free hand roams lazily, mapping every dip and swell of your form through the thin cotton of your oversized sleep shirt. All the while, his mouth works along the exposed column of your throat, peppering fervent, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin.

At some point, the scattered remains of your indulgent breakfast lay forgotten on the cart as Max rolls you beneath him, drinking in your breathy whimpers and sighs. He takes his time thoroughly ravishing you until you are both sated and deliciously disheveled.

Eventually, you find yourselves curled together amid the tangled nests of sheets, trading languid kisses and basking in the afterglow. Max strokes his fingers through your hair as your head lolls against his shoulder, expression blissfully serene. Your lashes are dark smudges against your flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted on shallow breaths.

“There she is,” he murmurs, drinking in your debauched beauty. “My sweet girl, all relaxed and happy ...”

Ducking his head, Max nuzzles his nose along your hairline, inhaling your comforting scent. “No thoughts, no cares,” he rumbles against your temple. “Just you and me in this perfect little world.”

You make a soft, wordless sound of agreement, snuggling closer in his embrace. He smiles, gathering you even tighter against his chest, relishing the sensation of your heartbeats falling into sync.

All too soon, however, the tranquil interlude must come to an end. Max glances at the clock, silently calculating how much time remains before he needs to head to the paddock. He heaves a reluctant sigh, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Come on, schatje,” he murmurs. “Time to get ready.”

You blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, still blissfully adrift in your peaceful daze. Warmth blooms in Max’s chest at your guileless expression. He would move mountains to keep you looking this way forever — soft and sated, basking in the afterglow with your head deliciously empty.

“Don’t worry,” he vows, thumbing away the crease furrowing your brow. “I’ll take care of you. You just let your thoughts stay nice and quiet, hmm?”

The worry lines ease from your features as you nod with implicit trust, allowing Max to guide you from the rumpled sheets. He quickly sets about straightening your mussed appearance, dressing you with unhurried tenderness. All the while, you remain pliant and completely biddable in his hands, seemingly unconcerned with anything beyond the present moment.

Once you’re both fresh and presentable, Max slips an arm around your waist, tucking you against his side. You go willingly, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“My good girl,” he praises, mouth brushing your hairline. “Let’s go, keep drifting for me.”

You make a soft, affirmative noise, slipping your hand into his as you allow him to lead the way from the sanctuary of your hotel suite. Max is acutely aware of your body listing bonelessly against his own, of the feather-light brush of your lashes against his jaw every few steps.

He knows others might gawk, might question the almost trancelike state you’ve allowed yourself to sink into. But he couldn’t care less about their muttered judgments. His only priority is ensuring you remain in this safe, blissful headspace for as long as possible.

When you finally reach the paddock, Max ushers you towards a secluded alcove in weRed Bull hospitality. He settles you on a plush loveseat, ensuring you’re situated comfortably. Crouching before you, he smooths his palms along the tops of your thighs, holding your drowsy gaze.

“Wait here for me,” he says, keeping his tone low and soothing. “I’ll come get you before FP3, yeah? Just … stay relaxed. Let your mind stay beautifully empty.”

You blink at him, lips curving in an utterly trusting smile. “Okay, Max.”

His chest constricts powerfully at your dreamy, unguarded expression. Rising on his knees, he cups your face in his hands, claiming your mouth in a gentle kiss. You open for him without hesitation, kissing him back with languid strokes of your tongue.

When you finally part, you are both left slightly breathless. Max strokes his thumbs along the swollen curves of your lower lip as you gaze at him from beneath heavy lids, looking thoroughly ravished and compliant.

“I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “I love seeing you like this — free and happy without all those nasty thoughts plaguing you. It’s just us in our own world. Nothing else matters here, printsesse.”

You keen softly in response, nosing deeper into his touch like a touch-starved kitten. He chuckles indulgently, dropping another lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Stay pretty and sweet for me.”

With one final caress along your jaw, Max tears himself away, walking towards the Red Bull garage with purposeful strides. He can feel the weight of your eyes tracking him until he rounds the corner, can picture the blissful emptiness clouding your features.

The thought bolsters him, lending an extra swagger to his step as he readies himself for the day ahead. For once, he finds himself relishing the familiar paddock chaos, eager to simply immerse himself in the visceral thrill of the sport he loves.

He knows his favorite reward will be waiting when the practice session concludes — your warm, pliant form and those trusting doe eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

***

The next morning, Max wakes with a familiar sense of tranquil purpose. Shifting onto his side, he brushes the tousled hair back from your forehead, drinking in the sight of you sleeping so peacefully beside him. A contented smile curves his lips as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, reveling in how relaxed and unburdened you appear.

He knows today will be demanding — race day always is. But that makes moments like these where he can simply bask in your presence all the more precious. With gentle reverence, Max trails his fingertips along the delicate line of your jaw, tracing the bow of your slightly parted lips.

“Time to wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “Big day ahead.”

You stir with a soft, wordless hum, lashes fluttering. Max feels his breath catch as your eyes open, glassy and unfocused for a few beats before finding his own. Just like that, the furrow between your brows smooths out, leaving your expression blissfully untroubled.

“There you are,” he croons, heart clenching at the naked trust shining back at him. Cupping your cheek, he leans in to brush a soft, lingering kiss across your pliant mouth.

When he pulls back, you’re already chasing his lips with a small, plaintive noise. Max chuckles fondly, combing his fingers through your tousled hair.

“Needy girl,” he teases, though his voice is laced with undisguised affection. “I suppose I’d better take care of that before we have to leave, hmm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond — not that he expects any coherent reply in your current state. No, better to let your thoughts remain deliciously empty as he claims your mouth again in a series of heated kisses.

Max loses himself in the familiar glide of lips and tongue, the quiet whimpers that spill from your throat every time he nips at that sensitive spot just below your ear. He maps every inch of your sleep-warm skin with devoted hands until you are both flushed and panting softly.

Eventually, however, the persistent ticking of the bedside clock drags him back to awareness of the rapidly dwindling time. With a regretful groan, Max tears his mouth from the juncture of your neck, nosing his way along your jaw until he can capture your lips in one final kiss.

“We should get going,” he murmurs against the swollen curve of your lower lip. Though his tone is tinged with reluctance, there’s an unmistakable rasp of command underlying the words.

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and dark, but give a trusting nod. Max feels his chest constrict powerfully at the easy acquiescence. Brushing his thumb in a tender caress across your cheekbone, he slants his mouth over yours once more, coaxing you through several more drugging kisses until your lips are kiss-bitten and slick.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, both breathing heavily. “You’re going to keep feeling this relaxed all day, aren’t you? No nasty thoughts creeping in, just … blissful quiet waiting for me.”

Something like reverence flashes across your features as you nod jerkily, unconsciously worrying your already abused lip between your teeth. Max groans low in his throat, capturing your face between his palms and slanting his mouth over yours in a filthy kiss, all heat and slick friction and desperation.

When he finally manages to tear himself away, you’re rumpled and utterly debauched beneath him, chest heaving. He has to actively resist the urge to simply drag you back under his body, to lose himself in ravishing you until you’re both sated and boneless.

“Gonna make me late for my own race at this rate,” he chides gruffly, though his heated gaze roams indulgently over your prone form.

Levering himself off the bed with obvious reluctance, Max quickly sets about readying the both of you for the day, tugging you along in his wake with firm yet gentle hands. You follow easily, movements loose and languid and so very pliant under his ministrations.

By the time he’s dressed you and seen to your grooming, your features have settled into that slack, dreamy expression he loves so much — eyes glassy and lips slightly parted, not a single worry line creasing your forehead. Perfection.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he rumbles in approval, reeling you into his arms.

You go willingly, slumping bonelessly against his chest with a soft, incoherent murmur. He smiles, nosing into the tousled hair at your crown and inhaling your familiar scent. For a long moment, he simply revels in the sensation of your body melting trustingly into his own, of the steady throb of your pulse against his ribs.

All too soon, however, the hands of the clock continue their march forward. With a rueful sigh, Max presses one last lingering kiss to your hair before reluctantly disentangling himself.

“Come along then, printsesse,” he murmurs, catching your hand and giving a gentle tug. “Time to go.”

You make a soft, wordless noise of agreement, falling into step beside him without a shred of hesitation. Every few paces, you angle yourself closer until your shoulder brushes his bicep, seemingly seeking his solid warmth.

Max feels an indulgent smile tugging at his lips as he slips a possessive arm around your waist, anchoring you against his side. You immediately slot against him, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He can sense the dreamy, unfocused quality of your gaze as it skims over your surroundings, can practically hear the blissful white noise filling your head.

As you exit the hotel and navigate through the throngs of people clustered outside, Max holds you even tighter, letting the murmurs and clicks of camera shutters wash over him in a dull roar. He’s hyperaware of every point where your body molds to his, of the trusting way you tuck yourself into his shelter without so much as a backwards glance.

By the time the two of you reach the circuit, your cheeks are flushed and there’s a becoming sort of dazed softness to your features. Max has to resist the urge to simply tuck you away in some quiet corner, to keep you insulated in this perfect bubble for as long as humanly possible.

But race days are nothing if not a whirlwind of demands and tight schedules. So instead, he ushers you along the serpentine corridors with a sturdy arm locked around your waist, relishing the way you move beside him in that lovely, blissed-out trance.

When you finally reach the motorhome, he deposits you on the leather couch with gentle reverence, taking a moment to situate you with utmost care. You gaze up at him, eyes glassy but utterly trusting as he smooths back the hair from your forehead.

“Wait here for me, hmm?” He murmurs, cupping the line of your jaw. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just keep that pretty head deliciously empty and let me take care of everything else.”

The corner of your mouth curves in a soft, wondering smile before you give a tiny nod of agreement. Unable to resist, Max leans in to capture that gentle upturn between his lips, kissing you deeply until you’re pliant and breathless and unfurling like a flower against his chest.

He has to tear himself away before his precarious restraint snaps. “Good girl,” he praises roughly, drinking in the sight of your dreamy, intoxicated expression before forcing himself to turn away, walking toward the garage with purposeful strides.

The familiar race-day chaos swirls around him in a torrent of noise and movement, but Max easily blocks the distractions from his mind, focusing intently on his preparations. There is something grounding about the rituals, the procedural drive to ready his car and equipment. By the time he emerges onto the grid, he is centered and assured, every ounce of his concentration honed on the inevitable green light.

The race itself is, as always, a heated blur of adrenaline and split-second reflexes. Every nerve ending thrums with that singular focus until he’s drunk on the scream of the engine and the smear of color whipping past his visor.

When he finally returns to parc fermé, it takes Max a disorienting moment to recognize the distant clamor bleeding in from beyond the paddock. Handing his helmet off to a mechanic, he makes his way towards the steadily amplifying sound, chest still heaving from the lingering effects of the endorphin high.

Rounding the corner towards the pits, he’s abruptly met by a scene of utter chaos. People — crews and spectators alike — seem to be converging in a jumbled knot near the Red Bull garage, a strange sort of bristling tension in the air. Max falters for a moment, brow furrowing in bewilderment, when a familiar figure finally emerges in his line of sight.

You.

Your expression is one of naked distress, red splotches staining those beloved cheeks as you seem to shrink in on yourself. Though he can’t make out the words, it’s clear you’re pleading with the imposing figure looming over you.

Your father.

Something protective and ferocious ignites in Max’s chest at the realization. Surging forward, he shoves his way through the ranks of onlookers until he’s at your side, reaching out to splay a steadying hand at the small of your back. You automatically angle into his touch, small tremors wracking your frame. Up close, he can make out the tear tracks streaking your flushed face, the way your lips are bitten and swollen from worrying them raw between your teeth.

“What the hell is going on here?” He demands, shooting a scathing look at your father.

Before Toto can answer, another man steps forward, one Max recognizes as a FIA official. “Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private,” he suggests in clipped tones, eyes darting around at the milling crowd.

A muscle ticks in Toto’s jaw, but he gives a curt nod of assent. Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks away, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow. Max feels your fingers fisting in the back of his sweat-damp suit, clutching him like a lifeline.

Squeezing the nape of your neck in a silent gesture of comfort, he tucks you against his side before falling into step behind the two older men. It galls him to follow their lead instead of simply spiriting you away, but something in your father’s demeanor warns against open defiance. Better to hear them out.

You’re shown to a secluded room just off the main garage bay, fluorescent lights buzzing harshly overhead. The moment the door closes behind the four of you with a hollow thud, Toto whirls with an expression carved from thunderclouds.

“Get your filthy hands off my daughter,” he bites out, eyes flashing dangerously in Max’s direction.

White-hot fury races up Max’s spine, setting every nerve alight. His grip tightens fractionally where his palm is splayed against the dip of your lower back.

“Like hell,” he growls, edging closer until your slight frame is fully bracketed against his own. “She’s trembling because of you.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure this has nothing to do with her being half out of her mind with Lord knows what substances,” Toto sneers. “A fine state to be wandering around the paddock in, isn’t it?”

Max feels you flinch violently against him at the blistering accusation, a wounded sound catching in the back of your throat. Something bright and violent surges in his chest at your obvious distress.

“How dare you,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous as he pulls you flush against his body. “She was perfectly content until you came along and started spouting such vile nonsense. She hasn’t touched anything, you miserable bastard.”

The insult hangs in the airless space as Toto’s complexion darkens several shades. He opens his mouth — no doubt to unleash a scathing volley — when the FIA official hastily interjects.

“Enough,” he cuts in sharply. “This behavior is unacceptable. If there has been some egregious violation, I must ask you both to lay out the facts as you know them so we might get to the bottom of this affair.”

Max’s nostrils flare sharply as he draws a steadying breath. He needs to keep a level head if only for your sake, to prevent this from spiraling any further out of control. Dipping his chin, he angles his mouth against the crown of your bowed head.

“Breathe, schatje,” he murmurs, one hand stroking soothingly up and down the quivering line of your spine as he holds your father’s shrewd gaze.

“There’s been no violation apart from Toto coming at his daughter completely unprovoked,” he asserts, voice steady and clipped. “Her current state is simply the result of being relaxed and free of negative thoughts, something I’d think any parent would want for their child.”

Toto scoffs indelicately, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that what you call completely zoned out and unresponsive? Don’t be absurd. I know perfectly well what that vacant look signifies — early morning drinking or worse. Trying to numb whatever guilt she’s wallowing in after throwing away her entire future like a petulant child.”

Max feels you stiffen, your nails digging half-moons into his bicep. Before he can retort, however, the official clears his throat once more.

“Ms. Wolff,” he addresses you directly. “I’m going to need you to confirm the situation from your own perspective. What is the cause of the … condition your father is alluding to?”

For a tense moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing filling the suffocating silence. Then, warm and tremulous, comes your voice muffled against Max’s collarbone.

“I … haven’t had anything. Really,” you insist shakily. “Max was just … helping me relax. Taking care of me like he always does.”

Toto makes a disgusted, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, mouth already twisting in preparation to unleash another attack. But Max simply holds up a preemptive hand, wholly engrossed in studying the lines of strain bracketing your expression. His thumb grazes the flushed, tear-stained hollow of your cheek as he murmurs a gentle plea, voice dropping into that soft, honeyed register reserved solely for your ears.

“Tell me what you need, printsesse. How can I help chase those nasty thoughts away again?”

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and irises over-bright, clearly struggling to hold his gaze. Max feels his heart clench at the naked torment written across your features as you falter, gnawing anxiously at that already mangled lower lip.

“I … can’t,” you whisper tremulously, a broken quality entering your tone. “It’s too loud. I can’t keep them quiet when he’s like this ...”

The vulnerable little admission lands like a physical blow, momentarily stealing Max’s breath. Gathering you closer, he brushes his mouth along the worry line creasing your forehead.

“I know, schatje, I know,” he soothes, cradling the back of your skull. “But you’re doing so well. So good for me, my sweet girl.”

Slanting his head, Max claims your lips in a slow kiss, trying to lose himself in the familiar glide of skin and breath. When he finally breaks away, you’re already chasing after him, eyes glazed and lips prettily swollen. He feels some of the knots in his gut begin to uncoil as he traces the delicate sweep of your cheekbone.

“Better?” He prods gently.

You make a soft, affirmative sound, nuzzling further into his palm. Max’s lips quirk despite the tension still coiled in his shoulders, relief trickling through him warm and heady.

“Let’s get out of here, hmm?” He suggests, punctuating the question with another lingering press of his mouth against your brow. “Back to the motorhome, just the two of us. You can fully relax again, keep your thoughts quiet and happy.”

Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, he begins walking you backwards towards the exit, keeping his motions unhurried and soothing so as not to trigger another spiral.

“No,” Toto barks in a tone like shattered granite. “She is not going anywhere with you, Verstappen. If she is seriously this mentally addled, then she requires proper treatment, not … whatever sick fantasies you’ve allowed to fester in that depraved mind of yours.”

Max feels you shake like a leaf caught in a violent gale against him at your father’s harsh words. Clenching his jaw, he pivots to put himself bodily between you and that callous glare.

“You’re the one who’s sick if you think for a second I’d ever let anything hurt her,” he bites out in a tone laced with venom. “All I’ve done is try to give her the peace and respite she so desperately needs. If that’s a crime, then throw me in a fucking prison.”

Toto sneers, eyes glinting with undisguised contempt. “Don’t play the martyr with me. We both know exactly what kind of sordid games you’ve been playing while her mind is so clearly compromised.”

Max feels his face flush in outrage, desire to throttle your father warring with the need to keep you sheltered away from any further vitriol. He opens his mouth, another blistering retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, when a warm weight presses against his back.

Looking over his shoulder, he finds you peering up at him beseechingly, tears clinging to those thick lashes. Max’s expression immediately crumples into something infinitely softer, gentler around the edges.

“Please … I j-just want to go,” you stammer in a tiny voice, fingers bunching in his race suit. “No more yelling. I can’t … I c-can’t ...”

Your breath hitches in a wounded sound as your eyes skitter away from his, clouding over once more with panic and distress. It’s like a physical blow to Max’s ribs, stealing what little oxygen remains in the claustrophobic space.

Spinning on his heel, he crowds you backward until your trembling frame is braced against the wall. With an approximation of tenderness he hoped you’d find grounding, Max frames your face between his palms as he ducks his head, searching out your skittish gaze.

“Shh, hey … look at me, printsesse,” he croons, ducking to burrow his nose against your hairline. “Just focus on me, alright? That’s my good girl.”

He can feel the fine tremors wracking you even as he gentles your head into the crook of his neck, splaying one broad palm over the rapid flutter of your pulse. Max shushes you through another hiccuping sob, rocking your pliant weight against his as he whispers nonsensical endearments into your hair.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he soothes without ceasing the soothing motions. “I’ve got you. Deep breaths for me, there we go ...”

Gradually, he feels some of the tension ebb from your rigid muscles until you sag fully into his embrace, boneless and pliant once more. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Max finds Toto watching you with an inscrutable expression, frustration and something else he can’t quite name churning in those flinty eyes.

Uncaring of his scrutiny, Max returns his attention to mapping the curves of your face with reverent fingers, gentling you back into that headspace of tranquil bliss.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against the seam of your lips. “Let everything else just … drift away. We’re going back to our sanctuary, yeah? Nice and peaceful, with all those thoughts gone quiet where they belong.”

He can see the worry lines slowly beginning to smooth from your brow, tension bleeding from your frame as his words seep in like a balm. Smiling softly, Max dips his head to capture your mouth in a series of deep, lingering kisses, savoring the addictive little sounds you make against his questing tongue.

“Mr. Verstappen,” a gruff voice cuts in, effectively shattering the lush, private bubble.

Tearing his lips from yours with obvious reluctance, Max twists to slant a scathing glare at the FIA official. He keeps one arm locked securely around your waist, refusing to relinquish an inch of the soothing skin-to-skin contact despite the interruption.

The official holds up a placating hand. “I’m going to have to ask you both to exit the premises for the time being. At least until whatever … this situation is has been resolved to a reasonable degree.”

Max opens his mouth to protest, but you choose that moment to whine softly, nosing against his jaw in search of his lips once more. A hot lance of protectiveness surges through his core. Swallowing back the words on the tip of his tongue, he gives a terse nod.

“We’re leaving. Don’t try to touch her again.”

He punctuates the thinly veiled warning by curling possessively around your smaller frame, tucking you against his side as he propels you towards the door with urgency. You keep up easily enough, still deliciously pliant and soothed by his touch if the lingering glazed look in your eyes is anything to go bye.

As the heavy door clicks shut behind you, Max doesn’t spare a backwards glance. His sole focus is getting you back to the sanctity of his private quarters, away from the scrutiny and toxicity currently swirling in the paddock. One hand splays protectively over the dip of your waist as you move, the other coming up to shelter the back of your head.

“Nearly there, schatje,” he murmurs into your hairline as he blankets you in the solid warmth of his body. “Just a bit further and we’ll be all alone, just how you like it.”

You hum in what he chooses to interpret as agreement, pushing up onto your toes to nose along the sharp line of his jaw. Max groans low in his throat, slowing his strides so he can tug you abruptly into his chest. Your mouth falls open on a soft gasp, which he eagerly swallows with a filthy slide of his tongue.

When he finally wrenches himself away, you’re panting and glassy-eyed, lips bitten and swollen to a lush pout. Tutting under his breath, Max traces the abused swell with the pad of his thumb, pupils darkening to fathomless black pools as he drinks in your wanton appearance.

“Need to stop doing that, sweet thing,” he chides in a low rasp. “Don’t want to tempt me into having my way you right here in the corridor, now do we?”

Twin spots of color immediately bloom in your cheeks as you emit a strangled little sound, thighs clenching convulsively for a dizzying heartbeat. He chuckles, low and wicked, before slanting his mouth over that sinful jut of your lower lip, sucking the swollen flesh between his teeth.

“Soon,” he vows roughly, nipping at the tender skin. “We’ll be alone and I can take care of that delicious ache properly. Would you like that, printsesse? To let me coax all those nasty thoughts back into pretty oblivion?”

You make a small, wanting sound against the sweep of his tongue, fingers clenching convulsively in the fabric of his race suit. Max hums in wordless approval, momentarily losing himself in reacquainting his senses with every lush corner of your mouth.

It isn’t until Max feels the hard planes of his driver’s room door against his back that he bothers dragging himself from the sensual haze. Panting harshly, he brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your flushed brow, unable to resist dipping in for one more searing, open-mouthed kiss.

“Inside,” he growls when you part with a trembling inhale. “Now.”

You nod jerkily, eyes glassy and unfocused even as you chase his lips with a tiny, needy noise. Max gentles you backwards over the threshold with firm, steadying hands until you’re situated within the blessedly muffled quiet of his temporary sanctuary.

Distantly, he registers the faint sounds of celebration filtering up from the track, but they seem muffled and inconsequential compared to the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his palms.

Trailing one hand up the slender column of your throat, Max tilts your chin until your gaze meets his own. “You’re alright now, sweet girl,” he soothes, tracing the line of your lower lip. “Just us, safe and sound away from all the noise.”

You make a soft sound of agreement, instinctively pressing closer until your bodies are flush, every pliant curve molded to his hard planes. Max groans at the exquisite friction, hands spanning your waist to tug you even tighter against his burgeoning arousal.

“That’s it, stay right here with me,” he rumbles against the swell of your parted lips. “Let everything else drift away until there’s nothing left but my voice in that pretty head.”

Slanting his mouth over yours, Max proceeds to chase every lingering thread of tension from your frame with deep, indulgent sweeps of his tongue. He maps every intimate detail until you’re pliant and breathy in his arms once more, limp and trusting as a ragdoll.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, resting his brow against yours. “You’re doing so well, staying nice and floaty for me even after … everything.”

You blink up at him, that soft, dreamy haze already stealing back over your features. Max’s chest constricts powerfully at the naked adoration shining back at him, the implicit trust written in every fluid line of your body.

“Max ...” you breathe, the single syllable somehow encompassing a wealth of devotion and longing.

He hushes you gently with another toe-curling kiss, reveling in the way your mouth instantly softens and opens for the insistent sweep of his tongue. When he finally pulls back, the rigid lines of strain have melted from your expression, leaving only that beloved, blissful tranquility in their wake.

“There you are,” Max rumbles in approval, thumbing away the dampness still clinging to those long lashes. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. Nothing but beauty and peace between those lovely ears.”

You make a small, incoherent sound of agreement, already drifting back into that lush, thoughtless headspace under his ministrations. Unable to resist, Max ducks his head to mouth along the line of your throat, laving hot, openmouthed kisses over the wildly fluttering pulse point.

“I’ve got you, schatje,” he mutters between kitten licks and nips. “Not going to let a single ugly thought spoil this lovely blank canvas. You’re perfect like this, all soft and sweet with nothing rattling around in that pretty head but oblivion.”

His words seem to spur a full-body tremor that ricochets through your slender frame. You whimper brokenly against the crown of his hair, hips stuttering forward in mute pleading as your nails score desperate half-moons against the taut cords of his biceps.

“Please,” you whisper in a wrecked tone that goes straight to Max’s groin. “Need you ...”

“Soon, printsesse,” he promises in a low rasp. Though it takes every ounce of his negligible restraint, he continues blazing a scorching path down the exposed column of your neck and across the elegant jut of your collarbones instead of hauling you against him. “Let me take care of you properly first, yeah? Want you floaty and boneless for me.”

You make a whimpery sound of agreement, one hand uncurling to fist in the damp hair at his nape. Max hisses at the sharp sting, retaliating by capturing the pulse fluttering in the hollow of your throat between his teeth. He nips at the tender flesh until your breath is coming in shallow, hitching gasps, every muscle turned liquid and quivering in his arms.

“Good,” he croons in approval once you’re thoroughly debauched, sparing a moment to take in your wrecked appearance with heated appreciation. “My perfect girl, so prettily unraveled for me already.”

With exquisite care, he traces the bow of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb until they part on a shuddery indrawn breath.

“Stay just like this,” he rumbles in that same dark timbre. “Let your mind drift. Never been more beautiful than when your thoughts are gone all hazy like this.”

You blink up at him, plush lower lip caught between your teeth in that completely docile way. Max rewards your compliance by angling your head to the side, nosing at your neck as he breathes deep of your tantalizing scent.

His hands skate down in blazing trails until they settle with light possessiveness at your waist, bracketing you fully against the solid wall of his chest. You keen softly at the contact, arching on pure instinct as you go pliant in his embrace.

“That’s it,” Max praises, hot and heated against the sensitive hollow below your ear. “Just let it all drift away while I make you feel good.”

Dipping his chin, he seals his mouth over yours in a series of drugging kisses, spine going liquid at your breathy whimpers. He loses track of everything — time, the muted noises of celebration filtering in from outside, even his own name — as his entire universe narrows to the slick glide of your tongue, the warmth of your body twining insistently around his own.

When he finally drags himself back from the precipice of mindless want, you’re boneless in his arms, flushed and trembling and so exquisitely unraveled. Max rakes his teeth over his lower lip as he takes in the picture you make — hair hopelessly tousled, lips swollen to an obscene pout, eyes glassy and dazed as they struggle to focus on his face.

“Look at you,” he husks in mingled awe and possessive pride. “Gone all sweet and floaty again, hmm? Not a single thought left in this little head of yours.”

As if in confirmation, you slur out a low, affirmative hum, butting your flushed cheek against his sternum in search of more contact. The sight sends a hot pulse of want ricocheting through Max’s veins. He barely tamps down a groan as he crushes you closer, driving your pliant body into the solid surface at your back.

“Beautiful, inside and out,” he rasps against the slick curve of your throat. “Every inch of you is perfect like this, schatje, and I’m the luckiest bastard alive to be the one allowed to see you come so utterly undone.”

***

Three Months Later

Toto rounds the corner onto one of Monaco’s picture-perfect side streets, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy of leafy trees lining the cobblestones. His strides are clipped and purposeful as he navigates the throngs of lingering brunchers and slack jawed tourists.

He’s due for a terse meeting with several FIA officials in half an hour’s time to hash out the latest regulatory adjustments for next season. Not exactly how he’d envisioned spending his free weekend in the principality, but such was the relentless reality of his position.

As he approaches a charming little bistro tucked into a sunlit alcove, something within the open-air seating area snags his peripheral attention. Toto’s steps falter as a very familiar figure swims into focus — a beautiful young woman with features he knows better than his own.

You.

His stomach churns violently as he instinctively follows your line of sight to the man tucked intimately against your side. Max freaking Verstappen, of course, lounging there like he hasn’t a care in the world with one arm slung proprietarily across the back of your chair.

Toto feels his jaw clench harder with every passing second as he reluctantly catalogs the scene playing out not twenty paces away. You’re turned towards the Red Bull driver in clear invitation, chin tilted up and lips slightly parted in apparent submission as he lifts a forkful of food to your waiting mouth.

Despite the simmer of nausea roiling in his gut, Toto can’t seem to tear his gaze away, some morbid fascination taking hold. He watches, bile burning at the back of his throat, as Verstappen tips the bite between your lips with a gentleness that borders on reverence. A blissful sort of smile curves your mouth as you chew, eyes drifting to shut in an expression of utter serenity.

When you finally swallow, Verstappen leans in to chase the lingering crumbs from your lips with a series of indulgent, smoldering kisses. You allow it with blasé ease, cheeks flushing prettily as he nuzzles deeper into the cradle of your throat.

“Sickening,” Toto mutters through gritted teeth, only to have the words choked off as your breathy giggle floats across the open space between you.

He’s frozen in place, jaw clamped shut and eyes blazing, as Verstappen captures your face in one broad palm with a wicked curl to his lips. Leaning in until your noses brush, he appears to rumble something too faint to carry over the ambient chatter.

Your responding smile is incandescent enough to momentarily steal Toto’s breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such pure joy light up those beloved features — not since those early summer afternoons when you were barely tall enough to see over the mechanics’ workbenches, giggling as he spun you in looping circles around the garage.

The imagery dissipates like smoke in a strong wind as Verstappen slants his mouth over yours, mercilessly chasing every last vestige of warmth and innocence until you’re left utterly ravaged. You drink him in with all the unrestrained fervor of the desperately parched, breaths coming in harsh little pants between every slick glide of lips and tongue.

Toto can only look on in mute revulsion as the Red Bull bastard sets about methodically staking his claim. One broad palm spans the curve of your jaw to better angle your head while the other strokes in bold caresses down the line of your arm and hip, searing brand of possession seared across every inch of skin. You arch into the contact, boneless and malleable beneath his sure ministrations.

When Verstappen finally releases you, your lips are bright and bitten, pupils blown wide into unfocused pools. Max clucks his tongue in wordless approval, thumbing away the dampness clinging to your lower lashes before dipping in for one more lingering peck.

A strangled noise startles from Toto’s throat despite his best efforts. Instantly, those predator’s eyes swing towards him, glittering with something perilously close to challenge.

Your gaze follows a moment later, drifting over Toto’s rigid stance in lazy, disinterested consideration. He expects a flicker of chagrin, even fleeting shame to ripple across your expression at being caught so indecently compromised. Instead, your lips curve into that same serene, soppy beam as you burrow deeper into Verstappen’s side.

The world seems to tilt sickeningly sideways as Toto watches his own flesh and blood regard him like a stranger, a foreign entity to be blithely disregarded. Verstappen, for his part, tilts his head in an almost confrontational motion as his fingers begin carding through your hair with a revolting air of indulgent possession.

Toto wants to scream, to rage and howl until someone — anyone — understands the utter travesty of what he’s just witnessed. But something has knotted itself viciously around his vocal cords so that all he can seem to produce is a low, garbled rasp.

So he turns on his heel instead, gritting his teeth against the swell of fury threatening to choke him from the inside out as he stalks away. Every step rebounds through his hollow ribcage with echoing finality, punctuated by the sickly sweet chime of your laughter ringing in his wake.

He can’t even recognize his daughter anymore. And, much to his disgust, you seem to prefer it that way.

2K notes · View notes

rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months

Text

favorite girl to see

words: 700

warnings: implied sex, cart girl!reader, soft!rafe, fluffy

“hey boys.” you grin as you greet them all, but your eye is on one boy in particular.

“there's my favorite girl to see.” rafe smiles, quickly putting his putter back in his golf bag.

you roll your eyes despite your cheeks blushing. “you just like me because i bring you drinks.”

“nope.” rafe shakes his head, walking closer to you as you stay sat in the cart, worried your knees would buckle if you tried to stand up with his full attention on you. “otherwise id say that to all the cart girls.”

“mmm, and you don't?” you raise your eyebrows.

“absolutely not.” rafe scoffs like it's a ridiculous notion.

“what'll it be for you today?” you ask rafe, standing carefully and rounding the golf cart to the drinks area, opening up the cooler, expecting to grab him a high noon or white claw like usual.

“just a water, actually.” rafe turns to look at his friend he's golfing with. you don't even glance away from rafes perfectly chiseled features. “anything for you top?”

“im good.”

“one water it is.” you dig out a bottle from the melting ice, taking a towel and drying off the sides so you don't have a wet drink to rafe.

“so kind.” he coos, reaching into his wallet.

“rafe-” you sigh, already knowing what is coming as he pulls out a hundred dollar bill.

“nope.” rafe says, stuffing the bill into your hand. “take it. a tip for my favorite girl to see.”

“the water is like five bucks, this is a ridiculous tip.” you state, always trying to argue against the way rafe tips you, knowing you'll end up conceding and taking it.

“well, if it makes you feel better about it, there is something else you can do for me.”

“hm?” you question as rafe pulls out his phone, taps a few buttons, and then hands it to you.

“put your number in.”

-- 6 months later --

you look around the golf course, having taken a later shift instead of the early one you're used to. you're getting out on the green much later than normal, trying to spot your regulars, one in particular.

you put your cart into drive the moment you see him, skipping by any other groups who may be trying to buy something. you'll loop back later to get their orders, but your sole focus is on one man.

“rafe.” you hop out your cart, giving a quick look around before jumping into his open arms, knowing while employee member relationships are technically against the rules, rafe could pull a few strings if anyone ever tattled on you.

“my girl.” rafes smile is infectious, especially as his hands drop down to squeeze your ass over your skirt, pulling your hips right up against his. “you're here late.”

“let's just say someone kept me up late last night.” you giggle, pressing a kiss to rafes lips, knowing he's the reason you had to switch shifts this morning.

rafe deepens the kiss, one hand coming to the back of your neck to keep you close as his mouth covers yours, lips and tongue gliding against each other.

“babe-” you sigh, pulling away.

“yeah, i know.” rafe steps away, knowing you only allow so much pda when you're at work.

it's one of the reasons rafe tried to convince you to quit many times, insisting you didn't need to work now that you had him, but you like picking up a few hours every week.

“what can i get you?” you ask, taking his hand in yours and tugging him towards the cart.

“another kiss.” rafe smiles. you roll your eyes and press a quick peck to his lips.

“and to drink?”

“gatorade, i guess.” rafe shrugs. “im also kinda tired from last night.”

you don't miss the wink that he gives you as you fish out his drink.

rafe grabs his wallet from his back pocket as you let out a groan, knowing what is to come, his tipping habits not changing one bit despite being together.

“what?” rafe says, handing you the large bill, knowing he'll take you shopping later to spend it. “i want to make sure you give better service to me than any of these old bastards.”

“speaking of service-” you get on your tiptoes and whisper into rafes ear. “meet me in the employee break room in 30?”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 5 months

Note

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.”

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown.

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better.

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her.

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug.

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted.

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum?

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise.

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.”

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear.

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?”

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits.

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.”

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks.

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.”

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.”

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.”

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment.

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

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matchamiko · 5 months

Text

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Lucky Undies

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: oral sex ( f -> receiving) m.masturbation, mentions height difference (reader implied shorter than Aizawa), reader implied big belly, thighs + ass (ie. not skinny), prev. established relationship, sooooo self-indulgent don’t look at me

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Note: disgusted with myself honestly.

“What are those?”

You stop in your tracks, toothbrush lodged in your cheek and foam threatening to drip down your chin.

Aizawa stands behind you in the bathroom doorway, eyes trained dark on the tug of your sleep shirt over your ass. Spitting into the skin, bending lower and offering more of a view, you finish washing your mouth with heat all over your face,

“I didn’t have anything else clean, s’all I got,” you explain yourself, eyes connecting with his in the mirror,

“And they’re your last resort because?” Arms folded over his broad chest sprayed with dark hair, Aizawa cocks his hip against the doorway, eyes never leaving the peak of your asscheek from beneath the t-shirt. It’s his and it’s soft and he offered it to you on your first sleepover years ago, a little tighter round the middle now but still long enough to pass as a nightie.

“They don’t fit!” You resort with embarrassment, “they pinch my hips and they go up my butt ‘nd roll down my belly if I bend down or even move,” you feel as though there’s steam hissing from your ears, suddenly regretting even putting on the offending underwear. You’d miscounted your laundry days and found yourself wearing either silky lingerie or old high legged cheeky style undies that were a very adorable baby pink and sported a little red rose at the front. Usually you wore comfortable high rise with a trusty band and often times sensible colours so to not show through your chosen trousers or skirts of the day. Maybe you’d wear a thong if you felt adventurous but comfort was key in your relationship with underwear, and being with Aizawa for so long helped you not only explore that a little bit but also enabled you to stay comfortable without judgement or ridicule.

And Aizawa liked your plain underwear, didn’t care much for it really because all he often wanted was them off or not even on in the first place. Complaining about his partners choice in underwear was beneath him; he’s a man, he’s mature and he’d much rather eat your pussy than muse over what’s covering it.

But these? He’s not seen these before.

“Cute,” he says with a gravelly voice, stalking forwards slowly, “you look cute,”

Biting your lip, you shake your head,

“I’ll just put some gym shorts on and do a quick wash, s’stupid to even try to do anything in these,” you grumble dejectedly, turning and even in your limited movements, the seam tugs over your cheek and makes you cringe.

But Aizawa is as sturdy as he is stubborn, a wall preventing you from leaving and a large hand sits heavy and inviting on your hip.

“I said you look cute,” he says pointedly, “not just the underwear, but you in general, seeing your skin makes me - desperate,”

That hand smoothes under your sleep shirt, fingering the thin, stretchy band of the panties with a heavy breath in his chest. The harder he pulls the band, the higher up your hip they go and the further up your -

“They’re just panties Shouta,” you blink up at him, leaning closer to ease his fondling, “stupid uncomfable panties that is,”

“Shh,” Aizawa kisses you quiet, a peck to keep you satisfied while his other hand drifts over to your ass, fisting the fat and spreading you meanly, “just - lemme look for a sec,”

His eyes catch the flash of your asshole in the mirror, panties caught taught and high over your ass and he groans low and deep from his belly. You clear your throat and whimper when he buries his face into your neck, teeth scraping the delicate skin there. Then - his hand rounds to your stomach, fiddling with the little silky rose before tickling the exposed skin of your belly from where the panties had dislodged and folded down.

He doesn’t often explore you this selfishly, having listened to your qualms and insecurities over your body, doing it to prove that no weight could distance him from desiring your body. But he touches you with a filthy selfish agenda and filthier moans.

Thick fingers tease you over the fabric, slippery with your arousal, sliding between your folds and circling your clit with loud little click. It’s shameful how turned on you are at his exploration of your underwear, but he’s no better; hard and heavy and leaking against your hip. ‘Nd when you look down, mewling at the thick forearm jammed between your cushiony thighs, you can see the flushed tip of his cock peaking from the sagging waistband of his underwear, black and tight and baring a hole just above the seam on his thigh.

And suddenly you understand exactly how Aizawa feels with you in underwear he’s never seen before. Because those are boxers you bought him three christmases ago and are also a result of not doing laundry often enough. And when you look up at him with your hand squeezing him through the thin fabric; your shameful desperation is reflected in his eyes.

All too suddenly, Aizawa is on his knees and your lower back is cradled uncomfortably against the bathroom counter, and he’s all up between your thighs with devastating groans and grunts.

“Taste’s fuckin’ divine,” his tongue is hot and so wet against the gusset of your underwear, pulled tight over your cunt and practically frothing with how aroused you are. One hand cups your ass and spreads you, the other is crude and sharply tugging on his cock. At the taste of you. At the smell of you. Nipping your clit through the fabric and sucking hard enough to send you shuddering and shaking right down to your toes.

“Shouta ! S’too much !” You grip the top of his head, hair tangled from sleep but the tugging of the knots seem to encourage him, groaning into your cunt and huffing deep agonising breaths against your pubis. You’re on your tiptoes, one leg lifting a little even to give him space and Aizawa shuffles closer on his knees, haphazardly throwing your leg over his broad, sinewy shoulder.

It’s almost like the sensations are muted, dulled through the thin fabric of your panties. But they’re still there and you fumble with your shirt for a moment before lifting it and tucking the hem beneath your chin so you can look down, down at your boyfriend so eagerly and so messily slurping at your pussy.

He’s feral like this, eyes fluttering and nose pressed hard into your clit, tongue trying to rip through into you but failing miserably. Or not, as it seems that wasn’t his goal, simply content with tasting you through the panties that had entrapped him so suddenly. You couldn’t even feel confused and weird at his random bout of arousal over your too-small panties, too thrummed with pleasure and the shivers of an orgasm to really deep dive it.

It rears its head slowly, but with a strength you’d yet to experience before. All suction and desperate licks, moans and grunts vibrating you just enough to send you jerking into his mouth. Hips moving on their own, tits falling from the grasp of your shirt and shuddering with your movements. Your underwear slips and tugs harshly as you grind through your orgasm, pulled taught only by Aizawa’s insistent tongue and fingers. He seemed to have given up on his own pleasure, or got enough from watching and tasting you, both hands clutching your thighs around his head.

“Let up, oh my god, give me a sec Shouta,” you’re still panting hard, limbs boneless and belly throbbing with every aftershock, cunt fluttering against the sodden and stained panties, “you’re such a - now I really don’t have anything to wear today,”

Your words die from a telling off to a small sigh at the sight of him, drunk on the sight and taste of you. His eyes are heavy, mouth open and shining with your spend, cheeks flushed and chest heaving,

“Good news for me then,” he stands with a grunt, coming in close enough for you to smell the remnants of your orgasm on his lower face - but he doesn’t kiss you. Instead massaging your hips and the tangled band of your underwear, “I’m having you on my face next, ‘nd keep these on,”

He’s a pervert really, snapping the band and making you tut in disapproval. But as you follow him into the bedroom with a sheepish grin and nervous lust building in your chest; you realise you are too, for letting him indulge in this and letting him.

#I lied I wrote this sorry I got weird about my undies earlier #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa x reader #Aizawa smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha smut #miko.writes #this is so bad I’m so sorry

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fawnindawn · 6 months

Text

even at our worst, we know we'll still be okay (luke castellan x apollo fem! reader)

summary: Where Percy's insistent pestering forces Luke to rethink on his possibly not platonic feelings for you, his best friend, and Percy's questions are answered for him with Luke's reaction to you being heavily injured on your return from your quest.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

a/n: i'm actually in love with this, maybe it's just the friends-to-lovers in me (where a love confession happens because one of them was near death's door-) but man.. also, i love including percy so much he's such a kid.

masterlist for this series next

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Face it, man. You're whipped."

Percy watched Luke choke on his water, coughing as he tried to swallow past the sudden accusation. Wiping at the excess that dripped past his chin, Luke raised a brow at Percy.

"Whipped? For who?" Luke questioned, eyes averting and staring straight ahead, beyond the training grounds towards the meadows in the distance, seemingly searching for something or just doing a poor job at avoiding Percy’s unimpressed stare.

“I’m not blind, as much as Annabeth claims, to this...love stuff.” Percy huffed, half in exasperation and half in exhaustion as he leaned forward using his sword to balance himself. “You’ve been depressed ever since she left for her quest.”

Luke doesn’t need to hear your name to know who Percy was referring to. It’s been weeks since you were chosen by your father, Apollo, to descend on some mighty quest to fetch back his lyre that had been stolen. It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous quest, but Luke had felt his gut sinking when he first heard the news from you.

“Why does he need to send you out there, where you could possibly be tracked down by monsters to get back a musical instrument of all things?” Luke snapped, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his curls, pacing back and forth in the Hermes Cabin, while you laid on his mattress looking undeniably calmer than he was.

“Luke, my dad won’t purposely send me on some death trap. I'll be fine.” You tried to reassure him, waiting for him to calm down in his pacing before you extended your hands in his direction right as he turned to make another round through the cabin for the seventh time. “Hey, come here.” You gestured. “Sit with me.”

He hesitated, stopping in his tracks as he finally took the time to look at you, noting your concerned expression at him. As if you weren’t about to descend on some ridiculous quest to god knows where all because your father couldn’t pluck up the effort to collect the instrument himself.

The longer your hands stayed outstretched for him, the more his anger and frustration dissolved into the overwhelming need to be near you. One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s laying in bed with you, your arms wrapped around him to stabilise him even though he should be the stronger one. The one to look out for you.

Laying his head on your shoulder as he wrapped one of his fingers around your hair, curling it in his palms, he spoke again in a soft whisper only for you to hear. “I’m worried.”

“I know.” You responded, your hands tracing at the curve of his shoulder, stopping at his collarbone, before your finger moved to tilt his face by the chin to look at you. “You trust me, right?” You ask, knowing his answer but wanting to hear the reassurance all the same.

“Course' I do.” He replied immediately, his eyes intense as he made eye contact with you. That was without question. You could ask him to walk into blazing flames, and he'd trust you would ask for good reason.

“Then you can trust that I’ll make it back alive.”

“Alive can mean lots of things.” He muttered, his eyes growing distant, the ghost of blood and a stinging burn running down the half of his face appearing uninvited in his mind.

“I’ll make it back alive and unharmed.” You reiterated, a knowing look in your eyes as you unconsciously traced at his scar, leaving warmth where it resides, making him shiver instinctively. “It’s a promise, Luke.”

He stayed silent, before slowly moving his hand to cup yours that rested over his scar. “I’m counting on it, sunshine.”

That promise rested over Luke’s conscience, gnawing at the back of his heels, chasing him daily from the early hours as he forced himself not to break over the stress and anxiety before putting on his golden boy facade, to pretend that he wasn't constantly distracted and nauseous over the thought of something happening to you without him being there to protect you.

He would've snuck out of camp if he could, just to find you, but Chiron had been tight-lipped on your destination, his all-knowing gaze piercing right through Luke when he had tried to nonchalantly ask about your whereabouts.

"I wish I could help you, Luke." Chiron had told Luke a few days after you had gone. "However, Apollo's request was clear. Only she shall take on this quest. No one else." The pin-point gaze Chiron had locked onto Luke made it clear he was talking about him.

"I am not whipped." Luke denied. "She's my friend. Like how you're my friend."

"I don't think your friendship with her is normal though." Percy fired back quickly, sipping on his own water as if he didn't casually demolish the older boy. "I swear I caught you bringing her back after curfew to your cabin, a few times in fact."

Luke felt his cheeks flush at Percy's sudden interrogation, smashing facts after facts on an early Tuesday morning. "I've been having.. nightmares lately. She's the only one who keeps them away." He didn't know why he felt like he had to explain himself to the kid, but the longer his friendship with you went under fire, the faster he wanted to get out of this conversation.

"You don't think that's something you should think deeper about?" Percy muttered with a shrug.

Luke is left speechless, his mind short-cutting at the sudden implication of.. him feeling something more for you? His most recent memories flashed through his mind. You tucked under his blanket as you laid beside him for the last night before your quest, a sleepy smile etched on your lips before you whispered him goodnight and he pulled you into his chest so he could feel your heart beating against his to push away any tricks currently playing on his mind, bringing light to how you're the only person he believes could calm him down and bring him peace-

"She's my best friend." Luke replied, more to himself than to Percy. "I'm just worried for her. A quest like that shouldn't take so long, and I keep imagining-"

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to say his fears out in the open in fear that his words would jinx it, but Percy knew where he was getting at. Percy inched closer to Luke, moving to pat him awkwardly on the back in an effort to comfort him. "It's normal to be worried. From what I heard from Annabeth, you two are really close. I didn't have much conversations with her before she left, but she seems brave, and smart too. I have no doubts she'll make it back. If she's half as good as you, there's no way she wouldn't."

Luke felt a real smile crossing his face, the corners of his lips quirked up at Percy's words. "She's not half as good- she is better than me." He turned to look at Percy, that shine in his eyes noticeable as he talked about you. "Don't let her hear that when she gets back though, she'll talk my ear off for ages."

Percy returned his own smile, elated to see Luke have some improvement in his mood, proof being the first genuine smile Percy's seen in weeks coming from him.

"So.. do you want to stop for today?" Percy attempted with a casual tone.

"Why? Backing out already?" Luke teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he inched towards the kid jokingly with his sword raised.

"No!" Percy denied frantically. "I swear I'm not using the sympathy card as an excuse to get out of training-"

The sounds of a horn cut off his words, groaning across the camp, reaching the training grounds in record time. Luke felt his heart palpitate, nearly crashing into his rib cage.

He barely had time to think, yelling to Percy with urgency flying off his tongue. "Catch you later, Perce!" Then, he was off, his legs carrying him up the hills and back towards the camp entrance.

He heard Percy yell his name in confusion, but he could apologise later for his sudden departure.

You had come back to him.

The journey seemed too long, his shoes scrambling for ground, barely scraping the dirt as he ran towards the front of camp. He didn't know what to expect, a celebration with cheers from the other campers on your arrival, a glimpse of your face with that smile he loves. What he didn't expect was the silence as he came towards a slow jog before ultimately stopping at what seemed to be a crowd gathering around something- or someone.

He pushed his way through, barely making the effort to apologise over the thought of seeing you. His eyes finally caught onto what the onlookers were staring at, and his heart dropped.

You laid on the ground, passed out with what seemed to be dark, angry coils covering your skin, ranging from your neck to the outstretch of your back that was exposed from the gash in your shirt. That stupid lyre laid not too far from you, its golden strings ripped apart.

The sound that tore from his throat barely sounded like his voice, yelling out your name as he pushed through the final barrier in the crowd before reaching for you. He nearly made it before someone dragged him back, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

The curses that left Luke's mouth would make anyone wince, and he had to resist the urge to punch whoever was holding him back as he twisted his head to face his repressor. "Chris! Get out of my way." Luke hissed, still trying to make his way to you, fury twisting in his gut as he couldn't fathom why no one's helped you yet.

"Calm down, Luke!" Chris pleaded, desperation in his eyes forcing Luke to falter. "I know you want to help her but you have to listen to me. Whatever attacked her left something contagious on her body. Someone already tried helping her but it spread to their skin too!"

Wait? While whatever was attacking your body seemed to grow more intense by the minute, as Luke's gaze locked onto your form and watched the sickening, black coils spread further and further up your neck.

"Rodriguez, does it look like I care if it spreads to me?" Luke spat out, giving his friend a final push. "If she dies, I won't ever forgive myself for standing on the sidelines. Let me go now."

The cold venom in his tone made his friend loosen his hold just enough for Luke to rip himself out of his arms to drop his knees beside you. He grabbed hold of your shoulder, which still had shreds of your shirt to prevent him from being stung by whatever was infecting you, but his other hand which grabbed hold of your back did not face the same fate. The coils snaked onto his palm, and he gritted his teeth at the burning sensation.

Just as he turned you around so he could lift you up, he heard the familiar sound of hooves stamping against the soil and he looked up to see Chiron approaching with a grim expression. No words needed to be said as Luke met eyes with the centaur, a mutual understanding as Luke wrapped his arms around your torso and legs.

He pushed through to help carry you up, barking orders for the crowd to part way as he made his way to the infirmary. The longer he held onto you, the more every bone in his body seemed to scream to let you go, but he only focused on every step it took to get you closer to help, his eyes unable to look away from the paleness of your skin, the blue to your lips.

It seemed unfit for a child of Apollo, a child of the sun, to be dull and lifeless. You looked dead, and if it wasn't for the faint drumming of your pulse he could sense from your wrist, he would've struck the name of your father with such unbridled hatred, Apollo himself would descend from the heavens to condemn him.

"Please." He begged, holding onto you tighter despite his body's cries not to. Begging to who, he did not know, but if any being could save you from the fate you did not deserve, and pass it to him instead, he would gladly offer his prayers and worship. If it meant saving you, he would take your pain and suffer it tenfold just to see you open your eyes again.

It took you five days to recover. The infirmary had been quarantined and no one save for Chiron and Will, the main healer from the Apollo cabin, was allowed in. In those five days, no one dared approach Luke, who seemed near death's door despite having received his own small dosage of ambrosia to heal the coils that had managed to sink into his skin. He had begged Chiron to let him visit you, but Chiron deemed him too unstable to be near you, your recovery process a fragile thing that required tentative hands and patience.

Waiting to see you was a torture not even he could have envisioned for himself. He had been torn apart at the seams, of his belief in the gods and the scars that were immortalized onto his body. He had lived through days of water and nothing but false hope, hiding from monsters and other horrors before he made it to camp, arriving as a scrawny boy with eyes having witnessed events no kid his age should have to go through. Yet, no pain he had experienced could compare to his fears of losing you. If he-

He couldn't think of it without wanting to puke, but if he lost you somehow, he would lose his faith in this world. There would be no one to hold him back, no you, to stop him from letting go of the world that failed him and tearing it down.

It didn't help that in those five days, he had dreams. Of a different world, of salvation. A dark, ancient voice called to him, older than time, with whispers of promised glory and revenge. There was no you, none of your soothing touches or voice to wake him. In those five days, his strength faltered and he made a deal.

On the sixth day, he was woken frantically by a shake on the shoulder from his sleep. He roused awake, dizzy and still-half asleep to see Chris talking to him in rushed incoherent words.

"Awake- She's awake, sleepy-head!"

Luke was half-dressed, still fighting off sleep with aggressive rubbing to his eyes as he tugged on his t-shirt, rushing towards the infirmary with Chris hot on his heels.

He burst through the front door, holding his breath when he finally saw you, propped up on two pillows talking to Will. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he rushed over to you.

You turned to him then, just in time to see him blink his tears away. "Luke." You called to him softly, and time seemed to stop just for the two of you, and he could only see you in his vision.

"Can you guys give us some privacy?" You asked politely, eyeing Will and Chris, but your eyes never drifted far before moving back to him.

"Of course." Will responded, quickly getting up from his chair towards the exit, dragging a confounded Chris with him with a tug on the back of his shirt. "Hey! I wanted to see her too-" "Give the two lovebirds some time alone, you idiot."

Luke inched closer to you, his heart beating so loudly in his eardrums he swears you could hear it too. You lifted your arms to him and he didn't waste time, taking you in his arms and embracing you so tight, and yet he felt he couldn't be close enough.

"You were dying. In my arms. I felt it when I carried you in here." He muttered into your shoulder, shaking as he finally let out the exhaustion and pain he had been feeling since the day you left.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." You apologised, rocking him back and forth as your voice croaked up. "All I thought of was you. When I fought against that beast, I kept repeating my promise to you. That I would come back to you. You saved me."

He shook his head, feeling his tears wet his cheeks as he pulled back to grab you by the chin, a gentle touch like he was afraid you would disappear if he couldn't see you talking to him, that your voice would be a hallucination he concocted. "I should've stopped you from going. I had a bad feeling since I heard about it. I should've protected you- prevented you from getting hurt in the first place-"

You stopped him with a kiss, desperate yet shy, before pulling away and pressing your forehead to his. "I love you, Luke. I was so scared I would never get to tell you and it would've been my biggest regret. I love you so much, Luke, and I'm sorry if this ruins anything between us but I can't hide it anymore-"

Luke cut you off the very same way you did, but with such intense hunger you gasped when he kissed you, sloppy and with even more desperation, tugging at your bottom lip and pulling you closer with his hand at nape of your neck. "I love you." He muttered through quick breaths. "I love you, it actually hurts because of how much I do." He admitted, grabbing your hand to place right above his heart, which is owned completely and only by you.

He leaned in once more, addicted to the taste of you, kissing you with one hand holding yours to his heart, the other pulling you close so that there was no space between the two of you. When he had to stop so you both could gasp for air, he pressed his forehead back to yours, the first smile stretching at his lips in days. "I never want to be apart from you ever again, you hear me, sunshine?"

You giggled at his words, nodding slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Extra: Luke reappears with you the next day when you insisted on wanting to get out of the infirmary after being cooped up away from the sun for so long. ("You're such an Apollo kid." Luke teases, which you ignore with a roll of your eyes.) He's with you every step of the way, and now that your feelings are out for each other in the open, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or fawn over you without hiding his intensity.

When he makes eye contact with Percy over the room, the damn kid gives him a wink and a thumbs-up.

a/n: i want to expand so much more on this, with kronos taking advantage of luke's weak mind during your recovery and more, OMGGGGGGG. tell me if you guys want more pls and i'll make more parts. thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

update: I am officially making this into a series called ‘everything in between’. To those who want to follow more on their story, you can comment on whether you want to be added to the tag list for this series or check the masterlist!

#luke castellan #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x apollo!reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #im actually dying inside #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst

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neochan · 1 year

Text

THE PRIDEFUL GAMER (M)

SERIES MASTERLIST LINK | remember this is part two of a series! read part one for context!

PAIRING | best friend!haechan x reader

SYNOPSIS | lee donghyuck had the largest ego you’d ever seen for someone who stayed cramped in their dorm room all night playing video games; but when you stay in with him the night after a raging party, you find yourself realizing that ego just might be deserved.

WC | 10.8k

WARNINGS | cursing, mentions of alcohol & weed, sexual comments, hyuck shirtless and covered in paint, party games, comments abt virginity, switch!hyuck (slight sub, lean dom), sexual content (nothing too crazy).

A.N | i know you guys have been waiting for this, so i hope it lives up to the hype :) and if it doesn't - sorry

“Haechan, I need you to fuck me.”

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror, tired eyes ringed with heavy circles and glinting in judgement.

This was fucking ridiculous.

No matter how many times you sat in front of the mirror and practiced, you couldn’t get the words out with a straight face. Even the wet dreams that plagued your sleeping hours weren’t enough to prepare you. After all, you still couldn’t believe what you were going to ask Haechan to do. Or participate in, rather.

It wasn’t that you were scared, or that you didn’t want it, because trust and believe your mind and body both craved him; it was just stressful. Asking your bestfriend to give you some dick and then go on and mind his business like nothing happened?

Unfathomable.

But it was Haechan, and something in your brain told you he’d jump at the chance to fuck you; at least you were hoping so. How could you not think that when he said things like –

“If I open the door, am I gonna see boobs?”

Case in point.

You yell back, a blush of embarrassment heating your face while you fumble around to act like you were putting on makeup and not practicing asking him for sex, “No you pervert!”

The door swings wide open and the boy in question steps into the tiny room, “That’s a damn shame.”

God Damn.

Ever since that alcohol induced dream, your body had taken the liberty of reacting every time you caught sight of Haechan. It didn’t matter if he was drunk with pasta sauce smeared all over his face after he smashed a bowl of ravioli (true story), or if he was all done up for a class presentation on the history of the toaster oven (out of all things); your body reacted the same either way.

It went further than just sight though. If you so much as smelled someone wearing similar cologne to what he normally wore, arousal bells started ringing and you had to sprint home to relieve the ache between your legs.

This time wasn’t any different.

Fluffy, dark brown hair is what you see first, gelled stylishly in effortless waves around his head, save for the small curls on the nape of his neck. When you move your gaze lower, you lock eyes with his, and a spark of curiosity blooms. Then it’s his perfect pink lips set in a cute pout, and rounded jaw that you often stared at when he ate because it made you think of how good he’d be at eating you out. The thoughts start to creep into your mind, and you have no choice but to shake them out and replace them with something else, which so happened to be his outfit…or lack thereof.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, revealing a cute tummy with faint lines and deeply toned biceps. You’d punched him in the stomach once before, and you didn’t need to see abs to know that that man was rock solid. Multicolored neon body paint decorated his torso and back, tiny splatters here and there, but the star of the show is a lime green handprint wrapped around his throat (Jaemins probably). His black sweats also had paint on them, but his combat boots didn’t have a drop of color. If he expected to get out of the frat with them looking spotless, he had another thing coming.

“You do know the theme is neon?” His voice jolts you back into reality, and the blush that was gone finds its way back to your throat and cheeks. You were literally sitting in front of the mirror with a neon pink bralette on, why was he asking you this? Slightly, you nod. “Then why are you staring at me? I know I’m not ripped like Jen or Jaem, but come on, I can rock the dad bod!”

“Haechan. Take this with a grain of salt, but you have a decent body.”

Automatically, the compliment goes to his head, “Wanna see all of it sometime?”

Yes, please.

“No.”

A cheeky smile forms on his lips, “Thought so…”

“I’m actually surprised you’re going. Don’t you have a video game competition or something?” You stand up from your spot in front of the vanity and grab your leather jacket that was laying on the rack beside it.

“I can’t pass up free liquor. You know this.”

For some reason, your outfit seems like its missing something, and desperately your eyes are searching for it… ah! A necklace. You couldn’t go in a frat without some form of jewelry. Unable to reach behind yourself and clasp it, you hold it out to Haechan who doesn’t hesitate to grab it and push your shoulder, so your back was to him. “So, the plan is to get hammered?”

Tender fingers brush aside your hair, a spark igniting in the pit of your stomach. You feel almost giddy at his touch, and you’re not sure you entirely hate it. You anticipate more, and he doesn’t disappoint. His hands reach around your throat, the heavy pendant resting at the base of your throat while his fingers work at the nape of your neck to clasp it.

“The plan is to get absolutely drunk, find a bad bitch and fuck her till the entire house knows my name.” His voice is low, dropping right next to your ear, and the air blowing from his lips makes your shiver into his touch at your neck.

“S-Sounds like a good plan.” you whisper.

What was this boy doing to you?

“Wanna help?”

“H-Help? Help with what? Help you?”

He backs away, hands held out in front of him and a smile cracking his features, “Yeah. Wanna help me find a frat bunny?”

I’m right here.

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Perfect.” He starts to head out before turning back to you, “You didn’t think I was gonna ask if I could fuck you… did you?”

Your response comes out suspiciously fast, but Haechan had pregamed before stopping at your dorm, and he definitely didn’t catch it, “No! I would never! You’re like… really fucking gross. Sorry Hyuck.”

“Ahhh, theres the Y/N I know!” he claps you on the shoulder, “By the way, Jeno and Jaem are waiting in the car downstairs so hurry up.”

With that, he’s gone, the slamming of the front door resonating deep in the pit of your stomach, your nerves buzzing, and every muscle tense.

This was going to be a long night.

People were already throwing up in the bushes by the time you and the boys arrived, but you’d rather wade through puke than sit in Jeno’s car a second longer.

The entire ride to the frat house was a mess. From being squished between Jaemin and Hyuck, thanks to Jeno reserving the front seat for his precious bottles of Smirnoff and Hennessy (Seriously, he wouldn’t move them. He even buckled them up in case he crashed the car. As if the bottles wouldn’t break.) to having one of said bottles passed around the backseat and promptly spilled all over your upper body; you couldn’t take it anymore.

Unfortunately, the situation was made worse by Haechan's actions. As the cold alcohol spilled all over you, his hands peppered over your body, gliding through the sticky liquid that was rapidly drying. When he touched the lace of your bralette, his fingers inadvertently brushed against your nipple, reigniting the warmth in your stomach.

You really hoped he hadn’t noticed.

Jaemin, on the other hand, kept shoving his arm around to try and garner your attention towards his phone, which had pictures of sorority girls pulled up.

“Which ones should I take back to my place tonight?” He kept asking you, again and again and again until you and his minty breath were quite acquainted.

Needless to say, you wanted out.

So, when the car came to a screeching halt along the sidewalk, you were all but climbing over Jaemins lap to get the door open.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have you all over me, but this isn’t what I meant.” The flirtatious jokes from Jaemin were already starting, but he wasn’t the target tonight, Haechan was.

“Sorry, Haechan’s body odor was starting to get to me.” You send a warm smile to the boy clambering out of Jeno small coupe behind you.

“I literally haven’t even started being mean to you yet, why are you throwing insults?” Haechan stands tall, the heels of his combat boots making him tower over you, “And I’m wearing old spice anyway, this shit lasts ages. You must have been smelling Jaemins dick… I heard it’s quite overused.”

The pink haired boy whips around, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his sweatpants, “Why are you mad I get more pussy than you?”

Jeno thrusts a bottle of alcohol into you and Haechans hands, leaving Jaemin empty handed, who looks at you with a pout. You uncap your bottle, a dark thing of Hennessy, and pass it to him.

Haechan snorts, “Not mad, just annoyed that you keep me up all night with your grunting.”

Jaemin passes the bottle back to you and gives you a wink, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, the four of you start walking through the grass and up the steps to the frat house.

The front lawn was littered with red, plastic solo cups, ping pong balls, and empty beer cans. Toilet paper hung around a poorly spray-painted piece of cardboard that read, ‘welcome to the jungle’. College students hung around the porch smoking cigarettes and weed, and somehow a joint ends up between your fingers before you’ve even reached the front door.

“Wanna shotgun that?” Haechan smirks, wiggling his eyebrows when you shove the loosely wrapped blunt between your lips.

Inhaling takes a minute, the burning sensation of the weed filling your lungs and immediately reaching your bloodstream. You blow the smoke directly in Haechans face as a way of declining his offer, though pressing your lips against his and sharing a smoky kiss sounded real good right then.

He waves a hand in front of his face, “Fine. I see how it is.”

Whoever handed you the blunt plucks it out from between your fingers before you can pass it to Haechan and disappears around the side of the house.

“Well, that was mean.” Jaemin sighs defeatedly.

“I’m pretty sure Renjun is inside selling if you want to buy something off of him.” Jeno shouts over his shoulder.

“Fair warning though, he doesn’t roll well.” You spit tiny green pieces of marijuana onto the front walkway and cringe at the taste. There was a reason you didn’t like edibles.

Jeno just nods to the freshman pledge assigned to door duty (a scrawny boy who went by the name of Shotaro) and shoulders the front door of the house. Immediate booming bass finds your chest and rattles through you, the smell of spilled alcohol and cheap drugs clouding the house in a thick smog. Black lights hang from the ceiling, the people loitering near the entranceway glowing brightly in neon oranges, blues, green, yellows, and pinks.

You vaguely notice a few of the brothers roaming around passing out beers to the partygoers, but one in particular notices the four of you crowding the entrance and discards his last beer to a random girl at his side before jogging over.

“Jae!” Jeno and the brother lock hands and embrace, slapping each other’s backs in a way that looked painful.

The only reason you had gotten into the frat parties all year long was because of Jaehyuns and Jeno’s relationship – they were on the hockey team together, and brothers.

Jung Jaehyun was a senior, the head of the most popular frat on campus, NEO, and Jeno’s half-brother. You’d never really interacted with him, but from what you heard, he was a nice guy with an even nicer girlfriend, and they were head over heels in love with each other. You didn’t see her around anywhere, not that you would know what she looked like.

“Looking for someone?” Haechans voice, gravelly and low, finds your ear and makes you shiver despite how hot it was in the house. You hated the way he made your body feel, but not as much as you should have.

“You’re about to be looking out of one eye if you don’t back the fuck up.” Hostility was not your strong suit, but Haechan just drug something out of you.

“Jesus Christ, you need to drink. You’re so much better drunk. A lot nicer.” He smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you can physically feel your heart beginning to melt.

A little voice in the back of your head is telling you to say, and you’re so much better when you shut up, how about you put that mouth to use between my legs?

But you refrain.

It’s very hard to refrain.

You almost slip.

That is, until you realize Jaehyun has since walked away and left the four of you to party how you please.

“Okay. I’ll be staying sober. Well, as sober as a good couple blunts make me. Please try to stay in the house, it makes it so much easier when it’s time to go and I have to round you jack offs up.” Jeno smirks, handing his bottle of alcohol to Jaemin who gladly takes it.

You’re surprised he hasn’t already gone looking for someone to fuck, it was well known that him and Jaehyun didn’t particularly get along. Something about Jaemin fucking Jaehyuns ex… you didn’t know the full story.

Jeno grabs Haechans bare shoulders, “Please, for the love of God, do not jump in the pool again. Last time you almost drowned and I don’t feel like planning a funeral for your sorry ass.”

“I make no such promises, but I will try my best.” The younger boy beams.

“Alright, go have fun, and try not to catch a STD. I’ll be over with Renjun if you need me.” And with that, your friend Jeno breaks from the group, his neon painted bare back shining brightly amongst the crowd right before he fades in.

Jaemin breaks off almost immediately after chugging the bottle of alcohol Jeno had given him.

Haechan, who wasn’t one for parties and usually stayed holed up in his dorm room playing video games all night, sways by your side awkwardly.

“Aren’t you gonna go find a frat bunny to fuck?” You shout over the blaring music.

He looks almost nervous when he shifts his gaze to you, “I don’t really see anyone of interest… except you of course. Wanna go fuck in the bathroom?” A shit eating grin blinds you right before he lifts the Smirnoff bottle and takes a swig, finishing it with a grimace.

Wouldn’t it be nice to say yes and get his part of the challenge over? Fuck, how you wanted to grab his hand and drag him to the nearest bathroom, but frat parties weren’t the place to hook up, and you wanted to take your time with him anyway.

“I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

“You’re telling me you don’t wanna hit this?” He rubs his free hand across his chest and stomach, dipping it so far as to drag down a bit of his sweatpants. A strong V-Line peeks out and you almost choke on air, eyes bugging out of your skull.

“Keep your fucking clothes on Hyuck.” You sputter.

He cocks an eyebrow and reaches out for your hand, which you hesitate to take. What was he doing? Was he trying to bring you into the nearest bathroom?

All he does is tug you towards the main room, an open area full of students dancing, drinking, and smoking, “Interesting… Come on, let’s party.”

The feeling of his calloused fingers enlaced with yours was enough to send your mind spiraling deep into the thoughts that plagued your dreams – like what it would feel like to have them wrapped around your neck, or shoved between your thighs, maybe even down your throat.

Mentally, you tell your brain to shut up (it always did get slutty in these environments).

“Y/N!!” A girly voice shouts off to your left, dragging both you and Haechans attention. Lisa, a girl in the same major as you, who you’ve known for a couple years now, is barreling toward you and the boy you’re linked hand in hand with. She shoves a few partygoers to the side, an opened beer can in her hand which she’s cautious enough not to spill.

When she finally makes it to your side, her eyes dip down and make note of your hands crushed together, a freshly waxed eyebrow popping up in question at you. Immediately you yank your hand away from Haechan, who glares in protest but doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t think I would see you here!” She’s beaming head to toe and slings a paint splattered arm around your shoulders.

You smile back, “Jeno made me come.” She’d had a crush on Jeno for ages, and from the look on her face at the mention of his name, it still existed.

“Oh, he’s here? I didn’t even know!! I need to go find him asap.”

“Well yeah, it’s his brothers party and all…” Haechan pipes up from beside of you, nervously biting at his nails. He always chewed his cuticles unrecognizable.

She looks up at him with a weird expression before extracting her arm and turning to face you, her back to Haechan, who sneers and throws up a middle finger in her direction. It makes you chuckle, but thankfully she doesn’t question it.

“Well, a bunch of us are playing games upstairs if you wanna join.”

You start to say no, but you can tell in her eyes that she wasn’t going to take that as an answer, so you nod your head, “Sure.”

A squeal so loud heads turn, erupts from her mouth, “Good!!! Ima go find Jeno and then head up there. I’ll see you soon.” And with a kiss to your cheek, she’s gone.

“Well, guess we’re playing games.” Haechan huffs, reaching for your hand now that she was gone, “I hope it’s spin the bottle so I can kiss you.”

Me too.

Rolling your eyes, you start towards the stairs, “Haechan?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Haechan didn’t shut up.

In fact, he kept his mouth running all the way up the stairs, through the bodies loitering in the hallway, around a puddle of puke, and into the makeshift living room Lisa must have set up.

Not like you were paying much attention to what he said anyways. Instead, your mind chose to focus on the way his back looked in the dim lighting of the frat house. Underneath a layer of pretty tan skin, the boy was all muscle, stretching and tensing when his lithe legs carried him up the inclined stairs. And when he turned around to make sure you were still following him, despite his hand being attached to yours, you notice the muscles carried all the way around to his abdomen and torso.

Because the house was hot and humid, the paint splattered on his chest was fading and streaking. The neon paint dripped down his body, with some even dribbling into the waistband of his sweatpants. The idea of the paint staining his v-line creates a sensation of warmth in your stomach.

You wanted to see him naked so bad and it made you mad.

What happened to the boy who stayed in his room every day and barely touched vegetables? What happened to him being a friend and just that? Had one night of drinking skewed your common sense? Or was this just a side effect of the challenge you were doing?

Whatever, he’s fucking hot and he has a big dick, you argue with yourself, images of what you saw on his phone flashing through your mind.

Haechan getting his dick sucked by some random girl, forcing her to deepthroat and then whimpering.

The thought alone almost makes you steer him into the nearest bathroom, but the makeshift living room comes too soon.

“I literally can’t get rid of you.” Jaemin perks up from his spot on the floor, bottle of liquor tucked away in his lap.

“Talk to Lisa.” You shoot back flatly.

As you glance around the room, you realize that the only person you recognize is Jaemin. While a few faces seem familiar, you can't recall their names or where you may have seen them before.

Hyuck guides you over to the circle where everyone is seated and takes a spot, leaving you to settle in opposite him. "Looks like it's just you and me," he says with a grin, displaying his gleaming white teeth. You can't help but wonder how they would feel against your inner thighs, and you unconsciously clench them together while crossing your arms.

You didn’t know how long Lisa and Jeno were going to be, or if she was still downstairs recruiting more players, but you’re lucky not to be left alone with your thoughts too long, because a couple minutes later, she, Jeno and Jaehyun (surprisingly) filter into the room, one after the other.

Haechan’s eyes cut to you, and he smirks, eyebrows wiggling in a stupidly suggestive way.

“Okay! Seems like we got enough players.” Lisa pipes up, taking the spot next to you that sat empty (thankfully no one had sat and tried to make acquaintance. you were too sober for that). Jeno sits off to your right, and Jaehyun takes the spot next to Haechan.

Jaemin leans in towards the circle, appearing invested as he asks, "What game are we playing?" His gaze travels up and down Lisa's body, and he licks his lips. You roll your eyes; of course, she was the one he was after tonight. Too bad her eyes were on Jeno.

She gives a short giggle before replying, “How about seven minutes in heaven?”

A low murmur ripples through the circle but affirming head nods set the game in motion.

Honestly, you find the game awkward and childish, something played in your early high school years, but maybe the universe and luck would be on your side tonight.

Wasn’t the whole point of tonight to get into Haechans pants? This silly little game was the perfect opportunity.

He seemed to be on the same wavelength because one glance and you see him making kissy faces directed at you.

Why the fuck was he so weird?

And why did you want to crawl across the circle and kiss him?

“Great, can we use that bottle Jaemin?” Lisa asks, and he’s quick to shove it in the middle. He must really want her to come home with him tonight if he’s giving up his alcohol that easily – or the bottle at least.

Lisa takes a finger and spins the bottle, the handle flying around so fast it looked like a blur. You hold your breath, silently praying it doesn’t land on you. You could probably hear a pen drop in the room (plus the thumping bass coming up through the floorboards).

It comes to a standstill, pointing at a random girl you’ve never seen before. She looks nervous, but that was to be expected, right?

Lisa spins the bottle again and you thank your lucky stars when it lands on another girl in the circle.

Two girls down, about 12 of you left.

The next few rounds follow a similar pattern, with two unfamiliar people being chosen and then awkwardly leaving the circle. At some point Jaemin and a blonde headed bimbo filter off to surely fuck.

The game starts to feel pointless, but then the bottle lands on you.

Haechan immediately perks up from being previously slumped against a pillow. The bottle of Smirnoff by his side was slowly draining, and you could tell he was feeling it a bit. A rosy blush spread itself on his cheeks and his eyes shined bright. An eager look crosses his face when Lisa tips the bottle into spinning.

Whoever it landed on was going to be shoved in a tiny closet with you for the next seven minutes. Time ticked slow, your eyes following it’s every move.

Spinning.

And spinning.

And stop.

“No fucking way.” Haechan pouts.

Your eyebrows raise, a short, disbelieving laugh rushing past your lips. The bottle has landed between Jaehyun and Haechan, more towards the latter, but nearly dead set between.

“Well, who is it then?” Haechan urges, pushing himself up on his knees, “Cause it’s more towards me, so I think it’s only fair…”

“Maybe by a single degree.” Jaehyun argues, locking his eyes with yours and giving a lopsided smile.

It strikes you as odd that Jaehyun, who you're pretty sure has a girlfriend (Jeno had mentioned her once or twice), is even participating in the game. Despite this, he seems to be making eyes at you, smiling with deep dimples and winking. You just stare back at him, causing the tips of his ears to flush red. You weren’t going to be the cause of a scandal if he was, in fact, still dating that girl.

So the dilemma (that wasn’t really a dilemma) dawns on you. Your best friend or the boy who (maybe) had a girlfriend? You contemplate storming out of the room and forfeiting the game – but what was the fun in that? And anyways, Haechan looked like he was getting antsy.

“Come on Hyuck.” you grumble, pushing yourself up off the dusty floor and slipping out into the semi-crowded hallway. The boy eagerly follows on your heel until you’re shouldering a random door and slipping into a dark room.

It feels much bigger than the closet you were envisioning, though where was the fucking light? Both of you search the walls to no avail. Faintly, you see the outline of a bed and walk over to it, dropping down on the sunken mattress – Haechan following your lead.

“What a coincidence that it’s you and me. I mean, I knew you wanted to fuck me, but seriously, how did you rig a spin the bottle game?”

In this moment you’re glad for the darkness enveloping the room – then he wouldn’t see the shock and embarrassment flooding your face.

Defensively, you shove his chest, “Shut up. I didn’t rig the game.”

The smirk is almost evident in his tone, “Oh, but you do wanna fuck me?”

“No – Haechan I wanted to play a game. Of course fate would give me your ass.”

“Maybe fate wants us to hook up.” he murmurs.

I’d agree with fate then, you think.

A million thoughts flood your mind in a millisecond. How convenient it was that you were stuck in an empty room, with a bed, with Hyuck – with a shirtless Hyuck. The dim lighting outlines the contours of his chest, and you can feel yourself clenching your thighs together for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“Would you like that?” You whisper, slightly leaning closer to him. He wasn’t that far away. Maybe a foot at most.

“Is the sky blue?” He retorts, ever so slightly leaning into you too.

You roll your eyes, “Is that a trick question – because it’s nighttime right now and the sky is black.”

“I don’t know, maybe you should kiss me and find out.”

His voice is lower than normal, which surprises you. But not as much as the statement. You knew he was like this – forward and flirty. Though it’s different when you actually want to reciprocate.

Time slows down and the electricity of the moment surrounds you two. His lips are inching towards your own, long, slender fingers grabbing your thighs.

Fuck, it’s happening – Everything you’ve been dreaming about for weeks on end. How did this happen so fast?

You can smell the alcohol on his breath – wondering if he’ll taste sweet like brandy.

“Hyuck…” you whisper, “ I-“

Light and sound flood the room, startling the fuck outta you and making you jump three feet back into the headboard.

“Oh shit –” the partygoer curses.

The girl on his arm giggles, “’m sorry. Didn’t mean to barge in on you two!” They slam the door, and the muffled sounds of the party bring you back to the present.

Yellow spots cloud your vision as you fumble to stand up, almost tripping over what you can assume to be a backpack.

You swallow thickly, “Let’s go back downstairs.”

“I’ll meet you down there.” Haechan whispers, one hand running through his hair, “You go on ahead.”

Without another word, you slip into the hallway and slink down the stairs – into the hands of hundreds of drunk college kids. You see Jaemin taking shots and Jeno smoking it up with Renjun.

What the fuck just happened.

And why did I ruin it.

After a good twenty minutes away from each other, you realize he was the only person who you cared to hang out with. So, you found him utterly intoxicated on the kitchen floor and forced him to dance with you.

Well really you just forced him off the kitchen floor which he really didn’t want to leave, but once he was up and moving, he took you by hand and made the night worthwhile.

Now two hours later, with most of the alcohol Jeno had supplied gone, all you can think about is sucking Haechans dick.

It’s because of the way he danced (and smelled, and looked, and…). His hands reach out and greedily grab at your waist, fingers twisting through the empty belt loops of your jeans. A bit of the paint he had on was smudged against you, thanks to him pulling you into a bear hug earlier in the night.

He was drunk, and it made him extra touchy. Though you didn’t mind, in fact, you welcomed it now that your resolve was slipping. So, when he pushes you against the wall, one hand held high over your head, his other circling your jaw, it’s no surprise that your heartbeat goes wild. A blush rises hot on your face; his eyes finding yours and piquing with dull amusement.

“I gotta tell you a secret-” he slurs, swaying in your arms. He thinks for a minute before putting a hand over his mouth, “Wait, I can’t tell you.” When you don’t respond, instead, electing to stare at him in amusement, his lips jut out into a pout, “Why don’t you like me?”

One of your hands pushes against his slick with sweat chest, “I do like you?” Your breathing becomes labored when his lips pull back in a sloppy grin.

“You like me? You like me!!” Haechan teeters a bit to the left, almost falling into another couple that were vigorously making out, “They need to get a room… we need to get a room.”

We had a room.

“We need to get a room?” You question, eyes widening when he leans in so close he’s only an inch away from kissing you.

“Can I kiss you?”

It feels like the room comes to a crescendo, every sound clashing yet becoming silent at the same time. All you can think about is his mouth and how pretty and pink his lips are. How it would be heaven to meld into the strong grasp of your best friend. How the constant nights of intimate dreams of him weren’t enough to satisfy you. How you should have taken him up on his offer in that damn room.

How you wanted to go to that damn bathroom now.

But this was wrong.

The wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything.

You were drunk, he was more than drunk, and surely that would affect whether you thought he fucked the best.

From around his shoulder, you spot Jeno staring at you with a beer in his hand – so much for staying sober. He’s smirking, slightly chuckling, and cocking his eyebrows at you as if asking, ‘you gonna kiss him?’

“Haechan.”

The boy has gone from being semi coherent to humming some sort of song that wasn’t even close to the one that was playing.

“Haechan!” you shake his shoulder in an attempt to snap him out of the stupor, and suddenly he stands up tall.

“Y/N, I missed you!!! What are you doing here?” It was like he was seeing you for the first time.

He was too drunk to function. You should have expected as much, but you’re still slightly disappointed that you wouldn’t be able to go forth with your plan.

You sigh and grab his arm, the disappointment nearly sobering you up, “Let’s go find Jeno and get you home, okay?”

His eyes go frantic, “We can’t forget Jaemin! We have to find Jaemin!!!”

“Don’t worry Hyuck, I’d leave you here sooner than I would him.”

Maybe then I wouldn’t have the urge to ride you on the frats sofa.

“Meanie.”

Steaming bags of takeout hang off your arm as you fumble to push your way through the unusually small dorm door.

“Hyuck! Jaemin!” you yell, hoping one of them would dart out of their room and help you with the load of cheap food you were threatening to drop on the ground. You shouldn’t be surprised when all is silent except for the smash of controller buttons and Haechans frustrated screech.

You wade through the mess that nearly makes you gag – piles of clothes, dirty socks and mud caked shoes. Books and pages of lecture notes litter the ground accompanied with crushed RedBull cans – evidence that Haechan did indeed leave his room at some point.

“Yo, you really need to clean this shit up.” you pantomime throwing up and toss the bags of takeout on Haechans dark blue bedspread that was actually made for once.

His back is to you, eyes trained on the video game he was playing, giving you a half-hearted grunt to acknowledge what you said. The too-big headset threatens to engulf his head, nearly sliding off as he jolts forward in the gaming chair.

“Fuck! Fuck! No… no… don’t… SHIT!” Exasperation floods his tone once the screen turns completely red and his character returns to the main lobby. “You guys suck ass.”

Without hearing their response, he shuts off his monitor and spins around to face you, who was patiently waiting on his bed, “Sorry. I woulda got the door for ya, but…” he gestures behind himself.

“It’s fine.” you mumble.

His eyes travel from your face and to the short ass skirt that was slung over your hips. Immediately your face heats up. Why was this awkward? Does he even remember what happened last night? How you almost kissed in some random frat bros room? Or how he had you pressed up against the wall, asking to kiss you. Does he remember the drive home? How he laid in your lap, drunkenly massaging your thighs? Surely he had to remember you tucking him into bed with the promise of takeout tomorrow night?

But when you look him in the eyes, you just see your friend eager to eat – not someone who you nearly fucked last night.

You clear your throat, “Um, where’s Jaemin?”

Haechan shrugs and starts sifting through the boxes of rice and pork cutlets, “He left early this morning. Said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Bet that means he’s going to get some pussy.” He takes a bite of rice and speaks through the mouthful, “Twenty four hours though? That’s a long ass time for him.”

You snort and take the box of rice he was gesturing towards you, “Nah, that’s light work for Jaem. As long as he lets us know he’s alive, I think a sex bender might be best for him.”

“You know, he’s still mad that you wouldn’t let him leave with that girl last night.” Haechans laugh rings through the room, making you smile. He had such a pretty voice.

“He was drunker than the both of us combined.” You tear the end of a soy sauce packet and dump it into the container in your lap. “Speaking of, what do you remember from last night? Did you, like, totally black out?”

“Not much, just that you were coming over today.” He says through another mouthful of food.

Great, so he didn’t remember anything. How convenient for you.

“Well… you ended up peeing on this guy when we were leaving because you missed the bush.”

“I missed the bush?”

“The whole bush.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know.”

The food was long gone, with empty containers flooding his trashcan that begged to be taken out.

You were bored.

Here you were, laying on his bed with a lowcut shirt and a fucking miniskirt, and he was back to playing his game.

For the past hour you tried to get him to join you, but to no avail. Who knew that your first target would be the hardest to fuck? How can you accurately judge how good he fucked if he wouldn’t even lay on the bed with you?

One last chance or you were leaving.

This was an all or nothing moment.

“I’m horny.” It was a declaration. A statement so bold, he turns ever-so-slightly towards you and raises an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

You scoff, “You heard me. I need to fuck someone or something.”

The squeak of his chair rings through the uncomfortably silent room as he adjusts himself. What was he thinking? Was he disgusted? Flustered? Did he feel the same?

“Well now that you mention it…” he swallows thickly. Was it hot in his room? Could you feel it too?

You push yourself up into a sitting position, “Come help me.” His dark brown eyes flutter, the tops of his cheeks dusting a light pink color, but he stays silent. "No smart reply? No sexual comments? Did I really fluster the Lee Haechan?"

He gets up from his gaming chair, almost toppling over in the process and spilling the can of Redbull he was clutching onto for dear life. "I am not flustered. " The mattress dips under his weight as he gets comfortable next to you, his gaze falling to the lowcut shirt you wore, "Can’t I touch them if you’re serious?”

His bottom lip juts out in a pout, obviously joking around (your boobs always seemed to be the butt of his sexual comments), but even still, you find yourself removing your shirt before you can think.

The look on his face is priceless, wide eyes almost bugging out of his skull, “I was kidding! Jesus Christ Y/N, put your shirt back on!” his voice has somehow pitched up two octaves, obviously taken aback, but for some reason his eyes remain open and transfixed. It looks as if he’s almost salivating, especially when he watches your nipples perk up from how cool he kept his room.

Reaching out a hand, you clasp his wrist and bring it closer to your body, “But I’m serious.” The bewildered expression never left his face, even when you had him cup his palm around your breast, and then when he took matters into his own hands and gave you a fair squeeze, which made you giggle.

“Am I dreaming? This must be a dream?”

You hop up on your knees, making your tits bounce in the process which drops Haechan’s jaw, “Not a dream, very much reality.”

Slowly and sexily, you crawl towards his seated position beside you, “I want you Haechan.” You breathe the words out slowly, giving him time to comprehend what the fuck his best friend just said.

Confusion flits across his face and he hesitates, “But Y/N…”

“But what? I want you. I want you to fuck me.” His pupils blew wide at the confession.

“Y/N… I can’t.”

Disappointment fills your heart and deflates your ego in a millisecond. You should have known. How could you be so stupid? Of course, he didn’t want to fuck you. You were best friends for fucks sake. It would ruin everything. Why did you even try? Because you were drunk and horny the night the challenge was first brought up? Pathetic, really.

Haechan must have seen the worry and doubt fill your eyes because all of a sudden, he’s grabbing your shoulders, “No, It’s… It’s not because I don’t want to,” His eyes wash over your half naked body, and he licks his lips, “Trust me, I want to…but I’m…I’m.”

Leaning in ever so slightly you whisper, “You’re what? Scared?”

It was a taunt, a tease, a challenge, and he knew it, but he just shakes his head, “Y/N… I’m a virgin.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked, completely taken aback by this new revelation, “You’re a… virgin?”

Pink tints his cheeks and collarbones peeking through his oversized t-shirt, and he hangs his head to avoid eye contact, “Yeah, I’ve never had… never had sex.”

“But you always say –”

“I talk a big game, okay?” The reply rushes from his lips, embarrassment kicking him in the ass, “Yeah I’ve gotten head before, and I’ve eaten a few girls out, but I’ve never had actual sex. It’s… just never happened I guess.”

Here you were, trying to seduce not only your best friend, but your best friend that has just told you he was a virgin. You were trying to steal a virgins innocence. How fucked could you really be?

To be fair, he always acted like he got hella pussy, you argue with yourself.

“Jaemin knows.” He mutters, as if it was of any relevance to the situation.

“Well,” You start, sitting back on your heels, “Here I am shirtless, asking you to fuck me…” His eyes flicker up and lock with yours, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Another challenge.

He did well with challenges, and this time was no different.

You continue, “Unless you believe the ‘only have sex after marriage’ bullshit –”

“Absolutely not.”

Greedy eyes search for an answer on his face, but there’s nothing, only a permanent blush and frantic furrow brows, “Okay, then do you wanna go back to gaming?”

“…No.”

He still isn’t advancing, just sitting with his hands dropped into his lap and looking at you with his wide doe eyes, “Then what?”

You sit there, watching as Haechan fidgets with his hands, clearly nervous about what comes next. The sexual tension that hangs between you two feels like a thick fog. You want him, and you can tell that he wants you too, but the knowledge that he’s a virgin puts a damper on things.

You don't want to be the one to take his virginity. That's a big fucking responsibility, and it's not something that you take lightly. You start to wonder if maybe you should just call it a night and go home. But then Haechan speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore."

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time since you arrived. He looks vulnerable, and you can see the fear in his eyes. But you can also see the determination. He knows what he wants, and he's not going to let anything stand in his way.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You know what you want too, but you also know that this is a big deal. You can't just jump into things without thinking them through. "I don't know if I'm the right person for that, Haechan," you say finally. "Taking someone's virginity is a big deal. It's not something to be taken lightly."

Haechan nods, his eyes still locked with yours. "I know. But I trust you, Y/N." His words make your heart skip a beat, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

"Okay," you say finally. "Okay, we can do this.”

Somehow, the tables had turned on you; and this was getting a lot sappier than you had anticipated.

The awkwardness settles back into the room, Haechan staring at you with his doe eyes, the nervousness flitting about his delicate features.

It’s a beat – a short pause before he speaks so low you almost miss it, “You know I want to fuck you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Maybe he’d give you a logical answer and you’d understand; put your shirt back on and let him get back to his video games while you silently scrolled Instagram.

But when was he ever logical?

And when were you ever one to back down?

Faster than you can register, he’s pushing your shoulders backwards until you fall breathlessly against his pillow. He climbs over top of you, his usual goofy smirk replaced with an intensity you both had felt the night before at the frat house. “Nothing’s stopping me.” His breath tickles your cheeks, “But I can’t tell if you’re fucking serious or taking a joke way too far.” A scoff rumbles in his chest, “I’ve damn near bared my soul to you tonight.”

“Not a joke-” you try to argue, but he talks over you.

“Ya know, just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean you can treat me like a plaything.” his head lolls to the side, “Well I mean if you wanted to, you could – but that’s not the point..” He sighs, pressing his face closer to yours, so that you were almost nose to nose. One more inch and you’d be kissing him, “I’m trying to say that if this is a joke… I’m sorry, but I’m gonna fuck you.”

“I – Are you sure about this? You won’t regret anything in the morning?”

He scoffs, “Have you not been listening to me when I speak to you? I’ve been wanting this for ages,” Eyes, half-lidded with desire, wash over your exposed chest, “I’m not gonna regret a damn thing.”

The butterflies in your stomach flutter uncontrollably when Haechan dips his head and captures your lips in a kiss. All you can taste is the fizziness of the redbull he’d been drinking earlier, and something undeniably him. It was urgent and wet, lips sliding over yours to deepen the kiss, dribbles of spit smearing on your cheeks. He was messy.

“No regrets.” You solidify, breath hitching in your throat when his hands cup your breasts – his thumbs flicking over your nipples.

He groans, hips desperately pushing against you, “Let me eat you out.” he asks, though it wasn’t really a question because he starts to lower himself down your figure; pressing wet kisses to your chest. First it’s your collarbone, then the swell of your breasts, all the way down until he hovered right above your skirt.

Your head is reeling with how forward he was, “You’re kinda bold for a vir-”

He slaps a rough hand over your jaw, “If you even so much as utter that word, I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you won’t be able to speak for a week.” Tauntingly, he quirks an eyebrow as if to dare you, “And anyways,” he continues, moving his hand up to ruffle your hair, “Just because I’ve never stuck my dick between a woman’s thighs doesn’t mean I don’t know how to please one.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, in shock or contemplation of his words, you weren’t sure.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that baby,” Lust drips from his words like venom, the pet name rolling off his tongue a little too certainly, “Sitting up here playing video games has made me exceptionally good with my hands,” he smirks, “and I guess I’m naturally good with my tongue… I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me, yeah?”

Furiously, you nod your head, eyes wide and marveling at this side of Haechan. The one slightly out of breath and bursting with the need to taste you. He was hot. More so than you were expecting. You should pay closer attention sometimes.

He doesn’t waste time undoing your skirt. Instead, he pushes it up until it bunched at your waist, and pretty pink panties were the only thing blocking him from doing what he wanted. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he pulls them down agonizingly slow. “So pretty.” he whispers.

Without hesitation, he flattens his tongue and licks up your slit, a low rumble building in his chest. You tasted exactly like he had imagined.

The contact makes you gasp, and you fumble around for something to hold onto – choosing his hair as the only viable option. One tug and he’s whining against your clit, hips pressing into the bed unbeknownst to you.

“Y-you like hair pulling?” You question, doing it again to test the waters. He doesn’t answer, just groans against your pussy, tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Strong arms hook underneath your hips and pull hard, until you’re sat right up against his face.

“Hyuck.” you whimper, legs shaking. He was relentless, nosing your clit and fucking you with his tongue – all but lapping at the embarrassing amount of arousal wetting the inside of your thighs. “Hyuck!”

He perks up, lips puffy and jaw shining in the dim light of his bedroom, “What?”

You feel almost shy at his stare, a blush settling over your cheeks and burning hot at the back of your neck, “D-don’t wanna cum just yet.” You stutter out.

Surprisingly, he rolls his eyes, “Let me stretch you out a little bit, okay baby?” There’s no time for you to respond because two of his fingers press against your entrance and slide in with ease. Simultaneously he dives back in, teeth slightly grazing your clit.

“Fuck!” Your back arches up off the bed, hips rolling against his face. His fingers pump into you, the stretch leaving your thighs shaking.

“See baby, all done,” He slips his fingers out and gives you one final suckle, “God, I can’t wait to fuck you.”

Words are unattainable right now, head still reeling from how fucking good he was with his tongue. That’s where he’d gotten the most practice, but you weren’t expecting that. It was what – less than two minutes? Yet you were already fucked out, body buzzing with excitement. If that was just the beginning, what was to come?

While lost in your thoughts, Haechan rid himself of his shirt and shimmied his shorts down.

The video didn’t do him justice.

Yeah, he looked decently big on his phone screen, but after weeks of contemplation, you could only assume it was the angle.

Oh, how wrong you were.

His cock stood thick and heavy, proudly slapping his lower stomach when he moves to throw his clothes on the floor. It was red and leaking pre-cum, and your mouth waters. Oh, how you wanted to hop up and stuff him down your throat. You wanted to milk him until he was shaking and sobbing for you to stop.

But another part wanted him in you, now.

Deep lines of muscle were etched into his torso – contracting when he leant down to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on his lips, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. Haechan was whimpering; all but shaking against you. The vibrations shot straight into your veins like a drug and when he pulls back and sits on his knees, you almost moan.

You are no better than a man.

Watching the way he touches his body, so soft and careful; tugging at his cock impatiently while his eyes are transfixed on the way your pussy clenches around nothing – it sends a desperate signal down between your thighs.

“Enough!” You whine, “Want you in me.”

His trademark smirk appears on his face, “Okay baby… but..,” he chews on his bottom lip in hesitation, “… I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last..”

“I don’t care!” You wail, annoyed, “Fuck me.”

“So demanding,” He huffs, hands fumbling to push your thighs apart. Looking to you for reassurance that everything was alright, he appeared somewhat uncertain and hesitant.

“It’s okay, ” you breathe, gasping when he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance. “Hold my hand!” It was a statement to make him feel surer of himself, but deep down, you knew it was because you were just as nervous.

Shakily, his hand slides into yours and pushes it against the pillow next to your head. He takes a deep breath. This is silly, he chides himself, just stick it in! You’ve been dreaming about this forever! Be a fucking man.

Slowly, he pushes himself fully into you while still maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck!” you both curse at the same time. His eyes flicker in the back of his head, lips trembling when he bottoms out, now sheathed inside your warm cunt. It’s taking everything in him not to cum right there – and you know it too. He stays like that for a minute longer – not moving, just processing.

“Hyuck…” You whimper, resting your legs on his back. He mumbles a mhm, too focused on steadying his breathing, getting his bearings, finding the will to actually fuck you. “Hyuck, you have to move.”

“M-maybe we should use a c-condom.” He stutters, eyelashes fluttering and tangling together. The interlocked grip on your hands falters when you rut your hips up against him. “F-fuck, we need to use a condom.” His breathing is labored as he tries to gather everything he’s feeling and seeing at once. The way your pussy sucks him in, squeezing around his length just fucking right, the feeling of your nipples brushing his chest every time he bottoms out, and the wet kisses being pressed to the juncture between his neck and collarbone. It was making his head dizzy, and he can feel himself already about to – “I’m gonna cum if you keep, fuck – y/n, stop kissing my n-neck.”

Lost in the satisfying pleasure of him stretching you out, you hadn’t even realized you were kissing him – everywhere. Licking at the place just below his earlobe, suckling bruises into the honey gold skin of his throat, and nipping at his jaw. And every time your lips or tongue grazed him, he shallowly thrusted into you – too caught up in the sensations to get a steady rhythm.

You purse your lips in a pout, pulling your head back to rest on the pillow, and stare up at him, “Why stop if you like it.”

“Good p-point.” He stutters out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Maybe that would hide the pink tinging his cheeks – the embarrassment. Or maybe it was because he wanted to be enveloped by you completely. “Fuck,” He groans, his cock dragging against your walls with a concentrated pace – like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. And if that was the case, he was succeeding.

You mewl and moan every time he slips out of you, just to fuck into you deeper than before. Time doesn’t pass, you don’t register anything but the burning sensation in the pit of your stomach – one that catches you off guard. As you arch your body into his touch, your mind begins to cloud.

Words of praise spill from your lips uncontrollably, "You're doing so well," you murmur, and he whimpers. “So good Hyuckie,” You moan, feeling his head still buried in your neck. “Keep going, baby.” The encouragement rips a broken sob from his throat, but he keeps driving his cock between your legs. He couldn’t stop – how could he? You were like his own personal brand of heroin.

His voice comes out muffled when speaks, “Want you to- fuck.. need you to...” His fingers are trembling, jaw slacked as he forgets his train of thought, “Slow down, wait – I need you to, y/n.. oh fuck this.” a rush of air tickles your body as Haechan tightens his hold and flips you over; worming his way underneath your body so that your legs were now slotted over his waist, cock still pushing into you. “There we go,” he mutters.

The action sends your head spinning, and a squeal rips from your throat. “Woah!”

“Woah!” he mocks, bullying his cock into you at such a fast pace, you were battling to keep your balance. His hands held onto your hips so tightly, there were bound to be a few fingerprint shaped bruises tomorrow morning. But that didn’t matter – not when he was burying his length into you again and again and again, abusing your g-spot to the point you’re babbling nonsense.

Your thighs are quivering on either side of him, struggling to keep yourself bouncing on his cock. Equally shaky hands pepper his chest in an attempt to hold onto something as the fire in your stomach burns hotter. Every whimper, every sob, every moan that falls past his lips is like another burning ember – shooting and twisting through your veins.

“G-gonna cum, Hyuck, gonna – “ you mewl, clawing at his collarbones and shoulders.

A harsh slap lands on your ass as he continues to piston his hips up underneath you. Just hearing you say the words edges him even closer to his own orgasm, “Please baby, cum – shit, cum on my cock, you can do it.” He groans through gritted teeth. Another smack lands, “God, I know you can do it.”

Your eyes roll back as you completely fall apart – he never stopped fucking into you. Not even when you all but collapsed on top of him, heartbeat erratic and gasping for breath. Not even when you begged him to slow down, begged him to give you a chance to recover, maybe get into a different position.

“Just give me one second baby, fuck, I still need to cum,” Like a lightbulb went off, he perks, “Wait- where do you want me t-to cum,” He’s rocking his body into yours now, sweat rolling down his temple with the exertion of holding back. “An-Answer! I can’t hold it anymore you feel too fucking good.”

Swirled in your own euphoria, you barely register his words, yet you manage to whimper against his neck, “Cum in me Hyuckie, please, I’m on the pill.”

The permission is all he needs, but the nickname is what sends him straight into a head high that has him burying his cock deep in you and releasing. Strong arms wrap around your torso and pull you against his shaking body while spurts of cum flood your pussy. He sounds exactly like he did in the video he showed you a few weeks ago – like he was sobbing with relief. Whining and whimpering, lolling his head side to side as he fucks the last of his cum deep into you.

He tries not to move, he tries really fucking hard, but every time you twitched, it squeezed around him again and again – curses flying from his body as he tried to squirm away. He slips out of you quickly, cum smearing on his belly and all over your thighs, “That was…”

You can hear his heartbeat – almost as erratic as yours is, and he’s puffing air, trying to catch an even breath. Both of you are sticky and tired – worn the fuck out. If you tried to push yourself off of him, you think you might topple over, so you don’t. You stay locked in his embrace, listening to the way his breathing slows and chest thumps.

“That was what?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Everything I’ve dreamt of.”

Giggling, you snuggle closer to him. Who knew he’d be the type to sweet talk after sex. With how much he boasted and teased, you thought he’d be more… you don’t know… arrogant? You liked this side of him though.

Ah, shut up! you think to yourself, you’re not falling in love with him, so stop.

Haechan was a friend no matter if he did just fuck your brains out.

“Gonna go to the bathroom.” you mumble. Anything to get away from him and the swirls of ooey-gooey feelings.

Clambering off of him proved to be easier than you thought earlier, and the wobble to the bathroom was only slightly embarrassing. You thank God for privacy when you shut the door behind you.

As you look at your reflection in the mirror, you realize how much of a mess you are. Your hair is disheveled, mascara smudged and streaking, and your lipstick is smeared. Dark colored hickies scattered across your chest and collarbones. Despite this, you feel satisfied and content (Regardless of any stupid feelings that might be lingering).

Yet if Hyuck were to sneak in the bathroom behind you and beg for another round, you’d give it to him, no matter if the original challenge was a one and done kind of deal.

Your eyes widen into saucers… the challenge.

It was actually done – or at least partially.

You smirk.

Challenge 1/3 complete.

Maybe you should have stayed the night, but you were gone before the sun peeked over the tree line.

Haechan was still faintly snoring when you had slipped out from underneath the covers, and he only slightly stirred when you accidentally banged your toe on his gaming chair. His parted lips, and tinged cheeks made him look like an innocent angel.

One that you corrupted.

As you hurriedly walk back to your dorm building, you can’t help but feel a little bit of guilt fluttering about your stomach.

“Was this really a one-time thing?” he had asked right before his eyes had fluttered closed.

You had sighed, fidgeting with a thread on his comforter, “I don’t know Hyuck… maybe… I – I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Perhaps his shoulders had deflated with disappointment at your response, but you’d like to think he was just tired.

“Okay, let’s pretend it never happened then. Everything can go back to normal and… and if you want, I’ll be here to satisfy you again.” He had grinned then, although rather grim.

“Deal.”

You shoulder your dorm door and drop your bag on the kitchen table before grabbing a water out of the fridge. Thirstily gulping, you realize that even though it was his first time, he knew how to wear you out.

Points for that, you think.

You quietly slip into your room and take a seat at your desk after tossing the crushed plastic bottle into the trashcan. This is the moment you've been waiting for - a chance to rate the very first boy in the challenge. You grab a stray notebook from a stack nearby, open it to a fresh page, and begin.

Points for doing good his first time…Points for multiple positions…Points for eating you out first…Points for being whiny…Points for being eager…

There wasn’t really a system for your rating, but you take a satisfied look at the number and nod your head.

Congratulation Hyuck, you’ve received a 7.4/10, you think.

Despite it being his first time, he did exceptionally well. Who else could have lasted as long as he did, said the things he did, or fucked the way he did. Slowly, you find yourself slipping back into the memories, a play-by-play from start to finish – until a ping from your pocket drags you out.

Your heart leaps up in your throat.

What if it was him? What if he was asking why you left?

When you pull your phone out from your back pocket, you sigh in relief. It was just Jaemin.

You toss your phone onto your desk and slump against the chair. Jaemin didn’t press the question of why you were up… and hopefully he didn’t say anything during breakfast.

Pushing yourself upright, you dance through the laundry strewn across your floor and into the bathroom.

Despite what you said, you also had to wash the sex smell away. God, you were becoming just like Jaemin. Up at the ass crack of dawn to shower off cum and sweat and spit. Unexpectedly, you grip the shower curtain as a thought bounces around the inside of your skull.

Na Jaemin was just getting his dick wet… with Yeji, of all people. One of his recurring fwb situations.. But.. he was fucking her.

The video he had showed you the first night flashes through your brain. His cock thick and proud, pushing into the girl so fluidly, so rhythmically, so intensely. Until she squirted and he laughed. He had fucking laughed. You remember what he had said, “God you’re so fucking hot. NaNa did that, didn’t he? Mhm…come here pretty girl.”

And even though Haechan had pounded you into the next week, you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

Don’t worry Jaemin, your turn is next.

did you like it? if you did, consider leaving me a like, a reblog, a review, or some feedback in my askbox :)

A. NOTE | big thank you to lou, @peachjaem00, for helping me get over my writers block for this fic.. and for just being fucking awesome! i love you <3

TAGLIST | @newdeobi @jijihyunah @saintlyhyuck @mrkis @peachjaem00 @angelwonie @aliceinwhateverland @cabaretyun @allaboutthedongs @donutswithjaminthemiddle @bundleleeknow @sunshinedhyuck @kuingjuing @haechanalpha @thiccfullsun @jenoxygen @ishireads @greentealatte97 @aquamxrina @whymarkieyournameismark @marklexleaf @its-taeil-time @j4d @dearj43 @roohnyk @stargrll13 @hykwrld @leeluc @haechie @xuxisins @rainyjeno

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#nct smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #haechan smut #nct haechan smut #haechan x reader #nct dream smut #nct 00 line series #nct 00 line smut #nct 00 line x reader #nct dream haechan smut

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inkdrinkerworld · 4 months

Text

𝓒𝓤𝓟𝓘𝓓'𝓢 𝓒𝓤𝓡𝓢𝓔

Synopsis: James can make your days trying to get a story for your company really hard, he gets under your skin and knows exactly what buttons to poke and you hate it.

cw: a bit of an axious!reader, rugby!james, i used the house names for the clubs but it is not at all set in the HP universe.

wc: 1.1k

-`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´--`♡´-

Sports journalism is fun and rewarding.

You love going to the post and pre-match interviews and talking to the players and managers and getting all the insight you can to then write your story. What you don’t like is having to interview James Potter.

Everytime James sees you in the press room, he decides it’s his time to be the most non-descriptive, non-responsive to all of your questions and make it difficult for you to even write a story. He loves giving you vague answers that don’t answer any of your questions and it gets under your skin like nothing else.

It’s even more tiresome when he’s the team’s go to media-man because of his looks. He’s England’s current heartthrob first and their best flanker second. He’s beefy and burly, with curls that look like they’ve been ink dipped individually and dimples that throw a wrench into many a woman’s plan. It also doesn’t help you, mostly, that he’s the perfect gentleman the minute the cameras are on and everything he says takes on this sugary, colying tone.

Dread fills you as you walk into the media room, finding a few familiar faces before you sit to the back. You hope in vain that James isn’t on media today, maybe they’ll put his sweet teammate Remus on media duty. He’s always sweet and succinct, answering all the questions, no matter how ridiculous, with a grace and precision you suspect makes him perfect for being the team’s fly-half.

You’d even interview his rowdy teammate Sirius, possibly the best winger in the game right now, and endure his loudness and even his flirtations with the camera so long as you just got good answers.

Your hope is shattered when you hear James talking as he rounds the corner, your hands grow cold knowing that today is the day you write a half decent story about the Gryffindor team.

“Morning,” he calls as he enters, his eyes find you immediately and the smile he shoots you makes you scowl. It’s going to be a long press day. “It’s great to be back.”

“How have you and your team prepared for the start of the season? Knowing it’s a derby game must make it all the more exciting to be back.” One journalist starts, sweat already pebbling on your brow.

James answers perfectly, in depth and with the knowledge that you sometimes forget these players possess.

“What about the injured players from last season? Can we look out for their names on the starting squad? What sort of system can we look forward to this season?” You ask, hands shaking as you prepare for the worst. You hate how much anxiety courses through you nowadays in these interviews. They used to be far more fun.

“I can’t well say what we’re going to play this weekend, it’d be a bit of a helping hand to the Slytherin team.” The media room laughs and you have to bite your tongue to keep the scowl off your face. “However, we’ve got a lot of key players back in the squad, so I’ll say keep your ears open for some names you haven’t heard in a couple months.”

By the time you’re finished with the conference, you’ve got sufficient answers for the hopes of the beginning of the season but every other question was bypassed or you’d received a roundabout answer.

You’re picking up all your equipment, the other journalists all gone already. James hovers near the door, watching you for whatever reason but it makes your skin crawl. He has to know what he’s done.

“Can I help you, Potter?” You ask, lifting your head to catch a peek at him. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s leaning against the doorframe, something sort of like a smile on his face.

“Just waiting for you to be done. Wouldn’t feel right to just leave you in here alone.” There’s a bit of sincerity but mostly amusement in his tone and you roll your eyes. James laughs and pushes off the door frame moving towards you, “All done?” you huff and sigh, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and walking past him.

“Have a good training session, James.” he nods, watching you go with a smile on his face, one that spreads bigger when your perfume lingers in the room after you.

When you hit submit on your report you feel good but stressed.

What usually takes you an hour and a half to get done, took you twice as long because reports have been so slow during the off-season that you wanted to get it perfect before the opening match. Stretching, you make your way into the kitchen.

You’re sure half the worry was unnecessary and the other half was about impressing your boss. God knows you need that woman to be pleased with something you do this year.

Your phone rings before you can give in to that anxiety inducing thought, your stomach pits and the cup of tea you had to your lips lower. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi, I want to talk about the interview you just submitted,” Your boss is a bit of a hardass. She’s always harping about things being ‘perfect’ and stories being complete, so in the two years you’ve worked there, though you’ve climbed to higher and higher positions, you’re still the fresh and sort of peppy girl you were to her when you’d handed in your resume and appeared in her office in a blue suit.

“Sure,” you set down the tea and open your laptop, ready for a slew of changes or to change whatever she wanted you to.

“It’s great,” that’s high praise, yet you sense something in her tone. You’re almost certain she’s going to make you rewrite the entire thing to make the opening game of the season, a derby game no less, seem even more anticipated than it already is. “I just want you to add a little more about the history of both teams. Potter’s already brought in an influx of new fans, we want to make it easy for them to get into the season and get behind either team and feel the rivalry.”

That’s not what you’d been expecting. Not what you were expecting in the least.

“I’ll resubmit tonight by eight.” is what you say but inside you’re twirling and jumping around your apartment while morning sun streaks through your living and early 2000s pop music is blasting through the house.

James Potter and his non-answers be damned, you just got the best compliment of your work life.

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foldingfittedsheets · 7 months

Text

In the bloom of my youth I found myself on an evening with my best friend in the park. We were young and it was a beautiful warm summer night to be out. At sixteen in a small rural town our options for entertainment were limited but it had been a good day.

Park is a somewhat generous term for the locale, what it amounted to was a cleared space with some planters and bushes, a tiny podium, and a square of trees round the perimeter. We had been hanging about with our friend who needed to leave, and waiting to be picked up ourselves, carless plebeians that we were.

So there we were, two teen girls in the park alone as the last of the light faded. Neither of us had cellphones, and my nana was collecting us right from the park as we’d agreed earlier. We were in no hurry, knowing she’d arrive when she arrived.

Until my friend said, “What was that?”

I looked up to where she was pointing but I didn’t see anything. “What?” I asked.

“I think it was… someone streaking?”

It was absurd to think. Our little town, tiny and rural as it was, with a streaker. But I loved my friend, so instead of laughing I said, “Let’s go see.”

I’m not sure what I thought it was, but I was confident she’d be less nervous if we investigated and found a plastic bag or a jogger in white. And I’ll admit I was curious at this anomaly. We made our way across the park to where she’d pointed.

That’s when I saw it too. A flash of pale skin under the streetlights, moving too quickly through the shadows and shrubs to see clearly. My friend clung to my arm, shrinking in on herself and I felt the first twitch of fear. Investigating no longer seemed like the thing to do.

I was determined to protect her from whatever was lurking, so I changed course and started cutting away from the movement, heading for the small shopping center not too far outside the park.

Our progress was suddenly arrested as the mysterious figure launched into our path. A man crouched on the pavement before us, fully nude except for a loincloth. His hair was in white people dreads. It was in every way like Tarzan had stepped out of the animated movie into real life.

My friends fingers were digging painfully into my arm and we stood stock still, staring at this bizarre apparition. He was still a good fifteen feet away from us. He stared back, making soft simian “ooh ooh” sounds.

I was struggling to process that a man in a loin cloth was right there when he started to move toward us. It was in his monkey half crouch, a few shambling steps, slow, with his eyes fixed on us.

“Leave us alone!” I declared.

He stopped, tilting his head this way and that. Then shifted like he would take another step.

I was fully afraid now, but I was also furious that he was menacing us and scaring my friend. I dropped her arm, marching forward with wrath in my eyes and said, “Get out of here before we call the cops!”

At my approach he turned and bolted back into the bushes. I whipped around and zipped back toward my friend, grabbing her arm and power walking us out of there. We arrived at the nearest business and darted inside, conveying what had just happened in garbled snippets.

The workers were outraged to hear our story. They let me call my nana to tell her where we were, then asked if we’d like to call the police. I shook my head. I emphatically did not want to deal with the police.

In the safety of the store my fear had started to feel ridiculous. It was probably just some bored prankster.

As we waited for my nana my friend quietly admitted she would rather liked to have called the cops. I apologized for not asking. We lapsed into silence. She said, “I can’t believe you went toward him.”

I couldn’t either. I didn’t remember planning on it, only I wanted to be between him and my friend. “Do you think he was crazy or was it just a prank?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know either. All these years later I still don’t really know what happened that night. If he was on a dare, or cosplaying Tarzan for fun, or if he was unwell. A lot of the details have hazed over with time but the utter dissonance of seeing a man in a loin cloth pop out of the bushes is seared into me.

I also remember back then, in a whisper both scandalized and fascinated, my friend admitting, “I saw his penis.”

#ramblies #ffs foibles #Tarzan #streaker #writing #story #true story #one of the weirder experiences I’ve had

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animestsstuff2 · 2 months

Text

Yuji itadtori’s hoodie

Yuji Itadori x reader

Content warning: fluff! Aged up characters! Kissing

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

You didn’t initially know what to make of Yuji when he first joined the Academy. You also didn’t know how badly you’d crush on him either in the following weeks. His bubbly personality surprised you, after all you only had Megumi as a friend there for a while.

You tried to hide your crush on Yuji as best you could but it was hard to avoid a man who was basically a lap dog and wanted to be around someone. Nobara noticed your crush first and it took days of begging for her not to spill and tell him. She constantly teased you for how you reacted. How you stuttered when Yuji spoke to you specifically or went red in the face anytime he was too close or helped you with anything.

it was especially obvious you were crushing on him when he gave you his hoodie on a rainy day. It was super sunny when you, Nobara, Megumi and Yuji headed for some ice cream but a sudden storm soaked you all. Yuji offered you his hoodie, feeling bad since Nobara having checked the weather brought an umbrella and Megumi didn’t really care.

The day you tried to return it was awful. You paced outside his door thinking of how to begin your sentence, is it too late? Is he asleep? Should you just hand him it and leave? No, maybe say thank you and then lea-

“Hey Y/N? You okay?” Yuji’s voice cane from beside you, startling you. You quickly spun to see him standing in his doorway. Your cheeks burned and you nodded.

“U-um, yeah. No- im fine, thanks for asking but i-I have your hoodie here” you mentally groaned at you ridiculous stuttering. It only ever happened when you were alone with Yuji.

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Its okay. You keep it” he said lightly. Your eyes quickly flickered up to his, brows raised in surprise but quickly averted your gaze from his cute smile.

“b-but it’s your hoodie!” You stated, pushing his freshly washed hoodie forward. Your head down as you kept your eyes on the yellow cloth, anxious to look up incase he sees your red face.

“Nah its okay. It looks better on you anyways” He told you, his hands coming to grab yours and push the hoodie back into your chest gently. You suppressed a weird noise that was threatening to escape your lips and just nodded.

You wore that jumper almost all the time in your dorm room after that. You never wore it out incase Yuji seen and thought you were weird. You believed he knew about your crush and didn’t feel the same way so just stayed nice to you to spare your feelings.

You were up late reading about different curses, techniques and old jujutsu sorcerers in the library. The small lamp being the only source of light. Your nose deep into the book of Jujustu Sorcerers through the Ages. You were so in your own mind you didn’t notice the person behind you, not until they spoke.

“Y/N? What are- Woah! Are you okay!” You fell from your chair, well almost. Yuji was quicker and swooped under your arms and helped you onto your feet. You turned round, pink cheeked and nervous.

“Sorry- heh. I thought you noticed me” Yuji laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes gave you a once over. “Oh. Is that my hoodie? I honestly thought you threw it out”

Your eyes widened at his statement and you quickly shook your head.

“N-No! Um, sorry. I’m just wearing it cause Nobara has one of m-mine and then, also- yeah. Yours was the only one i had and its pretty cold in the library” your words fell over your tongue awkwardly.

“Yeah? Well i’m glad you didn’t throw it out. It looks nice on you” Yuji’s compliment made your cheeks burned hotter and you averted your eyes from his.

He doesn’t mean it. He’s just being nice

“How come you’re up so late anyways?” He asked, peering round your shoulder.

“Oh. Im just reading up on, um” you paused, forgetting the book you were just reading. “Oh! Yeah, um- its about past Jujustu sorcerers”

“Yeah? I wish I had your motivation to study. I couldn’t sleep so I came looking to see if anyone else was awake” He grinned. You just nodded, fingers curling into your palm. It was very rare you and Yuji were ever alone together and every other time you immediately conjured an excuse to leave.

You didn’t need to further embarrass yourself in front of him. You glanced back up at him again opening your mouth to lie and say you should probably sleep but he beat you to it.

“Wanna come to my dorm and watch a movie? A new horror movie came out and Megumi won’t watch it with me” he whined. Your mind froze and heart skipped at his question.

Alone with Yuji. In his room?”

“Um- oh. Ye-yeah sure” You stuttered. Your stomach twisted with both excitement and nerves. You swallowed dryly as you followed Yuji growing more nervous and slightly warm. Over both the fact you’d be alone in his room and that you were actually terrified of horror movies.

It’ll be fine..You can watch a horror movie and be alone with Yuji. You are just friends..right?

“Here. Yeah- um. You can sit here” He grabbed a pile of clothes from his bed and lumped them onto his desk chair. A classic move you’ve done many times.

You sat on the edge of the bed, skin warm and covered in goosebumps as he grabbed the T’V remote and climbed up beside you. You stayed close to the edge, so much so you were balancing on it.

He flicked the movie on and your eyes widened at the title. The screams within the trees. You swallowed thickly. You had heard of this movie, accidentally seen snippets of trailers for it and it did look fucking horrifying. You hated paranormal horrors the most.

“Im so glad you’re watching this with me. I’ve been waiting ages to see it” Yuji said eagerly and you just glanced at the smiling boy, nodding your head slowly.

The movie began and you tensed up watching the screen. You were thrown right in, watching a girl run through dark woods. Her hair tangled, clothes turn from the twisted branches beside her. Dirt kicked up from her heavy steps as she ran and ran.

Your breathing picked up as the movie dragged on, keeping your eyes open so you didn’t look like a wuss to Yuji. Your fingers curling into your palm as you watched an especially terrifying scene of the creature lurking between shrouded bushes and trees. The flashlight showing snippets of what a unnatural beast it was.

You screamed, quickly slapping a hand over your mouth and closing your eyes at the next scene, immediately embarrassed and terrified at what just occurred. You slowly opened your eyes and turned to Yuji whose eyes were wide as he stared at you.

“Y/N! Are you okay? Was it too scary?” He asked and you could feel your eyes getting glossy as the embarrassment you felt swallowed your heart.

“N-No, um- it, yeah- it just surprised me a bit is all” you forced out, voice barely a whisper as your eyes glanced around the dark corners of his room, terrified of seeing it. Yuji paused the film and turned to you fully.

“We don’t have to finish it. Do you not like horror films? Man I feel bad now for making you watch it” he laughed a bit trying to lighten the mood and make you feel better. Your shoulders were still squared, heart still beating fast in your chest.

“N-No. its alright, you didn’t know. I was worried you’d think I was a wuss, since, you know. We fight curses all the time” You explained, bringing your hands to play with the hem of his hoodie. You could actually handle curses fine but for some reason horror movies evoked your flight response.

“Man I am really sorry Y/N. Do you wanna stay here?” Your eyes snapped up to Yuji’s whose suddenly went wide as he raised his hands defensively “u-uh! I mean just because you’re scared and you mighten wanna sleep alone. I-I don’t mean anything by it”

Stay..with Yuji..in his room and in his..bed! Your thoughts were haywire as you stilled

His cheeks matched his hair as he spurted the words out. Your cheeks burning too at his question. You don’t think you could go back to your dorm let alone sleep in it, was bad enough the old dorms creaked and groaned at night. You’d be up all night worried about that creature.

“I-if you, um, don’t mind. Sorry. You can say no. I don’t have to stay and everything” You mumbled out, fingers furiously picking at the hem.

“No its okay. I made you watch it. I don’t want you up all night scared” He flicked the T.V onto some show you’ve seen him watch a few times. Your heart against your chest was for a different reason now.

You were staying in Yujis room with him! It’s not like this hasn’t happened before but previously Megumi and Nobara had passed out along with you after a movie marathon.

Yuji shifted about and pulled the sheets back. You carefully got under with him staying at your respectful side. You were still so tense, so nervous and a little excited.

“Do you want the T.V left on Y/N?” He asked, his voice low as a yawn slipped past his lips. You shook your head avoiding a verbal answer, not trusting your own voice.

He switched the T’V off and you were both left in darkness. You rolled onto your side facing towards Yuji as you closed your eyes trying to forget where you were but your adrenaline filled brain fizzled. The scenes of the paranormal beast along with thoughts of Yuji flooded almost simultaneously.

A hand down on your side slipping round to your back and pulled you forward into the darkness, eyes snapped open. You found your breath mingling with Yuji’s as you just made out the boys brown eyes.

“Sorry, you were shaking. I-Are you still scared?” He asked. A lump caught in your throat and all you could do was shake your head again. Your mind too focused on his hand. The hand on your back, splayed out, warm and almost burning through hoodie.

“I’m sorry for suggesting it. I’ll stay awake till you fall asleep if it makes it less scary” he mumbled and you just squeezed your eyes shut trying to calm your nerves as your heart flooded your ears.

This was crazy. You couldn’t sleep. No, you weren’t even tired too hopped up on your fizzling nerves, bubbling excitement and a tinge of fear to settle and even think about sleep. You opened your eyes again to find Yuji’s staring back at you.

“I’m-“ You swallowed dryly. “I’m not tired, are you?”

“Nah not even a bit” You could feel his thumb swipe up and down on your back. The comfort it provided was swallowed whole by the nerves it evoked. It suddenly paused

“Ah, wait- It’s me isn’t it? I’ll stop, sorry-man, hah” He pulled his hand from you and you were cold. The place it lay now open to the slight breeze in his room..

“N-No..its-um” your voice grew quieter as continued “it’s nice n’ relaxing”

Yuji said nothing. He just blinked at you before slipping his hand back around your back, resting it where it was. Your breaths mingled as yours picked up, chest tight and stomach fluttering. His fingers curled into your back and shuffled you ever so closer. Your hands came to grab at his own shirt splayed out in front of you.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you now could almost feel his lips brush yours, eyes still locked in an unnerving gaze. Your words died on your tongue.

Should you kiss him? No- hes just comforting you. Hes just being nice. He doesn’t like you like that and ev-

“Can I kiss you?” You almost sputtered in his face at his question. His voice broke the flurry of thoughts in your head. Eyes now wide as you nodded ever so slightly, did he see? Or feel you nod. You couldn’t speak to say yes, to convey how much you’ve wanted to kiss him.

His lips were pressed to yours almost immediately. Your fingers now curled tightly into his shirt, nails digging through the thin material as he pulled you closer and tilted his head. The soft kiss becoming rougher as tongues pushed together. A quiet moan slipped from your throat and was immediately accompanied by a groan from Yuji as he pulled away.

Both of you now breathless, soft quiet pants filling the silence in his room.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages” He mumbled, bringing his hand up from your back and carding it through his hair before placing it back down on your waist.

You couldn’t find words to form a response instead shifting forward and pressing a soft peck to his lips. A smile breaking out between you both as he wiggled his other arm under your neck and curled then around you pulling you against his chest.

You fell asleep peacefully not thinking of any horrible creatures, content with where you were as Yuji snored lightly above you.

…

“Hey Y/N? Is that another one of Yuji’s hoodies?” Nobara asked as her and Megumi walked up to you and Yuji in the courtyard. Your face flushed pink and you glanced up at Yuji who only shrugged.

“It is! What happened! Tell me!” She grinned rather creepily, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you.

Yuji laughed at your huffy expression as Nobara dragged you off to fill her in on whatever she believed was going on. Megumi on the other hand bumped Yuji’s shoulder with his own.

“So..I take it theres something going on?” He hummed quietly, watching the two girls ahead of him.

“Hmm? I don’t know what you mean. She’s just wearing my hoodie” Yuji hummed innocently. A grin on his face.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sorcerer #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #yuji x reader #jjk itadori #jujutsu itadori #itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk yuuji #jjk x you

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gambleofstars · 7 months

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Luficer HCs for Tall!Reader (gn)

₍ ⌨ ᶻᶻᶻ gambleofstars is typing ... ₎

ପ(๑•̀ᴗ•̀)* NOTICE: part of this post is NSFW, so minors do not interact.

↳ ❝ [a/n: i just really like this pathetic little man and i wanna take a lil bite outta him :3 anyway this is 100% self-service tbh, i'd love to be ridiculously tall and just twirl pretty boys around in my arms] ¡! ❞

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ No matter your stature, seniority and hierarchy are still a thing, so when Charlie introduces you to his (adorably tiny) dad, you bow your head and call him 'your majesty'

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ But over time, as you become his advisor and close confidant, you take great pleasure in using your height to your advantage; like sneakily peeking over his shoulder to see him doing his little arts-and-crafts projects.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The one thing you loved doing and Lucifer found embarrassingly hot extremely annoying is lifting him up at random times. Oh he's reaching for something on high shelf? Up he goes on one of your shoulders. He's dragging his feet on an early morning meeting? Your arms are ready for a bridal carry. He's just lounging around? Now he's laying atop of you with his face in your chest.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And you know this man loves physical contact.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ (He'll grumble about 'respecting royalty' but he'll wrap his arms around your shoulders and enjoy the warmth of your embrace and that lovely fragrance you always use.)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Mind you, all this is after many years of you both getting closer; so Lucifer trusts you completely. With his daughter's life, even.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ So it's not surprise he enjoys being pampered and worshipped for once especially since his last relationship didn't end well . He enjoys letting you drape his night robe over his shoulders when he wakes up, or fixing his hair as you circle over him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You'll mutter: "How cute" and he will blush like a delicate little maiden. It really is the cutest thing.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You'd complain about having to crane your neck down all the time, but the sight of Lucifer's eyes looking up at you, all doe and round, make it worth it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And he obviously loves the height difference between the two of you (looking at the old family portrait, he clearly has a type and you'll definitely tease him about it).

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ One of the main reasons he loves your height is the fact that when he does get into that lonely, depressive, dark space in his mind, he can curl up into a ball and be held by your secure embrace.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Next morning, he'll rouse from his sleep, place a kiss on your cheek and ask if you want any coffee. You'll kiss him back and effortlessly lift him up to go to the kitchen together.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ (The second best thing is that he's basically eye level with your chest which is a huge bonus.) NSFW. mdni.

NSFW. mdni.

𓆩♡𓆪 You already know this man has a size difference kink. Like, come on just look at him: all the forms you can choose in the world and you choose a pathetic pretty boy?

𓆩♡𓆪 He likes getting thrown around. Manhandling him in bed will get you cute little protesting whines, but he won't retaliate, he knows his tastes are obvious.

𓆩♡𓆪 Lifting him up with his thighs around your waist is a sure way of making him beet red from the tips of his ears, all the way down to his neck. It looks very pretty on his skin, in all honesty.

𓆩♡𓆪 Honestly, he loves all the marks you leave on him - be it teeth or nail (you always apply balm to it soon enough anyway).

𓆩♡𓆪 Even though he is million times stronger than you, he will let you pin him down with his little wrists and pretend to struggle as you kiss and lick at his neck.

𓆩♡𓆪 He also loves it when your shadow looms over him like a mountain when he's on his back; it's almost like you're keeping him secure from the world's eyes, it feels so, so intimate.

𓆩♡𓆪 Aftercare is also made easy with his small and your big statures.

i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man i love this man... :3

signing off, gambi

#hazbin lucifer #hazbin lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #Sub! Lucifer #im sorry i want this man crying

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wileys-russo · 8 months

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childhood sweethearts (14) II a.russo x reader

playlist one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen

childhood sweethearts (14) II a.russo x reader

"you're early? sorry who are you and what have you done with the alessia russo?" you gasped in mock surprise as you opened your front door, the blonde almost forty four minutes early to be exact.

"i've been saying i'm a changed woman! time management is now very important to me." alessia grinned as you moved aside to let her in, cheeks warming at the soft kiss she placed against your lips as she shuffled past.

"do you have enough layers on michelin man?" you teased as she unwrapped herself from the cocoon of clothes covering her, hanging things up as she went. "well it's freezing out there! and you never dress appropriately so i always wear extra so i can make sure you're warm." alessia admitted as you melted, surprised you weren't a puddle on the floor.

"what would i do without you?" you tugged her down into a grateful kiss as her strong hands grabbed your waist. "freeze to death probably." the taller girl mumbled against your lips, pulling away with a smile.

"also can we really call it time management if you're almost an hour early? wouldn't time management mean you were on time?" you teased as she made a beeline for your sofa.

"time is just a concept anyway. i can send you a great ted talk on it!" the striker pointed with a promising look before sinking into your lounge with a content sigh. "what?" alessia frowned as you moved in front of her and placed the back of your hand against her forehead.

"just checking you're not deathly ill. ted talks? not taking six hours to get ready? you made it all the way to the lounge without tripping on the edge of my carpet? have you by chance had a recent alien encounter?" you questioned seriously as the taller girl rolled her eyes and swatted your hand away.

"i just missed you." she answered honestly and once again you melted. "i saw you not even two hours ago!" you laughed but there was a fierce adoration in your eyes as you gazed down at her. "yeah and it was a long two hours." alessia huffed, pout forming on her lips as you rolled your eyes playfully.

"go get ready please! our reservations at seven." her foot shot out to kick your bum as your eyes widened. "less! you told me you'd come pick me up at seven." you spoke in shock as the blonde shrugged.

"did i?" alessia hummed looking away contemplatively as you sighed with frustration. "nah just kidding, its at seven thirty." the blonde grinned as your eyes narrowed, shaking your head and hurrying

"sounds like you should really work on your time management babe!"

"you look lovely." you settled as strong arms wound round your waist and alessia's chin made itself at home on your shoulder. "so do you, beautiful as always." you smiled, twisting your head to meet her in a gentle kiss.

"you're so cute lessi." you beamed as her cheeks flushed slightly pink. "am not." she buried her face in your neck as you grinned, placing in your earrings as the strikes lips softly peppered kisses beneath your ear.

"ready to go?" the taller girl kissed your cheek one last time and stood up properly as you nodded, rolling up her sleeve and checking her watch which you'd never admit to her but was a simple action you found ridiculously attractive.

"alessia!" you laughed in shock as you stood and just as quickly were swept off your feet into a bear hug, legs wrapping around her waist as she hoisted you up and onto her hips squeezing tightly.

"well i told you i'd pick you up at seven didn't i?" the italian grinned wolfishly, clearly very proud of her joke.

"so whose there?" you asked with a slight frown as alessia parked up in front of the darts bar, playing with the rings on her finger as her hand dropped into your lap. "the arsenal girls and a few of the united girls, they're up here for an away game and beth invited them." alessia answered softly sensing your nerves.

"hey if it's too much we can leave, maybe go back to my place and watch a movie? makeout a little." she smiled charmingly, interlacing her fingers with yours and squeezing gently.

"no no i know you've been wanting to see ella, i'll be fine. promise!" you assured, pecking her lips as her hand shot out to grab the back of your neck. "for good luck." she mumbled against your lips causing you to laugh softly before pulling away.

"i'm holding you to the movie and the makeout afterwards though." you poked at her with a stern look as she nodded, kissing your lips a few more times before you broke apart and stepped out of the car, the blonde quick to drape her arm over your shoulders and pull you into her side.

"you've met most of the girls before anyway but this time you're a little more sober." alessia teased quietly as you both handed your ID's over to the bouncer who checked them and handed them back with a nod.

"don't remind me!" you blushed and playfully punched her shoulder, already spotting the girls in a private room toward the back of the bar. "well hello! about time you both got here." you both stumbled a little as a body crashed into you and wedged themselves in the middle.

"you especially mate! come on, lets grab a drink." leah waved off alessia's protests as her arm replaced the strikers over your shoulder, guiding you to the bar as you sent her an apologetic smile over the older blondes head, watching as alessia was swarmed by a small army of her teammates.

"i'm gonna miss those little terrors. please if they offer to run the program again, we're completely in." leah promised, handing you a gin and tonic as the two of you hung around chatting. "they adore you. and thank you for the tickets! i don't think i'll be able to get them to sit still on monday." you laughed, leah waving off the gesture.

"go on, i'll introduce you to all the girls. don't tell less but i think some of them are more excited to meet you than see her!" leah whispered making you laugh as she grabbed her drink.

"the poor girl never shuts up about you at training and we always know when she's textin you because she's got this big dopey star eyed grin as she stares at her phone." leah teased as you caught alessia's eye across the room, sending her a smile and a nod as she raised an eyebrow wordlessly checking in.

leah taking you around the room you were passed from hug to hug, having met most of the girls at least once but easily an hour flew by as you got the chance to properly speak with them, feeling much more at ease the longer you did so.

"well well well, i knew it." you turned around with an amused smile, ella letting out a deep and dramatic sigh. "knew what ella?" you laughed as the mancunian placed a hand on your shoulder.

"you're just head over heels in love with me! obsessed, can't stay away." the girl nodded before you both broke out into laughter as she pulled you into a hug. "less looks really happy, thank you." the girl murmured in your ear in a much more serious tone as your face warmed.

"thats probably because she doesn't have to put up with you everyday!" you quipped as she scoffed and hit you on the arm. "nah she probably tells me she misses me more than you!" the brunette stuck her tongue out before the two of you started to properly catch up.

"hi pretty girl." you relaxed as arms wound round your torso and the scent of her perfume engulfed you, a small kiss placed discreetly behind your ear. "mind if i steal her?" alessia asked leah and beth who waved her off, too busy arguing with ella over how the rules of darts worked.

you let the taller girl pull you away from the hustle and bustle of the group, tugging you around a corner and camping out near the bathrooms where it was a little quieter. "hi." alessia smiled softly, ducking down to press a few tender kisses against your lips.

"you already said that." you teased as she rolled her eyes. "and i'll say it again, hi." her body pressed a little more into you, your back meeting the wall as you were drowned in the sight, smell, touch and feel of her.

"it makes me really happy to see you with all of them, you're my family and so are they." your heart leapt and skipped a beat at the sincere confession, lost in the baby blue pools of her eyes as you. "you're such a little softie now." you grinned as she groaned and buried her face in your neck.

"stop saying that. i could beat you up when we were twelve and i'll do it again now!" she huffed, causing you to squeal at the ticklish sensation of her warm breath against your neck. "mm sure you would. i'd just tell your mum!" you teased.

"yeah and she'd take your side in a heart beat, you were always her favorite daughter anyway." the striker pulled away with a pout which you wasted no time kissing away. "and don't you forget it russo." you warned tapping her chest with your hand.

"i wanted to ask you something." the blondes demeanor shifted, hands moving from your hips to take a small step back and put a little more space in between the two of you. "i'm all ears." you promised, eyebrows furrowing just a little in curiousity.

"i wanted to ask if-"

she was interrupted by the banging of a door beside you as the bathroom swung open as a few of the girls stumbled out with a laugh. "less! marys been askin for ya." ella warned, booping your nose as she stumbled past with maya, clearly a little tipsy.

"what did you want to ask?" you questioned once they'd left, catching alessia's attention once more. "later, once we have a bit more privacy." alessia smiled but there was a flicker of something in her eyes you couldn't quite place as she grabbed your hand and lead you away.

your stomach clenched nervously as she pulled you over toward a girl almost as tall as less, whom you recognized well despite never having met her and you knew meant nearly just as much to alessia as ella did.

"finally! where have ya been hiding her hm?" mary beamed as she spotted alessia, grabbing her into a tight hug as the blonde laughed and mumbled something back.

"and you don't need any introduction, feel like i've known you for years with the way she rambles on and on over the phone about you!" mary grinned as alessia paled. "mary!" the strker hissed, cheeks tinted with embarrassment as the goalkeeper hugged you tightly.

"you look after her yeah?" the girl mumbled quietly as you swallowed but nodded, the beaming smile which met you as she let go easing some of your nerves, knowing she was just looking after alessia at the end of the day.

"oh leave her be! if anything less needs the shovel talk, i like your girlfriend more than you." leah sauntered over with a slight slur, both of your faces blushing a little pink at that word which neither of you had actually discussed.

"right! another rum and coke then captain?" mary sensed the slight awkwardness and swept the blonde away toward the bar. "sorry." alessia apologized as you cocked your head to the side curiously. "why? you've got no reason to be sorry." you assured, placing a quick kiss to her lips before ella yelled out challenging the two of you to a game of darts.

"i'm telling you, you take it! i'm hopeless at the whole hand eye coordination thing." you shook your head firmly, almost stabbing the striker as you tried to thrust the dart back in her hand.

"oi this isn't a fencing drill! careful." alessia laughed, ella impatiently groaning for one of you to hurry up. "look i'll help you." the girl chuckled, maneuvering you in front of the throwing line and pressing her front into your back.

"fingertips, close one eye." her hand gripped yours, adjusting the way your fingers held the dart and moving your arm up slightly, a soft laugh left your lips as she pulled one of your eyelids gently down with the pad of her pointer finger.

"look over the top of the dart and don't throw it hard, or else it'll just go too high. we want to aim for the eleven so we slightly adjust-" she moved your elbow a little more forward, the two of you so wrapped up in your little bubble everyone else seemed to fade away, missing the loving smiles sent your way by the other girls around you.

"-then you inhale, exhale. throw!" the dart left your fingers and wedged itself into the wall, missing the board entirely as ella doubled over clutching her stomach with laughter as you groaned.

"see! i told you." you huffed, spinning around in alessia's hold who made no attempt to hide her amusement as you smacked her shoulder. "yeah you're rubbish at this." the blonde agreed, lips curling into a grin as you scoffed, held in a bear hug against your will as you tried to break free.

"i told you to take all the throws!"

alessia took a seat in between lia and vic and sipped at her water, neither one of you really having had more than a couple of drinks, her because she was driving and you because you'd been so anxious about making a good impression.

she watched on with an amused smirk as you argued back and forth with ella about why your fear of geese was much more rational than her fear of bananas, everyone around you both teasing they were both ridiculous and her heart warmed to see her two worlds meshing together so well.

but as she scrolled absentmindedly through instagram, clicking into a few of the girls stories she'd been tagged in with a smile, all of it was wiped away entirely as she watched leahs close friends story.

she was up and on her feet in seconds, nearly crash tackling the shorter girl who looked up in surprise at the clear panic plastered on her friends face. "whats wrong?" leah asked as alessia tugged her off to the side.

"leah you need to delete this right now, you can see us kissing in the background!" alessia thrust her phone in her national captains face who blinked a few times in surprise.

watching the video she'd taken of beth and jen singing along terribly to the kelly clarkson song booming over the speakers where sure enough you and alessia could be seen sharing a brief but sweet kiss in the background over beths shoulder.

"delete it leah, now!" alessia urged as the blonde nodded, grabbing out her phone and tapping around, showing her once it was gone from her close friends story. "less i'm really sorry i didn't even realise-" but her words fell on deaf ears as the striker stormed off.

"you ready to go?" you looked up in surprise from your conversation, but seeing a newly hardened look in alessia's eyes your protests disappeared, nodding and standing up to your feet.

you hurried to say goodbye to as many of the girls as you could, alessia seemingly in a hurry as she walked off alone and you followed quickly after her with a frown. "less what's wrong?" you asked softly once you'd left the bar and headed for the parking lot.

"nothing i'm fine." the girl mumbled back, tucking her hands into her pockets as you reached for them and your stomach lurched, a million and one doubts creeping in about if you'd done something wrong.

"hey. you're clearly upset, whats happened?" you tugged on the back of her jumper, hands flying to cup her flushed cheeks as you frowned with concern. "nothing, i'm fine." she forced a tightly lipped smile and let herself into her car as you made your way to the other side.

"lessi." you tried again, reaching for her hand over the console and breathing a small smile of relief when she allowed it to fall on her knee, her own hands gripping her steering wheel tightly.

"hey, its only me. talk to me love, whats happened?" you spoke gently, squeezing her knee as she let out a deep exhale. "leah posted some video on her close friends story and you could see you and i kissing in the background." alessia finally explained, pushing your hand off and starting up the car.

"okay." you frowned and nodded along, trying to prompt her to elaborate further but only met with an awkward silence as the engine roared and she pulled away, flicking on the radio. you tried to make conversation but only receiving singular word replies or a fake smile you gave that up, instead watching london pass by in a blur out the window as you sped home.

when alessia pulled up outside your flat and made no move to undo her seatbelt you put two and two together that there was clearly more to it and you could piece together where you thought her mind was.

"can you come inside please? i think we need to talk." those words had alessia's stomach dropping but you didn't give her much of a chance to protest, letting yourself out of her car and hearing her follow.

neither of you said a word as you felt around for your keys, pulling them from your pocket and letting the two of you inside, the silence building as you both stripped off your outer layers.

"do you want a tea?" you asked softly, alessia nodding wordlessly clearly caught up in her own head as she took a seat and you left her to it, moving quickly around the kitchen.

returning you placed a mug down in front of her as the striker mumbled a quiet thank you, bringing it to her lips with a small sip as you both sat with your thoughts for a moment on the sofa.

"i was trying to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight." alessia broke first as you sent her a small smile. "i know." you'd known that had been her question long before the two of you were interrupted.

"which is why i think we need to have a talk." you placed your mug down on the coffee table and tucked your legs underneath you, not missing the flicker of fear in the blondes eyes as she met your gaze before looking down into her tea.

"clearly the thing with leahs story really freaked you out." you stated your observations and waited for a moment to see if she would elaborate but when the taller girl remained quiet you continued on with your point.

"i don't think you're ready for this yet less." you forced out the words which felt like razor blades against your tongue, the blondes head snapping up as her eyebrows furrowed and she opened her mouth to protest as you held up a hand and she hesitated.

"i really like you and you really like me lessi. thats not what i doubt at all and i don't think its your feelings that are the barrier, i know they're sincere." you assured softly as she nodded.

"but you're not out to the public yet less and i think that needs to be something taken into consideration with all of this alongside the conversation we already had about how the fame and the social media side of things works." you reached out for her hand, relieved when she allowed you to take it, even pulling you a little closer as her mug joined yours on the table.

"alessia i would never ever in a million years even dream of pressuring you about your sexuality or how you express that to yourself, your friends, your family, the world, anyone, until you are ready." you promised, squeezing her hand gently as her eyes remained locked with your own.

"but look at how much you just freaked out over leahs close friends story. you said it yourself you already have such minimal privacy and i'd hate for you to feel like we're constantly having to look over our shoulders and be hyper alert whenever we're out on a date or out with your family or i come to a game." you continued softly, dropping her hand and moving them to gently cup her face as she slumped into your touch, legs pressed against yours as you shuffled even closer.

"we might have started our lives in the same place but now we come from different worlds lessi. you go and stand in front of tens of thousands of people every week for your job, you rub elbows with celebrities and give speeches at swanky award ceremonies in expensive suits or gorgeous dresses and do ads for adidas or model for magazines. I sit in a classroom wipe runny noses, make pasta necklaces and coordinate parent teacher conferences!" you gave her a sad smile which she returned, her hands coming to rest on your hips as she easily lifted you to be sat on her thighs staring down at her.

"but i don't care about that, i've never cared about that. i love what you do and how you teach and how passionate you are, and i'm so so proud of you." alessia whispered out, voice dangerously close to breaking which tugged at your heart and her grip tightened.

"i know, and i will forever and always be proud of you. like i said less you and i and how we feel about one another aren't the problem. you told me yourself how much your mental health suffered when everything became so toxic on social media with the transfer from united." you started, thumbs gently tracing her jawline.

"if someone posted a video of us kissing or holding hands or anything and the rumour mill started up about your sexuality and our relationship i would hate myself to see you get hurt like that again." you whispered out, unable to bare the thought of how heavy that would weigh on her.

"and we both know i don't really care for social media but if fans ever did some digging and found out which school i work at i could lose my job less." you reminded softly as alessia nodded with a pained wince.

"its a ridiculous concept that anyone needs to ever 'come out' but that journey and that decision it needs to be in your hands less, not at the fingertips of teenagers with no sense of boundaries and an iPhone." you promised firmly, eyebrows furrowing.

"but i love you." alessia breathed out, voice cracking as you smiled painfully. "and i love you. i've loved you since we were kids and i don't think despite how much time has passed i'll ever stop." you promised quietly.

"then why does this all feel like a goodbye?" alessia forced out and your heart broke at the tears which welled up in her eyes as her fingertips dug into your hips as if afraid you might disappear in the blink of an eye.

"its not a goodbye less, you'll always have me around. but you’d go and get glammed up at award shows and then come home to me in joggers on the sofa. you have an entire room of awards, trophies, medals, i have a few crayon pictures taped to my fridge. you are easily one of the most sincere, sweet, loving, caring, passionate human beings i've ever met and you deserve someone who can share the spotlight with you, not slink about and cower around the edges." you sighed, jolting a little in surprise as alessia moved you off her lap and stood.

"so what you're just, you're giving up on me, on this, on us?" the striker struggled to get out her words, face twisted and cheeks blotchy as her fists clenched. "no less i'm not-" you stood and tried to reach for her but she stepped away.

"i love you, you love me, we have been through so much together and worked so hard to fix things. why isn't that enough?" alessia frowned, chest heaving and head spinning as she struggled not to cry.

"you’re a stargirl alessia you always have been, so you deserve someone to shine bright with who doesn't need to be hidden or mean you feel pushed to do something you're not ready for yet! its because i love you that i just don’t think that someone you deserve is me." you confessed, trying to push down your own insecurities.

"no. no! i don't accept that. you're just tired and not thinking right and i'm tired and i just-i'm going to go home, we're going to sleep it off tonight and i'm going to see you at the game sunday afternoon and we can talk after that." alessia shook her head firmly, and before you could even say a word her lips were pressed against your cheek and the front door was closing after her.

only, that wasn't how it worked.

"lessi! darling you played brilliantly." carol beamed pulling her daughter into a firm hug, but the strikers eyes roamed the family and friends section, ignoring the praises and the hugs from her family only looking for one person.

"she's not here?" her eyes met her brothers who frowned as he pulled away from her. "i tried calling but she didn't pick up, i'm sorry less." gio apologised softly as alessia's face fell.

"its fine, thanks for trying." the girl sighed with a small smile, swept away by her parents and trying to force on a brave face as plans were discussed for their usual dinner.

"uh no, she's busy marking." alessia lied as you were brought up, mario questioning how many to make a reservation for, grateful for the fact no further questions followed as she excused herself to go and grab her things.

"hey, come with me for a second?" leah had picked up from across the stands the miserable look on the younger girls face and had been waiting for her in the tunnel, ignoring alessia's attempts to dismiss her and pulling her into one of the medic rooms for some privacy.

"is this about the other night? your head hasn't been in it all day. less i'm so sorry about the story i really should have looked but i was drinking and just clicked post and-" leah started to apologise as alessia shook her head firmly.

"leah i overreacted the other night and i'm really sorry, i know it wasn't on purpose and its not about that, well it sort of is but not completely and-" she struggled to get her words out, leah encouraging her to engage in a few deep breaths.

once she had calmed a little more the rest came out like word vomit, leah following along with a slight frown as the striker got everything off her chest about her-conversation? argument? disgareement? she wasn't even sure what to call it.

"okay. so now its been a couple of days, what do you think about everything she said?" leah asked gently, pulling herself to sit up on the med bench next to alessia who sighed.

"i don't know! i don't want to completely dismiss her feelings but to be blunt she's being stupid. if anything i don't deserve her and i don't care if our lines of work are rapidly different, if anything thats why i love her so much and i feel like we work so well together." alessia admitted honestly as leah hummed to show she was listening.

"but she has a point about the whole social media and boundaries thing. i'm not ready to come out but i shouldn't have to be in order to engage in a meaningful relationship? why does society get to ruin that for me just because people don't understand privacy." alessia huffed, kicking her feet out with a scowl.

"but then on the other hand i'd love nothing more than to be able to show her off because well...you met her and you know how wonderful she is. but people would just find every little reason to tear her down and i'm not able to protect her from everything, especially not faceless internet trolls." alessia groaned, leaning back on her forearms and looking up at the roof.

"but then why should any of that stop us from being together? i'd never want her to feel hidden or like a dirty little secret but there are ways we could go about maintaining our privacy. plus i guess her not being famous eliminates people being able to cyber stalk her, she hardly even uses social media." alessia frowned, a slight curl of leahs lips all that showed the amusement that came from watching alessia work herself through this.

"so then go tell her all of that lessi." leah bumped her shoulder into her teammates with a nod of encouragement. "okay. okay yeah i will!" alessias eyebrows knotted together and she jumped down to her feet.

"less!" the blonde paused, hand on door as leah called out, holding up her car keys which had slipped from her pocket.

"might need these romeo."

without really giving a believable excuse why but grateful no one pressed her about it alessia had cancelled dinner with her family and raced from the emirates right to your place.

but circling the block twice and unable to find a park she cursed to herself and retreated to her own flat, and then of course right as she stared to walk it started to rain.

when you heard knocks at your door that evening you assumed it was the pizza you were eagerly waiting for and leapt to your feet, eyes widening in shock to find a soaking wet alessia russo holding a boquet of soggy flowers on your doorstep instead.

"less?? jesus christ you're drenched! did you walk here?" you pulled her inside and closed the door, the rain thundering down against your roof.

"are you stupid? do you want to get sick? go get in the shower!" you ordered sternly, dismissing your shock at her sudden arrival for concern about her wellbeing. "alessia! go." you tried to push her when she remained unmoving, grunting as you had no success.

"no. we need to talk!" alessia shook her head stubbornly. "so you walked here in the pouring rain? why didn't you just call me?” you sighed as the blonde paused, cheeks flushing red at the realization.

"because i need to say this now!" she recovered and you accepted the flowers held out toward you. "sorry, they got a little wet." alessia mumbled as you couldn't help but smile at the gesture, moving to put them down in the kitchen.

"can you please go take a warm shower and i'll get you some dry clothes? then we can talk." you tried but again were met with a shake of her head, a small puddle forming beneath her on your floorboards.

"sit down please." her hands fell to your shoulders, walking you backwards until you reached the bar stools, giving in with a sigh and taking a seat.

"you had your time to speak on friday, and i've had my time to think things over about what you said." alessia started as you nodded, crossing one leg over the other and trying to ignore the urge to strip her wet clothes off of her and push her into the shower, already seeing a slight shake in her body.

"as much as i respect you, and i respect your thoughts and your feelings i still disagree. i meant it when i said i love you, i'm so in love with you and i have been for years. we've only just worked through everything that ruined what we had last time and i will never stop being sorry for my actions even with your forgiveness and i need you to know that." alessia pushed as your face softened.

"i know less, i know." you assured softly as she sighed a little in relief.

"good. that being said, i can completely understand that you want to protect me as much as i want to protect you. i know coming out needs to be my choice and a journey guided by my hands but why should me not being ready to go public stop me from enjoying a relationship where i feel so loved and safe and comfortable." alessia started, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

"everyone who means something to me already knows, everyone in my support net and my circle knows and they still love and accept me regardless. i don't need the validation of coming out to a bunch of strangers but if it means i lose you then i'd do it in a heartbeat, there isn't anything i wouldn't do for you." alessia promised as you sighed quietly.

"less-" "please let me finish."

with a nod and a quiet apology you fell silent again as she took a deep breath.

"you said i deserve someone to shine bright with, to share my life with and not slink around the edges of it. but there isn't a single aspect of my life i can't see you fitting perfectly into or making feel even brighter! i don't care if i come home after some big ridiculous award show to you on the sofa in sweats marking spelling homework, in fact i can't think of anything else i'd rather come home to." alessia let out a small laugh as you cracked a smile.

"i know we come from different worlds, i can't fault that. but i'd love nothing more than for them to come together, i know you would always be there for me through all the highs and the lows, and you won't ever completely get it, but thats the beauty of it. i love you because you're you, not because of your job or your salary or the fact you can't kick a ball to save your life!" alessia threw her hands up in the air.

"hey!"

"everything that you think is a barrier or a difference or further proof of how wildly opposite our lives and careers are only makes me love you more. i'm not saying we won't have challenges and arguments or disagreements, but nothing thats worth fighting for is easy. and you are the number one person i'd go to war for." she closed the gap between the two of you, her wet hands clasping your cheeks as your own settled on top of them.

"now last time i gave you this speech you were very angry with me but i found it in my phone notes and i'd really like to say it again if you can get through it all without you kissing me to shut me up?" alessia joked softly as you nodded.

"i know that you still cut the crusts off your toast and you refuse under any circumstances to eat olives or tomatoes. i know this because i'd always make sure i'd take them off your plate for you before my mum would notice." alessia started as your lips curled into a smile.

"i know that you bite your nails when you're nervous or feeling shy, and you fidget with your necklace when you're worried someones speaking about you. you'd twist my rings around to distract me when you knew i was nervous before a game and i'd never even need to tell you because you just knew when i wasn't myself. i've loved you since you were that god awfully shy short unathletic six year old who had scuffed shoes two sizes too big and the boys shirt on because your mum accidentally sent you in your brothers hand me downs." alessia continued on.

"i know that you still use chopsticks or a spoon to eat certain kinds of crisps because you hate the feeling of the dust on your fingers. i know that you hate most hot drinks because they remind you of the time you burnt your tongue on two minute noodles. i know that you couldn't care less about football but you'd listen to me bang on about it for hours because you didn't want to hurt my feelings or have me think you didn't support me. you'd let me kick balls at your head for hours because you knew it helped me, you were the first person i'd go to after a game and the only one i'd point to when i scored!" alessia's smile grew as you shook your head lightly.

"the airplane arms have always been around." you teased gently as you reached up to gently move a wet strand of hair out of her face.

"every time that I am around you my entire being, every single cell and fiber and mollecule feels fizzy. you make me feel properly alive, full of hope and laughter and the purest kind of joy. i know that you could run intellectual rings around anybody but you choose not to because you're a very good person, the best kind of person actually. you're kind and you're selfless and you've always put other peoples needs before your own. which is exactly why you've always pushed me more than anyone else i've ever met, and that you've always believed in me, maybe even far more than i ever believed in myself. i do know you. because its you, its always been you, and i think it will only ever be you." alessias voice shook a little as she took a moment to compose herself.

"so for the love of god will you please be my girlfriend?" alessia held her breath the moment the words left her mouth, biting down nervously on her bottom lip unable to read your face.

unable to find the words the blonde was a little taken aback as you stood to your feet and surged forwards, pressing your lips against hers as your arms wound around her neck.

you poured every single little ounce of love into that kiss, and alessia felt it.

"so thats a yes?" the girl pulled away, pupils dilated and slightly out of breath as she pressed her forehead against yours. "yeah, thats a yes." you laughed, eyes welling up with tears at the overwhelming surge of emotions which flooded your body.

unable to stop the shit eating grin which devoured her face you laughed louder as alessia's hands hooked under your thighs and hoisted you up and into her arms, your legs wrapped around her waist as your mouths moved in perfect sync with one another.

"baby this is very romantic. but you are still soaking wet and your teeth are chattering, can we please go have a warm shower now?"

"okay! okay! 4D i need you to settle down please, listening ears on." you clapped out a pattern, half the class clapping back and the others still chattering away as they did every monday morning you'd try to settle them.

but with a gentle knock on the door they fell silent, eyes wide and soft whispers bouncing around the room at their visitor who looked to you with an apologetic smile.

warning your class about your superhuman hearing you stepped out of the room, rolling your eyes with a chuckle at the way the chatter exploded up again as you did though this time about the kitted out arsenal player who'd been standing sheepishly in the doorway.

"you forgot your lunch." alessia handed you the bag of food as you shook your head with a smile. "thank you baby." with a quick glance around you craned up to peck her lips appreciatively.

"now go! if you're late again kelly will have my head." you teased, the blonde grinning and pecking your lips one last time and stepping away. "i'll see you tonight pretty girl." she promised, blowing you a kiss and turning around.

"you know your bum looks great in those shorts 23." you teased quietly sending her a wink. "excuse me missy we're in a teaching environment. be professional!" the striker warned now walking backwards and wagging her finger at you, ring glinting as it hit the sun.

"but i know it does." she winked cockily with a smirk. “thirty years old and we’re still bringing the heat!” the footballer did a little shimmy as your eyes widened. "less watch out for-" your warning was far too late as she backed up into the rubbish bins, slipping over and tumbling to the floor with a loud bang as you winced.

"sorry! no need to worry we're all good here." you dismissed the heads which popped out of other classrooms, alessia hurrying to her feet and sending you one last apologetic smile before high tailing it out of the building.

with a sigh and a chuckle you returned to the classroom, the chatter falling silent as you raised an eyebrow.

"lets try this again then. good morning 4D!" you sung out with a smile.

"good morning mrs russo!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

aaaand that brings this delightful little series of mine to a close. thank you for reading my friends 🤎

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso community #woso imagine #woso blurbs #alessia russo x reader #engwnt #alessia russo

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papercorgiworld · 8 months

Text

Sharing a bed part 2

Enzo Berkshire imagine

Mostly you being surprised that your best friend is a sex god and Enzo failing to keep your relationship a secret.

Warning: lots of mentions of smut, but mostly fluff

I guess this is smuff, because the smut and fluff are mingled together. Happy readings! Also, someone popped in a request in my asks, so I hope to be posting it tomorrow!

Read part one here.

You stare at the ceiling as you try and check in with your sweaty, panting body. How did you not know that your lifelong best friend happened to be the god of sex. Enzo pulls your naked body on top of his so your head is resting on his chest and he can softly stroke your hair. You move a little so you can watch his blissful face. He smiles when he sees you through hooded eyelids. “If you want another round you’re going to have to wait a little longer.” You panic a little. “No! Not again.” You giggle, but your answer is the last thing any man wants to hear, so he rolls so you are now underneath him. “Did I do something wrong?” Enzo carefully scans your body, but immediately looks up at you when he hears a soft laugh. “No, everything was perfect, but really Enzo, I think only so many orgasms are healthy.”

“So you didn’t fake anything?” Enzo whispers as he starts placing soft kisses on your jaw and neck. “No.” You breathe out as the memories return of how he manhandled you in every position to have you come in record time all because he thought you were being a tease for jerking him very slowly. Honestly, you were being a tease, but you had no idea that that would turn sweet Enzo into an animal.

“Enzo, seriously stop kissing me, I’m sweaty.” The slytherin looks up to you with his lips still glued to your body. “I don’t mind a dirty girl.” He quips and continues peppering you with kisses. You laugh, feeling blessed to be so intimate with someone as sweet and gentle as Enzo. “I really need to shower.” Enzo hums in agreement and kisses his way to your ear. “I should join you, make sure you wash properly and save water in the process.” His soft husky whisper sends a wave of pleasure through your body. “Enzo, how is your dick not worn out after what we just did?” Lorenzo grins, being very confident about his extreme stamina. “Don’t worry, my dick is eager to work overtime for you princess. And also, we both know I can have you come in more than one way.” You bite your lip as you think back at how wonderful his fingers worked inside your pussy and not forget how his tongue mercilessly played with your clit.

Your eyes roll back as you feel your body heat up just from remembering. Enzo strokes your cheek, watching you daydream, and his lips meet yours with fiery passion. “We really should shower and get breakfast, it’s already suspicious that we stayed in as long as we did.” You sigh, knowing that Enzo was right. He pushes himself up and wraps the sheets around you. Confused, you let him and then suddenly he picks you up, walking you to the bathroom. Your giggle fills the room and Enzo can’t help but wish to spend every day of his life like this.

***

You and Enzo arrive ridiculously late at breakfast, but since it’s a sunday everyone is still hanging out in the great hall. You spot your friends and squeeze Enzo’s arm. “Nothing happened, remember.” Enzo nods. “Nothing happened and we’ll just deny everything. No proof, no relationship.” You nod and leave for your friends, fully confident that this secret relationship thing could work.

“So?” Mattheo asks with a filthy grin on his face when Enzo takes a seat opposite of him. “You were right I was stressing for no reason, two friends can sleep together without anything happening.” Everyone frowns, not happy with Lorenzo’s answer. “But you wanted something to happen, so did you make a move?” Blaise’s face is filled with hangover and annoyance, he did not spend his entire evening listening to Enzo whine about you, for Enzo to now act all casual. “No, we’re just friends, that’s fine.” Theodore and Draco smile knowingly as they hear Enzo’s voice squeak a bit. “They fucked.” Draco states nonchalantly, while turning his attention to his plate. “Definitely.” Theodore affirms with a wide grin.

“Just tell us Enz, how was it?” Mattheo urges with wiggling eyebrows. “Guys, I swear nothing happened between us.” Mattheo hums not very impressed with Enzo’s lying. “Are you lying because she wasn’t pleased with the size of your manhood? ‘Cause maybe big dig daddy Theo can help her out then.” Theodore taunts and Enzo immediately snaps. “She was very pleased! So no thank you and you better not bother her, she’s happy with me.” All the guys laugh as Enzo’s little rant confirms their suspicions. From a different table you spot a tomato red Enzo and realize that the secret is out, not that you mind.

Word count: 772

Picture source: https://pin.it/7nLn2TAxb

Not proofread, so definitely let me know if you see any mistakes. I’ll be forever grateful.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #papercorgiworldwritings

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annwrites · 3 months

Text

one in the same. part six.

— pairing: otto hightower x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & otto attend the tourney, and then the ball, & things are acknowledged.

— tw: eating

— word count: 7,130

— a/n: oh , they are so darcy x elizabeth, tywin x joanna, daddy x daughter (do not crucify me—but if someone asks me to elaborate, i shall) coded omg.

totally listened to hunger by ross copperman while writing the dance scene (delena 5ever)

— tagging list: @ohsnapitzmarvelficrec

When you wake the next morn, it’s to someone gently gripping your shoulder, speaking lowly into your ear.

You slowly blink your eyes open, still feeling tired and wishing for more rest, and then you see who is the culprit of your interrupted sleep.

You stare up at him with bleary eyes, feeling quite warm and content, and it’s only then that you finally notice your body is pressed against his own; your shift having ridden up to your thighs overnight.

“It is nearly dawn,” he whispers.

You clutch the pillow under you, closing your eyes again. “Then why are we awake, Otto?”

“Seven Hells,” you hear him curse quietly. “You agreed last night that you would be found in your own chambers come the morn. Come, it is time to rise. I will have my guard escort you.”

“I’m not putting my things back on yet again. I’m too tired to dress.”

He rolls his eyes upward dramatically. Always, always difficult. Insolent young woman.

“You cannot leave here in only your shift. Come now. I am not arguing.”

You feel the mattress dip, then rise, but you only spread your arm across his side of the bed, groaning. “Come back,” you mutter, and he pauses at the request.

He then shakes his head, coming round to your side.

Your side.

You now have a side.

He should’ve used a far firmer hand last night in forcing you to leave.

Otto reaches for your shoulder, turning you toward him, and then quickly drops his hand as you begin to stretch, back arching, soft breasts becoming visible through your thin shift.

When you settle, you merely stare up at him.

For the first time, he is thankful things no longer work for him as they once did many years ago.

“Y/N, it is time. You will obey me. Do you have any idea the consequences which would befall each of us if we were found together in such states of…undress?”

Your eyes roam along him, noticing that he is now only dressed in a long, thin night shirt and knickers. Him not wearing a tunic, cloak, and trousers, with his Hand pin placed upon his chest, is a jarring sight. It’s like he is a different man in this moment. Vulnerable. No armor—that is, dress clothes—to speak of. Even his hair is tangled, lying this way and that atop his head, his beard also unkempt.

You sit up then, shift falling lower, your shoulders bare. “Did you sleep well?”

He groans. “There is no time for discussion.” He reaches for your hand, pulling you off the mattress as he hands you your corset.

You glance at it for a moment before looking at him once again towering over you. “I told you I am not putting it back on.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, shutting his eyes, trying to tamper down his boiling temper. “Just this once can you not do as I ask?”

He stares down at you again.

You toss it onto the floor and he clenches his jaw.

Worse than a child, he thinks. Mayhaps this is retribution for all those years spent making you miserable. If he’s discovered like this, with you, he will pay with his head.

He then wonders what ridiculous songs would be written about the Hand and the loss of his head for being found abed with the king’s bastard daughter.

He leans down toward you. “And what, exactly, do you propose to wear through the halls if someone were to set eyes upon you at such early hours?”

You glance to his wardrobe.

The halls are, thankfully, empty as you make your way back to your rooms—Otto’s guard close at your side.

Otto’s robe drags across the floor behind you, the rest of it completely engulfing you. Beneath it, you clutch your clothes close to your chest, heart hammering, hoping—actually praying—not a soul happens across you before you reach your chambers.

“Did anyone see you?” Otto asks, slicing into a poached egg.

You take a bite of toast, then sip at your juice. “If they had, I would have mentioned it as soon as I came through the door.”

He clasps his hands atop the table. “It will never happen again. Is that understood?”

You glance to him with a raised brow. “We shall see.”

His gaze hardens at your flippant tone. “And I expect my robe to be returned promptly.”

You stab at a strawberry tart on his plate. “I would not hold my breath on that account.”

For the next fortnight, the Keep is abuzz with activity—preparations for the celebrations planned by His Grace taking place.

The castle is given a thorough cleaning by the servants, decorations are hung and placed about the corridors, and the cooks and kitchen staff have order after order of fine wines, cheeses, meats, salts, vegetables and fruits, and much more delivered day-by-day.

Meanwhile, you have a new gown made for the ball, and another to wear to the tourney, which will be held beforehand that afternoon.

In truth, you share Otto’s sentiments to such gatherings. They make you not just anxious, but also incredibly uncomfortable. You never feel like more of a pretender than when you are forced to put on a facade of being the king’s eldest daughter, and sister to the Princess—when people address you as ‘Lady’ and bow their heads at your mere presence.

You would rather lock yourself in your chambers and hide under the covers until it is all over. But you know what is expected of you. And so, you must play along. Even if you feel a part of you die inside each time you do.

When Otto enters his chambers—a stack of books in his arms, taken from the library—it is to the sight of you fast-asleep in his bed.

He sets the books down upon a table and studies you for a moment.

He is not entirely pleased with you at-present. After exiting the library, one of his maids had passed him in the hall and informed him that she had brought you lunch, but you had refused to wake for it. So, the dish had, instead, after an hour of sitting untouched, been returned to the kitchens.

You had been sullen lately—spending most of your time sitting in a chair on his balcony, staring silently off into the distance, or sleeping away the day in his bed. Not even his addressing you as ‘Young Lady’ more times than he could count had earned him a sarcastic reply of your name for him—’Old Man’.

And, when it came to dining together, you would only idly push food around your plate, until he was forced to encourage you to eat.

He seats himself on the edge of the bed, staring down at you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with his finger. He sighs softly. Even this allowance he had made for you—allowing you back into his bed, even after stating firmly that it was to be a one-time occurrence.

But, when you had come to him one evening, upset, tears shimmering in your eyes—even if you refused to tell him what was the matter—asking if you could stay with him for just a little while, he had relented easily.

So, you’d silently padded into his chambers, clutching your cloak tightly around yourself.

It was when you dropped the item of clothing that your intentions in coming to him were made clear. You were only wearing your shift—ready for bed.

He’d watched as you crawled atop the mattress, burying yourself beneath blankets before falling asleep. He’d not said a word about it.

After that night, you began to sleep in his bed more often than even your own. Mostly during the daytime, that is. There had only been one other evening where you had shared a night together, lying next to one another.

You’d once again remained with him in his chambers reading, the hour quite late, when you’d eventually stood, nervously wringing your hands. “May I stay?”

He’d agreed with a nod, making you promise to dress come the next morning, unlike the first time you’d slept here.

You’d agreed.

And then he had lost yet another one of his robes come the following day.

He brushes the back of his fingers along your cheek. “Darling, it is nearly time for supper.”

Your face twitches, but you do not wake.

He sighs. “You did not eat lunch.”

You’re still quiet. Then, “I was not hungry.”

“Explain to me where this return to melancholic behavior is stemming from. I had thought we’d moved past—”

You open your eyes, staring out the open doors to the balcony. “I do not wish to go to the tourney,” you whisper.

He bends his leg at the knee, turning more toward you. “Nor do I. But such appearances are expected by those in our positions.”

“Do you not recall what…happened during the last one?”

His jaw feathers. So that was why. How did he not see it sooner: the clear explanation for your sudden change in state?

“Y/N…” He trails off, unsure what to even say.

You sit up, tucking hair behind your ears, taking one of his hands within both of yours. “I can’t…stop thinking about it. Everyone sitting in those stands, laughing and cheering and…” Tears sting your eyes. “All while she was…”

You begin to sob.

He then wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “I will be there beside you.”

He pulls back, brushing tears from your cheeks, your eyes full of exhaustion. “We shall suffer together,” he states, lip twitching and filling with a small sense of relief when you smile slightly at his jest.

The morning of the tourney, you do not come to him to break your fast, which he allows just this once, presuming that you are otherwise occupied; being readied by your maids for that afternoon’s events.

He does, however, have a plate of fruit and strawberry tarts—a favorite of yours—delivered to your chambers, along with a small box, a note inside addressed to you.

You sit at your vanity, your room vacated of servants now that you have been made ready for spectating.

You stare down at the small box resting in your lap, finally opening it. You first remove the small bit of parchment inside—the Hightower heraldry stamped atop it, which you break—reading the hand-written note: Your ‘handsome stipend’.— Otto

You set the note aside, then gently pull out a long string of pearls, your eyes widening at the beautiful gift. You roll the small opalescent balls between your fingers, smiling slightly to yourself, a warmth blooming in your chest as tears sting your eyes at the generous gift.

You then glance to the plate of tarts and berries Otto had sent your way just that morn and pick up a mulberry, placing it upon your tongue, and slowly chewing.

There is a knock at your door, interrupting you from your nervous pacing.

You slowly open it, and are met with the sight of Otto, one arm pressed against the door-frame, the other hanging limply by his side.

He then takes in the vision that is you. Your long hair is curled, some of it gathered atop your head, small pearl pins placed throughout. You wear a soft gown that is the shade of seafoam, the long sleeves and skirt made of loose gossamer, the embroidered bodice hugging your feminine frame. Slippers placed upon your dainty feet. And then, hanging from your slender neck, is a long string of familiar-looking pearls, which you come to finger nervously as you watch him watching you.

“I look ridiculous,” you say, face heating, wishing to let your hair down.

He lowers his right arm behind his back, clutching his other, as he stands tall. “You look lovely.”

You blink up at him and he then looks behind you to your dining table—the plate of food he had sent to you practically untouched. He steps around you, picking up a tart and holding it toward you. “Eat this and then we may go.”

You step toward him, taking it from his hand. In truth, you had retched twice overnight just thinking about today. Food was the last thing you desired. But he knows that already. It’s why he’s asking you to eat at all—because he is aware, without even needing have been told, that you haven’t all morn.

You take a bite, then another, chewing slowly, both of you looking at the other as you finally finish it.

He then offers you his arm. “Shall we?”

You hesitate to take it, wondering why he is not instead accompanying the King, or even his daughter. Or anyone else but…you.

He then speaks again, his eyes alight. “I did promise that we would suffer through it together, did I not?”

Your lip twitches then as you come to securely wrap both of your arms around his own, holding tightly as you press your cheek against his cloak. You step alongside him as he leads you out into the hall, shutting the door to your room firmly behind him.

You look out the windows to the carriage at the passing scenery that is the streets of King’s Landing.

“You did not treat me so kindly at the last tourney,” you say quietly.

He rests his hands in his lap, clasping them together. “I know.”

You think back to it.

You’d come into the royal stands already a nervous wreck—but doing your utmost to hide it as you smiled politely and greeted those who greeted you. And then you’d gone to seat yourself next to Lady Alicent—the only empty seat remaining, on her left—until Otto had abruptly stood, grabbing the chair, and moving it far away from everyone else.

You had stood there, swallowing down the lump in your throat, feeling sick as he glared at you, returning to his own seat.

And so you had spent that afternoon seated alone, fighting back tears, praying for the jousting to be over sooner rather than later so you could fall apart in your chambers without witnesses.

Which you had most certainly done, but for entirely different reasons than initially planned.

“You humiliated me,” you say, refusing to look at him.

In truth, he had filled with guilt when he saw the look in your eyes after he had done it. That of utter sorrow. He had regretted it, but also refused to undo it, leaving you sitting there, staring down at your hands in your lap, not partaking in the festivities for even a moment as you drifted away in your mind.

“I deeply regret it. It was a cruel thing to have done.”

“You made a spectacle of me. The one person there who wanted anything but attention put on her. I did not even wish to be in attendance in the first place.”

He leans forward, taking both of your hands in his. “Forgive me, Y/N. I assure you, I will never do such an ugly thing ever again.”

He presses his lips to your fingers—the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin—before pulling back, looking at you.

You nod gently. “I forgive you.”

You squeeze Otto’s arm—press yourself closely to his side—as he leads you up and into the stands. You stare up at him—anywhere but at the gathering crowd across the way—while he keeps his eyes forward, his face unreadable.

It’s in this moment that you finally notice just how different of a man he truly is with you. His features softer, his form more relaxed, even his body is less tense when you are alone.

By keeping your gaze trained on him, you fail to notice the various pairs of eyes which take the both of you in. All filled with either shock or pleasant surprise.

Viserys halts mid-sentence while speaking to Lord Corlys, brows furrowing slightly at the two of you together in one another’s company. A sight which he has never seen before, but is pleased to today, nonetheless.

Rhaenyra turns back around from leaning over the railing, watching knights and horses being readied to tilt, smile faltering as she watches Otto retrieve a chair from the front of the stands, settling it next to his own, which you seat yourself in.

Alicent glances up to her from her own position, following Rhaenyra’s line-of-sight, turning to look behind her, and her heart drops when she sees her father seating himself next to you, smiling slightly as the two of you begin to speak quietly amongst yourselves. Your hands are wrapped around his arm, which rests between the two of you, your chairs are pushed so closely together.

“Do you ever bet on these ridiculous jousts?” You ask him, fingers gripping the soft material of his cloak.

He leans back, crossing his long legs—which are stretched out before him—at the ankle. “Never.”

“And have you ever participated in any? As you are a knight.”

Somehow, picturing him atop a horse with a lance in his hand and a helmet with a feather stuck in the top upon his head makes you want to burst out laughing. So, you instead bury the lower-half of your face against the crown of his shoulder, slightly giggling at the thought.

He looks to you with a raised brow. “Does such an image amuse you, young lady?”

You nod slightly, staring up at him.

His lip twitches. “Jousting, no. Sparring, however, a few times. Though, I preferred to do it for practice to keep my skills with a sword sharpened.” He fears they have, perhaps, dulled over time now.

You rest your chin atop his shoulder. “I should like to see that.”

He looks back ahead. “All you would see is an old man eating dirt. I am not as I once was. Not nearly as nimble; as quick.”

“I’ve never seen you use your sword.”

“If we are fortunate, I may die without ever needing to.”

He then glances to Alicent, knowing that if certain plans come to fruition, the events of today may have all been for naught. But, he fears the young Princess will not allow the traditions of primogeniture to prevent her from taking what he is sure she now thinks of as being rightfully hers: the Iron Throne.

House Targaryen’s words may very-well be witnessed in his lifetime then.

You pull him from his thoughts when you next speak. “I wanted to thank you for my gift,” you say softly, fingers sliding down your pearls.

He presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Merely repayment for all your hard work.”

You slide your hand further up his arm, finally glancing to the gathering crowd across the way. “Yes, I suppose being a most constant sense of frustration for you is rather taxing employment.”

He laughs then suddenly and rather loudly, a few heads turning in your direction, while he glances down to you, shaking his head with a smile, grinning. “Indeed.”

He then rests his hand over-top your own that’s gripping his sleeve.

Rhaenyra had already given her favor away rather early-on, but yet another knight rides up, calling her name.

You watch silently, cheek resting on Otto’s shoulder—eagerly awaiting the close of events—as Rhaenyra stands, walking forward.

She then turns around, looking at you with a smile. She waves her hand for you to come.

Your brows furrow as you release Otto’s arm for the first time all afternoon, standing.

She nods toward the small table beside you. “He wishes to receive your favor. Ser Hugh.”

You smile nervously in return, grabbing your laurel of white roses, glancing to Otto for just a moment as you do—the look in his eyes cold, his jaw hard, hands squeezed tightly into fists as he watches you.

Your brows knit together briefly, an unsettling feeling coming over you as you turn, coming to stand beside Rhaenyra.

A handsome man, a handful of years older than you, with dark hair and a tempting smile stares up at you from under polished armor, holding a lance in your direction. “I would be most pleased, My Lady, to boast your favor. I’m most assured that with it, and your blessings, I will best my opponent.”

You drop the small wreath of flowers, watching as it slides down toward him, coming to settle at the base of his lance. “You now have both, Ser,” you say with a shy smile.

He winks before lowering the visor of his helm, his horse trotting away before he positions it at the far-right end of the median, which separates him and the opposing knight.

Otto keeps his eyes trained on you, blood boiling at your gallant knight having been so forward. A recurring annoyance indeed. First a marriage proposal, and now openly seeking your favor before the eyes of many. He is sure this evening he will only grow bolder; so he resolves to as well.

He cannot have you.

None of them can.

On the carriage ride back to the Keep, you’d fought against a small smile which kept working its way back onto your lips the entire journey. Otto had remained silent, glaring out the window, wondering if perhaps it wasn’t singularly-sided then. Mayhaps you instead saw him as more of a fatherly figure, as opposed to…anything else.

Who was he, at his age, to be desiring someone of yours, anyway? He tells himself such inclinations did not develop until quite recently, but he knows that to be a falsehood. They’d begun long ago. It’s precisely why, for some time, each time your father received correspondences requesting your hand, Otto had used everything at his disposal—his words as deft and polished as possible—to council him to hold onto you for as long as manageable instead, assuring him that lowly knights and third-born sons were not proper matches for the eldest daughter of the King. That to just hand you off to such men would make him look weak.

And Viserys had taken such advice, thankfully.

He prays Ser Hugh does not make an audience with the King tonight, inquiring as to the outcome of his recent written request for your hand, for Viserys never even saw it before Otto had destroyed it, tossing it into his hearth a fortnight ago.

Finally, Otto looks at you, wondering how best to inquire about your thoughts toward this new mystery knight—for you are not yet familiar with him; nor will you ever be, if he has something to say about it, and he’s most sure he will.

“He is a bastard.”

You look at him, brows furrowing. “Hm?”

“Ser Hugh.”

“Oh.” A pause. “We already have something in common, then.”

You stare at him, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see if you had been right—if that look he had given you as you took your laurel in-hand had been jealousy. Just the thought of it had kept you biting back a smile the entire ride to the Keep; the first time you had felt any form of even slight joy in days upon days.

He leans back, folding his hands. “He is the son of a blacksmith.”

You raise a brow in feigned interest. “He must be rather strong, then, no?”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “It implies that he comes from impoverished means.”

“You sound rather like a snob,” you reply looking back out the window.

His temper begins to boil.

You speak again. “As did I, before my father claimed me. At least he has made something of himself.”

What’ve you done? Read books and recited poetry and practised with your septa how best to be a dutiful wife to the right lord, which will be chosen for you by another’s hand one day? You suddenly feel an urge to get out and walk instead. You are unworthy to be wearing such fine things—in an expensive carriage being pulled by the best horses coin can buy.

And he intends to climb even higher, even further toward the throne—at the very least, the Crown, Otto thinks.

He resolves in that moment to not allow him anywhere near you during the ball. He does not deserve you.

He leans forward. “And you have not?”

You look at him. “No, I don’t think I have.”

He frowns, watching you go back to facing the window. “You think what, then? That finding a husband of preference will be the measure of your success? The metric by which you determine how meaningful your life is?”

You would be surprised to hear him think otherwise. He is not forward-thinking enough to see a woman as being capable of making her own way, surely.

You meet his eyes. “You do not?”

He chews the inside of his cheek, thinking how best to word the things he next says. “I think that you are far brighter than you give yourself credit for. I was always aware of how you were coming along in your studies. Studies which you never faltered in endeavoring to perfect your skills in. Reading, writing, sewing, instruments, dancing—”

“Yes, because perfecting the waltz is something of any importance.”

“What, then? Children?”

You fight against a snort. You wonder if this you can trust him with. Something no woman—none of your position, anyway—is meant to admit to. You do not look at him when you finally reply.

“I do not…desire them. I have never felt an innate need to have them. I believe that—if given the opportunity—I would be perfectly content to instead live my life at my husband’s side without ever having bore any. But, in the end, it will not be my choice: whether I do or no. Whatever the man who takes me to wife wants, he shall get. That will be my lot in life. A vessel to be used at his disposal, and tossed aside when he is done with me. When I am old and grey and no longer… Well, no longer.”

You both remain quiet, only the sound of horses whinnying and wooden wheels rolling over cobblestone breaking the silence.

You continue. “And no man would ever take such a woman to wife. So, yes, I perfected my lessons. So I might be a pretty doll, who smiles and laughs and says all the right things so some lord or knight or other, may pluck me from my shelf one day and call me his property. While I wither away inside, forgetting who I am as I become, instead, whatever he wants me to be. A man chosen by other men in my life, who think they know what is best for me, without ever asking me what I may want; think.”

Otto finally speaks, his voice low, entirely serious. “And if you found a husband who also wants the same as you—who no longer—” He cuts himself short, beginning again. “Rather, does not desire children himself, and would rather treat you as his equal, because he sees you for exactly who you are?”

You look at him, expression unreadable, even if your heart pounds at what you think—rather, desperately hope—he is implying. “Then I think he should ask me for my hand.”

You look back to the window, the Red Keep coming into sight. “Before another does.”

You emerge from your chambers, ready to vomit all over the floor at the thought of someone asking you to dance. And then there is the fact that you will be announced when you enter the room, drawing all eyes in your direction.

You fidget nervously with your pearls—a newly-formed habit, as of today—not even paying attention to where you are going as you slam into another’s solid body.

You look up then, ready to begin apologizing profusely, until you fill with relief, seeing it is only Otto. You then press your forehead to his chest and groan in frustration.

He lets out a low chuckle, hands coming to rest against your back. “We share similar sentiments.”

You pull yourself closer, pressing your cheek against him then, wrapping your arms around his lean frame. “I do not wish to.”

His left hand comes to cup the back of your neck. “Nor do I. But, I am afraid, what you and I wish for today is of little consequence.”

You pull away, looking up to him then. “I would rather be dining with you in your chambers. Grating on your last nerve.”

His lip twitches and he reaches up, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “One in the same, as always.”

You cling tightly to his arm—even more-so than this afternoon—as the two of you approach that large set of double-doors, which are already open, guests wandering inside the Throne Room for the feast, and then, eventually, dancing.

You wear a dark gray gown tonight—the skirt made of tulle, which sparkles against the lit torches and braziers lining the walls. The bodice melds to your body, the sleeves long and loose, tight cuffs keeping them in-place around your wrists. You wear, once again, a comfortable pair of slippers. Your hair is down and full, a single ribbon tied in the back, holding a few meddlesome strands out of your face. On your fingers, a couple small rings, and around your neck—Otto’s pearls.

You glance up to him, thinking he looks very handsome tonight. He wears a midnight-black cloak, the neckline high and lined thinly with fur. His tunic is emerald green and the stitching is impeccable. His dark trousers perfectly fitting for his long legs, his boots polished, and his Hand of the King pin gleaming.

“You look quite dashing tonight,” you say, pressing your cheek to his arm.

He looks to you with a smirk at the compliment. “I do not believe anyone has referred to me as such in over a decade.”

He then looks down to you, your wide eyes staring up at him. “You look beautiful.”

“The Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, and accompanying him, the Lady Y/N Targaryen,” cries the page from the doorway.

You want nothing more in all the world than to hide behind Otto, but you instead keep your chin held high, your arm casually draped over his, and a healthy distance of a few inches between the two of you as you walk between long trestle tables toward the high table at the front of the room, where the King, your father, is already seated. He watches the two of you with curious eyes, taking note of the new pearl necklace that you fidget with.

Otto pulls out a chair two seats down from your father and you sit, him pushing you in. He glances across the hall to a familiar knight—staring daggers in his direction—as his fingers brush along your shoulders.

He then seats himself between you and Viserys, immediately engaging in conversation with the King, as his right hand, surprisingly, comes to rest gently atop your left knee beneath the table.

You flush, taking it between both of your own, lightly kneading your thumbs against the back of it, so as to keep yourself occupied from the lords and ladies of the Realm staring at those seated at the front of the room.

Eventually, once the hall is filled, and it seems all are present, Viserys stands, ready to make a brief speech.

Otto leans back in his chair, his hand still between both of yours, until your fingers still and you decide to try something perhaps…foolish. Mayhaps even juvenile.

You twine your slender fingers between his own and his face remains impassive as he curls his around your hand in return.

Your eyes sting with happy tears as you focus on the feel of your hand in his, instead of the words your father speaks to the awaiting crowd.

Your hand shakes as you spear a cooked vegetable with your fork, nervously glancing at the chattering crowd before you, searching to see if anyone is watching as you take a small bite.

You swallow, stomach tied into knots, setting your fork down, deciding you will simply have to eat again tomorrow morning. Here and now is not the ideal time.

Otto leans toward you. “Just look at me,” he says quietly.

You turn your gaze to him. “What?”

He nods toward your plate. “Eat, but do not look at them. Only at me.”

You reach for your fork again, stabbing at a piece of chicken and looking at Otto as you take another bite, swallowing.

He nods. “Good.”

You do it again, each bite easier to handle as your eyes refuse to leave him.

You are filled with relief once the servants clear the room of the dinner that had been served, leaving only berries and fruit and cheeses and slices of bread for people to idly dine upon as they dance.

Rhaenyra is made the center of attention for tonight—suitor after suitor vying to be her next dance partner, while you sit silently, content to watch. But as you do, it does fill you with a sense of longing, if not forlornness.

You look down to your hands in your lap—Otto now across the room speaking with his brother and good-sister—wondering what sort of match will eventually be made for you. What he might be like. If he will, at the very least, be kind to you.

Or if he will keep you at arm’s length—will take a mistress right in front of you, which you are forced to share your household with—while you grow to feel more alone than ever. You do not know if you can bear such a fate. If you would even bother trying.

Otto glances over to you, watching as you nervously tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before fidgeting with your necklace, clearly lost-in-thought. He doesn’t like the distant look in your eyes, the way your brows furrow, as if you are being asked a question you cannot find the answer to.

He then looks across the room and fills with loathing when he spots Ser Hugh, who clearly has his sights set on you. He begins to head in your direction and Otto suddenly steps away from Hobert then, without so much as excusing himself as he tries to make his way back to you, forcing himself through throngs of people, even pushing a few aside carelessly, his shoulder bumping into another’s—he knows he must seem the image of discourtesy right now—as he finally reaches the high table, Ser Hugh only a few feet away and pausing in his steps as Otto leans down toward you, offering you his hand.

“Come with me,” he says quietly.

You blink up at him, torn from dark thoughts of wasting away in a castle somewhere, your sanity slowly slipping as you lose pieces of yourself day-by-day as all sense of joy and safety leave you.

“Where?” You ask, wondering if, perhaps, he is going to escort the two of you back upstairs finally.

You would be completely content with that; sitting silently with him, perhaps draped in one of his soft robes as he lies his head in your lap—you are sure he must have a headache by now from all the excitement today has held—and the two of you converse quietly in his private quarters.

“You shall have to join me to find out.”

You slide your hand into his then, and hold securely to him as he weaves his way deftly through the crowded room, both of you slipping away with hardly being noticed.

“Why are we in the Godswood?”

The music from inside is loud enough that it carries through the walls even to out here.

Otto pulls you close, unable to even recall the last time he’d done this. In truth, it was one of the benefits of growing older—no longer being expected to partake in such foolish customs. But, if it will make you happy—he had seen the way you had watched Rhaenyra with her many dance partners, with a look of yearning—he will do it again. This one last time.

“Dance with me,” he whispers.

You stare up at him, blinking and in disbelief. Dance. He wants to dance? You then wonder if he even still recalls how. You find it difficult to imagine him ever sweeping across a ballroom floor with a woman in his arms.

“I—”

He takes your right hand into his left, then positions your own atop his tall shoulder while he settles his right against the small of your back.

He steps forward and you step back, following his lead. He does so again and again, moving the two of you across the soft grass of the Godswood, only the moon and stars bearing witness to this intimate moment.

He then extends his arm, you stepping outward, then pulling you back to him, holding you close as he gently dips you, then slides his fingers into your hair, holding your gaze to his as he takes you back in the other direction, gently turning the two of you as he continues your shared waltz.

You smile up at him, tears of joy shimmering in your eyes as he then twirls you around, then pulling your chest back against his own.

“You’re quite good at this,” you say, breathless.

He smiles softly down at you. “And you, My Lady, shall be the last I take in my arms like this.”

He presses his lips to your forehead then and your eyes flutter closed, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks as you continue to move across the yard.

Finally, the music slows and then quiets, leaving your heart pounding, soft breaths escaping your lips, his own now close to yours as he leans down to you.

Please.

His fingers tangle in your hair once again, his body pressed to yours, and your eyes unfocus as you wait, anticipating, hoping.

Praying. For him.

“The hour is late.”

Your heart shatters.

You stare up at him then, feeling heartbroken. Stupid girl. Always so stupid. You were young enough to be his daughter. Of course that was why he had done it. Why he has done…everything he has. Whatever this is—it is clear now, that he sees it as some sort of surrogate relationship. You, a young, hopeless girl, and him a man who has tried to help guide you back to…health? You do not know now.

In what world would he ever feel…that. And for you, of all people.

No. You will never have that. Best to accept it now. You should’ve done so long, long ago.

You step away from him then, staying silent.

“I will escort you back to your room.”

You shake your head. “There is no need. You should rejoin your brother. I will do just as well on my own. I bid you goodnight, Ser Otto.”

You turn to leave then and his face falls at you addressing him by title now. Not that he does not have himself to blame for it.

“Y/N—”

“I am tired. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening with your family, Ser.”

He watches you go, not speaking another word.

It takes everything you have to keep yourself together as you all but race back to your room. And once you are closed inside—the door locked behind you—you fall to the floor and break.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead to the floor as you sob. You had loved your birth-mother and she had died. And then Aemma, and she, too, was now gone.

Everyone leaves.

You have tried to connect with your father, but it has always been well and obvious that Rhaenyra is favored by him. And with Rhaenyra, Alicent might as well be her sister instead.

You had convinced yourself that you were contented with being alone—you had even done an experiment shortly after Aemma’s passing, when grief had overtaken every facet of you: you’d not spoken for a day. You had wished to see if anyone would notice, would bother speaking to you instead.

Not a soul had.

After that, you had decided to lock your true self away from all others. You would be polite. Would do as expected. Be whoever you needed be for anyone that you were in the company of. But you would no longer open up. Would no longer even think to share yourself with any of them. Because you finally knew the horrible truth: no one cared.

Not about you.

But then Otto had come to you—made amends. He had looked after you. Had ensured your health, your safety, even your happiness. You…you had shared a bed together. Not in that way, perhaps, but you had. Thrice. And it had meant such a great deal to you. He had begun to.

And now you see. See that you have made a grave mistake. You should’ve let things persist as they had. If only you had refused to let him in, you would not be drowning in tears now.

After you have exhausted yourself, you fall asleep like that—lying on the floor; utterly empty, knowing you are back to the way you had been somewhere over a month ago: completely alone.

The way you should have remained.

Otto sits in his chambers with his head in his hands, wondering if he should not go to you.

The way you had looked at him as you danced, smiling at him, tears of happiness in your lovely eyes… In that moment he knew that he had finally done it: made you his. So, he had pressed his lips to your forehead, knowing he felt the same.

But as you waited with bated breaths for him to kiss you… He had finally snapped out of whatever delusion he has been living in for weeks on-end and realized that this can not be.

His late Lady Wife would be his last. That was what was right—proper. He would not dishonor her memory.

It was not just your age, but also your social standing—your circumstances of birth—which had prevented him from taking things further. Not that it would have been seemly to do so in general.

Or, those are the excuses he feeds himself, anyway.

He does not much care what others say or may think of him, but he has a reputation to maintain. Carrying on with a bastard-born girl, come from a whore from Flea Bottom—he cannot stomach the thought.

But as he sits there, picturing you with another man—him never to see you again as your fears of wasting away come to life…that is what truly fills him with revulsion.

He does not find sleep this night.

#fic: hotd (otto hightower x reader)#otto hightower x you #otto hightower x y/n #otto hightower imagine #otto hightower x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd x you

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