#and when i stopped texting we just stopped talking

[cbeargyu]

rockstar!beomgyu?…

( maybe make him toxic aswell….)😝😝

REVENGE

summary: you never meant to kiss beomgyu. and you definitely never meant to let it happen again. but when the boy you love breaks your heart and your oldest friend looks at you like he’s been waiting his whole life to ruin you… revenge suddenly feels a lot like salvation.

pairing: rockstar!beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, angst, toxic relationship, cheating, friends to lovers.

warnings: infidelity, rough sex, possessiveness, dirty talk, emotional manipulation, light choking, toxic dynamics, mention of heartbreak and crying, jealousy, one (1) very unhinged rockstar, degradation + praise kink, creampie, bruising, guilt turned into arousal, emotionally destructive behavior.

wc: 4,9k

notes: omg anons have such spicy ideas 🔥 i loved it, i just wanna confess that a certain part of this fic is based on real events 💔 yes, i was someone’s rebound… bye 💀😭

you’re moaning into his neck, breath hot and sticky as your body rocks against beomgyu’s, the faint scent of beer mixing with the sweat clinging to your skin. the air in his apartment is thick—too warm, too heavy with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. his fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to make you stay. like he’s scared you’ll disappear once it’s over.

you can’t even remember how many times you’ve said this would be the last.

“fuck, y/n,” he groans against your ear, voice rough with need, “you feel so fucking good…”

your eyes flutter shut, and for a second you let yourself drown in the feeling—his body pressed to yours, the heat, the pleasure—but then your mind betrays you, dragging you back.

you are riding him like he’s the only thing that ever made you feel alive. drunk on beer and heartbreak and the taste of revenge.

how did it come to this?

it’s blurry now, but you remember high school. back when beomgyu was just a boy with a cheap guitar and fire in his veins. he was wild even then—raw talent, untamed charm, a little too reckless for his own good. he’d get into fights with other bands after shows, bloodied lip and bruised knuckles like some badge of honor, and you… you’d always be there. cleaning him up, scolding him gently, eyes full of worry he didn’t deserve.

you weren’t like the others. you were soft where he was sharp, warm where he was cold. he’d watch you in the crowd like you were the only thing that mattered. he told you once that loving you felt inevitable, like breathing.

but you got scared.

when he confessed, heart in his throat and all, you told him you wanted to stay friends. you were terrified of what loving him could do to you. to both of you. and he just nodded, forced a smile, said “yeah, friends is good.” because even then, he’d rather have a piece of you than none at all.

time passed. you became an interior designer. he became a fucking rockstar. headlines, award shows, rumors, tattoos. but you stayed in touch—occasional texts, quick calls when your schedules allowed it. you never drifted completely.

and then came donghyun.

you met him in college, started dating two years ago. he was kind, at first. safe. steady. you let yourself believe in that fairytale. until the distance crept in. until his kisses felt more like habit than desire. you kept asking yourself, did i do something wrong? did he stop loving me?

the night it broke, he told you the truth.

"when we started dating... i wasn’t sure it was what i wanted. i told you i was over her, but... i wasn’t. i thought i could be, but—i’m sorry, y/n.”

the words split you open.

you cried so much that night, you couldn’t even see the screen when you typed beomgyu’s name.

“are you busy?” “no. where are you?” “can you come over?” “already on my way.”

twenty minutes later, he was at your door.

hair longer now, messy and beautiful, piercings glinting in the hallway light. he was breathing hard like he ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. in his hand: a plastic bag with cheap beer.

you couldn’t stop crying. he dropped the beers on the kitchen counter and pulled you into his arms without a word. just held you while you shook in his chest.

“he said he wasn’t even sure,” you whispered later, curled up on the couch. “he said he was still thinking about her. all that time... i was just a fucking rebound.”

his jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “that bastard never deserved you.”

“i feel so stupid, gyu.”

“don’t,” he said, voice low and serious. “don’t you ever say that. you loved him. you gave everything. that’s not stupid. that’s beautiful.”

“why wasn’t i enough?”

he looked at you for a long time, like he was deciding something.

“y/n,” he said softly, leaning in. “that wasn’t your fault. he’s the one who didn’t know what he had. you... fuck, you’ve always been more than enough.”

the kiss happened slowly.

his hand on your cheek. your breath hitching. his lips brushing yours like a question—like a warning. and then, you kissed him back.

soft. desperate. too long coming.

when you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “you need to make him regret it,” he whispered, thumb stroking your skin. “you need to make him feel what it’s like to lose you. you need to feel good again. you deserve that.”

he didn’t ask for anything else that night. didn’t push.

but that was the start of the end.

after that night, you distanced yourself.

you didn’t mean to cut him off completely—hell, you couldn’t. it was beomgyu. but something about that kiss left a shadow in your chest. it was supposed to be just a moment. just comfort. just a stolen breath between sobs. nothing more.

you still texted, still called now and then. his name stayed pinned in your inbox. but you avoided seeing him in person like your life depended on it. like you knew that if you saw his eyes again, if he looked at you the way he did that night, you wouldn’t be able to lie to yourself anymore.

and besides… guilt was eating you alive.

because no matter how “harmless” the kiss was, you were still with donghyun.

donghyun, who promised he loved you. donghyun, who swore you were his future.

donghyun… who you later found texting his ex behind your back. joking with his friends about how maybe he should “catch up with her” again. laughing at the idea of her "missing his mouth." and not in a wholesome way.

when you saw the messages, your chest cracked all over again.

it didn’t matter that you had kissed someone else first. you still felt like your soul was being peeled apart, like you were always the one bleeding more. and maybe you deserved it. maybe not. but either way, you couldn’t breathe when you read those words.

still, you stayed.

and then came his concert.

beomgyu’s new album dropped like thunder—critics raving, fans losing their minds, his name everywhere. and somehow, despite everything, he’d put you on the guest list for the showcase. vip pass. no questions asked.

you told yourself you wouldn’t go.

but you went.

the venue was packed. lights flashing. fans screaming. and when he stepped onto that stage, guitar slung low on his hips, hair damp and wild, voice sliding over the mic like honey and gravel—your throat went dry.

he looked like sin. pure, unfiltered, heartbreak and lust wrapped in leather and ink.

you swallowed hard, trying to force your thoughts back into a box they didn’t want to stay in. because there he was—beomgyu, singing like the world owed him something, like the stage was the only place he could be real.

and god, you hated how much you still felt him.

after the show, the backstage buzzed with people. artists, stylists, industry big shots, security guards keeping the crowd out. your small flower crown sat awkwardly among the giant bouquets and expensive gifts.

when he saw it, he smiled.

“you actually came,” he said, walking toward you. “i didn’t think you would. thought you were still avoiding me.”

you hesitated. “i wasn’t avoiding you.”

he raised an eyebrow. “really?”

your mouth opened, then closed. then opened again.

“…okay. maybe i was.”

he nodded slowly, gaze sharp but unreadable. “why?”

you bit your lip. eyes drifting to the floor. “after that night… i got scared. i’ve never done anything like that before. never kissed someone else while i was still in a relationship. it felt—”

“like revenge?” he said, smirking a little. “because that’s all it was. he hurt you. so you hurt him back.”

you didn’t respond.

because that wasn’t who you were.

or… maybe it was. just for that moment.

you pressed your lips together, looking anywhere but his face.

he stepped closer, voice softer. “how’s that relationship going, anyway?”

you hesitated again. you wanted to lie. to say everything was fine. to keep pretending.

but you didn’t.

you told him what you found. the texts. the jokes. the way it broke you.

he didn’t hold back. “wow,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “i used to at least respect the guy because you picked him. but now? nah. he’s a fucking piece of shit.”

you flinched, but didn’t disagree.

“so why the hell are you still with him?”

“because i love him,” you said quickly. too quickly. too defensively. “i… i love him, gyu. i can’t just let go—”

his face twisted. “he’s making you feel like crap, and you’re still here defending him. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

your brows drew together. “don’t talk to me like that.”

“then stop talking like you're proud of being treated like garbage,” he snapped. “you sound like you’re begging to stay hurt.”

his fingers closed around your wrist—not enough to hurt, but tight enough to ground you. to make your chest seize.

“stop it,” he said through gritted teeth. “i don’t want to hear any more of this shit.”

you blinked, stunned. your mouth fell open, but no words came out.

“if he makes you feel like this,” he said, voice low and furious, “then break the fuck up with him.”

you stared at him, lips parted. heart hammering.

you wanted to scream that he didn’t understand. that it wasn’t so simple. that love was messy, complicated, that you had history—

but then he said it.

“remember that kiss?” his voice dropped, rough like gravel. “how did it feel? did you hate it?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your face burned. because the truth sat heavy on your tongue.

you didn’t hate it. you hadn’t hated a second of it.

and that scared the hell out of you.

because beomgyu was too much. too intense. too real. and worse—deep down, a part of you still regretted turning him down all those years ago. even now.

but you had a boyfriend.

you weren’t supposed to want another man.

even if that man made your heart ache in ways your boyfriend never could.

beomgyu stepped in closer, his presence swallowing the space between you both until your back met the cold wall. the sharp click of your heels echoed faintly on the floor, and for a split second, his eyes flicked downward, lips twitching.

“you look so fuckin’ good in those,” he muttered, almost to himself, his gaze dragging up the length of your body. the slit in your dress revealed just enough of your leg to make his jaw tense, and the swell of your chest, pressed tight in that low neckline, had his breath stuttering for a moment.

then, slowly, his hand reached up—warm, calloused fingertips trailing up the curve of your neck until they cradled your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. your breath hitched the second his body pressed into yours, his heat, his scent, everything suffocating.

“you have no fuckin’ idea how many times i’ve thought about you,” he growled, voice low, raspy, like he was barely holding himself back. “since that night… fuck, y/n.”

his nose skimmed along your neck, lips ghosting just beneath your ear, and then—he inhaled.

deep.

like he needed your scent just to breathe, like your skin was the only thing that could keep him alive.

you shivered.

his breath was hot against your throat, and your skin prickled, hypersensitive, the space between your thighs suddenly aching with heat.

“and you?” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “have you thought about me?”

you didn’t think. couldn’t.

“yes…” it fell from your lips like a confession. like a sin.

and that was all it took.

his mouth crashed into yours, all fire and fury and desperation. it was nothing like the soft kiss you’d shared before—this was punishment, this was craving, this was everything he’d been dying to take from you. his lips moved against yours with raw hunger, tongue parting your lips, tasting you like he was claiming you.

your hands pushed up against his chest, not to resist—but to feel. and god, he felt good. solid, toned, his body firm under your fingertips. you slid your palms over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him, the tension in his muscles.

his hands gripped your waist tight, sliding up your back, then down again, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

he broke the kiss just barely, your foreheads resting together, panting.

“don’t feel guilty,” he said, voice dark, ragged. “he fucked up first. you deserve this. you deserve to feel good, baby.”

your chest rose and fell rapidly, torn between reason and heat, but his mouth was already back on yours—his lips moving, tongue claiming, body pressing harder against yours. you gasped when his knee pushed between your legs, spreading you gently, firmly. his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it, dragging it up to his hip so your leg wrapped around him.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing, biting, licking over the spot just below your jaw. “let me give you what he couldn’t. let me make you forget that piece of shit.”

you whimpered. “beomgyu—”

“don’t think,” he murmured against your skin, “just feel.”

he bent slightly, gripping under your thighs, and in one swift motion, lifted you. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the hem of your dress riding up, leaving little to the imagination. he carried you effortlessly to the nearby vanity table, pushing aside cosmetics and water bottles with a sweep of his arm before setting you down on the surface, stepping between your legs.

his fingers found the edge of your dress and slowly pushed it up your thighs, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “look at you,” he whispered, hungry. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful. you don’t even know.”

your head tilted back slightly as his fingers slid under the thin lace of your panties, stroking softly between your folds. you were already wet—aching—and he groaned when he felt it.

“fuck, baby,” he hissed. “he never deserved this.”

your hips jerked forward into his hand, needing more, and he didn’t hesitate. two fingers slid inside you, curling just right, thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. your moan escaped before you could stop it, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“that’s it,” he muttered against your collarbone. “let me hear you. let me ruin you.”

your head fell back as he pumped his fingers in and out, his mouth trailing hot kisses over your chest, down the valley of your breasts, tongue dipping just beneath your neckline.

“you want me to stop?” he asked suddenly, voice low, teasing.

“no,” you breathed, desperate. “don’t stop. please—”

he grinned, feral. “then say it.”

“what..?” you gasped.

“say you want your revenge.”

you blinked, body trembling under his touch, your climax building fast in your core.

“say it, baby,” he coaxed, fingers thrusting harder. “say you wanna make him pay.”

your mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut. “i… i want it. i want my revenge—”

“fuck yes you do,” he growled, crashing his mouth against yours again as your orgasm tore through you, sharp and hot and overwhelming. your body shook under him, thighs clenching around his waist as he swallowed every sound, every moan, every broken little whimper.

when you finally stilled, breathless and dazed, he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing your lips.

“we’re just getting started,” he said, voice wicked. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be worshipped.”

you barely had time to catch your breath before beomgyu was tugging your panties down your thighs, slow but deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. they dropped to the floor in a silent surrender, and he pocketed them with a smirk like they were a fucking trophy.

“i’m not gonna fuck you here,” he murmured, breath hot against your lips, “not like this. you deserve better than a quick fuck on a vanity. not when i’ve waited this long.”

before you could answer, he scooped you up again like it was nothing, his arms strong under your thighs as he carried you out of the dressing room, ignoring the voices and laughter muffled behind the door.

“w-where are we going?” you asked, barely able to think straight.

“my place,” he said simply. “somewhere i can hear you scream without interruptions.”

you whimpered, burying your face in his neck, and god, he smelled so good—sweat, leather, cologne and stage adrenaline. he smelled like temptation and danger and everything you knew you shouldn’t want… but did.

the ride in the black suv was silent, electric. your dress was bunched up around your hips, your bare pussy pressed against the rough fabric of his jeans as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you. he kissed your neck lazily, like he had all the time in the world, but his cock was rock hard beneath you. he didn’t even try to hide it.

once at his apartment, he kicked the door shut with his boot, not bothering with lights. the glow of the city poured in through the massive windows, casting shadows across the sleek, dark interior. guitars lined the wall. platinum records caught the dim light. this was his kingdom—and tonight, you were the only thing he wanted in it.

he dropped you on the bed, eyes heavy, lips parted.

“take it off,” he said, voice husky, pointing at your dress.

your fingers trembled as you reached for the zipper, but he stepped forward and caught your wrists.

“no,” he whispered, “let me.”

slowly, reverently, he pulled the dress down your body, baring inch after inch of your skin, his lips brushing each new piece of flesh like a prayer. your tits spilled out of your bra, tight and full, and he groaned under his breath like he was in pain.

“fuck, y/n…” his hands cupped them gently, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until they peaked. “you’re a fucking dream.”

he kissed down your stomach, his rings cold on your thighs as he spread them apart, taking his time to appreciate the view.

“this pussy,” he muttered, running a finger along your slit, “doesn’t deserve to be wasted on a piece of shit who doesn’t know how to treat you.”

you moaned softly, but he didn’t give you time to reply—he leaned in, mouth hot and wet against your core, tongue sliding between your folds like he’d been starving for it. he licked you slow, deep, sucking gently on your clit, fingers spreading you open.

your hands tangled in his hair, tugging, hips grinding up against his mouth.

“beomgyu—fuck—” you gasped.

he hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and your thighs clamped around his head, body trembling. he didn’t stop—he kept going until you were falling apart again, crying out his name, legs shaking uncontrollably.

when he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening, his eyes dark, his jaw set with hunger.

“on your knees,” he commanded, voice rough. “now.”

you obeyed before you even thought about it, dropping to the floor and looking up at him with flushed cheeks, your mascara smudged and lips swollen from kisses.

he unbuckled his belt slowly, eyes locked on yours, pulling his cock free. it was thick, veiny, and already leaking. you swallowed hard, instinctively.

he chuckled darkly. “open your mouth, pretty girl.”

you wrapped your lips around the tip, letting your tongue swirl over the head, tasting him. he hissed, one hand gripping your hair tight as he fed more of his length into your mouth.

“that’s it,” he growled, fucking your mouth slowly, “just like that. fuck, your mouth feels so good—better than i imagined.”

you gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but he didn’t stop, hips rocking steadily, praising you in broken moans.

“gonna fuck you now,” he said, pulling out with a wet pop and dragging you back to your feet. “gonna make you forget every time he made you feel like you weren’t enough.”

he turned you around and bent you over the bed, your chest pressing into the sheets, ass up for him.

he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance, and then—he pushed in.

deep.

you both gasped.

“so fucking tight,” he groaned, leaning over your back, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your spine to your throat. “like you were made for me.”

his phone buzzed on the nightstand. he didn’t even look at it—just reached out lazily, tapped the screen and muttered, “i’ll be late. got something to handle.”

you heard him on the line with his manager, voice casual but firm. “start without me. i’ll join after... yeah, don’t wait.”

he hung up and tossed the phone aside, then grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough so your cheek pressed against the mattress.

his pace started slow, dragging out each thrust, making you feel every inch of him. but it didn’t take long for him to snap his hips harder, faster, your body jolting with each stroke.

“does he fuck you like this?” he snarled in your ear, “does he make you scream?”

you shook your head, eyes rolling back. “n-no—only you—”

“that’s right,” he growled. “only me.”

his hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath catch.

“this is your revenge, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “so take it.”

his thrusts turned brutal—sharp, punishing, hitting the deepest part of you over and over. your cries filled the room, ragged and desperate, echoing off the walls with no mercy. his grip on your waist tightened like he wanted to mold your body into the shape of his cock, to ruin you for anyone else. to make sure you'd never forget.

“you feel this?” he grunted against your neck, breath hot and heavy. “no one else is gonna fuck you like this. no one else is gonna own you like i do.”

your fingers clutched the sheets, knuckles white, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. it was too much—his pace, his size, the weight of his body against yours, the filthy things he whispered in your ear.

“i bet you’re still gonna go crawling back to him,” he spat, jealousy burning under every word. “still gonna lie next to that asshole like you’re his.”

you whimpered, shaking your head weakly, but he didn’t buy it.

“nah,” he growled, pulling out suddenly and flipping you over, grabbing your legs and shoving them open. “look at me.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and fucked-out, mascara running down your cheeks.

“you better break up with him,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous, “or i swear to god, y/n, i’ll fuck you in front of him. i’ll bend you over his couch and make you scream my name while he watches.”

your mouth fell open in shock, chest heaving.

“and i won’t stop,” he added, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen entrance, “until he knows he lost. until he knows this pussy—” he thrust into you hard, making you sob out loud, “—was never really his.”

“beomgyu—” you moaned, overwhelmed, body burning from the inside out.

“you think he deserves you?” his hands pinned your wrists above your head, cock slamming into you mercilessly. “he made you cry, he lied to you, he fucking humiliated you—and you still love him? you’re fucking pathetic.”

you cried out, the words cutting deeper than his thrusts, but somehow… it made you wetter.

“you wanna be ruined?” he hissed. “you want someone to actually break you? then let me do it right. let me be the one to destroy you, y/n.”

his mouth found your breast, biting down hard on the curve, then licking over it with his tongue. one of his hands slid down between your bodies, fingers circling your clit.

“i’m gonna make you cum again,” he said darkly. “and when you do, i want you to say it. say who you belong to.”

you tried to resist, tried to hold it in, but your body betrayed you. the coil snapped, the orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing too hard, too fast, and you screamed—legs shaking, eyes rolling back, tears spilling.

“say it,” he barked, still fucking into you through your climax. “say my fucking name.”

“b-beomgyu—!” you sobbed.

he groaned like he was finally satisfied, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck as he came inside you, cock twitching, filling you up with thick heat.

you lay there under him, destroyed—physically spent, emotionally wrecked, your thoughts tangled in guilt and pleasure and fear.

he didn’t move for a moment. just breathed. heavy. hot. his fingers brushing your jaw as if you were fragile now that he had broken you.

“you’re not going back to him,” he whispered.

not a question.

a fucking order.

you lay beneath him, breathing uneven, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the room. your thighs still trembled from the intensity, from the way he’d made you cum like he hated you and worshipped you at the same time. beomgyu hadn’t said a word in the past minute—his face buried against your neck, body still pressed to yours, cock softening inside you.

for a second, just a second, you wished he’d hold you.

but then his voice broke the silence.

“you’re still thinking about him,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. the accusation hung in the air like smoke. “even after everything i just gave you.”

your heart dropped.

your lips parted, but nothing came out. you didn’t know how to explain it—the ache in your chest that refused to go away. the confusion. the guilt. the goddamn love you still felt for someone who didn’t deserve it.

“gyu…” you whispered.

he pulled back, face twisted into something you couldn’t name. anger? heartbreak? pride?

“don’t,” he cut you off. “don’t make excuses.”

your eyes welled up. “i don’t know what to do.”

“yes, you do,” he said bitterly. “you just don’t want to admit it.”

you turned your face away, ashamed. “i’m scared…”

he leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “i know,” he breathed. “but if you go back to him… if you choose him over me again… i swear, y/n, i won’t be there the next time he breaks you.”

you looked up at him, tears streaming silently, and in his eyes—you saw it.

not just lust.

not just revenge.

something raw. something real. something that had been growing since you were kids and that neither of you dared name.

“why are you doing this to me?” you whispered, voice cracking.

he exhaled shakily, jaw clenched. “because you’re mine. and i’m fucking done pretending i can watch you belong to someone else.”

your heart clenched so painfully it felt like it might stop. you could say no. you could walk out, gather what little pride you had left, go home and cry again.

but you didn’t move.

you reached for him.

he didn’t need another invitation.

his lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper—like he needed to pour every unsaid feeling into your mouth. his hands cradled your face as he kissed you like it might be the last time. but it wouldn’t be. you both knew that now.

he slid between your thighs again, cock hardening quickly against your entrance, and this time, when he entered you, it wasn’t fast or rough—it was claiming.

your nails scratched down his back, your legs wrapped around him, and all that tension, all that heartbreak, turned into moans and gasps and breathless whimpers.

you knew this wouldn’t end well.

you knew you were falling, spiraling.

but if this was the fall—

you wanted to crash with him.

you lay there tangled in beomgyu’s arms, skin sticky with sweat and sin, lips swollen from too many kisses, body marked with the kind of bruises that didn’t hurt—but reminded you exactly who had been there. your breath was still shaky, but your mind had never been clearer. there was no room for regret now.

the guilt that once sat heavy on your chest had melted into something hotter, darker—an intoxicating thrill that buzzed beneath your skin like a drug.

vengeance.

it tasted like his lips, like his cum dripping down your thigh, like your name moaned against your ear by the man you were never supposed to touch. and as you traced lazy circles on beomgyu’s bare chest, your eyes fluttering shut, all you could think about was how sweet it would be to see the look on donghyun’s face when he finds out what you’ve done.

because maybe revenge wasn’t just a dish best served cold— maybe it was better hot, breathless, and soaked in sweat.

and god, you couldn’t wait for seconds.

[wicked-disposition]

One love, Two mouths.

Your boyfriend stands you up on the day of your anniversary , luckily the cafe server is nice enough to cheer you up and keep you company.

wc: 5.2k

warnings: cheating, verbal humiliation, degradation, semi-public sex, light angst, exhibitionism, semi-pet play, raw sex, dirty talk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The café is full, the lunch rush no joke as college students and businessmen alike line up for coffee and pastries.

You drum your fingers on the table as you sit and sigh, anxiously watching the door. The hot tea you ordered about an hour ago is halfway gone.

You glance up when the doorbell chimes, hoping to see a familiar face but deflate when it’s just another stranger. Your eyes drop back down to your hands, still wrapped around the mug.

A few people have given you impatient looks, clearly annoyed you’ve been sitting so long. With how crowded the café is, it’s understandable they want your table.

But you’ve been waiting for someone.

Your boyfriend.

You were both supposed to have a cute little café date today, grabbing a quick bite at your favorite spot, the same place where you had your first date, to celebrate your three-year anniversary.

Yet here you are, sitting alone. your worried texts & calls to your boyfriend have all gone unanswered.

“Another grande chai latte,” a voice announces, the words smooth and casual as a hand places the drink gently on the table in front of you.

Startled, you glance up, your gaze meeting warm, dark brown eyes and the polite, practiced smile of one of the café workers. He looks familiar, you’ve seen him behind the counter a few times, usually focused and quiet, never one to linger too long at a table.

You offer a small, confused smile as you wrap your hands around the warm cup. “I’m sorry, but… I didn’t order another drink.”

He shrugs lightly, his smile softening into something a bit more genuine. “I know. It’s on the house,” he says. “You’ve been sitting here a while. Thought you could use a refill.”

There’s a beat of silence before he glances at the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

You glance at your phone and bite your lip. Still no notifications, nothing from him. It’s been nearly an hour since your planned meet up time. You sigh, shoulders slumping, the weight of disappointment settling heavy in your chest.

“Yeah,” you murmur, barely looking up. “Sure.”

“Thank you,” the man says, slipping into the empty chair across from you. He stretches a little, clearly relieved to be off his feet. “It’s crazy busy in here today. I’m finally off the clock. Thought I’d sit with you for a bit before heading out. you looked a bit down.”

“I’m fine,” you answer automatically, the words flat.

The stranger doesn’t buy it for a second. His brow lifts slightly, eyes studying you with quiet concern.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice gentle—not prying.

You open your mouth to repeat yourself, to insist that you’re fine but no sound comes out.

He’s looking at you with his full attention now, brows furrowed slightly in concern. He’s just a stranger, yet somehow, in this moment, he feels more present than the one person who should be here.

It should be your boyfriend sitting across from you. You should be together, celebrating your relationship, laughing over pastries, trading teasing smiles and soft touches.

Instead, you’re here, alone, being concerned for by someone who doesn’t even know your name.

“I’m not fine,” you blurt, the words raw and trembling with hurt.

You take a shaky breath, and before you can stop yourself, the rest comes pouring out.

“My boyfriend is an hour late to our date. We had a bit of an argument this morning, but I thought… I thought he’d still show up. I mean, today’s special.”

Your voice wavers as you glance down at your hands. “He hasn’t even texted me. Didn’t say if he’s busy, or if he forgot—or if he just doesn’t care. It’s supposed to be our anniversary.”

“He sounds like an ass,” the stranger says, his tone casual but not unkind, eyes even softer than before this time with a hint of playful amusement.

The bluntness catches you off guard, and despite everything, a surprised giggle slips out of you.

“Yeah,” you admit with a small smile, shoulders loosening just a little. “He kind of is.”

Realizing you’ve just spilled your personal drama to a complete stranger, you shift in your seat and offer an awkward smile.

“Sorry,” you mumble, fingers nervously twirling a strand of your hair a habit you fall into when you’re flustered. “I didn’t mean to unload all that onto someone I don’t even know. That wasn’t really appropriate.”

You let out a soft, self deprecating chuckle. “You can tell I’m kind of a mess.”

The stranger watches you for a moment, quietly taking in your words. There’s no judgment in his gaze only something calm and steady, like he’s weighing the right thing to say.

Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yunho,” he says simply, offering his name like a sort of anchor.

“What?”

“My name,” he says. “My name is Yunho.”

“Yunho,” you repeat softly, testing the name on your tongue. It’s a nice name—smooth, comforting, and far too easy to say.

He hums in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah… and what’s yours, darling?”

You blush at the pet name, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Oh… I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, slowly, like he’s trying it out and already committing it to memory. Something about the way he says your name makes your stomach flutter.

He leans back slightly, grinning. “Now you know my name, and I know yours—so we’re not strangers anymore.”

You giggle at his logic, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Yunho is looking at you. There’s something in his gaze you can’t quite name. Whatever it is, it sends a warm twist through your stomach, curling pleasantly beneath the ache.

Finally, he speaks, voice low but certain.

“Your boyfriend is an idiot,” he says, “and an asshole for standing someone as beautiful as you up on a date. Especially on your anniversary.”

“Oh,” you breathe, the word barely audible. It’s been so long since someone’s spoken to you so boldly, so sincerely and it stirs something in you that you didn’t realize you missed. You find yourself wanting more.

Yunho’s expression softens as he quickly adds, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You shake your head, almost too quickly. “No—no, it’s okay. Really.”

Your voice is earnest, maybe even a little desperate to keep the moment from slipping away.

Yunho doesn’t seem convinced. His eyes flicker with something like regret as he stands from his chair.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he says. “That wasn’t my intention. I’ll take my leave now.”

Panic rises in your chest before you even register it. You don’t want him to go—not yet.

Without thinking, you stand abruptly and reach out, your fingers curling gently around his wrist.

“No, wait,” you say, the words rushed, almost pleading.

Yunho glances down at your hand wrapped around his wrist, then lifts his gaze back to meet yours. His eyes search your face—soft, curious, but still unreadable.

You feel the blush rise to your cheeks again, heat crawling up your neck at how desperately you must seem. But at this point, you don’t care. You’re tired of waiting, tired of feeling forgotten. You deserve something good today even if it’s unexpected.

“Would you…” you begin, then clear your throat, trying to steady your voice. “Do you want to maybe… get out of here?”

Yunho’s lips curl into a sly grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What about your boyfriend?” he teases, his tone light but sharp, as if poking fun at the situation.

The question hangs in the air, playful and a little too real, making you feel a strange mix of embarrassment and excitement.

“He’s an asshole,” you say, your voice surprisingly steady, as if that’s all the explanation Yunho needs.

Yunho chuckles, his fingers brushing against yours before he takes your hand fully, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Right, an asshole,” he agrees with a playful smirk.

Without another word, the two of you head for the door, your hands intertwined. For the first time today, you feel a spark of excitement, the weight of disappointment lifting as you step outside of the cafe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What?” you finally ask, laughing softly as you catch Yunho sneaking yet another glance your way while the two of you walk hand in hand toward the subway.

He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth lifting into a wide, boyish smile. “It’s just… this is the last thing I expected to be doing today after getting off work.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for a moment as the question tugs at your thoughts.

“Are you having second thoughts?” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice light, though a sliver of doubt slips through.

Yunho glances over at you, his eyes locking with yours without missing a beat.

“Not at all,” he says firmly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You smile shyly in response, the warmth of his words still lingering in your chest as the two of you hurry onto the platform just in time to slip through the train doors before they close with a hiss.

The train is packed, bodies pressed together, the air thick with the hum of chatter and movement. You and Yunho barely manage to navigate through the tight crowd, finding a small sliver of space to stand.

“It’s always so crowded around this time of day,” you huff, slightly breathless as you grab onto a pole for balance.

Yunho stands close behind you, his hand gripping the pole just above yours, the heat of his body radiating against your back. The train jolts and sways with every stop, but somehow, the crowd never thins, each wave of people simply replaced by the next.

It’s hard to stay steady with the train’s unpredictable turns, and when it lurches sharply to the left, you’re caught off guard.

You stumble, your balance slipping but before you can fall forward, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest.

“You okay?” Yunho murmurs, his voice low beside your ear. His arm stays around you, protective and unhurried.

You don’t answer right away. You don’t ask him to let go.

You just nod, leaning into the warmth of his hold, quietly thankful for the unexpected steadiness in the chaos around you.

The train lurches again more sudden this time and the person in front of you stumbles back a few steps. Out of instinct, you do the same, trying to make room.

But in doing so, you end up pressed back fully against Yunho, your body flush against his. The curve of your ass fits snugly against him, and the contact is instant, intimate.

His arm around your waist tightens just slightly, and you hear him suck in a quiet, sharp breath.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You try to shift forward, to create some space but there’s nowhere to go. You’re hemmed in on all sides by the crowd, trapped in that charged space between his body and yours.

“Sorry,” you murmur embarrassed, voice barely above a whisper.

Restless, you shift your weight ust a little, just enough to ease the pressure of standing so still. But the motion makes your ass brush firmly against Yunho’s crotch.

You gasp and your eyes widen as your hips move again trying to confirm what you’re feeling.

Your arousal heightens, warmth pooling in your belly as you feel Yunho’s growing hardness press more insistently against your backside.

Even through your skirt and the thin barrier of your panties, you can feel him solid, undeniable, and getting harder by the second.

You don’t stop moving.

“What’re you doing?”

Yunho’s voice is low—deeper, rougher and his lips brush just barely against the shell of your ear, sending a spark straight down your spine.

You gasp, the sound escaping before you can stop it. Heat floods your cheeks as the weight of his words sinks in.

“I—”

“Rubbing up on me like a bitch in heat,” he murmurs, voice almost a growl, “in the middle of a crowded train?”

You can hear the smirk in his tone, but there’s heat there too controlled, but barely.

Your eyes flutter shut, a low whimper escaping before you can catch it. His words coil deep inside you, settling straight to your core.

“I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to—” you whisper, voice shaky and thin. But the apology falters even as you say it.

Because it’s not true.

Even now, after being caught, after hearing the heat in his voice you can’t stop. Your hips press back again, seeking him out, needing that contact.

The end of your sentence melts into a breathy moan, barely audible, but unmistakable between you.

And behind you, Yunho doesn’t move away. If anything, his grip on your waist tightens.

“Needy puppy, this is what you want isn’t it?” Yunho murmurs, his voice dark and thick with desire.

His hips roll forward, deliberately slow. The pressure of his cock against your ass makes your breath hitch, your body respond instinctively.

It feels so big. Thick.

You nod, unable to speak, the motion small but immediate needy.

Yunho exhales sharply behind you, and the sound alone sends another ripple of heat through you.

“I’m going to make you forget whatever the fuck his name is,” Yunho whispers, his voice a low, molten promise against your ear.

You haven’t thought about your boyfriend once since leaving the café, not with Yunho pressed against you like this, not with the way he’s subtly rutting his hips into yours, heat radiating off him in waves.

“The only thing you’ll be able to think about,” he continues, his breath hot against your skin, “is the feel of me inside you… the way I’ll have you begging ruined and trembling, completely off of my cock”

His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, possessive, steady.

Your whole body reacts heart pounding, pussy clenching, as you pant at the filth leaving his mouth.

“Or would you rather I take you right here, in front of all these people?” Yunho murmurs, his voice a velvet threat, laced with wicked promise. “Would you like that? Hands gripping this pole while I take you from behind and make you mine in front of an audience?”

You gasp, your cheeks flushing deep crimson, heat spreading down your neck and straight to your core.

For a moment you actually consider it.

Wondering what it would be like to let him take you completely in front of all these people without a care in the world except for hanging off of his cock.

“Please,” you whimper softly, the word barely audible over the hum of the train, but Yunho hears it. Of course he does.

You squirm in his hold, body aching with want, yet your eyes remain forward locked on nothing, aware of everything. The press of strangers on all sides, the rhythmic clatter of the train, the heat in your cheeks.

Everyone around you is absorbed in their own world. No one notices the subtle lift of your skirt, the way Yunho’s mouth lingers close to your ear, or the flush staining your skin. But still they could. At any moment, someone could glance your way and know.

“Patience,” Yunho murmurs, voice firm but dripping with promise.

You nod, pretending to obey, but your hips betray you. still grinding back against him, chasing the delicious friction.

It’s shameless, and it feels good. More than good.

Because you can feel just how hard he is against you, feel the heat and tension building between your bodies—and you know you’re the reason for it.

And that knowledge alone makes your breath catch in your throat.

Yunho doesn’t stop you.

If anything, his soft groan against your ear tells you he likes it, the slow, deliberate circle of your hips as you grind back into him.

You’re sure if you wanted to, you could cum just like this, your soaked panties are enough proof.

His arm around your waist tightens again, anchoring you in place. There’s a quiet kind of authority in the way he holds you, like he knows exactly what you need and he’s letting you have just enough of it to drive you mad.

“Good girl,” he breathes into your ear, his voice low and rich, sending another tremble through you.

This will have to do.

For now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You reach your apartment in record time, the heavy air between you charged with barely restrained want. Your hands tremble slightly as you fumble with the keys, anticipation buzzing under your skin.

The moment the door swings open and you step inside, Yunho is right behind you.

You barely manage to turn and lock the door before you’re spun around, your back hitting it with a soft thud. The keys slip from your hand, clattering unnoticed to the floor.

Then Yunho’s mouth is on yours hot and claiming.

You gasp into the kiss, the suddenness of it knocking the air from your lungs. His hands bracket your face, holding you still as he devours your mouth, pouring all the tension and promise of the past hour into it.

After a long, breathless moment, Yunho pulls back just enough for you both to draw in a shaky breath.

His forehead rests against yours, his lips barely brushing yours, the smallest contact still electric. His voice is low, almost a growl, when he whispers, “You still want this?”

You open your eyes, finding his already locked onto yours, dark and searching for any doubts or hesitation.

“I want this,” you breathe, no hesitation, only need. “I want you. Please… show me why you’re the only person I should be thinking about.”

Something shifts in Yunho’s gaze then something deeper, something hungry.

Yunho doesn’t wait another second.

He swoops down, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss, more desperate than the last. The wet slide of your tongues against each other sends a throbbing sensation down to your core.

His hands find their way under your shirt, fingertips skimming your heated skin before tugging the fabric up and over your head. You barely register it being discarded somewhere behind you, too lost in him to care.

You stumble together through the apartment, hands roaming, lips never parting for long, bumping into walls and furniture in your frantic attempt to reach the bedroom.

“God, look how desperate you are to get fucked " Yunho groans after pulling away. "You have boyfriend but you offered yourself up to me without a second thought.”

You whimper, your face burning with embarrassment and arousal at his words.

“Yunho,” you whine, his name a desperate plea slipping from your lips, your body arching instinctively closer to him.

He smiles wickedly, clearly savoring every second of your pleading.

"Huh, what is it baby?" Yunho asks, and adds lowly, "You going to deny it? You were practically trying to get me to fuck you on the train. I bet you would have let me if it were legal. I could have had you pull my cock out in front of all those people and you would have let me have my way with you."

“N-no,” you try to deny, but even to your own ears it sounds pathetically weak.

“It’s not like that,” you insist, voice trembling.

Yunho cocks his head, eyes dark and unreadable.

“It’s not?” he repeats, mockingly gentle, gaze dropping to your skirt. His voice dips lower, commanding.

“Then take off your skirt and let me see.”

Your breath catches.

For a moment, you hesitate caught between embarrassment and the aching need pooling between your thighs.

Biting your lip, you kick off your shoes first, taking the extra step without even being told. With trembling fingers, you reach for the hem of your skirt and slowly shimmy it down your hips, letting it fall to the floor in a soft whisper of fabric.

You’re left standing there in just your panties and bra feeling completely exposed under his gaze.

Yunho hums low in his throat, a sound full of approval and dark satisfaction as he steps closer, eyes raking slowly over you.

You stand there as he reaches between your thighs, his finger tips brushing against the damp fabric teasingly as he clicks his tongue in mock disapproval.

Your eyes clench shut in humiliation.

“Just as I thought,” he murmurs, voice rough with arousal.

You whimper softly, body instinctively leaning into his touch even as your cheeks burn with humiliation.

“Liar,” Yunho says, as he presses a little harder, his fingers now fully cupping the soaked heat between your legs.

The action makes your knees nearly buckle and you grasp his arm for balance.

“Yunho,” you whimper, voice breaking with need. “Please…”

He only smiles, ignoring your plea.

His hand trails up your side, fingers lightly brushing your ribcage before he lets his palm rest just beneath your breast, teasing the lace edge of your bra. His eyes stay locked on yours, enjoying every second of your unraveling.

“You dressed up so pretty for him,” he says, voice low and taunting as he looks over your matching red bra and panties. His gaze lingers, dark and appreciative. “It looks so good against your skin.”

“Too bad he’s not here to enjoy it, but don’t worry I will. Can’t let your effort go to waste.”

Yunho steps back, just a few inches—but the sudden lack of his touch leaves you feeling dizzy, your thoughts hazy with lust.

You suck in a shaky breath, trying to gather yourself, but it’s almost impossible with the way he’s looking at you.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he gestures to himself.

“Take off my clothes,” he says, voice low.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, for a brief second you hesitate but then you step closer, hands trembling slightly as you reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, exposing his smooth, taut skin and the defined muscles of his chest.

He watches you the whole time, his gaze heavy, heated, silent.

You toss the shirt aside and let your hands trail over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms, reveling in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

Your hands move lower, to the waistband of his jeans, fingers fumbling a little as you undo the button and slowly lower the zipper, your breath catching when you feel how hard he already is for you, straining against the fabric.

Yunho doesn’t move to help you. He just watches, letting you undress him at your own pace, feeding off your eagerness.

You slide his jeans down his hips, revealing the thick outline of his cock straining against his boxers. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, hands trembling slightly as you push both his jeans and underwear down together.

Yunho steps out of them casually, towering over you, his body radiating heat and restrained power.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek tenderly as you rise up. “You listen so well when you’re desperate.”

“Thank you,” you whisper quietly hands clenching in anticipation.

Without another word, Yunho scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you the few steps to your bed. He lays you down carefully, his eyes drinking in the sight of you splayed out beneath him panting, and beautiful.

He’s on you, hovering above, braced on his arms as he dips down to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

Your mouths move together frantically, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, breathing each other in like you’re the only oxygen you both need.

He presses his body against yours, skin to skin, the hard length of him settling between your thighs. You can feel the heat and weight of him, even without him being inside you yet, and it makes you squirm, desperate for more friction.

Yunho groans into your mouth, the sound raw and deep, and grinds his hips into yours slowly, just enough to tease, to make you whimper against his lips.

You gasp when you feel his hand trail lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties—already clinging damply to your heat.

With one sharp, deliberate tug, he pulls them down your thighs, letting the ruined fabric fall somewhere forgotten on the side of the bed. His hands roam back up, sliding along your bare thighs, spreading them apart.

You feel the cool air brush your slick folds, and you shudder in anticipation.

Yunho pulls back just enough to look down at you, his dark eyes raking over your flushed face, your heaving chest, and your bare wet pussy.

“So fucking pretty,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb brushing teasingly along the sensitive skin of your clit, making you writhe beneath him.

He leans in, pressing his cock against your slick entrance, but doesn’t push in yet, teasing you with little shallow thrusts that have you whimpering, desperate for more.

“Tell me you want it,” he says, voice rough, almost pleading as he teases your soaked entrance.

“Please, please, please,” you gasp, the words tumbling out of your mouth without thought, only raw need.

“Please—fuck me. Please, Yunho—oh!”

The tail end of your desperate plea breaks into a moan as Yunho finally gives you what you’ve been begging for.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he presses the thick head of his cock past your entrance, stretching you open, dragging along your slick, desperate walls.

Your head falls back against the mattress, mouth open in a silent cry, your body instinctively arching to take him deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Yunho groans, his voice almost pained as he sinks in further, inch by inch. His hands grip your thighs tightly, holding you open for him as he pushes in until he’s fully seated inside you, balls resting against your ass.

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body adjusts around him, so full it almost hurts but in the most delicious, intoxicating way.

Yunho leans down, his forehead pressing to yours again as he breathes out harshly, “I’m going to send you back to your boyfriend full of my cum.”

And then he pulls back slowly—only to thrust back in hard, stealing the air from your lungs, making you cry out his name.

“Yunho,” you cry out, voice high and broken as he thrusts back into you with precision. “I–I can feel you so deep.”

Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, trying to pull him even closer, even deeper, chasing the overwhelming fullness that makes your head spin.

Yunho groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he presses his forehead to the crook of your neck.

“Yeah,” he growls against your throat, hips snapping forward harder, the rhythm picking up. “Look at you—so fucking good for me, so perfect wrapped around my cock. Can your boyfriend fuck you like this?”

You can only sob in response, fingers scrambling for purchase across his broad back, overwhelmed by every thrust that hits the spot deep inside you that has your toes curling.

Each grind of his hips presses your clit deliciously against his pelvis, sending sparks dancing up your spine, your orgasm already beginning to coil tight and fast in your belly.

Yunho doesn’t let up, his thrusts steady and brutal, each word from his mouth filthy and laced with dark amusement as he drives you closer to the edge.

“What if your boyfriend is on his way right now, huh?” he growls into your ear, voice low and taunting. “What would he think walking in and seeing you like this?

You sob out a broken moan, hips jerking up to meet his every thrust, the humiliating image sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

“You don’t care, do you?” Yunho keeps going, rubbing relentless circles against your clit, his cock grinding so deep inside you it steals your breath.

“You just wanted to be fucked. That’s what you were really upset about. So you decided to bring home a stranger to fuck you like the needy whore you are.”

The filthy words shatter the last thread of your control.

Your walls clench tight around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cry out his name, high and desperate, body trembling violently beneath him as pleasure explodes through you.

Yunho groans deep in his chest, hips stuttering as clenching walls milks him, his control slipping fast.

“Cum, cum inside of me, Yunho,” you beg shamelessly, voice wrecked and needy. “Please, Yunho. Please.”

Your words, desperate and pleading, shatter whatever restraint he had left.

Yunho growls low and primal, slamming into you hard enough to rattle the headboard against the wall, his hips jerking erratically as he fucks you through the last waves of your orgasm.

“Fuck baby, gonna fill you up,” he grits out, his thrusts becoming sloppy, chasing his own release. “Gonna stuff you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

With a final deep thrust, Yunho buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing thick and hot inside you as he cums, filling you completely.

You feel it, the rush of warmth flooding your pussy and the feeling alone has you moaning again, body trembling from the aftershocks as you clench down greedily.

Yunho stays inside you for a long moment, panting against your neck, one hand smoothing up and down your thigh as if grounding you both.

“Beautiful,” Yunho sighs, voice thick with satisfaction as he presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips. Slowly, he unhooks your legs from around his waist, handling you gently like he’s afraid you’ll break.

You whimper softly when he pulls out of you, a gush of his cum leaking out and making you blush under his heated gaze.

His eyes linger there for a moment, dark and possessive, before he murmurs, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and reluctantly pulls away.

From the bed, you watch him as he crosses the room, completely unashamed in his nudity, muscles flexing with every step.

You trail your eyes over every inch of him. Broad back, narrow hips, strong thighs. You feel your heart flutter in your chest.

The sound of the sink running reaches your ears, soft and steady, a strange comfort in the silence that settles over the room.

You relax back into the bed, boneless and spent, letting the exhaustion and lingering pleasure pull you under slightly.

When Yunho returns, towel in hand, his touch is careful and reverent as he cleans you up, murmuring quiet, affectionate things under his breath like you’re something precious.

Each pass of the warm cloth between your legs sends little aftershocks through you, but you can’t bring yourself to shy away, too lost in the haze of how deeply you trust him already.

When he’s finished, Yunho tosses the towel aside and crawls back into bed, gathering you into his arms, pulling the covers up over you both.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” Yunho whispers, his voice low and tender, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your neck.

You hum sleepily in response, a small, contented smile curving your lips. Warmth spreads through your chest at his words, wrapping around your heart like a blanket.

This was the best anniversary present yet.

Authors note: Surprise!!!! If you couldn’t tell by that ending, they were actually roleplaying for their anniversary, something Y/N asked Yunho for a few days prior. that’s part of the reason why no condoms were used because the character is on birth control and they are really a couple. I didn’t want to include it in the trigger warnings because it would have ruined the surprise, lol.

I’m very proud of this oneshot! I was determined to be more descriptive and detailed this time around because I feel like I usually never am. I hope you guys enjoyed it. More to come soon!

[gr4cier4cie]

♡ i'm a shameless caller (she's a full machine ♡ 2

or: you're the best thing that had ever happened to him. lando can't help himself from reminiscing a bit. or a lot. or all the time. (can be read as a happy standalone or a flashback from part one of this!!) fem!ex!reader x lando norris pt 1

warnings: none just a lil fluff and angst!! THIS IS A FLASHBACK TO WHEN LANDO AND READER WERE IN A RELATIONSHIP TO HELP FIX THE DAMAGE I CAUSED W PART ONE IM SORRY!!

♡

voicemail 1: — [1.10]

"hey, love, just got back to the hotel. [pause] quali was a killer. missed you like hell the entire time. can't even sleep without you anymore. [laughs] mum just sent me that video of you two baking at the house yesterday. she really likes that blue scarf on you—she told me to tell you to keep it. says it looks better on you than her. [laughs] she'd probably kill me if i said i agree, but i do. love you lots. hope you're, uh, sleeping well. even if i'm not. see you soon, baby."

voicemail 2: — [00.52]

"oh, baby, you would not believe what just happened in the drivers' meeting! [laughs] max tried to—actually, no, this is too good for voicemail. please, please, please call me the second you're out of work. it's absolutely mental. also! good luck on your presentation today, baby. you're going to smash it. i'm crazy proud of you. miss you lots. love you forever."

voicemail 3 — [1.12]

"hi, lovely, just got the care package you sent. [pause] how'd you know i was missing home? thought of it this morning, actually. feels like.... like you know me better than i know myself. sorry i didn't get a chance to call until now. had to stop carlos from eating all the biscuits you made me. [laughs] i stole a bunch of the tiny hotel soaps as a present for you when i get home. call me when you're done with work, yeah? love you."

voicemail 4 — [1.13]

"baby! wake up! i just had the best dream—it was you and me at home, and you were wearing my old race jacket and you were... cooking, maybe? i dunno, i'm already forgetting it. [laughs] but it was.... good. we were happy. simple as that. [sighs] i miss that. you, in the kitchen, in my race jacket. send me a picture of you in it when you get a chance. i miss you like crazy over here. anyways. love you forever."

voicemail 5 — [00.53]

"hi, lovely girl. i'm hiding in the bathroom of that gala thing i told you about. you would love it—they have the mini strawberry shortcakes you're obsessed with. ate like, four of 'em, just for you. [pause] keep reaching for your hand when i'm talking to people. keep thinking you're here with me. [pause] anyways. call me when you get a chance."

voicemail 6 — [0.50]

"hi, baby. i just found that note you left me in my bag. [sighs] you're really... something, aren't you? it's, uh, been one of those days. i really needed it. i really needed you. kinda pathetic, yeah? [laughs] sometimes i wonder what i did to deserve you. [pause] call me when you wake up? just... wanna hear your voice. love you."

voicemail 7 — [0.51]

"morning, lovely. just had breakfast with the team and... [laughs] you'll never believe what happened. you know the bracelet you made me? the beaded one, with my number on it? everyone else wants one, too. said it's giving me luck, or something. [laughs] you should charge them, if you ask me. anyways. love you lots. see you soon."

voicemail 8 — [00.21]

"hi love. it's properly miserable here in silverstone. raining like hell. my hair's all messed up, now. [sighs] don't laugh when you watch me on tv, yeah? i'll know if you do. [laughs] love you, baby."

voicemail 9 — [1.12]

"baby? just got your text about your day... wish i was there with you. would've made you that awful tea you pretend to like when you're stressed. [pause] i'm sorry it wasn't good today, baby. you don't deserve that. i'm so proud of you and... [pause] god, you deserve everything. everything good. i promise tomorrow will be better, yeah? i love you so much. hold on, okay? i'll be home soon."

voicemail 10 — [1.16]

"hey, baby. i know you're in the air right now, but... [sighs] i just watched the sunset from melbourne. took a couple pictures for you. can't wait till you're here so we can watch it together. [pause] i keep, uh, thinking about how you... how you changed everything for me. i didn't know life could get this good, you know? didn't know it was possible to love someone as much as i love you. [laughs] i was thinking maybe after the race... [pause] we could talk about you coming to more of them? like, all of them? permanently? [laughs] anyway. call me when you can. love you. so much."

♡

note: so... for those of you who read part one im sorry i tried to make this happier but i am now realizing it's not much better 😭 i want to apologize but what can i say?! angst IS my specialty!! MWAH LOVE YOU ALL!! taglist: @f1fantasys

[pookietv]

lost in translation (part three) | george clarke

hiya!!! i introduce part three :P

I HOPE U ENJOY!!! i'm lowkey liking writing the tension... (even though i've always been a fluff girlie)

the days that followed left you in a limbo. you didn't think that you could be so caught up on this a couple days after the fact, but here you were. the concern george had shown you seemed something so usual, normal between friends, but it had become a lingering anomaly that you couldn't figure out. the exchange had replayed in your head, like a search for any hidden meanings as if george was some encrypted puzzle you just had to figure out.

three nights after the pub incident, chris had texted you asking if you wanted to go round to his house - him and 'the boys' (who you naturally assumed was both arthurs, bach and george) were going to watch a movie. it was a semi-regular occurrence, everyone cramming into their flat to watch whatever film had been on people's mind, a comfortable ritual of showing up and bringing snacks, and ultimately not being left to be bored in your own flat.

you had borrowed a book from chris - he was into his sci-fi and insisted that this was the best book you would ever read, and you had to borrow it. sci-fi wasn't ultimately your thing, but his passion for it made you give it a go nonetheless. you decided you'd show up a little early, mainly to talk about the book (which was pretty good, but not the best thing you'd ever read) and give it back to him - which is what led you to texting chris to say you were outside the door.

a few minutes later, the door swung open and chris grinned at you, "early for movie night?" he joked, and you showed the book you were wielding.

"thought i'd give some time for you to yap my ear off about theories about this book," you joked back, and you watched his eyes crinkle in excitement, closing the door behind you as you followed him into the front room, which was unusually quiet, with no TV on, no familiar chaos of one of the other flatmates there. you just assumed arthur and george were in their rooms.

"so, i mean the ending of the roles being reversed and he was actually the bad guy? i thought it was obvious at first, but i watched a video essay and it was talking about how it could actually have been that he got switched - you know when we assumed he returned as himself?" chris yapped on, before stopping for a second as he walked to the kitchen, "want a cuppa?" he offered.

you smiled and nodded, "yeah, that'd be lovely, thanks," you replied, "i'm actually gonna quickly pop to the toilet."

chris made a noise of acknowledgement, and you turned to walk down the hallway to the bathroom, when you heard voices coming from arthur's room, the door open a crack. you went to walk past, until you heard the familiar tone of george's voice.

god, you wished you weren't such a nosy bastard. but you were, so there you stood in the hallway, trying to gauge the voices.

"it's... it's been bloody awful, mate," you heard him complain, voice thick with frustration that was usually saved for when he made an idiot of himself when filming or lost a game of call of duty, "i know it's not been fair, but i just, didn't know how the fuck else to deal with it,"

you heard a murmur of arthur's voice in response, "deal with what?"

a knot of curiosity and unease tightened in your stomach, and you wished you had the willpower to pull away.

but almost instinctively frozen, you just couldn't.

george's voice cut through the quiet again, and you could feel yourself holding your breath, as if at any moment your lungs may betray you.

"i pulled away, i was so cold and distant, i... you know, i started to get- like, proper feelings, arthur. it completely freaked me out, i just-"

as george continued talking, you felt the voice blur for a moment as the feeling of your heart slamming against your ribs became the focal point. the revelation felt thick in the air, as you heard arthur's murmured response again, and a groan from george.

"we got on, and that was great... and it was so easy, we could just talk all the time and we clicked, and she liked my stupid jokes, and she made stupid jokes back, and all i could think about was... being more than mates, and it made me really nervous - i would just overthink all our interactions, i didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or hate me but that's... exactly what happened, so..."

you couldn't stomach listening to anymore, pacing yourself to the bathroom and quickly closing the door behind you, snippets of any interactions you or george had replaying in your head. was it you, he was talking about?

a painful clarity washed over you, thinking back to the comfort of gravitating to george in social situations and the disappointment you felt when he distanced from you, and it all clicked into place in one sick joke. you'd been so focused on how much you thought he hated you, from you that you'd never really considered how you felt towards him, the distance playing as some all too easily placed shield.

you allowed yourself a glance in the mirror, running your fingers through the cold water of the tap in hopes it would at least repress some of the swirl of emotion. being annoyed at him had come easily, but why? 'cause it was easier than accepting the alternate truth?

how stupidly could you have both read the situation?

looking at yourself in the mirror again, you were met with clumsily pink cheeks, and you willed yourself to be composed, hoping chris wouldn't think you were a total freak, with how long you had been gone.

when you emerged from their bathroom, you walked as quickly through the corridor as you could, being greeted by chris and two mugs - a lord of the rings one, and a wallace and gromit one. the nerdiness of them did make a smile crack on your face.

"you all good? you were gone a bit," he asked politely, as you sat down on the sofa, and he followed suit, placing the mugs on the coffee table.

"yep, all good, just lost track of time staring at myself in the mirror, you know how it is," you responded back sarcastically, hoping to bat away any curiosity that chris may have of what took you so long.

you heard arthur's door creak open, and he walked into the front room, followed by george. arthur flopped himself down on the sofa, "didn't know you were here, y/n," he smiled at you, whilst you and george made awkward eye contact for a moment, before he busied himself with fiddling with the TV to turn it on.

it was like you could feel george's awareness of your presence, and the room felt slightly tense. the usual joking was strained as arthur spoke about something you, in all honesty, hadn't paid attention to. you let yourself join the conversation on autopilot, as you all waited for the other arthur to show up, so you could start the film (you had all settled on back to the future for a throwback.

after fifteen minutes or so of conversation, which became easier when george excused himself to the kitchen for a moment, arthur tv showed up. after greetings and brief conversation, george padded back into the room, picking up the remote and sitting himself on the comfy chair, with the rest of you on the sofa, you started the film.

you found yourself glancing to him more than you'd care to admit, small details that you supposed you had registered subconsciously but never paid enough detail to becoming more obvious. the slightly lighter part of his brow from his biking incident, which became a little more noticeable when his eyebrows raised and less so when they furrowed, or his hand went to touch his hair more than you realised.

the weight of the confession pressed down on you. he liked your stupid jokes,, he liked that you liked his stupid jokes, he thought about being more than mates, he'd pushed you away because he was scared.

all that you could think of as you watched doc and marty's astonishment at the flames beneath their feet was 'what now?'

were you supposed to pretend you didn't hear, keep up the awkward charade of pretending to hate one another?

or were you supposed to somehow acknowledge this elephant in the room that you know both know is there, but one of you thinks the other doesn't know?

once the credits rolled, the music fading into a comfortable silence, leaving you all in the glow of the screen.

a yawn escaped you as everyone else was relaxed into their seats, pulling phones out and small talking, and your eyes flicked over to george, the blueish light flattering him as he looked down at his phone screen.

"i should probably head home," you said softly, smiling at everyone, pushing yourself up from the sofa, despite how comfy you were.

"already?" chris asked, looking up from his phone, "we're probably going to chill in here for a while, stick something else on if you wanna stay?" he offered.

"honestly, i'm knackered," you said gently, which wasn't exactly a lie. you were tired, and confused, and dying for your bed. you needed to untangle the knot of guilt from eavesdropping, and confusion from what you heard.

arthur hill pushed himself off the sofa, "i'll walk you to the door," he said with a smile, and you nodded, saying goodbye to everyone, a small frown on your face as george barely lifts his head, just a small nod to acknowledge you leaving.

as you got to the door, you felt a slight tap on your shoulder, "you okay? been a little quiet tonight," he said, a reassuring smile on his face, voice low and thoughtful, as if he just knew something was wrong.

"uh huh, like i said, just tired," you weakly smiled back, giving him a hug goodbye. you wondered what else george had admitted to arthur, what knowledge on your situation that he had known and for how long. you didn't blame him, it was the most arthur thing to do - to keep secrets for his friends.

once you left the apartment block, the cool london air hitting your face allowing you a slight armistice of the thoughts in your head, until you heard your phone buzz.

the contact name, george ;), which he chose for himself what felt like years ago was a shock to the system.

it read:

"hey, i don't mean to be a bother, but if you're free tomorrow, maybe we should talk?"

[chrepsi]

ˇ ⋆ ╱ sugar water - m. sturniolo

highschool!matt x highschool!reader

wc ; 800+

it started with a glance.

not the cliché kind, not the one where your heart drops and violins play in the background. no. it was quieter than that—less fireworks, more like the fizz of a soda can cracked open in a silent room.

matt sturniolo was the kind of boy you noticed without realizing you were noticing him. he was soft-spoken, eyes always flickering like he was halfway between dreaming and listening. he moved like music on low volume, like the hum of a song you forgot you loved.

and i was... me. i blended in. i stayed in the quiet corners of the school hallways, chewing pen caps and pretending to be too busy to care that no one said hi.

we had third period english together. he sat two rows to the left and one ahead. i spent most of that class pretending not to look at him. pretending i didn’t wait for the moments he laughed at something the teacher said, or the rare times he tapped his pencil to the beat of a song only he could hear.

on a tuesday that felt like a thursday, it happened.

he turned around.

"do you get what she’s talking about? this poem?"

i blinked. swallowed. looked down at the page like it could give me the answer.

"sort of," i said. "it’s about... wanting to feel something. even if it hurts."

he looked at me. like, really looked. not with the wide-eyed curiosity most people wore like a mask, but like he could see through the layers. through the silence. through the sugar-water sweetness i tried to coat myself in.

"that makes sense," he said, and turned back around.

i didn't breathe for twenty seconds.

we didn’t talk again for a week. then two. then suddenly, he was waiting for me outside class.

"hey. you like music, right?"

i nodded.

"wanna hear something cool?"

he handed me one earbud, the wire warm from his pocket. i took it. the song was slow, sad, and beautiful. lyrics like diary entries. like things you think but don’t say.

we didn’t speak while it played.

and just like that, i started living for third period. for the moments between bells. for the way our silences didn’t feel awkward, just comfortable.

like sugar melting in warm water.

the first time he made me laugh so hard i cried, we were sitting under the old bleachers, hiding from gym class.

"do you think if i just walk into traffic i can get out of running laps?"

"only if I come with you," i said, and he grinned.

he had that kind of smile. like he didn’t know it could break people. like he didn’t know it was rare.

"deal."

the laughter came in waves, crashing over us until i was clutching my stomach and gasping for air. and he just watched, eyes wide and lit up like i was something worth seeing.

we never labeled it. what we were. we didn’t need to.

there were days we barely talked, days when he sat with his head in his hands and i didn’t ask why. i just sat beside him. let him be quiet.

other days, he showed up at my locker with a piece of candy or a sticky note that said something like, "you looked sad yesterday. here’s a dumb joke to fix that."

i kept every note in a shoebox under my bed.

one day, he asked me what i wanted most.

"to matter," i said, too fast. then i looked away, embarrassed.

he didn’t laugh. didn’t tease. he just nodded slowly.

"you do. even if you don’t always feel it."

and that night, i cried in the shower. not because i was sad. just because someone finally said it.

the cracks started small.

he stopped answering texts. started showing up late. the music in his earbuds got louder. his eyes got quieter.

"are you okay?"

he shrugged. "just tired."

but tired turned into distant. into cold. into gone.

the last time we spoke was under gray skies. i found him behind the school, hands in his pockets, head down.

"you’re pushing me away."

he didn’t argue.

"why?"

"because you see too much. and i can’t handle being seen right now."

i wanted to scream. to shake him. to say i didn't care how broken he felt, that i wanted all of it.

instead, i whispered, "i miss you."

he looked at me, eyes shining. "i miss me too."

and then he walked away.

now, third period is just a class.

i sit in the same seat. i read the same poems. but it all feels like static.

sometimes, i listen to the song he played for me that day. let it wash over me. let it sting.

because sometimes, sugar water still hurts going down.

because sometimes, people leave.

but they don’t disappear.

they echo.

and i still hear him in the quiet.

<3 taglist ; @trevorsgodmother @pr3ttylittleslutt @v4lsturn @wildfluer @delilahsturniolo @courta13 @kisses4chris @chrispycremedonut @chrisspussygang @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @baebadoobee4ever @emely9274 @mvkyis @mattsbug @sturniqloo @mattsleftball @tits4matt @mothstvrnz @joanakaulitz @mialovesyouchris @belle-ee @owenstar @sturnsalcohol @joanakaulitz @cherryystemm @angeliolo @sturkneeohloww

( reply here to be added )

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 2/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 2 : SMAU

@landonorris accidentally became the DJ again

📍London

@pietrapilao: you pressed two buttons and acted like you closed Coachella 💀 @maxfewtrell: never seen a man take credit for autoplay this confidently @carlos55: we left you alone for 5 minutes and this happens @oscarpiastri: how much to make this stop @maxverstappen1: your dj era again?? help. @chaoticgp: every off-season has its villain arc and this one’s giving ✨dj lando✨ @landozoned: this man cannot stay away from a soundboard @mclarenwitch: i just KNOW he said “trust me, I got this” before messing everything up @gridgirliez: lando the club menace is back and we’re not surviving

@arianariverria slow mornings, long rehearsals, quiet evenings 🤍

📍London

@maya.ross: the “main character in a French film” energy is overwhelming @juliettedlcrx: this post just cured my anxiety @claireballetco: i gasped at slide 2. actual sculpture. @balletwithluna: you live in an aesthetic moodboard and i’m just passing through @ellieharperballet: how do you make pink look like a power color @sylviaballet: the definition of stillness in strength @softshoesandsatin: every slide is a different kind of calm

@gridwatchgossip Spotted 👀 #LandoNorris seen behind the DJ booth and chatting closely with a mystery brunette at a London club a few nights ago during winter break. Sources say she wasn’t part of his usual crew, and the two were seen talking more than once throughout the night. No clear photos of the girl — but fans are already buzzing. 👀

@landozoned: NOT ANOTHER DJ ERA LMAOOO @softlandoz: "mystery brunette" is PR-speak for heartbreak incoming @tifosibae: girl if you see this, blink twice for a soft launch @chaoticgp: she better be able to handle his freak @gridtea: lando deep in convo = man is hooked @mclarencurls: plot twist: she’s the reason he didn’t break anything at the DJ booth @numberonechaos: new WAG watch? it's always the winter break

Texts messages :

Group Chat — "🌟 Chaos Trio 🌟"

Pietra: Gentle reminder that you both owe me for putting up with your entire existence last weekend So this Saturday: ballet night. Royal Opera House. We’re going.

Max Fewtrell: wait are we seriously doing this ?

Lando: is this revenge for making you walk through Mayfair with us for 3 hours

Pietra: No. This is me adding culture to your lives because I love one of you and tolerate the other

Max Fewtrell: I’m assuming I’m the one you love but I can’t be completely sure right now

Lando: I’m honored to be tolerated. truly.

Pietra: Dress code is smart. No trainers. No caps.

Max Fewtrell: Define “smart.” Because last time you said that I ended up in a turtleneck at a BBQ

Pietra: Blazer. Nice shirt. Clean shoes. Try not to look like you rolled out of a Twitch stream

Lando: so basically dress like Max but without the part where he’s trying to impress you

Max Fewtrell: rude but not inaccurate

Lando: ok but what if I fall asleep hypothetically

Pietra: Then I will elbow you in the ribs gently. and Max will pretend not to know you

Max Fewtrell: I’m bringing espresso and a respectful attitude also please hold my hand if it gets dramatic

Pietra: obviously it’s Tchaikovsky. we will feel things.

Lando: so we clap when? during? after? I don’t want to be the guy clapping in a tragic death scene

Pietra: clap when everyone else claps don’t start anything, don’t shout "bravo" in random moments

Max Fewtrell: ok but if the intermission has macarons I’ll call it a success

Lando: deal. I’m only coming for the macarons

Pietra: See? We’re growing. 6pm sharp. Don’t be late or I’m giving your ticket to someone cultured.

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[levissslutt]

Mr. Officer pt 2 ;)

It had been a week since Offer Fatu pulled you over, sitting on your bed you held your phone in your hand debating on calling him.

The two of you had been texting about any and everything since that night, casual conversations, getting to know each other, it was refreshing honestly, not having to force a conversation or beg him to talk to you, it just came naturally.

Apart of you wondered if he was only interested in fucking, but then again he really could’ve fucked you that night if he really wanted to, so nonetheless you called him.

One, two, three rings.

“Wassup lil mama.”

His voice came through the phone smooth and deep.

“Hey Officer Fatu.”

He chuckled lightly on the other end.

“Yo ass better stop playing, what you got going on tonight.”

“Not shit that’s why I called you, tryna chill ?”

“Hell yea, what you got in mind ? A movie or sum.”

You shook your head knowing damn well a movie was the last thing y’all was about to do.

“Yea that’s cool, you want to get a bottle too?”

You could hear the smile on his face.

“Now you speaking my language, send yo addy imma be there in a few.”

-

You spent the next couple of hours straightening up your apartment, because lord knows in guy time “imma be there in a few”, really meant “imma be there prolly by the end of the day or tomorrow.”

A light knock on your door, had you jumping out your skin.

"Of fucking course he would show up and not let me know he was on the way."

Grey sweats hung low on your hips, with a spaghetti strapped tank top, a chill in the house fit, nothing crazy.

When you opened the door his eyes immediately landed on your chest.

"Ian see those before."

Rolling your eyes you pulled him in, shutting the door.

"That's cause I had on a bra."

He raised his eyebrow at you as he kicked his shoes off, " no bra huh."

"Don't be creepy we just chillin...for now."

He grinned wickedly, plopping down on your couch.

"You absolutely right about that."

-

As the night went on the tension loosened allowing drinks and jokes to flow with ease. The two of you had migrated to the balcony, watching the last of the daylight fade away. Your legs were draped over his, his hands resting on your knees.

"So tell me about that ex of yours, why he had you damn near bout to crash out."

Sighing you cocked your neck in his direction, "he cheated I told you that."

"Yea but why."

You looked at him in disbelief.

"The fuck if I knew, why is the sky blue, why do cars run on gas, why do professors give out assignments and then complain about grading them why the fuck do people cheat on they partners when they could've just left them alone, the world may never know."

His hand lifted, bringing the glass of dark liquid to his lips, his eyes holding a bit too much amusement for your liking.

"Aight then ma, Ian mean it like that, I guess I meant there must have been signs, is there a reason you aint protect yourself and dip?"

You pondered for a second, because he was right, there were signs, too many, and you let them slide, twice, like a fucking idiot.

Your eyes got glossy for a brief second. You sucked them tears right back in your eyes because there was no way in hell you were about to cry over that fuck nigga. His loss.

Josh had noticed the look on your face just briefly, not saying anything, he took another sip of his drink, patiently waiting for you to vent.

-

He just knew you was something special the second he laid eyes on you. That night he rounded the car fully expecting to be greeted with some cocky white kid, instead there you were, sitting all pretty like you wasn't driving like a hood nigga on the run.

He hated how you look, eyes red and puffy, face streaked with tears, small golden dress hiked up, heels off. He froze for a second he he knew you caught it too. All his morals went out the window the more the two of you interacted.

And now here he was listening to you vent about how some young dude broke your heart.

He had already decided even before coming over to your place that he was going to make you his.

"You was too good for him and he knew it, he did what he could to try and break you down, men do that when we know we lost, we can't have it? No one will."

You nodded, bringing your own glass to your lips. You knew that though, you knew all too well how he was and you allowed him to play you anyways and that's what hurt the most, the disappointment in failing your self.

"But fuck that nigga for real, Imma get over it."

Offcer. Fatu smiled at you.

"There it go."

"Where what go."

"That fire in your eyes, it simmers just beneath the surface. I can see it through the tears, through that mask you got on, I see that shit ma, and Im ready for it."

You stomach flip flopped at his comment. This man was reading you for filth, but in a good way. He shifted eventually pulling you on top of him, bodies facing the city. The night was coming alive, and even though you were up here alone with Josh, you felt the electricity.

His hand roamed your body, holding you close. His hand suddenly, wrapped around the back of your neck, yanking you backwards into his chest and whispered in your ear.

"You have no idea how good you look right now baby."

His free hand slipping past your sweats, he found your clit with ease, expertly moving his fingers up and down. He left small kisses on your shoulder watching the way your body responded to him with hooded eyes.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth to taste you.

"Mhm still as sweet as I remember."

He had complete control over you, jelly in his hands. He wasted no time pulling his hard cock out , teasing your entrance before sinking you down onto it.

You hissed at his size, eyes watering, you had never taken someone this big, and it fucking hurt like hell in the most delicious way.

He took his time moving slow and steady, making sure you were comfortable. With each stroke you relaxed for him more and more, until he found a steady pace he liked, the soft pat of skin was being drawn out by city night below you.

You held on to his forearm as his pace picked up, your body leaning into his.

"You ok baby?"

You nodded, your walls clenching around him. His hands held you under your knees and picked you up.

"Joshh fuck people might see us." You whined out.

"I don't give a fuck, let them, let them see how im fucking this pretty pussy."

Your body was giving away to the pleasure, the man holding you up grunting slightly with each movement. Hips snapping into you at this point. He put you on your feet, hands gripping the railing as he held one leg straight in the air, fucking you into oblivion.

His hand yet again wrapped around your neck.

"All that moaning and Ion hear my name, let yo neighbors know who stopped by tonight."

He was fucking you hard at this point, his pace and grip on you relentless.

"Joshh, you fucking me so good fuckk."

"Uhuh keep talking to me girl I love that shit."

"Fuck fuck fuck Josh don't stop."

A hard slap came down on your rear, as he put your leg down, his hands gripping your hips almost punishingly.

Any person walking by could look up and see you getting railed. And the thought of that almost got you off, almost.

But of course it was Josh in the end, shifting his hips in a way that kissed your g spot perfectly, screaming his name now your walls clenched on him as you came.

Coming completely undone in his hands , but he couldnt get enough, practically fucking you through the rail you were gripping onto.

"This pussy is mine girl, you so wet for me baby gah damn." "You like this shit huh."

You could feel him filling you up, talking himself through his nut.

His hips stuttered once more before flinging you over his shoulder.

"Oh my god put me down, I can walk." You squealed.

He answered with a smack on your ass.

"That's cute, you think Im done witcho ass."

Before you could protest he threw you onto the same couch the night started on, spreading your legs wide and throwing your knees over his shoulder.

His mouth watered like he was looking at a pot of honey, practically drooling.

"Look at this shit, so pretty, so sweet."

He kissed the inside of your thigh, and then the other side before attaching his mouth to your soaked cunt, his hands holding you down by your thighs as he ate you out.

His beard tickling your ass as he continued, enjoying every second.

Your neighbors definitely knew his name now, the way he had you a mess on your own couch, his grills scraping your skin in the best way, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

His lips did not leave yours until you came, walls clenching around nothing as he lapped up every bit of you.

He wasted no time, flipping you over on the couch, now resting on your knees, hands on the back of the couch, but Josh had other plans.

"Stay like that for a second pretty girl."

You tried to crane your neck slightly to watch him walk away only for your head to be pushed back into the back of the couch.

"I said fucking stay girl, don't move."

His aggressiveness shocked you, but you obeyed.

You could hear the clinking sound of metal as he returned, it didn't take long for you to realize what was happening, because you soon heard the rapid clicking noise of his cuffs loosening.

"Put your hands behind your back, this what I should've did the other night, but Imma teach yo ass a different lesson, and don't you dare try to run."

Your face was flushed an angry shade of red, not from his words or the fact that he was about to cuff you- it flushed cause you liked it, you didn't want him to stop. You never been handled like this before, it was new territory you've yet to discover and oh boy where you living for every second.

Your face buried in the couch, arms now resting behind your back and Joshua clamped down the cold metal on your wrist. The rapid sound of the clicking was all you could hear, over the faint stereo playing in your room.

"Run and see what happens." He growled.

You weren't about to test him, wasn't like you could move much anyways. Handcuffed like a criminal and he had his left hand on your hip, right wrapped around your neck like jewelry, with his tatted leg propped up on your couch.

He aligned himself with you, sinking in inch by inch.

"Fuck girl this shit- fuck right her is perfect, so fucking wet baby."

His tip kissed your spot almost instantly. He had learned the way your body responded to him that fast.

Your brain was foggy, voice strained and whiney, and he was loving very second of it.

"Officer Im sorry- I won't do it again."

He chuckled darkly, his cock twitched inside of you, his relentless pace not faltering for a second.

"I bet you won't, you fucking slut, letting a cop fuck you like this in yo house, I bet you would've taken me just like this on the side of the road huh?"

His hips glitched, pounding into you like he owed you rent.

Your were certain you'd have bruises left behind because of him, the thought making you even more aroused.

The stubbornness in you wanted to take back just an ounce of control, but how when he had you pinned.

A thought popped into your head, a wicked one that might be a bad one but fuck it, yolo right ?

You leaned forward the best way you could, hooking your feet around his knees, locking him in your grasp. He technically still had control but your actions, had his pace getting sloppy and feral.

"Im finna nut in you- fuck ma - keep playing."

"Please please Josh I need it now."

His hips stuttered, breathe shagged, as he came, deep inside of you, and you felt it. Every bit of him.

As the two of you came down from your high, to your surprise he didn't remove the cuffs but instead flipped you over his shoulder, again, in the direction of your bedroom.

"Finna mark you as mine in every fucking room you got."

-

By the morning you had came more times than you could remember, body littered in love marks, and he still had not taken off the cuffs. Looking over, you saw the man responsible for it sprawled out on his stomach, one arm and leg hanging off the bed.

You smiled at the sight.

"He tore my ass up from the balcony to my bedroom and got the nerve to be sprawled out in my shit like this."

To your surprise he answered you.

"Girl I was doing all the work, besides I was just resting my eyes."

His voice was full of sleep and deep, rumbling your bones.

"Right right, but uh can you take these cuffs off me now."

"Nah your punishment aint over yet."

It sounded like a threat, but the way you grinned ear to ear had him sitting up in the bed now, eyebrows raised at your expression.

" Fuck you smiling for."

"Well come punish me then Mr. Officer."

Tags: @mselenalovebug @jazzyboo123-blog1 @delightfulobservationsalad @jeyusosqueen @transparentphantomface @tribalhoochie

[heechwe]

Congrats on 3k!!! I was wondering if u could do jake + #17 (maybe after coachella 👀) ty!!!

tysm babe! i can't believe it myself haha 🩵

𐔌 𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐨𝐧 𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 + 𝑹𝑬𝑼𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑺𝑬𝑿 𐦯 — truly i don't think jake expects you to be waiting backstage for him after the set for weekend one. he knew you would watch wherever you were, whether at home or with your mutual friends to share in the excitement, happy to cheer him on from a world away as jake was enjoying probably one of the best nights of his life. but, when he sees you waiting just off of the stage with a VIP pass and tons of merch to show your support, he loses it. you're here, you're real, and he's been missing you so much since he's been gone, he can't contain himself. you remind jake as he rushes you to a secluded room that it's only been two weeks, but it could've been two hours for all he knew. jake's missed you so much, and he's going to prove just how much.

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝟑𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓

𐔌 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𐦯 જ⁀➴ 𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒊-𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒄𝒐𝒘𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍, 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 ��𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚, 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒆

"You drive me crazy. I can't believe you're really here," Jake whispers as he tugs your denim shorts down. He has to remind himself he checked the lock twice before he walked back over to you. Nobody knows you're in this room together except for the other guys. They could tell the green room would be occupied as soon as Jake yanked you toward the talent's building a way's away from the Sahara stage.

He can hear the guys now, ready to admonish him the second the two of you are done and greeting them with post-sex glows. It's Coachella, J, we get it but we need to be celebrating out there!

Fuck them, honestly. Texts, calls, and videos couldn't and wouldn't compare to the real thing, and Jake could only hold his composure for so long. And Jake having you, his girlfriend, in his arms is worth a dozen shows in his mind.

You drink him in as he kisses down the length of your jaw and neck, the denim attire incredibly attractive on him both during his performing and as he's standing in front of you. "My cowboy," you comment under your breath as he shucks his denim jacket off and throws it to the side.

"Wanna take a ride, miss?" Jake asks with a glint of mischief as he pulls you down to the floor. He slots you on top of him so you're straddling him, and he looks so peaceful against the carpet as he tugs your underwear to the side. Your naked core rubs against his denim jeans with just the right amount of friction that makes you moan.

You tug at the zipper and lower his jeans just enough for his dick to spring free, and he groans when you take his cock into your palm and spit directly onto the head. You stroke in small increments, just enough to get the two of you prepared for the real thing.

"Don't tease me, babe, fuck," he tries to buck up into your touch, but he's completely at your mercy with your weight on top of him. You pout sarcastically before running his dick along your slit.

You sick down onto him completely, a tattered whimper on your tongue. You ride him slowly, the carpet underneath the two of you already causing friction burns to your knees. But who cares? It's too good to stop now. "Fuck, babe," you curse as you increase your pace.

He lifts your shirt and bra so he can take your breasts in his hands, rolling your nipples between his fingers as you continue moving against him. "I missed you so much."

You grin, eyes rolling back from pleasure. "Missed you too, baby. So fucking much."

"Such a dirty mouth," he comments as he runs a hand up to your throat, cinching his thumbs against your pulse point to make you see stars. "Maybe you shouldn't be talking at all, my love. Just keep riding me like a good girl, yeah?"

The thread of your dignity snaps completely when Jake presses his hand tighter against your throat and his other set of fingers flick at your clit. His own is no better once he feels your cunt flutter around him as you come. His body is completely at your mercy when he spills inside of you, and even more so when he watches semblances of his seed drip out of you and onto his jeans. You're both normally so composed, even with high sex drives, but distance really did seem to make the heart grow fonder.

And when he nuzzles you into the carpet and wraps his entire body around you, it's easy to ignore the battering of Jay's fist against the door a few moments later, begging the two of you to put your clothes back on and join them in watching the next set of performers.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @jjunberry @frenchkisstheabyss @prkhaven @tinycatharsis @fangel @aaa-sia @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @xylatox @dawngyu

[bluebanistrs]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪vicious .

franco was the kind of situationship that never had made her sad, just angry and more obsessed.

franco × journalist ! reader

im thinking abt a part 2 for this one (cause its kinda short)

Moving from a small town to study journalism was my biggest dream. In 2023, it finally happened. I moved to an apartment in Monaco with my best friend and started the college I always dreamed of doing.

2024 started with me having a really good time with my friends and family, and after the journalist who did the pre and post race interviews randomly decided that he would retire in the middle of the season, my internship manager decided that I would be the best option to replace him, even though I was only in the second year of college.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one to get promoted. Franco Colapinto was the newest Williams Racing F1 driver.

Franco was someone I've kissed in a lot of parties. I thought that he wasn't like the other guys, but that was before I really knew him. He is the type of guy that texts you the whole day, pretends to care about you, asks how you're feeling, sends you roses, tells you he spoke about you to his mother in a space of time, and completely ignores you for the next whole month.

If someone asks me about him, I would just say that he's a dickhead and I absolutely hate him. But if he sent me a message saying he feels so sorry for ghosting me, I would forgive and not fight. Why does he gotta be so vicious? I could never be mad at him, even if he was destroying my heart. All my friends just told me that I'm being stupid and should stop talking with him, but they didn't understand me.

✸

Franco was ghosting me for a few days, but he couldn't escape from the pre free-practice interview, specifically in his first time driving an F1 car. He couldn't escape from talking with me, even if it was for professional reasons.

He finished FP1 in 17th place. I've already interviewed his teammate, Alex Albon, and Kimi Antonelli, who sadly crashed George's car.

The Argentinian was in his flirting mood, responding to all my questions with phrases that could be interpreted in another way. I was already angry at him, and the way he was acting was really annoying me.

I was leaving the paddock when I felt someone touching my left shoulder. Of course, it was him.

“You can't just ignore me for weeks and then pretend that you didn't do anything. I can't play your little game anymore.” I almost screamed at him.

“Hermosa, you can't just pretend that you don't like me. Stop being selfish and let me talk to you. Let me explain myself.” He said with that accent that I couldn't hear without getting crazy.

“So you are calling me selfish? Oh, please, Franco. Act like an adult for a second. I don't wanna talk to you."

He just laughed.

“And stop fucking laughing.” said while I started walking faster.

✸

When I got to my hotel room, the first thing I did was block him everywhere. No more Franco, no more stress.

But only an hour later the room phone started to ring.

“Miss y/n, someone left a thing in your name at the reception.”

“I'm going there.” I put my shoes on and left my room.

“It can't be Franco.” I said to myself while waiting for the elevator.

The ‘thing’ someone left to me was an example of my favorite book, My Year of Rest and Relaxation. I told Franco it was my favorite book when we had our only date that wasn't in a club. On this day, we went to a coffee shop and talked there for hours. I think it is my favorite memory with him.

I unblocked and called him.

“You can't just buy me with presents. I said it before, and I'm saying it again. I can't play your little game anymore.”

“This was the only way I found to grab your attention. I tried to talk to you in the paddock, but you just ran away from me. I would call you, but you blocked me. I really feel that I have to explain myself, but I want to do it face to face. Can I go to your room? No second intentions, I just want to talk.”

I stopped for a moment and considered whether I should let him come and talk.

“My room is number 1043. But you better have a good excuse.”

15 minutes later, I heard someone knocking on my door.

“Come in.” I said to him.

We sat on a sofa. He had his elbows on his thighs, his hands under his face.

“I've had a lot of failed relationships, and it was all my fault. I think I just get scared. I'm scared about things just getting wrong again, and I lose you. I don't know why I kept doing it. Treating you like the whole world and then after, completely ignoring you. Y/n, I really like you, and I can't keep treating you like you're nothing. I'm really sorry for everything I've done to you, and it would mean the world to me if I could only get a second chance.”

I knew he wasn't lying. I saw the truth in his eyes.

“I can't give you a second chance because I've already done that. I really like you, Franco, and I wish things weren't that complicated.” I looked him directly in the eyes.

“I know I kept making you more and more upset with me, and I'm really sorry for everything. I would do anything for you to forgive me. Te lo ruego hermosa.”

“Actually, you've never made me really sad. You just made me really angry, but that always went away when we started talking again.”

“I'm so sorry about everything.”

I grabbed his hands.

“You'll have to prove that you really have changed.”

“Anything for you, mi amor." He gave me a soft kiss after saying that

I told him to go back to his room and just went to bed.

That night, I couldn't sleep well. Was he really being honest? How could I be so sure he wasn't lying? What will happen with us? all these thoughts kept me awake for a few hours. But something inside of me said that everything would be fine.

✸

It was the race day. Lando Norris was on pole and Franco placed 18th.

He had never been so sweet to me and I was really happy cheering for him.

After a long race, he finished 12th place, which was a pretty good result considering that it was his first time racing in an F1 car.

He was the third driver I would interview. After I congratulated Leclerc on his win, the Argentinian driver came in.

“Franco, it was your first time racing in F1, and you had such a great result. How are you feeling right now?”

“I'm feeling like a brand new man.” He said with a big smile.

“The car is really good as far as possible, and I'm really excited for the next race. It's all so different from F2, but me and the team are doing a great job.”

“Congrats, Franco.”

“Thank you, Y/n.” He looked at me with shiny eyes and a sweet smile.

[urloversdreamgrl]

Order for Orpheus (SydCarmy One Shot)

Have you ever wanted to extend this scene? To see what would happen if Carmen followed after Sydney? 👀 Here's a snippet ⏬️ ⏬️

READ

She barely made it to the locker when he shouted, “Syd!” She couldn’t be bothered to bear and grin it. If any angel was watching over her, they would erase Carmen Anthony Berzatto from her sight. They would give her one moment of reprieve. She could put on her coat, brace the cold ass Chicago nights, and hope the wind takes some of the heat from her cheeks. But there are none looking down. At least none that are on her side.

“Sydney,” his voice was a little softer as he stood at her side. “Can we talk?”

She kept her eyes straight. She didn’t give in, couldn’t give in. No matter how wide his commanding eyes scanned her form, searching for an in. She had none left. This was Sydney at her most pissed off.

“Um, no, Chef,” she strained as she struggled with her zipper. “We cannot. I’m taking off for the night. I would say see you tomorrow, but I don’t know if I will.”

“Uh huh,” he huffed, bringing his fingers to his lips as his eyes wandered to the desolate ceiling. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

All she could do was laugh. Because – truly – what does it all mean? What was she doing? Everyday she dragged her head from her pillow, staring at old posters and boxes filled with failures and regrets. Most mornings didn’t have the sun. And her childhood bedroom smelled like fresh lamb ragu. And she couldn’t remember if she was tearing up because she was tired or because Sheridan Road crumbled through her fingers. 

She still didn’t have her pasta. Everything she tried – the calling, the texting, the moving forward – wasn’t working. Her back was sore. Her feet ached. Her stomach churned. Her zipper wouldn’t fucking cooperate, and his eyes stayed locked onto hers.

Oh, fuck this!

“Uh, it means that you can go back there and enjoy the night with your girlfriend,” she mumbled.

He knitted his eyebrows together, shaking his head in that tell-tale way. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he rationed. “We’ve just been hanging out.”

“Hanging out? Hanging out!” It felt like he slapped her in the face. She wished he had. It would have been better than finally realizing that she’d been building a restaurant for a man who couldn’t give a shit about it. About her. “Wow, Chef. That’s- That’s, um. I’m sorry, but what the fuck,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe if she closed her eyes, clicked her heels, and believed really, really hard, the enigma that is this man would disappear. 

“I’ve been here all day, Carmen. Waiting for you. I’m waiting in front of napkins an-and forks and all the sticky notes screaming that we’re fucked,” her jaws tightened as she tried to keep her voice steady. Keep the rage at bay. Keep the betrayal at bay. Keep the disappointment at bay. She wanted to hold it a little longer. She’d given Carmen everything else. She didn’t want to give him anymore. 

“I’ve been waiting for you, and you’ve been hanging out. And now you want to sit and argue with me–”

“I-I-I don’t want to argue with you, Syd,” he bursted.

“Yeah, dude, I think you do, and I’m not–”

“That’s not what I came here for. You–”

“Oh,” she laughed. “Of course, you didn’t come back here for this. You came to show your girlfriend the restau–”

“No, I– we’re hanging out.”

“Well, I don’t give a fuck, Carmen.”

Their hands stopped. Silence rested on their shoulders. And Richie’s, Natalie’s, and Claire’s as they held their breath in anticipation. His tense face reddened. His eyes bore into hers.

He was listening. Richie, Natalie, and Claire were, too. She was sure of it. But she was running on a ten minute nap and a peanut butter sandwich. She didn’t give a fuck about her volume or the fact that she could see his eyes thinking.

“Syd,” he raised his hands slowly, like he was pacifying a wild animal. "That's not what I came here to do.”

Read the Rest Here 💕

[flowery-mess]

thinking about liability in relation to reader x noah, especially the line: we slow dance in the living room, but all that a stranger would see is one girl swaying alone, stroking her cheek

Let me quote your words from earlier “To combat todays sad girl hours” and then you choose the saddest song ever? Not fair…

You’ve been hurt by people. By lovers, friends, family, hell even by strangers. It’s hard to trust someone after all of the disappointments you’ve been through. So you decided to give up on everyone, trust only yourself and become an independent person that doesn’t need others to be happy.

You healed from the past and promised to yourself that you’re not going to let anyone else hurt you again.

You learned to read people, if someone wanted to be friends with you, you analysed them in your head and usually you kept them at arm's length, not letting them close to you, so they wouldn't hurt you.

Relationships? You gave up on them. Your heart has been broken many times and your tears were wasted for those who were not worth it.

You stopped believing in love.

Until you met Noah.

You met through mutual friend at a small get-together in summer. You noticed him the second you walked in, because he stood out from the group of people. Your friend introduced you and you felt something shift inside you when you shook each other's hand.

"You just think he’s hot." you told yourself.

But through the day you two kept stealing glances, he asked you questions when he had the opportunity in the group conversation and his mind was working on a plan on how to steal you for himself somewhere away from the loud group.

When dinner was finished and people divided into smaller groups, he saw his chance. He asked if you’d like to see something cool and even though everything inside you was telling not to go, you went.

He took you on the roof of the house, telling you about this secret place that he discovered when your friend moved here. You drank beer, watched the sunset and talked for hours.

He asked for your number and kissed your cheek before he left.

He texted you the next day and you replied. You told yourself that the conversation will fade in a few days, that it was just for fun.

It was fun, until he asked you out on a date. You had to sit down with yourself and analyse the situation.

“He’s nice, we have a lot to talk about, he’s funny and smart. He’s also attractive. And he didn’t get bored of me after texting for a month. It will be just one date, what can go wrong?” you talked to yourself before you told him yes.

He asked you out again, you did your inner monologue again and came to a conclusion that you learned how to read people and you felt good about Noah. You thought that maybe, finally you found someone who’s worth being vulnerable again. That he’s someone who’s going to change your mind and show you how worthy it is to take a risk.

So you went on a second date. Then third, fourth and then he was asking you if you want things between you to be serious.

You thought “I know him now, I can trust him.”

So you said yes.

Things between you were perfect for the first few months. He never stopped taking you on dates, he said “I love you.”, he bought you flowers every week.

He worshipped your body, he always took his time with you and prioritized your pleasure over his. He learned how to touch you so quickly, he made you feel wanted and desired. He always fucked you like it was for the last time, gently and slowly. His hands were tracing your skin with caution like you were made from glass. He was always whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear when you came and kissed you hard when his high followed not so long after.

Then he always held you until you fell asleep. You felt safe in his arms.

After all the time you finally felt happy. Someone else made you happy. You thought that maybe you had to go through all the pain to earn someone like Noah.

So why are you now staring at your phone with tears in yours, reading his message over and over “Hi, I’m sorry to do this over a message, but I’m so ashamed I couldn’t look you in the eye when I tell you this. We’re leaving for tour in two weeks and we’ll be gone for two months. I realised that I’m not ready for that, to have a relationship with this lifestyle. I should have thought about it sooner, I’m sorry if I hurt you, it was never my intention. Noah.”

And just like that you’re where you started. You hate yourself for letting him in, for letting him hurt you, for letting someone once again make you feel like a liability.

[dazaih]

wingman - luke skywalker x reader

you can find the previous chapters here

chapter ten -> unexpected encounters

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warnings: discussion of past violence, making out in public, slight nipple stuff, drinking and smoking, little bit of jealousy, luke has gross friends

a/n: sorry for glazing lando but i do fully believe that luke would think he’s hot asf. also i’m excited for the next chapter—but we r making it closer to the end!

Communication with Luke had been sparse lately, as soccer was picking up quite a bit. He still texted you every few days though. He had started taking photos of food he was having and sharing them with you, often with little captions detailing what it was and how he ranked it. You began looking forward to his food reviews, as you loved entertaining his interests. He would also often ask you for movie recommendations when he was traveling on the bus for games, which were farther and farther away as playoffs grew closer. Despite your busy schedules, you were keeping in touch. That made you happy.

When you arrived home on Friday evening, you were surprised to see Leia sitting at your kitchen table. Han was wearing glasses—something he refused to do in front of anyone other than you and Chewie—and a book sat open before him, but he wasn’t reading it. Rather, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking downright upset.

“Hello,” Leia greeted you, giving you a forced smile.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to assess the tension in the room, “Are you guys okay?”

“They arrested him,” she said simply. It took you a couple of seconds to realize that she was talking about Fett. She didn’t deliver it like it was good news. Han said nothing, staring down at the table.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Han isn’t going to press charges.”

You whipped your head around to face him, surprised by his decision.

“What?” you exclaimed, but he avoided your eyes, “He tried to kill you, Han.”

“I am not pressing charges against Boba Fett,” he replied slowly, with a sense of finality that made your nerves spike.

“Han, your testimony could put him away for a long, long time—“ Leia tried, but he cut her off.

“You guys don’t get it. You don’t get what they’re like. He’s just the messenger.”

“Then what will you do?” you asked, hands on your hips as you stared him down.

“Repay my debt,” he answered, sighing, “And I’ll probably have to add in a little more since Lando’s eyewitness account is what got him thrown in jail. I’m already in deep enough shit as it is. I am not pressing charges, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna testify in court. Are you guys fucking crazy?”

“You can’t repay your debt. You’re taking an additional semester. It’s gonna be a long time before you’re making enough money to even pay a fraction of it,” you argued, growing increasingly desperate by the second, “Let me chip in, at least. Or I can cover your rent for the rest of the year.”

He said nothing. You felt bile rise in your throat as another realization began to set in.

“You are not going to work for them again,” you asserted, sitting down in the chair across from him, “Han, you said yourself that you can’t—“

“I don’t have any other choice.”

“That’s not true,” Leia said, avoiding his gaze, “We can press charges against Fett, and then prosecution could offer him a plea deal in exchange for giving them information about the Hutts, which we could use to get their entire operation shut down—“

“There is no we, Leia,” he snapped, “Just stop. Both of you. It’s my shit, and I’ll figure it out. It’s not anyone else’s business.”

“He attacked my brother, Han.”

“And he’s not gonna do it again if you guys just stay out of it from now on.”

“What if I press charges then?” you asked.

His head snapped up then, and he gave you a desperate look that you’d never seen on him before. It made you uneasy.

“Do not. Please.”

The edge to his voice shattered any of your prior audacity, and you stared at him for a moment, bewildered by the level of emotion radiating from him. He almost looked like he might cry, but you’d never seen him do that, so such a thought was unfathomable to you.

“Okay,” you conceded, reaching out and grabbing his hands to try to comfort him, “I won’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, whether it was to himself or to you, you weren’t quite sure, and then he sharply turned to Leia, “And please don’t tell me what I think you’re gonna tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, pursing her lips and staring at her folded hands, “Even if Luke doesn’t testify, I don’t think the state will drop it. He’s a high profile victim.”

“Why’d you have to go and fuck the senator’s kid?” he asked you, his head hanging low, “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Han—“

“Call him. Call him right now and tell him not to press charges.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” she protested, though she seemed apologetic about it, “Look, Han. We can get this straightened out, okay?”

“Stop saying we,” he pleaded, and then, with a final sigh, he stood and threw his glasses down onto the table, “I’m going for a drive.”

“Don’t shut us out,” Leia told him, standing to match his stature.

“Stay out of it, Leia,” he said, pointing a finger in her face.

With that, he grabbed his keys and slammed the door shut behind him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days had passed since you’d learned of Boba Fett’s arrest. Han had tried to pretend like nothing had changed since then, but you were now constantly regarding each other with an air of suspicion. He was worried that you would follow through on your previous threat to testify, and you were afraid that he would resume contact with the Hutts. It was an uncomfortable situation, you and Chewie walking on eggshells around him at every turn.

Adding to your stress was the fact that you didn’t know whether or not Luke would testify. You didn’t think you could just ask him that, but the question loomed over you.

One evening, things came to a head. You and Chewie were sitting on the couch eating ice cream and watching reality television when Han stormed inside and threw his stuff down, staring at you both pointedly.

“We’re going out tonight,” he stated, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Okay?” you replied, unsure of where this was coming from.

“We’re gonna have a good time. And we’re not gonna talk about any of that bullshit. And you’re both gonna stop looking at me like you feel sorry for me.”

You shared a nervous glance with Chewie, who offered you a reassuring nod. Alright, then.

“This feels irresponsible,” you noted, anxiously chewing your bottom lip, “But okay. Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever the music is,” he answered, grinning, “Be ready in an hour.”

You entertained his request. Your cooperation was due in part to being genuinely worried about him and wanting him to be able to have a nice night, but also because you were excited to spend time with him again in a way that didn’t feel tense or awkward. You didn’t bother dressing up tonight; something casual paired with Han’s leather jacket would suit you just fine. He was ready right when he said he would be, and the three of you headed downtown to scout out some live music.

Fortunately, you were successful pretty early on. You hadn’t really wanted to bar hop tonight, so this worked out well. Less fortunately, however, was that this was a quite a popular venue, and the band was doing cheesy pop covers to appeal to your peers. You would need to have at least one drink to enjoy it, you realized, so you headed off towards the bar.

When you arrived, however, you were surprised to find that none other than Lando was sitting there, in deep discussion with one of his friends.

“Well, look who we have here!” he cheered when he caught sight of you, standing to hug you in that uniquely charismatic way of his.

“Hey,” you greeted him tiredly, not bothering to be polite, “Han’s here, and I think he’s kind of pissed at you for handing over an eyewitness report without consulting him first. Just a heads up.”

“Can’t I want to talk to you for a bit before facing his wrath?” he asked cheekily, gesturing for you to take the seat next to him, “Vodka cran, right?”

Before you could reply, he waved over the bartender and ordered you a double, flashing you a perfect smile.

“Thanks,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Yeah, not to be a dick or anything, but you were kind of complacent in someone I love being beaten within an inch of his life. And now you’re buying me a drink like the last time I saw you wasn’t horribly traumatic. I’m not really feeling up to exchanging pleasantries right now. Sorry.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes so serious that you thought he might start berating you. You jumped in your seat a little when he burst out into laughter, shaking his head at you like you were an old friend.

“No wonder Han is so fond of you,” he mused, smiling at you again, “I am sincerely sorry about what happened that night, but you should know that he and I have been in touch since. He understands that I legally have to report incidents like that as an employee.”

“Begrudgingly,” a voice behind you snapped.

You let out a sigh of relief when Han and Chewie appeared next to you, providing some respite in such an uncomfortable situation. Chewie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you offered him a sip of your drink.

“Chewie! And Han, dear friend,” Lando said happily, standing and embracing the other man, “To whom I owe many favors.”

“We’ll see if you make good on your part,” he grumbled, “Seems like you’re wasting money on flattery right now.”

“Not flattery,” he denied, something smug about him, “Just being friendly.”

“A little too friendly.”

“Han,” he reprimanded, clicking his tongue before turning to you, “How do you stand him being so protective of you? He’s acting like your mother.”

In spite of yourself, you smiled a little at the absurdity of Han being called motherly in any sense of the word.

“I manage,” you replied a little less coldly than before.

You relaxed further when Han just rolled his eyes and slapped Lando on the back hard enough to hurt, leaning down so that the other man could mumble something in his ear. Han looked at you curiously before nodding at something Lando said, and then he stood, messed up your hair, and walked away with Chewie at his side.

“I’ve been given a task,” Lando explained, leaning a bit closer to you, “One that I’m happy to oblige, if you’re willing.”

“Excuse me?”

He leaned forward to whisper in your ear, but made no move to touch you or invade your space.

“Don’t look now, but Skywalker is watching.”

There was no way Luke could be here. You supposed it was quite crowded and you’d only just arrived, but how had you not seen him? And why would he be staring at you? Had Lando not warned you against it, you would’ve immediately turned to find Luke in the crowd, unbelieving of the idea that he’d be looking at you.

“And?” you dared to press, suddenly feeling his eyes on you and knowing that it had to be true.

“You’re tangled up in some sort of mess with him, aren’t you?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek for a second, mulling over his question. Your shoulders slumped as you forced yourself to admit it out loud for the first time.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you confessed, chasing the words down with your drink.

“I think it’s mutual, if you don’t mind me saying as much,” he told you, taking a sip of his own beverage, “He comes to Cloud City a lot. I haven’t seen him with anyone else since the night he came to your defense. It’s unusual for him.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then why’s he glaring at me?”

The prospect seemed so outright ridiculous to you that you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bitter and frustrated.

“It’s probably just because he thinks you’re a dick for taking Fett’s bribe at first.”

“Ouch,” he winced, but he didn’t stay down for long, “But I don’t think so. He’s not that confrontational. Only when you’re involved.”

“Cut it out,” you warned, not wanting to get your hopes up.

“So what you two have is more complicated than it seems, I suppose,” he noted coolly, looking over your shoulder, “His drink is empty, but he hasn’t come over to the bar since you’ve been here. He probably can’t stomach the idea that I’m showing you a good time—doesn’t wanna deal with it up close. If only he knew you were actually laughing at me rather than with me.”

“You deserve it,” you murmured, though a sheepish smile tugged at your lips.

“I won’t argue with that.”

You giggled at that, unable to fully fend off Lando’s charm, and felt some of the tension drain from your limbs. You weren’t sure what kind of truce they’d arranged yet, but you knew that if Han had any doubts about Lando’s intentions, he would’ve never left you alone with him—even if he was in the same room, likely observing you like a hawk from afar.

“I should tell you that Han was comfortable enlisting help from me,” he said seriously, “I’ll make sure the trouble stops here, okay? He’s not gonna get hurt again. You have my word.”

The admission surprised you, and you couldn’t help the widening of your eyes, your disbelief unable to be concealed.

“His debt will be paid. It might take a while, but we’ll ensure that the Hutts are confident in his ability to give them their money.”

“You’re gonna help him smuggle drugs,” you realized bitterly, once again feeling betrayed by Lando, “He can’t—“

“This is better than him going alone, which was his initial plan. This way, he’ll at least have protection.”

You moved to get up from your seat, but Lando placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, urging you to sit back down. You obliged him for reasons you didn’t fully understand, and he offered you a glass of water out of gratitude.

“You should also know that Leia Skywalker approached me before he did.”

That intrigued you. You settled back into your seat fully then, picking your vodka cran back up and taking a dignified sip of it, a silent demand for him to continue.

“You can’t tell him about any of this,” he warned, leaning forward and whispering to you once more, “We’re gonna have him work under the Hutts for a little while to clear him of suspicion, show that he’s a loyal underling and all once he’s been scared straight. He won’t be doing this for long.”

“And then what?”

He pursed his lips together at that and shook his head, giving you an apologetic look.

“You’re not gonna tell me?” you asked, irritated.

“I’m sorry. It’s better that you don’t feel like you’re keeping secrets from him, isn’t it?”

“It’s better that I know he’s safe.”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Do you trust Leia?”

You fell silent. Fine.

“You’re a good friend,” he told you before looking over your shoulder again, musing, “Ah. Shouldn’t have touched you, I suppose. I’ve poked the bear.”

Before you could figure out what he was talking about, you heard someone call your name excitedly, and suddenly a pair of strong arms looped around your neck, a kiss being placed on top of your head. You looked up to see Luke standing above you, leaning over your chair to keep you in a half hug without forcing you to stand.

“Hi,” he said, smiling brightly at you. There was an edge to him, though, and when you looked over your shoulder you could see Han smirking.

He must’ve said something to Lando about your infatuation with Luke, you realized. He was conspiring with the other man to make Luke jealous. It was so stupid, and so ridiculously Han that you wanted to laugh. Even more absurd was that it appeared to be working.

“Luke Skywalker,” Lando greeted, “Heard you all had a pretty nice game today.”

You couldn’t see Luke’s expression very well from this angle, but you thought he might’ve been annoyed.

“It was a lot of fun,” he replied politely, arms still wrapped around you.

“It seemed like fun. I don’t usually watch college sports on television, but I figured I’d tune in to see one of my favorite customers. You were fantastic.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding somewhat thrown off by Lando’s sudden interest in his sport, “They were an aggressive team, so we needed a drink after that.”

“I’m sure. Seemed like they were giving you in particular quite a bit of trouble. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t react further.

“Right,” he replied, sounding skeptical, “Well, if you don’t mind, I might have to steal your company for a bit. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

You were surprised by that. You didn’t think he’d be so bothered by Lando that he’d want to pull you away from him, and you had to pretend not to be as amused as you were.

“That’s a shame, but I understand,” Lando said, before turning to you and smugly adding, “Well, if you’re able to make time for me later tonight, I’d love to continue our conversation.”

He threw in a wink, and your cheeks flushed in spite of yourself.

“Maybe. Thanks for the drink, Lando,” you murmured, standing.

“Bye, Lando!” Luke cheered, feigning innocence but looking proud of himself. He put his hand on your lower back then and guided you into the crowd, successfully getting you alone and near the wall. He was becoming skilled at dragging you away to locations that fulfilled those two requirements in particular.

Rather than interrogate you about Lando, however, the first thing he did was pull you into a hug. He pulled away to pepper kisses across your forehead, behaving as if the two of you were lovers who hadn’t seen each other in forever. The latter was true, but Han’s presence was likely responsible for the theatrics.

“It’s been too long,” he sighed, finally looking you in the eye, “Sorry. I’m not trying to be possessive or anything, I just—I needed to see you. And I don’t particularly like Lando, especially when he’s trying to embarrass me.”

“I don’t know how to feel about him. He bought me a drink, though.”

“I noticed.”

His tone made you giggle.

“How was he trying to embarrass you? Seemed like he was kissing your ass.”

“And that’s embarrassing,” he clarified, “But actually, he was about to bring up how some guys on the other team were being kind of rough with me. I could tell.“

“If you say so,” you hummed, tucking a blond curl behind his ear, as you often did these days, “Why were they being rough with you?”

“Because I’m good,” he replied, grinning.

“Right, right. Sorry, Captain.”

“I forgive you,” he told you, hands making their way down to gently grab your hips, “Couldn’t stay mad at you. Especially not when you look like this.”

“I look like shit,” you laughed, recalling that you hadn’t put much effort into your outfit tonight, “You’re just wound up because those guys were being ‘rough’ with you earlier, right?”

“Hey!” he gasped, giggling in the way that always made your head spin, “That’s crazy to say. I haven’t seen you in over a week and you’re making fun of me already.”

“It’s how I express affection,” you teased, leaning into him and placing a hand on his chest, “It’s okay, Luke. I know how easy you are to rile up. It’s only natural that a bunch of men in tight clothes getting handsy would—“

He cut you off by planting a kiss on your lips. He was likely only trying to shut you up, but you responded by biting his bottom lip, causing his grip on you to tighten. He sighed into the kiss, melting into you.

“Luke!”

There was a slim possibility that he just didn’t hear him, but Luke most likely deepened the kiss out of spite, hand coming up to your neck as he forced your lips apart even wider. He usually relented to your control at some point, but perhaps having an audience emboldened him, because he fully took the lead as he guided you backwards into the wall. You matched his fervor, looping your arms around his neck to give him more access to your body. He responded by slotting a knee between your thighs, his free hand near the hem of your shirt, practically begging to slip beneath the fabric and feel your skin.

“All good?” he pulled back to ask as you panted, the speed at which the encounter had escalated making you a little dizzy. You nodded, but he chastised you by clicking his tongue, lips close to your ear as he whispered, “I need to hear you say it, baby. We’re in public, it’s crowded, and I don’t wanna push you.”

“Yes,” you told him, nodding again, “I mean, I don’t wanna fuck in front of everybody or anything, but I wouldn’t be opposed to you touching me.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed to it?” he teased, gently nipping the skin by your jaw, “What exactly are you unopposed to?”

“You were about to put your hands under my shirt. Can’t you just do that?” you griped, squirming a little as his fingertips ghosted your ribs.

“Why did you just ask?”

You rolled your eyes, but your attitude dissolved when he finally complied, hand inching closer and closer to your chest. When he gently pressed the pad of his thumb against your nipple, you sighed, tilting your head and letting it rest against the wall. He attached his lips to your neck then, kissing down the side as he fondled your chest with the perfect amount of pressure, making you feel a little dizzy. Compiled with the fact that he didn’t mind if anyone saw him take you apart like this made your heart swell, and you felt a tinge of pride at the realization that you looked like you were his in this moment.

“Luke!” someone hollered again, and he reacted by softly biting the sensitive spot above your collarbone, causing you to quietly moan. You felt him smile against your skin, and you knew then that he definitely heard the calls of his friends.

“They’re trying to get your attention,” you managed to say, gasping a little as he continued to suck bruises into your skin, “Luke, they’re yelling for you—“

“They need to learn how to take a hint,” he mumbled, lightly pinching your nipple between his fingertips, “Do you want me to stop?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” you replied quietly. He had the audacity to giggle.

“I can see that,” he whispered, lips now dangerously close to your ear, “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About your mouth. I’ve missed you.”

His words set your cheeks ablaze, and you responded by holding him closer to you. He laughed again and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with an emotion that seemed like something much more than lust.

“I missed you too,” you told him, feeling a little shy from your confession, “I’m glad to see you here.”

“I didn’t wanna go out tonight, but they always drag me somewhere after a win. I’m feeling a lot better about being here now though.”

You couldn’t help the grin that you were sporting, far too happy to hear that he was this excited to see you.

“Is that why you’re so eager tonight?” you teased.

“I also didn’t really like seeing Lando flirt with you,” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes for a moment, “I’m sorry. I know I’m not your boyfriend, but—I don’t know, actually. I’m not entitled to your time more than anyone else, I realize that, but I just really hated watching that.”

“He was trying to make you jealous,” you confessed, feeling embarrassed, “I think Han may have told him to.”

Luke cocked his head a little at you then, and subsequently burst into a fit of giggles. He looked around the room for Han, but due to the crowd he was unable to find him. Still, he shook his head fondly, surprising you with his reaction.

“Of course he did,” he mused, grinning, “He must have seen me before you did, then. But Lando was still a little too happy to indulge him.”

“Uh oh,” you frowned, perhaps a bit mockingly, “Am I banned from talking to Lando now? That’s a shame. He’s kind of cute.”

“Hey,” he pouted, pinching your nipple again to remind you of what you were supposed to be in the middle of, “No, you’re not banned from talking to Lando. That’s stupid as fuck. I don’t consider myself particularly possessive.”

“How noble,” you snorted, but you smiled nonetheless, because of course he wasn’t. Luke was just too nice, too good at emotionally regulating to ever actually instigate anything just because he was feeling jealous. His ability to think through situations like that was part of the reason why you adored him so much.

“But I’d be lying if I said I’d be happy for you,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Well, like, objectively speaking I might be a little happy for you. Lando’s really hot, and he’s a smooth talker. He’s like a much more polite version of Han. I don’t even know how mad I could be if you guys got together. Like, I would be disappointed, because I’d want it to be me, but—“

“Woah,” you interjected, “You’d want it to be you? As in you’d want to be the one dating Lando? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

You both laughed at that, Luke’s eyes bright even in the dim lighting of the bar.

“I’d be jealous of both of you, sure,” he teased, hands falling to grab your waist, “But I’d be especially jealous of him. I won’t stop you from pursuing Lando, if that’s what you wanna do, but I’d love it if you pursued me instead.”

His honesty was amusing and disarming, and you once again couldn’t conceal your laughter. You lightly shoved him, which he replied to with a grin, assuring you that this was all in good fun. You loved that the two of you could go from making out against the wall to making fun of each other on the flip of a dime. Everything with Luke felt natural, and everything was so incredibly fun.

“Are you sure? It sounds like you might have a crush on Lando.”

“I’d be stupid to refuse Lando, but he doesn’t flirt with me,” he replied, grinning, “And no. The only person I have a crush on is you.”

You wouldn’t have let yourself believe that he really meant that if it weren’t for the way his expression fell as soon as the words left his mouth. His eyes widened and his face paled, and he almost looked like he was panicking.

“I’m sorry. Listen, I’m—“

Before he could explain, Elias was behind him, grabbing his shoulders. Luke’s stress didn’t fully disappear, but now he looked more irritated than anything else.

“Luke!” Elias shouted, even though the other man was standing right next to him, “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, man. We’re supposed to be celebrating you.”

He had no chance to protest before Elias was shoving him towards the bar. In a moment of apparent desperation, Luke reached out and grabbed your hand, effectively tacking you onto their group for the night. He shook Elias off by agreeing to follow him, and immediately entangled your fingers.

He mouthed an I’m sorry to you, but he didn’t let go of your hand. Something about it was strangely sweet, so you decided to put up with his friends for the time being. When you arrived at the bar, however, you saw Lando in the company of Han and Chewie. Han had never actually interacted with Luke’s friends before, and anxiety twisted in your gut.

“Fuck,” Luke hissed under his breath, and you looked around to see that quite a large crowd had gathered around the corner of the bar, anticipating his arrival. Most of the soccer team appeared to be there, and a considerable number of other people you assumed were in their friend group stood there as well. Of course, Marie and her friends were present too, and you tried to channel some of Luke’s overall good intentions despite his apparent jealousy.

“Luke!” a girl you didn’t recognize greeted him, pulling him into a hug. He politely returned it and told her hello, as he did with the people to follow in her footsteps for the next few minutes. Finally, one of his teammates presented him with a rather large mug of beer, thrusting it into his hands and spilling some of it onto his shirt.

“To Luke and his nomination for the Hermann Trophy. Way to go, man. Cheers.”

The group applauded and yelled some explicative words that were supposed to be praise, tilting their glasses to the ceiling in a toast. You had no idea what the Hermann Trophy was supposed to be, but it sounded like a positive thing, so you joined them in their applause. He smiled and took a sip of his beer, but the teammate from earlier then shoved it closer to his face, spilling some of it onto his neck in the process.

“Chug it!” someone hollered, and you saw Luke grimace.

“This is huge,” he remarked in a weak attempt to defend himself. As expected, no one cared. They all looked at him, waiting. He sighed and relented, forcing the liquid down his throat. It took him over a minute to chug the entirety of the mug’s contents, and he looked like he was trying not to gag afterwards. The boys cheered him on again, a few of them slapping him on the back rather harshly in congratulations. Marie ran over to him next, throwing her arms around him and talking right in his ear.

Chewie appeared behind you then, gently guiding you towards Han and Lando on the other side of the bar.

“What’s all that shit about?” Han asked, raising his eyebrow at you.

“He got nominated for some award, I guess. I think they just want an excuse to drink, and he’s their poster child. So.”

“You don’t know about the Hermann Trophy?” Lando asked. You shook your head.

“It goes to the best soccer player in the country. It’s the most prestigious award you can get in the sport,” he explained, looking at Luke, who was having another drink shoved in his face.

“Oh,” you replied quietly. You felt guilty and weirdly ashamed to not have known. Luke also never told you, which was a little hurtful.

“He’s been scouted a for it a few times, but people would’ve been pissed if he won over an upperclassman. It looks like he might actually get it this year.”

“You sure know a lot about our soccer team to not even go to school here,” Han snorted, “You a big fan of Luke, Lando?”

“I’m a local,” he shrugged, smiling, “And of course. He’s my favorite patron.”

“Well, good thing this ain’t your bar, because they’re making a mess over there.”

“And they’re being annoying,” you added, watching as Marie offered him a shot. You noticed that he didn’t try to pour it into her mouth, and you felt a little smug.

“You gonna rescue him?” Han asked.

“I’m supposed to be hanging out with you tonight,” you argued quietly, still staring at Luke.

“Uh huh,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “Didn’t seem to be a concern to you when he was shovin’ his tongue down your throat a few minutes ago, sweetheart.”

“You saw that?” you squawked, mouth agape. Lando chuckled.

“Sure I did. Had to keep an eye on Lando to make sure he didn’t take any drastic artistic liberties, but I wasn’t expecting the kid to react that strongly. Almost sent Chewie over to set him straight.”

Chewie shook his head, as if to say I wouldn’t have done that. You giggled at his reaction in spite of yourself.

“If you had done that, I would’ve been really pissed,” you told them both, pointing your finger in Han’s face, “You can’t try to wingman for me and then get mad about the results. Those are the consequences of your actions.”

“I wasn’t expecting him to be so forward,” Han argued, “But maybe if you had been honest with me about the two of you fucking, I would’ve had a better idea of how far he was willing to go.”

“First of all, we’re not fucking. Second of all, that’s really bold coming from you, Han, because I’m pretty sure Leia wore your shirt home the other night. But whatever.”

Han looked affronted for a moment before scoffing and taking a drink of his whiskey. Lando laughed and shook his head, regarding Han with something akin to fondness.

“The twins have done a number on you both, huh? Glad you’re staying out of this mess, Chewie.”

Chewie grunted and held his hands up, making it very clear that he had no interest in getting involved with a Skywalker.

“I’m surprised Leia puts up with you though, Han. She doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Lando added, likely trying to get a reaction out of the other man. You laughed.

“Careful, Lando. Han’s the jealous type. Much worse than Luke.”

“I know. I’ve seen it in person before. He’s a menace.”

“Alright, alright. I don’t know how this turned into everyone shitting on me, but that’s enough,” he snapped, though he squeezed your shoulder affectionately and ordered you a light drink anyway.

“Speaking of Luke, he sure is popular tonight,” Han mused, only catching glimpses of the other man as he was bombarded by the crowd around him.

“He always is,” Lando replied, “And this is just for the watchlist. Imagine what will happen if he actually wins it.”

“Doesn’t look too happy though, huh?”

“He doesn’t like beer,” you added quietly, taking a sip of your own drink, “And he doesn’t like a lot of those people either.”

“Are you really gonna leave him to the wolves?” Han asked, sounding a little worried. You liked it when he fretted over Luke; it was sweet.

“He’s a grown man. And I don’t wanna make any assumptions.”

“You’d hardly be making assumptions. That boy is enamored by you,” Lando stated. Like it was some sort of fact.

“It’s really not like that.”

The only person I have a crush on is you. Could he have really meant that? Letting yourself get your hopes up would only hurt more in the end, but you couldn’t help but wonder.

“All four of you are dim. How do you stand it, Chewie?”

“Four of us?” Han asked, offended.

“The twins and you two. You need to get yourselves sorted out, because it’s getting painful to watch. And I’m only around every once in a while. I can’t image how poor Chewie feels.”

Chewie nodded in agreement, but a small smile played at his lips. Han rolled his eyes.

“Hey.”

You turned sharply at the voice you didn’t immediately recognize, only to see Biggs standing there.

“Hi,” you replied awkwardly, not quite sure what he could want. Han, apparently, took that as a sign that you were uncomfortable, because he took it upon himself to then intervene.

“Can we help you?” he asked, glaring at the other man. Biggs looked a little put off by that.

“Um, yeah. Sorry to bother you, but they’re about to try to haul Luke off to a bar crawl.”

“Okay?” you replied, eyebrow raised.

“And then they want him to go to this after party at Marie’s. And they’re gonna try to get them together.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” you snorted, turning back around to face Han and the others.

“I think he’d rather hang out with you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you didn’t bother acknowledging him.

“Look,” he tried again, and you sighed when you relented and met his eyes again, “I just don’t think this is a good idea for him to be doing right now. He’s not very good at putting his foot down about this stuff, and I’m a little worried about how many drinks they’re handing him, and they’re being really insistent on him dating Marie because they want an in to fuck her friends. There are a lot of ways that this could go wrong.“

You weren’t exactly sure of what he was suggesting, but you felt uneasy.

“Why can’t you do something about it? They’re your friends. Tell them to fuck off.”

“It’s not that easy. They’ll get pissed at me. And at him. This only works if someone on the outside gives him an out. This is usually when Leia steps in with a dumb excuse and drags him home, but she’s at band practice.”

“‘This only works if someone on the outside gives him an out,’” Han sneered, mocking him, “You sound stupid, and you guys all have a fucked up perception of friendship.”

With that, he stood abruptly and shoved past Biggs, leaving the other man wide eyed. You watched as Han pushed his way through the crowd, apparently on a mission to get to Luke. Lando chuckled.

“Is that guy your boyfriend?” Biggs asked, staring at Han from across the bar.

“No,” you answered quickly, “My roommate.”

“He’s seeing Leia,” Lando added, smirking, “That’s probably why he decided to intervene. He’s doing it on her behalf.”

That made sense.

“I’m sorry,” Biggs said then, turning to you, “I know you don’t really like us. I understand why you wouldn’t. Some of us really do have his best interest at heart, though.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, distracted by Han dragging a grinning Luke out of the crowd, “Seems like most of you are just interested in him because of who his parents are.”

“I’ve known Luke for a long time,” he said, somewhat ominously, “And I know you think that he should stand up for himself more, but just try to understand that he really doesn’t wanna piss off the people who are defending him on the field. His career and his likability are pretty tangled up.”

“Alright, Biggs,” you murmured, growing a little uncomfortable with talking about Luke behind his back like this, “I’m not thinking about you guys as much as you think I am. It’s fine.”

“Chewie!”

You turned to see Luke hanging off of Han’s arm, his cheerfulness a dichotomy with Han’s disgruntled expression. You wished Leia could’ve seen it. Luke then let go of Han and focused his attention on your other roommate, pulling the tall man into a hug like they were old friends. Chewie awkwardly indulged him, looking to Han for help, who only shrugged.

“I’ve missed you guys. We should hang out,” he said, smiling widely. You wondered how many drinks he’d been given, because he was already in a much different state than the one you’d left him in.

“Thank you,” Biggs said to Han. Han only nodded, still regarding the other man with suspicion, but said nothing to him as he turned to leave.

“Are you leaving, Biggs?” Luke asked as he reached for him, “Did I ever tell you how we met? I had to live with my aunt and uncle for a little while, and—“

“Luke,” Biggs interjected, cutting him off, “Stop.”

“It’s fine. They’re like, really normal. They don’t care about that stuff—“

“You’re in public,” Biggs reminded him, grabbing his shoulder, “And you’re drunk. You can tell them tomorrow if you still want to, okay?”

“Oh,” Luke replied, looking around, “Okay. I’ll tell you guys tomorrow, then.”

“Get him home,” Biggs said, pointing at you, “I’m gonna tell them that Leia called and he has to leave, okay?”

With that, Biggs departed, Luke waving at him as he left. Han scowled.

“Pawning him off onto us when he gets too drunk. That’s fucked,” he complained, hands on his hips.

“I can get home by myself,” Luke replied, and you tried not to let the hurt in his voice overwhelm you, “I’m not that fucked up. I just probably shouldn’t hang out with them right now. But I can just go home, and you guys can stay and enjoy the rest of your night. It’s really okay.”

You watched as Han battled some sort of internal struggle, the conflict showing on his face.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he finally said, softening his tone a little, “Chewie, you and Lando can hang out here if you want. We can smoke when I get back.”

“You sure? We can walk with you guys,” Lando offered.

“It’s fine. I wanted a cigarette anyway. Have fun.”

With that, Han made his way to the door, staring at you and Luke expectantly. You supposed you were walking him home, then.

“I really don’t want to be a burden,” Luke protested. Han rolled his eyes and continued walking, making it clear that he was leaving the bar either way. Reluctantly, Luke followed, and you walked behind him.

Han was, in fact, lighting a cigarette as soon as you got outside.

“Your sister will kill me if your dickhead friends get you into trouble while I’m around,” Han explained, taking a drag, “So stop moping and lead the way.”

Luke sighed and began walking, hands shoved in his pockets as he started down the route to his apartment complex.

“I wasn’t trying to be an ass. I feel bad,” Han told you quietly, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“I think it’s alright. He’s probably just overwhelmed. Getting shit faced in twenty minutes will do that to a person.”

Han nodded, and you ran to catch up with Luke. Even drunk, he was still much faster than you on account of being in shape.

“Hey,” you said, making it to his side, “You didn’t tell me about your award.”

“Hey,” he replied, a little sheepishly, “Because it’s not my award. I’m only a nominee.”

“A nominee for the best player in the country. That’s fucking crazy, Luke.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said, dismissing you, “Is Han mad at me?”

“What?” you asked, a little surprised, “No, Luke. He feels bad that he snapped at you a few minutes ago, so he’s giving you some space. That’s just how he is.”

“I meant about the Fett stuff.”

You faltered, caught off guard by that.

“Oh,” you mumbled, “Um, I don’t think so? He hasn’t said much else about it.”

“I’m not testifying or anything,” he clarified.

“He wouldn’t ask you not to testify. You should if you feel like you need to.”

“I don’t want to. I hate court. It fucking sucks,” he said, trailing off a little. You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you weren’t about to press him for information when he was obviously inebriated.

“Okay,” you replied awkwardly, “That’s fine, then. Do what you want.”

“He’ll be okay,” he continued, “She’s making me stay out of it, but Leia’s really trying to pull some strings right now.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t really know what he was talking about, save for the vague information Lando had given you earlier.

“I’m impressed that you managed to choke down that beer,” you said instead, changing the topic.

“Oh, god,” he winced, scrunching up his nose in that adorable way of his, “You’re telling me. That was horrible.”

You continued to make small talk all the way to his apartment complex, one of you having tangled your fingers together at some point. Han put out his cigarette when you arrived at the doors, the man working the front desk in the lobby recognizing Luke and pressing the elevator button for him. You couldn’t get over how fancy this place was.

“You reek,” you told Han when he followed you into the elevator. Luke had wrapped himself around your good arm, leaning to be able to rest his head on your shoulder. He must’ve been tired.

Han just grunted, arms crossed. When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Luke dragged you out and into the hallway, holding you as close to him as he possibly could. He dropped his keys twice when he tried to open the door, and Han eventually grew frustrated and snatched them from his hands.

At last, he pushed the door open, and you finally completed your mission of returning Luke Skywalker to his home.

What came as a surprise, however, was the fact that Padme and Anakin Skywalker were sitting on the couch.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 22

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 22

I might have something. You’re going to hate it. Meet to discuss?

Far from the confident lead he’d hoped for, but that’s the text he got from Duke earlier that evening. He tried to tease more information out of him, but the kid was adamant about discussing things face to face. Suspicious, but a fair request given the nature of their work. It was smarter not to talk about it over text if they could help it.

Jason still wasn’t happy about it though.

They planned to meet on the street near a safehouse located in the heart of his territory. Duke arrived in street clothes, torn jeans with an old puffer coat thrown over his hoodie. A smart move now that the sun had gone down. The yellow suit was bound to attract the wrong attention, and Jason didn’t need rumors swirling around that Red Hood was letting the Bats run amuck in Crime Alley.

Jason dropped down from where he stood watch on the roof, the hiss of his grapple gun still ringing in his ears. Duke, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. In fact, he’d never seen him more at ease than he was now, dressed as a civilian.

“This better be good.”

Duke rubbed his shorn hair. “Hey, Duke, how are you?” He said, doing what Jason could only assume was a bad impression his Jersey drawl. “Oh, ya know, same old, same old. Stopped a bank robbery the other day. Saved some kids from a burning building this morning. Oh, and I got the final hit on a Gelatinous Cube at D&D. No big. Just the highlight of my week.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I would be more impressed if it was a Beholder.”

He balked. “No way. You play?”

“Not in a while,” he said with a shrug, “Let me guess? Cleric?”

“Artificer, actually,” Duke said as he shoved his hands on his pockets, “Barbarian for you?”

“Bard.”

“Oh?”

Yeah, he expected that wide-eyed expression. He would assume he played the angry brawler class. At the very least, he wanted people to guess he played a gunslinger, but no, he would forever be the angry guy. Bullshit. Bards were infinitely more fun.

“I didn’t come here to discuss TTRPGs with you.”

“Right,” Duke said slowly, “Okay, well, let me start by saying that none of this is my fault. I was doing exactly what you asked of me and, ya know, things kinda spiraled out of hand from there.”

He narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t a promising start. “Okay?”

“But the good news is we found something.”

Hold up. Pause. Rewind.

“We? Who the fuck is we?” Deep down, Jason already knew the answer to his question, but he foolishly clung to the hope that Duke teamed up with an amiable rogue instead.

“We are a team.”

Jason swore under his breath as Tim, in all his Robin glory, hit the ground beside Duke.

“It’s been a while,” he said with a thin smile.

“Not long enough,” he shot back, “Whatever you know, forget it. I can do this alone like I should have from the start.”

“You see, that’s the problem with Leos.”

He resisted the urge to scream when Steph pulled up behind him, a swagger in her step and a pinch around her eyes that betrayed the smile hidden beneath her mask. This was precisely why he didn’t want to ask for help. This was quickly becoming a ‘family’ affair.

“Stubborn pride always comes back to bite you in the end. That was your horoscope, FYI. Be wary of pride. It keeps you from the goal at the end of a long road. A little on the nose given the situation, but eh.” She slung an arm around his shoulders. “No one said that horoscopes were subtle.”

Jason shoved her off, a growl ripping from his throat. “I gave Signal permission to come into my territory. You two are breaking an agreement.” His hand fell to his gun. “Scram before I start shooting.”

“Tt.”

His eye twitched.

Damian appeared around his other side with his hood drawn low over his eyes, though it failed to hide the general arrogance that permeated the air wherever he went. “First, you do not shoot that ruffian Blood Knuckle all those months ago, now you’re making idle threats against us. You are embarrassing yourself, crime lord.”

Jason had enough self-restraint not to punt a child halfway across Gotham, even if the snot deserved a swift kick in the ass. Instead, he turned his ire on Duke, who was now the odd man out in his street clothes. “What the fuck, Narrows? I told you I didn’t want to ask the others for help.”

Duke choked on a laugh. “Yeah, okay. You thought I could keep this to myself without the others finding out? First off, we’re detectives trained by Batman, world’s greatest detective.”

“Allegedly,” Steph cut in.

“Second, Oracle tracks my patrol routes. She knew something was up the second I crossed into your territory. Have you ever been grilled by her? I’m normally pretty good under pressure, but with her, I folded faster than an umbrella during a hurricane.”

“From there, I looped in Robin,” Babs' voice fed into his ear. Jason should have expected her to listen in. She had tabs on his vitals for Christ’s sake.

“I told Spoiler,” Tim said helpfully.

“And I informed Orphan,” Steph piped up, “She’s on a Bird’s of Prey mission tonight, otherwise she’d be here too. She was sad to miss it, but I promised to give her a play-by-play later.”

“That still doesn’t explain why the demon brat is here?”

“Tt.”

“We’re working on a case together,” Steph said as if it were obvious, “That’s what happens when you work a team, but when Rob told me he was talking to you tonight, I dropped everything to be here. Since I knew the brat would follow me anyway, I clued him in on what was happening.”

Jason chewed the inside of his cheek. “So, does everyone know?”

“Nightwing is out of the country,” Babs offered, the click of her keys accompanying her voice, “No point in telling him until he gets back.”

But she still planned on telling him.

Lovely.

Damian crossed his arms. “It was also agreed on by the others that Batman would not be involved.”

At least there was a silver lining.

He turned to Duke—the only one he wanted to hear from—to pose his next question. “What did—”

Duke raised his hand, effectively cutting him off, and walked back the way he came. “Nuh uh. I did my part. See something, say something, and all that noise. I just came to facilitate this messy family reunion, and now, I’m off the clock. I have a math test to study for and a lot of sleep to catch up on. You’re on your own from here.”

“You can forget about me helping with your college essays.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Duke shot back.

Jason reeled. The gall of this kid. “I mean it.”

“Sure, ya do, man.”

Predictably, Duke called his bluff. Refusing to help him would take more self-respect than Jason realistically had. He buried his helmet in his hand and muttered, “I’ve been bamboozled.”

Steph snorted. “Who says bamboozled unironically?”

“Like it’s hard to pull a fast one over you,” Tim said.

Jason swung. Tim easily dodged the first punch but missed the second fist that connected with his gut. He doubled over, face turning an impressive shade of purple as he swallowed his grunt. It was mollifying to see, but a broken nose would have been infinitely more satisfying.

He leaned down to growl in his ear, “That was for telling her about the letters.”

“Do you feel better now?” he wheezed.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Tim knocked him off his feet with a quick swipe of his leg. He landed heavily on his shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. “So, do I, and that was just because I wanted to.” He offered his hand to help him up.

Jason knocked it away and grappled to his feet. He gave his shoulder an experimental roll, wincing when it twinged.

“Pathetic,” Damian scoffed, “You could have drawn blood at least.”

Tim shot him a warning look before continuing, “Now that we’ve gotten that out of our system, we can move onto the matter at hand. If you’ll come back to the cave, we can—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable,” Jason echoed, “Reasonable. This is my case. I went to Signal because I wanted to avoid this becoming a Batman issue. That’s exactly what’ll happen if I step foot into that cave. Black Mask isn’t worth it.”

“You enlisted help for Black Mask?” Damian didn’t even try to hide the judgement in his tone.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. At least, I have an archnemesis.”

Steph pulled down her mask to reveal her grimace. “Yeesh. Are you really winning if you consider him your archnemesis? I thought you had a higher standard than that.”

Jason gave her a dead-eyed stare. “Black Mask nearly killed you.”

“Hood,” Babs snapped in his ear, “Uncalled for.”

Her expression shuttered, the usual sunshine and rainbows giving way to something much darker as a sardonic smile slid across her face. Too many teeth and not nearly enough whimsy. It was a jarring change to witness, but at least he knew Steph had her demons like the rest of them.

“Like I said, standards,” she said as she replaced her face mask, “You don’t see me walking around calling him my archnemesis.”

They were getting off track. The sooner he got the information. The sooner he could kick them out of his territory and move on with his life. “No Batcave. No Batman. We can talk in my safehouse if you want to do this somewhere else.”

Tim shrugged. “Fine.”

“Pass,” Damian said as he turned on his heel, “I thought this was going to be more interesting than our usual bickering and dallying. Are you coming, Spoiler?”

“Nah, I wanna see how this pans out.” Some pep returned to her voice as she planted a hand on her hip. “I’ll catch you back at the cave, and we can compare notes.”

“Suit yourself. Let me know if a real fight breaks out between them. Only then will it be worth my time.” He didn’t deign to say goodbye and hurried off into the night, the soles of his boots noiseless against the pavement. Jason was relieved to see him go. There was only so much he could take before he snapped.

“So, are we doing this or not?”

Tim motioned for him to lead the way.

His safehouse was a short walk from the alley, a one-bedroom in what was otherwise a condemned apartment building. In a lot of ways, it reminded him of where he grew up. Cracked plaster revealed the brick beneath. Floorboards that squeaked when he walked on them. Some spots softer than others under his heavy boots.

“Please tell me you don’t live here full-time,” Steph said as she took in the bare walls and scant, cheap furniture. Her gaze snagged on the small succulent decorating the counter, eyes narrowing. “This is depressing, even for you.”

“Again. I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He tugged off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Alright. We’re alone. Tell me what you found.”

Tim pulled a tablet from the depths of his cape. Where did he hide it? No clue. Jason decided it was better not to ask questions he didn’t want the answers to. With his eyes glued to the screen, he said, “I think we might be investigating the same case.”

“How do you figure that?”

“We have to turn back the clock a bit before we get to that,” he said as he swiped absently through several tabs on his tablet, “Context first. Over the summer, we discovered a series of break-ins at Wayne-owned warehouses at Gotham harbor. Chemicals were stolen. You caught me reviewing surveillance footage that night.”

It took Jason a second to piece together what he was referring to. Did he mean the night he broke into Wayne Enterprises? That had to be it. He thought it was weird to find Tim there. If he’d pressed a little harder, he might have found a lead sooner.

“What components were stolen?”

“Ones used to make fear toxin.”

Jason blinked. “Scarecrow?”

“Except it wasn’t him. He’s been locked in Arkham since last year, and that hasn’t changed. He’s also not known for employing henchmen, but this wouldn’t be the first time another rogue got their hands on fear toxin without Crane being involved.” He flipped his screen around to show Jason. Two men in nondescript black clothes approached the warehouse before the video went fuzzy. “For all our state-of-the-art technology, they managed to circumvent the cameras, and we found very little at the scene of the crime. I’ll admit, it was a clean job save for this bit of video.”

Huh. Much like Bruce, he saw the world through a fractured lens riddled with imperfections. Using those imperfections, Tim could draw conclusions. It was always about what was broken and how he could fix it. If he was commending them for a job well done, that meant something.

“And how does that connect to my case? The harbor doesn’t fall within my territory last I checked.”

“Maybe not, but the goods were moved several times,” Babs cut in.

The screen progressed as she remoted into his tablet. Green blips appeared on a street view of Jason’s territory. “They stayed to the periphery of your territory, but one veered too close and caught your attention.”

A final blip appeared in red. He recognized it immediately. It was the surveillance mission he botched. Luca had said that was part of a trail of breadcrumbs left by Mask to keep Hood off his trail.

But…

He never got around to checking the goods inside the warehouse. “A warehouse belonging to Mask full of lifted chemicals,” he breathed.

“Chemicals that you left behind,” Tim stressed as if Jason wasn’t feeling bad enough, “Paving the way for Black Mask to do as he pleased with them. Nice work.”

“Oh, cut the guy some slack. He fully intended to blow the place to high hell.” Steph sidled into the kitchen to pick up the succulent, studying it closely. Jason resisted the urge to rip it from her hands. “Why didn’t you blow it to high hell again?”

He didn’t owe them an explanation. “So, what are you saying? That fear toxin is some new wonder drug on the street?” It sounded absurd when he said it out loud. “I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim scoffed.

Jason ran his fingers through his hair. “How am I the ridiculous one here?”

“Everyone knows about the harmful side effects of fear toxin in a more concentrated dose,” Tim continued with his usual air of superiority, “But microdosing seems to be the fad. People crave the rush of adrenaline that comes with fear.”

“Sounds like you would know that from experience?”

Tim merely shrugged, neither confirming nor denying the claim.

“I don’t believe you,” Jason reiterated as he snatched the succulent from Steph’s hands, returning it to its rightful place on the counter. Her pout went ignored as he continued, “I’m the drug guy. I would know if—”

His phone started vibrating in his back pocket, nearly giving him a heart attack. It didn’t usually ring. Not unless… He pulled it out, seeing your name on the screen. The corner of his mouth twitched up into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Woah, what the hell was that?”

The smile dropped. “What was what?”

“That thing you just did with your face right now. Was that a smile?” Steph pinched his cheek, scrutinizing his face. “Were you just smiling at your phone? I didn’t know you knew how to do that?”

 Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Steph.”

“Excuse me for taking an interest in his life. You should try it some time. Maybe if you do, he’ll stop acting like no one likes him.” She popped onto her toes to look at his phone. He tried to hide it, but he wasn’t fast enough for her discerning gaze. A sharp breath passed through her teeth. “That bitch. She told me she wasn’t seeing you.”

He shooed her away as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey?”

“I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this. Are you in the middle of something?”

You sounded off, your voice brittle as if you were holding back tears. He glanced back at the other two before saying, “No.”

The line crackled with your whimper. “No, you’re busy. I knew it. I’m sorry. I interrupted you, didn’t I? Never mind. It was st—”

“Woah, woah.” He lowered his voice, turning his back on the others. “No need to freak out on me, lovebug. You don’t have to apologize. I can talk. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

It was hard not to jump to the worst-case scenario with an answer like that, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “Do you need me to come get you?”

“Please.”

You could have asked him to walk barefoot over a bed of rusty nails and he would have done so in a heartbeat. Forget the case. Forget Tim and Steph. If you needed him, he’d drop everything to ensure you were alright. Even over the phone, he could tell something was wrong.

“Hold tight.” He shrugged off his leather jacket, “Ten minutes tops.”

He hung up, feeling the weight of judgement on his back. Tim gave him an indecipherable look before turning his attention back to his tablet. Probably stowing this moment away to use against him later. There was no escaping a comment from Steph.

“Lovebug?” she asked, “That’s adorable.”

He flushed. Pet names weren’t really his style, but it came out as if it were the most natural thing. Lovebug, of all things. That would not stick if he could help it.

“Shut up,” he said as he grabbed a hoodie draped over the back of his futon and threw it over his head. “I need to go.”

“We’re not done,” Tim deadpanned.

“I know that. I’ll be back, but I need to—” Fuck it. He didn’t owe them an explanation here either. He unbuckled his holsters and left them on the counter as he passed. “Give me a half hour. We can pick up where we left when I get back.”

But for now, he only had one thing on his mind. You.

***

He arrived outside the opera ten minutes later, an impressive feat given it was usually a twenty-minute drive from his safehouse. You sat on the curb with a young man with shaggy blonde hair that flopped down into his eyes. Jason threw down the kickstand and killed the engine. The blonde looked up as he tugged off his helmet (a completely normal helmet—Jason wasn’t dense enough to ride up in full Red Hood gear), giving him a clearer view of his face.

Jason had to do a double take.

That kid from the warehouse—Evan—was currently sitting on the curb… with you. He wasn’t sure what to make of this situation as he slid off his bike and approached, hiding his initial surprise behind something more neutral.

You hid your face in your arms. The yellow jacket draped over your shoulders. You shivered despite it.

He crouched in front of you. “Hey, lovebug.”

Again, it just kind of slipped out, and it still didn’t feel quite right. Luckily, you were too out of it to notice his bland attempts at affection. He tried again, “What happened?”

Finally, you dragged your gaze toward him. He swallowed his gasp. Your pupils eclipsed your irises, creating an abyss of black that unsettled him. You searched for the words, eyes darting back and forth as if they floated in the air over his head. In the end, you gave up and buried your face in your arms once more.

Evan leaned in and whispered, “Is this Jacob?”

“That’d be me, kid. You staying out of trouble these days?” A dumb question, he realized a second too late, but it had already left his lips. Jacob had never met Evan before tonight, and knew nothing about his rough past, but Red Hood was more invested in his wellbeing. Obviously, something was going right for him if he was here.

With you.

He couldn’t quite get over that.

It was funny how small the world could be.

Evan gave him a once over, taking in the beaten combat boots and the scars on his face. “Are you?”

Touche. Jason let the topic drop. “Do you know what happened?”

“Everything was fine. I was running around in the main dining room while she was working in the executive lounge with the top donors. She mentioned they were a bunch of freaks before the party started. I thought she was pulling my leg until I heard a scream. She ran from the room, and I didn’t see her for ten minutes. I found her in the bathroom on the verge of a panic attack, but she claims she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Did she drink anything?” Jason turned back to you. “Did you drink anything?”

You shook your head.

“Did you eat anything?”

Another shake of your head.

“What about—”

“Enough.” Evan shifted in front of you as if Jason wasn’t at least a head taller and twice as wide. “She’s clearly overwhelmed. Stop grilling her like she’s in an interrogation room.”

Jason withdrew like a scolded child. That was exactly what he was doing, and he failed to temper the shame that burned his cheeks. It was hard not to be in detective mode when faced with a situation like this. While it was possible you’d come down with something, it seemed more complicated than a stomach bug.

“What about you? Are you feeling weird?”

He fidgeted under his discerning gaze. “I’m fine.”

As it stood, you weren’t in any state to be alone. He’d have to take you back to his place. Where Tim and Steph were currently waiting for him. An inevitable cross-section of various aspects of his life stood in front of him, and it made him viscerally ill to consider. Jason couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“Do you feel comfortable going with me?”

“Yeah,” you managed after a second.

That was progress. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded. Evan scooted away, albeit reluctantly, allowing Jason to wrap an arm around your waist. He helped you to your feet and led you over to his motorcycle. Evan followed a few steps behind, distrust for Jason plain on his face.

“Are you taking her back to her place?” he pressed, “Not yours, right?”

Jason didn’t appreciate the insinuation in his tone. Despite an appearance that suggested otherwise, he would never take advantage of you. Evan might not know that, but come on, kid. Jason was clearly worried about you too. “That’s none of your business. Why would she call me if she didn’t feel safe with me?”

“Well, you weren’t the first person she called.”

He nearly tripped over his own feet. Ouch. That was the last thing he needed to hear right now, but he tried not to let the pain show on his face as he grabbed a second helmet from the bag on the back of his bike.

“Evan, I appreciate you looking out for me, but you can leave him alone,” you pleaded, seeming to find your words to rise to his defense, “I trust him and that’s all you need to know.”

“But—”

“Evan, thank you.”

You patted his cheek with a sort of maternal affection. He didn’t shy away from it like he would expect from a broody teenager. Jason felt a pang of sympathy for the kid. From one touch-starved kid to another, he knew all too well how nice it felt to be doted on.

“Really, I appreciate your concern, but not tonight.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his gaze shifting between Jason and the motorcycle. Everything about Jason probably reminded him of the life he wanted to leave behind. It was good the kid found someone like you to encourage him. A good influence.

God knows, it was never going to be him.

Evan shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll send you a text later. Feel better.” With that, he trudged back into the opera house.

Once he disappeared, you placed a hand on his chest and said, “I called Steph first. Didn’t want to bother you.”

Shame hollowed his chest. He shouldn’t have let Evan get in his head like that, but the thought of becoming your second choice terrified him. “You’re never a bother. You don’t need to explain yourself, hon.” Better, but still not quite right. He pressed a quick kiss to your hairline before placing the helmet on your head. “I’m going to take you back to my place. Is that okay?”

“Your place?”

“I have some company at the moment.”

Your eyes widened through the tinted glass.

“The good kind.” Though good was relative in this case. He would have preferred to introduce you to one of his henchmen instead. Most of them were good guys. Well, outside of the drug trafficking part of the gig. “Is that alright? I didn’t want to blindside you.”

“It’s fine,” you said as you shoved your arms through the sleeves of your jacket, “I was the one who interrupted you.”

Jason swallowed his argument, knowing you’d be rehashing the same issue. You weren’t in the right headspace to hear him when he said this wasn’t an inconvenience. He replaced his helmet and activated his comm. “Oracle, I’m on my way back now. Can you let the others know to mask up if they’ve gotten comfortable. I’ll—” He glanced back. Your hands shook as you struggled with your zipper. He held your hands to steady them and helped you guide the pieces together. You managed to zip it yourself once they were fitted together. “I’m bringing a civilian back with me.”

Her beat of silence spoke volumes. “And you think that’s wise?”

“It’s my safehouse. I can bring back whoever I please.”

She sighed. “Alright. I’ll relay the message.”

“Thank you.”

The drive back passed in veritable silence. No wandering hands, though he felt the consistent tremor that you tried to hide by pressing your palms flat against his torso. No coy smiles, no sarcastic quips, just brittle exhales feeding into his ear when he took a side street a scooch too fast. He slowed considerably to avoid scaring you.

It was unnerving to see you like this. Jason didn’t know how to describe it, only that it wasn’t right. When he pulled up outside his place, you slipped off the bike and removed your helmet.

You rubbed your palms together as he dismounted. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think,” you said carefully as you took in the crumbling brick building in front of you, “The fresh air helped. My vision is a little...” You blinked a few times. “Shadows are more pronounced than usual, I guess.”

That failed to ease his conscience, but he would press the issue later, when you were more like yourself. He pressed your hands between his palms. They were colder than a shard of ice. He kissed your fingertips. “I'll wrap this up quickly, but once I’m done, we can talk about what happened tonight. If you want to talk about it, that is.”

You’d shown him grace with his secrets. He could do the same for you. “I don’t expect you to drop everything for me. This was more than enough, so take your time. I can survive now that you’re nearby.”

You had no idea how much that meant to him. Knowing you found his presence comforting made his heart swell. “I’ll get you comfortable first.”

Or as comfortable as you could get in his place.

He led you inside, up three flights of stairs until you reached his one-bedroom. The other two sat at the table, still masked up, much to his relief. Tim sat backwards in his chair with his chin resting on the back, snoozing. Typical. You didn’t balk as Jason ushered you inside. Not like Steph who openly stared after you, her concern evident as you stumbled in the dim light.

Way to be obvious.

Jason waved her off, hoping it conveyed that he had things handled as he led you into his bedroom. For once, he was grateful for his minimalist lifestyle. His bedroom was mostly clean save for a few articles of clothing littering the floor, but at least it didn’t smell. His bed was also made—likely because he’d been sustaining himself on naps at your place over the last few days.

You settled at the foot of the bed, a quick sweep of your gaze all you offered his place. Jason kneeled in front of you. “Do you need water? A blanket?”

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass. Like I said, I feel better already.”

You looked better, a bit of the color returning to your cheeks. He still had a lot of questions. Ones you might not have the answer to, and the uncertainty sat poorly with him. Unsure of what else to do, he kissed your hairline again. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be with, uh...”

“Robin and Spoiler,” you said, your tone unreadable.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I might have been more concerned to see Batman.”

It was a bland attempt at a joke, but it made him feel slightly better about leaving you alone for a little bit. “Be back in a little bit.” He stood and returned to the kitchen.

Steph rose from her chair. “Is she okay?”

“Unclear,” he admitted as he closed the door firmly behind him, “She’s better than she was when I found her. It’ll pass, whatever it is.” He lowered his voice and added, “She tried calling you first, FYI, but you were here instead, living for the drama. Was it worth it?”

She lowered her gaze, ashamed. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t. You made your choice, and I made mine. She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.” Jason kicked Tim’s chair as he passed. “Rise and shine, princess.”

He jolted awake. Drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Wiping it away with the back of his hand, he straightened, “I was awake.”

“Sure, ya were.” Jason leaned casually against the counter with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “So, where were we? Fear toxin on the streets, right? That’s bullshit. I would know if there was a new drug on the market.”

“Only you wouldn’t because it isn’t starting in your territory,” Tim said, almost bored.

“And you would know that how?”

“Because it’s not,” Babs chimed in, this time through the tablet. A pixelated image of the Oracle sprite appeared on the screen, casting a sickly green glow across their faces.

Jason was suddenly in the Lazarus Pit, electric green as far as the eye could see as the pool worked its magic. Fitting his broken bones back together and making him whole again. It was as painful as it sounded. He looked away, shoving the memory away as she continued.

“Instead of starting on the streets and working their way up to more influential circles, it appears Mask decided to start from the top and work his way down.”

“I witnessed it in a real time the other week when I attended a party with Br—” Steph elbowed him sharply in the side and nodded to the closed door that led into Jason’s bedroom. It was unlikely that you were eavesdropping, but he’d been wrong before.

Tim licked his teeth and amended, “Some guests partook. They dip cigarette paper in fear toxin and smoke it with their tobacco or weed. It’s the smoke that doles out a hit. Leave it to the ultra-wealthy to get a kick out of experiencing fear.”

“Ironic,” Jason grunted, “Has anyone informed them that all they need to do is look out their windows to see the horrors of the world? Or is that too rustic for their tastes?”

Steph shuddered. “Rich people are the worst.”

“Not all rich people partake,” Tim mumbled sourly.

“Still rich. Still a pain in my ass.” Jason shoved off the counter. “You heard Oracle. What happens when small-time dealers catch wind of it and start distributing it on the streets. They’ll make dupes or cut it with other shit that makes it more dangerous.” A headache prickled at his temples just thinking about it. That would make a mess of his operation, for sure. “How do we stop that from happening?”

“We find the man behind it. Black Mask.”

“Wow. Fantastic.” He deadpanned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“But you didn’t have us before now,” Steph said in a tone that was surprisingly earnest, “We can help if you let us.”

Anyone else would have taken the olive branch she extended and moved one, but Jason was too proud to make things easy for himself. “Say I accepted your help. Hypothetically.” Steph and Tim shared a look but let him continue. “What would that entail?”

“A supplier would be a good place to start. There’s enough evidence to suggest that Black Mask is the Puppet Master, but we need to know how this new operation works. The sooner we find the suppliers, the sooner we can cut off the supply,” Babs said, her sprite flickering as if the mouth were moving with her words, “While the paper isn’t as potent as the original recipe, the drug is still a liability if bystanders inhale smoke secondhand. They’ll feel the effects all the same, creating a ripple effect you don’t see in other drugs on the market.”

“What are the effects?”

Tim said, “Paranoia, mild hallucinations, elevated heartrate, the usual schtick you see with fear toxin, just milder. It’s still—”

“Are you saying I was unwittingly dosed with fear toxin tonight?”

You stood in the door that had been closed seconds ago. Jason swore he stopped breathing. You threw an old hoodie over your clothes with the hood drawn. He swallowed thickly, trying not to fixate on the fact you were wearing his clothes and instead on the matter at hand.

“Come again?”

“Tonight. While I was working, Delilah Cadwell—her friend blew smoke in my face. I thought it was a cigarette but those side effects that you described were exactly what I experienced.” You stepped further into the room, undaunted by the masked vigilantes sitting at the table. In fact, you spared them little more than a glance as you went on, “There was fear toxin at the party tonight. It would explain why Delilah was acting weird and why I saw...”

You trailed off.

Jason had no idea what you saw, but he stepped forward to place a steadying hand on your back, captivated audience be damned. “Are you sure?”

“Hand-rolled cigarettes,” you stated soberly, “Delilah loves them, but they smelled off tonight. Like decay. If they’re dipping cigarette paper in toxin and smoking it, then yeah, I’m sure.”

So, you had been eavesdropping.

“You were dosed?” Tim grabbed his tablet. “What else can you tell us? Would you be willing to give us a sample of your bl—”

Jason stepped in front of you. “No one touches her.”

“Jacob, it’s fine.”

Steph and Tim shared a similar reaction, a small pinch to the eyebrows that betrayed their surprise. They missed a couple chapters in your relationship, but Jacob remained a constant since they last saw him with you. He didn’t need their judgement. He judged himself for letting this go on for as long as it had.

“You want a blood sample?” You pushed up your sleeves as you spoke. “If you think it’ll help, but I only got a puff to the face. Will it even register?”

Tim considered your question. “It should, even if your symptoms have passed. Are you encountering any residual side effects we should know about? Shortness of breath? Nerve spasms?”

“A little shaky,” you said, unnervingly calm for someone who just discovered they were drugged, “Shadows are darker.”

Tim nodded as his fingers flew across the screen. “That seems to coincide with the lingering side effects of fear toxin,” he noted absently, “Are you afraid of needles?”

Jason held up a hand before you could answer. “I'm not sticking her like a pin cushion. A blood sample isn’t going to do anything except satiate your little mad scientist brain, so let’s focus on the task at hand—finding a supplier. How do you propose we do that?”

Tim paused, his gaze falling back to you. “I think our connection is right in front of us.”

Steph curbed her surprise. “Robin, that’s reckless, even for you.”

“You work these parties. You’re intimately aware of the comings and goings of this crowd, yet your job allows you to witness the action from the outside. You would recognize something was amiss—if someone was amiss?”

Jason realized what Tim was hinting at. Involve you. He sputtered, “You want her to find the supplier. No. Not happening. She’s a civilian.”

“That’s for her to decide,” he insisted, “It’s not like I’m asking her to apprehend anyone. I think a tracker would suffice. One link inevitably leads to another, all the way up the chain.” He snapped. “And that’s how we find Black Mask.”

“I’m not putting her at risk.”

Tim leveled him with an unwavering stare. “You already have.”

Jason didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though he made a valid point. Interacting with you puts you at risk. There was a reason vigilantes kept their identities a secret. The more you knew, the bigger the target on your back. He knew that, and he continued to see you anyway. Trying to keep you from helping now was hypocritical, but he also hated to watch you put yourself in harm’s way for his sake.

“We can stop talking as if I’m not here,” you said flatly, stepping around Jason to speak with Tim directly, “If you’re asking for my help, I accept. A supplier was likely there tonight, right under my nose. It’ll likely happen again, so why not make myself useful if I’m already on the field. I work at an art exhibition next week. If there was toxin at the opera, I bet it’ll also be at the art museum.”

“Fine, but you’re not doing it alone,” Jason conceded, “I’ll find a way to be there too. Undercover, or whatever.” That earned him a round of skeptical looks, even from you. He bristled. “Fine, I’ll go as myself. I can ask my buddy Tim Drake to get me in.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered. “That’ll make things messy.”

“I’m not sitting back and letting her handle something I should have nipped in the bud months ago.”

“I think that’s smart,” Babs piped in from the tablet.

You startled a little at the disembodied voice.

“Sorry to scare you.” Tim turned the tablet around to show Babs’ sprite again. “I’m Oracle. The eyes and ears of our operation. Don’t let them tell you any differently.”

“We would never,” Tim insisted.

“Ditto,” Steph piped in.

She ignored them. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you said, taking it in stride, “You want Jacob there.”

“Jacob,” Babs said his name sharper than she probably intended. He was never living this down. “Is perfectly capable and well-intentioned. A second set of hands isn’t necessarily a bad thing either. We don’t know who this supplier is or where they’ll be. Having two of you will ensure they don’t slip through our fingers this time.”

“Alright, fine.” you conceded as you took the tablet from Tim. He let you without argument. “What’s the plan?”

He swore the sprite smiled. “Have a seat and I’ll give you a crash course in vigilante.”

You settled in the empty chair beside Steph who had tucked her blonde hair more deliberately under her hood and pulled up her mask until her eyes were the only thing showing.

If you figured out her identity too, he was well and truly cooked. Steph as Spoiler would inevitably lead to you discovering Tim as Robin and so on until you pieced together Bruce Wayne as Batman.

Jason cleared his throat, “Robin, can I talk to you for a second?”

Tim followed him into his room, leaving you and Steph to hash out the details with Oracle. Once the door closed behind them, he began, “If you’re going to bitch about this, save your breath, I have better—”

“I want something in return for this.”

He lifted his chin. “I wasn’t aware I owed you a favor. If anything, you owe me for that one time I helped you get a foundation off the ground to—”

“Do you know how to shut your trap and listen for five seconds?”

“When people deserve it.”

Jason resisted the urge to throttle him. “There’s a showcase at the end of the month at the Gotham Gazette for a writing competition. I need you to make sure Bruce is there.”

Tim’s lips puckered. “Why?”

He averted his gaze. “You know why. Don’t make me say it.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? I can see this blowing up, every pun intended, in your face if she decides to talk Bruce.”

“You think I don’t know that? I know what could happen and how it could all go wrong.” And maybe he wanted it all to go wrong. It would be the push he needed to finally tell you the truth because he was too much of a coward to broach the subject himself.

“But it would mean a lot to her if he was there, even if he isn’t the one who’s... you know. He’s still paying for her technically, so it matters, even if I’m the one she’s writing to.”

“I told you this was stupid.”

He inclined his head. “But?”

Tim sighed. “I’ll make sure Nadine puts it on his calendar.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tim sniffed, “I think you’re making a mistake, but you’re too whipped to realize it.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

But he was in too deep.

-----------------------------

A/N: This is the longest chapter I've written for this fic thus far, but I had a lot of personalities to fit into one space. I missed Tim. Glad I could bring him back.

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[kittenan]

Contract of Cravings

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Contractual Relationship AU Word Count: ~12k+ Warnings: Explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), dirty talk, light dom/sub dynamics, spanking, overstimulation, phone/video call sex, breeding kink, pregnancy, bickering, obsessive behavior, emotional chaos, detailed sexual content. Summary: A contract meant for pleasure spirals into an all-consuming obsession. What started as a no-strings-attached arrangement with Jung Hoseok becomes a chaotic dance of desire, bickering, and unexpected love, culminating in a life-changing revelation.

The first time you met Jung Hoseok, it was at a dimly lit bar in Gangnam, the kind of place where the air was thick with expensive perfume and the promise of bad decisions. You were nursing a martini, your third of the night, after a brutal week at your corporate job. He was across the room, leaning against the bar, his tailored suit hugging his lean frame like it was made for him. His smile was disarming, all sunshine and mischief, and his eyes—God, those eyes—locked onto yours like you were the only person in the room.

You weren’t looking for anything serious. At 28, you’d sworn off relationships after a string of heartbreaks that left you jaded. But Hoseok? He was a walking temptation, and you were too tipsy to care about consequences.

He sauntered over, his movements fluid, like he was dancing to a beat only he could hear. “Is that martini doing you justice, or should I order you something better?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You smirked, swirling the olive in your glass. “Depends. Can you keep up with me?”

His laugh was infectious, bright and unfiltered. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

That night, you talked for hours—about nothing and everything. He was a choreographer, he said, working with K-pop idols and international artists. His passion for dance spilled into every word, his hands gesturing wildly as he described his latest project. You told him about your soul-sucking job as a marketing analyst, how you craved something more but didn’t know what. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laced with flirtation and just enough tension to make your skin tingle.

By 2 a.m., you were in the backseat of a taxi, his lips on yours, his hands roaming under your dress. The kiss was desperate, all teeth and tongue, like you’d both been starving for it. You ended up at his penthouse, a sleek space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of Seoul’s glittering skyline. Clothes hit the floor before you even made it to the bedroom.

That first night was a blur of heat and need. Hoseok fucked you like he was claiming you, his body moving with the same precision he used in his choreography. Every thrust, every touch, was deliberate, designed to unravel you. You came undone on his tongue, his fingers, his cock, until you were a trembling mess beneath him, begging for more.

When you woke up the next morning, tangled in his sheets, you expected awkwardness. Instead, he was making coffee in the kitchen, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips. “Stay for breakfast,” he said, flashing that infuriatingly charming smile. “I make a mean omelette.”

You stayed. And that was the beginning.

It wasn’t supposed to be more than a one-night stand. But Hoseok texted you the next day, a playful message about how he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you moaned his name. You met up again, and again, and soon it was a regular thing—late-night hookups, stolen moments in his studio, quickies in your apartment. The chemistry was electric, undeniable, but neither of you wanted the baggage of a real relationship.

One night, sprawled across his couch after a particularly intense session, you broached the idea. “What if we made this… official? But, like, without the feelings part.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his brow furrowed. “What, like a contract?”

“Exactly,” you said, sitting up. “We keep doing this—fucking each other’s brains out—but no commitments, no labels. Just… pleasure.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You smirked. “So, you in?”

He leaned in, kissing you hard, his hand slipping between your thighs. “I’m in, baby. But you better be ready for me.”

The “contract” was simple, scribbled on a napkin for laughs:

1. Fuck whenever, wherever, as long as both parties consent. 2. No catching feelings. 3. No exclusivity, but no sleeping with others without communication. 4. Either party can end it, no questions asked.

You both signed it, giggling like idiots, then sealed it with a kiss that turned into another round on his living room floor. The napkin ended up framed on his wall, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of your arrangement.

Living with Hoseok was a whirlwind. A month into the contract, he suggested you move into his penthouse. “It’s practical,” he argued. “We’re fucking all the time anyway. Save you the rent.”

You hesitated, wary of blurring lines, but the logic—and the promise of his body every night—won out. You moved in, and the penthouse was more than a home; it was a canvas for your relentless desire, every corner marked by the heat of your bodies and the echo of your gasps. The boundaries of your contract with Jung Hoseok blurred in the haze of lust, and the spaces you shared became sacred in their debauchery.

The Kitchen Counter

It was 3 a.m., the witching hour, when the world was quiet but your hunger for each other roared. You’d woken up restless, padding to the kitchen for a glass of water, your silk slip clinging to your skin. Hoseok followed, his presence a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. He found you leaning against the marble counter, the city lights spilling through the window, casting shadows over your curves.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, his bare torso gleaming in the dim light. He wore only loose sweatpants, slung low enough to reveal the sharp V of his hips.

You smirked, setting the glass down. “Not when you’re in my head.”

He closed the distance, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against him. “Good. I like being there.” His lips crashed into yours, a kiss that was all fire and need, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned it. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He spun you around, pressing your stomach against the cold marble, your slip riding up as he yanked it to your waist. “Fuck, you look so good like this,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You arched back, feeling the heat of him through his sweatpants, his erection pressing against your ass.

“Hoseok, please,” you whimpered, already soaked, your body begging for him.

He didn’t make you wait. He tugged your panties down, letting them pool at your ankles, and freed himself from his sweatpants. His cock was hard, glistening, and he teased you with it, sliding it along your folds, coating himself in your slickness. “So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Stop teasing,” you snapped, pushing back against him.

He chuckled, low and dark, then thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the counter, the marble biting into your palms. He set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and deliberate, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that mirrored his dance. His hands held you in place, one sliding up to grip your shoulder, the other digging into your hip, anchoring you as he fucked you senseless.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, leaning forward to bite the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth sending sparks of pain and pleasure through you. The angle shifted, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and you screamed his name, your body trembling.

“Come for me, baby,” he commanded, his hand slipping around to rub tight circles on your clit. It was too much—the stretch of him, the pressure on your clit, the heat of his breath against your ear. You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around him as you sobbed his name. He followed moments later, his thrusts erratic, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering against yours.

You stayed there, panting, your bodies slick with sweat, the counter cold against your cheek. He kissed your shoulder, soft and reverent, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, and you laughed, breathless, your heart pounding with something you refused to name.

The Shower

The next evening, after a long day of bickering over whose turn it was to clean the dishes, you found solace in the shower. The glass enclosure was a sanctuary, the hot water cascading over your skin, washing away the tension. You didn’t hear Hoseok enter, but you felt him, his presence electric as he stepped in behind you, his naked body pressing against yours.

“Thought I’d join you,” he said, his lips brushing your ear, his hands sliding over your wet skin, tracing the curve of your waist.

You turned, smirking, the water plastering your hair to your face. “You just want to get me dirty again.”

“Guilty,” he grinned, his eyes dark with want. He kissed you, slow and deep, the water mingling with the taste of him, his hands cupping your face like you were something precious. But the tenderness didn’t last. The kiss grew hungrier, more desperate, and you sank to your knees, the tiles hard against your skin, the water streaming over you.

His cock was already hard, thick and heavy, and you looked up at him, meeting his gaze as you licked a slow stripe along the underside. He groaned, his head tipping back, one hand bracing against the glass. “Fuck, baby, don’t tease.”

You didn’t. You took him into your mouth, your lips stretching around him, your tongue swirling over the tip. He tasted of salt and him, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what your mouth couldn’t reach. His moans were music, raw and unfiltered, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust too hard.

“Look at you,” he panted, his hand tangling in your wet hair, guiding your movements. “So fucking perfect, taking me like that.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse, his grip tightening. You worked him with your mouth and hand, slow then fast, teasing the head before taking him deep, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. The water made it messy, slick and sloppy, but you didn’t care. You wanted him undone, wanted to feel him lose control.

He warned you, his voice strained. “Gonna come, baby—fuck—” You didn’t pull away, doubling your efforts, your eyes locked on his as he came, hot and thick, spilling down your throat. You swallowed, licking him clean, savoring the way he trembled, his breaths ragged.

He pulled you up, kissing you fiercely, tasting himself on your tongue. “You’re fucking unreal,” he murmured, and you grinned, your body buzzing with pride and need.

The Balcony

The balcony was your favorite, a private oasis above Seoul’s glittering skyline. One night, after too much wine and laughter, Hoseok led you outside, the air cool against your heated skin. You wore only his oversized shirt, the hem barely covering your thighs, and he looked at you like you were his entire world.

“Out here?” you teased, leaning against the railing, the city sprawling below, the stars above.

“Out here,” he confirmed, his voice low, his hands already lifting the shirt, baring you to the night. He dropped to his knees, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh, and you shivered, not from the cold but from the promise in his touch.

He spread your legs, hooking one over his shoulder, his hands gripping your ass to hold you steady. His mouth was on you before you could brace yourself, his tongue lapping at your folds, slow and deliberate, savoring you. You gasped, your hands clutching the railing, the metal cool under your palms.

“Hoseok,” you moaned, your voice carrying into the night, unashamed. He hummed against you, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through you, his tongue circling your clit with maddening precision. He knew exactly how to unravel you, alternating between soft licks and hard sucks, his fingers slipping inside you, curling to hit that perfect spot.

The city lights blurred, the stars spun, and all you could feel was him—his mouth, his fingers, his breath. Your moans grew louder, reckless, echoing into the Seoul night as he drove you higher, relentless in his worship. When you came, it was explosive, your body shaking, your cries raw and desperate. He didn’t stop, lapping at you until you were oversensitive, begging him to stop, to keep going, your mind a haze of pleasure.

He stood, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re fucking addictive,” he said, and you pulled him closer, needing more, always more.

Hoseok’s business trips were a special kind of torture. When he was gone, the penthouse transformed from a vibrant, chaotic haven into a hollow shell, stripped of his infectious laughter, his scattered dance shoes, and the warmth of his presence. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the hum of the city below, and it gnawed at you. You hated the ache that settled in your chest, a longing that went beyond the physical need for his touch. It was the absence of his energy, his teasing grin, the way he’d hum off-key while making coffee. You missed him in ways that made your heart clench, and you loathed admitting it, even to yourself.

The first time he called from Tokyo, you were sprawled across his king-sized bed, drowning in one of his oversized shirts, the fabric smelling faintly of his cologne—citrus and cedar, a scent that made your stomach flip. It was late, the Seoul skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and you were restless, your body thrumming with unmet need. The phone buzzed on the nightstand, his name lighting up the screen, and your heart skipped despite your best efforts to play it cool.

“Miss me?” Hoseok’s voice was husky, laced with that playful edge that always made your pulse race. You could hear the faint hum of his hotel room, the distant sound of Tokyo’s nightlife filtering through an open window.

“Nope,” you lied, your voice teasing, your fingers already toying with the hem of his shirt, tracing the edge where it brushed your thighs. The fabric was soft, worn, and it felt like a poor substitute for his skin.

“Liar,” he shot back, his chuckle low and knowing. “What’re you wearing?”

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows, the phone pressed to your ear. “Your shirt. Nothing else.”

He groaned, the sound raw and unfiltered, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Fuck, baby. You’re killing me.” His voice dropped, darker, more commanding. “Touch yourself. Tell me how it feels.”

Your breath hitched, your body responding before your mind could catch up. You slid your hand under the shirt, your fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing yourself, drawing out the anticipation. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice already breathy. “I’m touching my thighs… soft, warm. Wish it was your hands.”

“God, I wish that too,” he murmured, his voice thick with want. “Keep going. Tell me everything.”

You obeyed, your fingers slipping higher, brushing over your folds, already slick with arousal. “I’m… wet,” you said, your voice trembling with need. “So wet for you, Hobi. I’m rubbing slow circles on my clit, just like you do.”

He moaned, the sound low and guttural, and you could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the slick sound of his hand moving over himself. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Imagine it’s me, my fingers on you, my tongue. How’s it feel?”

“So good,” you gasped, your fingers moving faster, dipping inside yourself, your hips bucking against your hand. “But it’s not enough. I need you, Hobi. Need your cock inside me.”

“Shit,” he hissed, his breaths ragged, the sound of him stroking himself growing faster, more desperate. “I’d fuck you so hard right now, baby. Pin you to that bed, make you scream my name. Keep touching yourself. Fuck your fingers, pretend it’s me.”

You did, sliding two fingers inside, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. Your moans filled the room, mingling with his through the phone, a symphony of desperation. “Hoseok, I’m so close,” you whimpered, your thumb circling your clit, your body trembling.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice tight, on the edge. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around your fingers as you cried his name, your voice raw and needy. His moans followed, broken and desperate, his breath hitching as he came, the sound of his pleasure pushing you even higher. You lay there, panting, your body slick with sweat, the phone still pressed to your ear.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he said, his voice soft now, vulnerable, and you pretended you didn’t hear the weight behind it, the emotion that threatened to crack your carefully built walls.

“Miss you too,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself, and hung up quickly, your heart pounding with something you weren’t ready to name.

Video calls were a different beast, a cruel tease that made the distance feel sharper. One night, a week into his trip, he called from his hotel room in LA, the screen lighting up with his face—shirtless, hair messy from running his hands through it, his eyes dark with a hunger that mirrored your own. He was sprawled on the bed, the city’s glow spilling through the window, and the sight of him, all lean muscle and heated gaze, made your mouth dry.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You look too good in my shirt.”

You grinned, angling the phone to show you were wearing another of his tees, the fabric barely covering your thighs as you sat cross-legged on the bed. “It’s all I’ve got of you right now,” you teased, your voice laced with longing.

“Not for long,” he said, his smirk widening. He propped his phone on a pillow, giving you a full view of his body, his hand already trailing down his chest, over the taut planes of his abs, to the waistband of his boxers. “Wanna play?”

Your breath caught, heat pooling in your core. “Always,” you said, shifting to mirror him, your fingers brushing the hem of the shirt, lifting it to reveal the lace of your panties.

His eyes darkened, his hand slipping beneath his boxers, freeing his cock—hard, glistening with precum, the sight making you ache. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, stroking himself slowly, his hips bucking slightly. “Wish this was you, baby. Wish I was fucking you right now.”

You moaned, your hand slipping beneath your panties, your fingers finding your clit, already swollen with need. “Me too,” you gasped, your other hand pushing the shirt up to expose your breasts, your nipples hardening under his gaze. “I’m so wet, Hobi. Thinking about you all day.”

“Show me,” he growled, his strokes growing faster, his eyes locked on the screen. You angled the phone lower, spreading your legs to give him a view as you pushed your panties aside, your fingers sliding through your slick folds, dipping inside yourself. His groan was visceral, his hand moving faster, his cock twitching in his grip.

You matched his rhythm, riding a pillow you’d grabbed from the bed, the friction against your core sending sparks through you. Your moans mingled with his through the screen, the sound of his voice, his ragged breaths, driving you wild. “Hoseok, I need you,” you whined, your hips grinding harder, your fingers circling your clit in time with his strokes.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he panted, his voice breaking. “Gonna fuck you so good when I’m back, baby. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your name.”

The promise pushed you over the edge, your orgasm hitting like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried his name, your moans echoing in the empty penthouse. He followed, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing as he came, thick ropes spilling over his hand, his groans raw and desperate.

You both stayed there, breathless, the screen a fragile tether between you. “Not enough,” you whispered, your voice small, and he nodded, his eyes soft with something unspoken.

“Never enough,” he agreed, and you both hung up, the ache in your chest sharper than ever.

When Hoseok finally returned, the air crackled with anticipation. You’d been counting the hours, your body buzzing with need, your heart traitorously loud in its longing. The moment you heard the key in the lock, you were on your feet, pacing the foyer like a caged animal. The door swung open, and there he was—tired, disheveled, but so fucking beautiful, his grin bright enough to light up the room.

He barely had time to drop his bags before you were on him, your hands tearing at his jacket, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that bordered on feral. “Fuck, I missed you,” you gasped against his mouth, your fingers clawing at his shirt, pulling it over his head.

He groaned, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you against him as he kicked the door shut. “Missed you more,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. You didn’t care. You wanted him to mark you, to claim you, to erase the weeks of distance.

He backed you against the door, the wood cool against your back, your legs wrapping around his waist. His kisses were frantic, all teeth and tongue, his hands roaming under your shirt—his shirt—cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples until you moaned. “Need you now,” you begged, your hands fumbling with his belt, freeing him from his jeans.

He didn’t hesitate, yanking your panties down, his fingers brushing your folds, finding you soaked. “Fuck, baby, you’re dripping,” he growled, his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you for a moment before he thrust in, hard and deep.

You screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders, the stretch of him filling you perfectly, like he was made for you. He set a punishing pace, each thrust slamming you against the door, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the penthouse. It was hard, fast, desperate, no time for foreplay, no patience for anything but this.

“Missed this,” he panted, his lips brushing your ear, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. “Missed you.”

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the feel of him, the way he hit that spot inside you with every thrust, the way his pelvis ground against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. Your orgasm hit fast, a white-hot explosion that left you trembling, your walls clenching around him as you sobbed his name. He followed, his thrusts erratic, spilling inside you with a groan that vibrated through you both.

You stayed there, pinned against the door, your bodies slick with sweat, his forehead resting against yours. “Missed you,” he whispered again, softer now, and you pretended you didn’t hear the weight in his words, the love that lingered beneath them. You kissed him instead, slow and deep, your heart pounding with a truth you weren’t ready to face.

The contract was supposed to keep things simple, but it was anything but. You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop wanting him, needing him, craving the way he made you feel. It wasn’t just the sex—though that was mind-blowing. It was the way he looked at you, like you were his entire world. The way he held you after, his arms tight around you, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You started noticing little things. The way his eyes softened when you laughed. The way he’d kiss your forehead when he thought you were asleep. The way he’d linger in the doorway, watching you work, a small smile on his lips. It scared you, how much you liked it. How much you wanted more.

One night, you were lying in bed, his head on your chest, your fingers tangled through his hair. “Hoseok,” you said softly, your heart pounding. “What are we doing?”

He stilled, then looked up at you, his eyes searching. “Whatever we want,” he said, but his voice was unsteady.

You wanted to push, to ask what he meant, but fear stopped you. Instead, you kissed him, slow and deep, pouring everything you couldn’t say into it. He responded with a hunger that matched your own, his hands roaming, his body pressing closer. That night, you made love—not fucked—slowly, deliberately, every touch a confession neither of you would voice.

It came to a head during a rare moment of calm. You were cooking dinner together, a rare domestic scene, when he accidentally knocked over a glass of wine. It shattered on the floor, red liquid pooling like blood.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing a towel.

“It’s fine,” you snapped, sharper than you meant. You were on edge, the unspoken tension between you fraying your nerves.

He looked at you, hurt flashing in his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” you shot back. “Maybe it’s the fact that we’re pretending this is normal when it’s not!”

He froze, the towel dangling from his hand. “What do you mean?”

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “This! Us! We’re fucking obsessed with each other, Hoseok. We live together, we fuck every chance we get, we act like a couple, but we’re not. What the hell are we?”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “You’re the one who wanted no labels. You wanted the contract.”

“And you signed it!” you yelled, tears pricking your eyes. “But now I don’t know what I want anymore, and it’s fucking terrifying!”

He dropped the towel, pulling you into his arms. “Hey, hey, breathe. I’m scared too, okay? I’m fucking terrified because I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You looked up at him, your heart racing. “What are you saying?”

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “I’m saying I love you, you idiot. I’ve loved you for months, contract or no contract.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. You wanted to run, to hide, but his eyes held you in place. “Hoseok…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he said quickly. “Just… don’t leave. Please.”

You didn’t leave. Instead, you kissed him, your hands trembling as you clung to him. The sex that night was different—raw, emotional, a tangle of limbs and whispered confessions. When you came, tears streamed down your face, and he kissed them away, holding you like you were his everything.

For weeks, you carried the secret like a stone in your chest, its weight growing heavier with each passing day. The pregnancy test, hidden in the back of your bathroom drawer, had confirmed it one quiet morning—two pink lines that shifted the axis of your world. You hadn’t told Hoseok. The contract, the fragile love you’d only begun to embrace, the fear of upending everything—it all kept you silent. You wanted to protect this thing between you, to hold it close until you could make sense of the chaos it unleashed inside you. But your body had other plans.

It was a Sunday evening, the penthouse bathed in the golden glow of dusk, the Seoul skyline a quiet backdrop. You and Hoseok were in the kitchen, a rare moment of domesticity as you chopped vegetables for dinner, his playlist humming softly in the background. He was behind you, arms loosely around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, teasing you about your knife skills. “You’re gonna lose a finger if you keep chopping like that,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, his voice warm with laughter.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into him, savoring the solid heat of his body. “Says the guy who burns toast.”

He chuckled, kissing your neck, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—too perfect, like the calm before a storm. Then it hit: a wave of nausea, sharper than the usual morning sickness you’d been hiding, followed by a dizzying rush that made the room tilt. Your grip on the knife faltered, the blade clattering to the counter, and you swayed, your vision spotting with black.

“Y/N?” Hoseok’s voice was sharp, his arms tightening around you as you slumped against him, your legs buckling. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You tried to speak, to brush it off, but your tongue felt heavy, your thoughts sluggish. The world narrowed to the pounding in your head, the frantic beat of your heart, and then—nothing. You collapsed in his arms, your body limp, the kitchen fading into darkness.

When you came to senses, you were on the couch, Hoseok kneeling beside you, his face pale, his eyes wide with a fear you’d never seen before. His hands were on your face, trembling as he brushed your hair back, his voice low and urgent. “Y/N, come on, talk to me. What happened? You’re scaring me.”

Your mouth was dry, your head throbbing, but the sight of him—so undone, so raw—cracked something open inside you. “I’m okay,” you croaked, reaching for his hand, your fingers weak but desperate to reassure him. “Just… dizzy.”

“Dizzy?” His voice rose, edged with panic. “You fucking collapsed, Y/N. That’s not okay. We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

“No, wait,” you said, gripping his hand tighter, your heart racing. You couldn’t let him take you there, not yet, not when they’d find out and the truth would spill before you were ready. But his eyes, dark with worry, held yours, and you knew you couldn’t keep it from him any longer. The secret was choking you, and he deserved to know.

“Hoseok,” you whispered, your voice breaking, tears prickling your eyes. “I need to tell you something.”

He froze, his hand stilling on your cheek, his brow furrowing. “What is it?”

You swallowed, the words heavy, terrifying, but inevitable. “I’m pregnant.” Your voice was barely audible, but it hit the air like a thunderclap. “I’ve known for a few weeks. I… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for you to take it back. Then his breath hitched, his hand dropping to your stomach, his touch tentative, like he was afraid to believe it. “Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice soft, almost reverent. “You’re… we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, tears spilling over, your chest tight with fear and hope and everything in between. “I was scared, Hobi. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t know if you’d want this, if we were ready—”

“Scared?” he cut you off, his voice cracking, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” He pulled you into his arms, careful but fierce, like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I thought you were sick, thought I was losing you.” His voice broke, his face buried in your hair, his hands trembling as they held you close.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shirt. “I didn’t want to ruin us. I love you, and I was so afraid this would change everything.”

He pulled back, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Ruin us?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, you’re everything to me. This—” his hand slid to your stomach, soft and protective, “—this is us. Our baby. I want this. I want you. I want it all.”

The weight of his words, the love in his eyes, unraveled you. You laughed through your tears, a shaky, relieved sound, and he smiled, bright and blinding, like the sun breaking through clouds. “We’re having a baby,” he said again, as if testing the words, his voice filled with wonder.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your hand covering his on your stomach. “We are.”

He kissed you, slow and deep, pouring every unspoken promise into it, his lips tasting of salt and hope. Then he pulled back, his forehead against yours, his voice low and fierce. “Marry me. Not just because of the baby, but because I can’t imagine my life without you. Contract or not, you’re my forever.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the truth, the depth of his love, and your heart answered before your mind could catch up. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “Yes, Hobi.”

The wedding was intimate, a small gathering of friends, the framed napkin from your contract hung in your new home as a reminder of the wild, messy journey that brought you here. The pregnancy was a rollercoaster—sickness, cravings, moments of doubt—but Hoseok was your constant, holding your hand, kissing your fears away, his excitement for your future infectious.

When your daughter was born, with Hoseok’s bright eyes and your stubborn smile, you looked at him, exhausted but whole, and knew this was real. The contract had been a spark, but this—love, family, forever—was the fire that would burn eternal.

A/N: For my Tumblr readers, I hope this warmed your hearts. Hoseok’s sunshine and spice are a lethal combo, and I poured all my love into this. Let me know your thoughts, and stay thirsty for more! 😘

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @mindurbuzznezz . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts

[rainxthunder25]

I do need you

Part 3

Oscar Piastri x reader friends to lovers slow burn

Warnings: Jealous Oscar, angst

Part 1 🧡 Part 2

For the past couple of weeks the FIA has been having multiple meetings to set new safety regulations for the drivers and staff. Not all the fans and media are bad. But when few started acting out of pocket and went viral a lot of people followed after doing more extreme things.

As you get ready in your office for your work day you get a text message from an old friend, Adam. You haven’t seen him in years.

“Hey Y/n it’s been a while. How have you been?”

The last conversation you had with him was when you first started working with McLaren. Around that same time he got a promotion in the fashion industry. As you reply to your old friend you start thinking about your time together in university. You break away from your thoughts with a knock on your door. “Come in!!” You say as you see Oscar through the small window in your office door. Oscar comes in with a muffin as you give him a coffee. It became your daily routine, you would even spoil Lando with a coffee if he was in the building. Oscar observes your bright demeanor “Someone woke up happy today.” You get excited and tell Oscar about your friend. “Yes!! I am very happy. My friend who I haven’t heard from in a while reached out.” Oscar looks at the wall avoiding your eyes “oh..that’s great” he says awkwardly. You’re too excited to pick up on his change in tone. Oscar pulls up his laptop. “Zak sent me up here. There’s a private event for us drivers and we need to set up a safety plan since you’ll be with me.” You go to your computer and open up some files “yes I was told of this event here-“ you get cut off my a text message.

“Are you still working at McLaren? I’ll be touring around there and I’ll be in the area.”

The big smile that made its way across your face made Oscars heart skip a beat. You had a beautiful smile, but he wasn’t the one making you smile. He lets out a small cough. “Oh sorry Oscar. Like I was saying…” you pause to text your friend back. “Y/N please be professional and stop wasting our time.” You stare at Oscar. He has never talked to you in such a harsh tone. But he is right. “S-sorry Oscar.” You start to feel nervous. What if you weren’t taking this job seriously enough? “I got sent these files, it’s the schedule for the event, and a layout of the place. I think it’s best if we hire a driver to take us for security reasons.” You can tell the energy in the room is changing. Oscar is quiet and looks kind of annoyed. After he leaves your office you text your friend back. You need to talk about whatever just happened to someone. You tell him he can stop by during your lunch break.

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In the lounge Lando has noticed how weird Oscar has been lately. He constantly asks about you and out of nowhere he’s completely silent and would even avoid you. You walk pass the two driver as your friends car pulls up. Lando watches as Oscars eyes observe the unknown car. “Dude you alright? You’re staring at her like you haven’t been avoiding her.” He just looks at Lando and quietly says “I’m not avoiding her. I just don’t want to talk about anything irrelevant.” Lando smacks his teammates leg “you know Y/n’s not irrelevant. Something has you upset?” Lando gets distracted by Oscars eyes narrowing at the front door. Through the glass the drivers see you run to hug a man. The moment his hands go to your hips Oscar gets up and walks away. Lando smirks to himself. “Ohhh so that’s what’s going on.”

Meanwhile Adam is complimenting how nice your skirt makes your body look. “Girl you’re looking snatched. How long is your lunch break?” You smile at your friend “I remember some of the clothing advice you gave me. I have an hour for lunch today since it’s a slow day.” You and Adam go to the nearest bar. He talks about his husband back at home and about his fashion show tour. “Hey Adam can I ask you something?” He looks at you “Hun you already know you can ask me anything.” You look around the bar “this guy gets upset randomly but at times he’s really fun and nice to be around.” Adam closes his lips thinking “when he’s nice and fun is that when you’re alone or with others? Because if he’s only fun around others but upset towards you he doesn’t like you at all.” Your heart skips a beat at the thought “no no he’s nice to me when we’re alone too.” Your friend laughs a little “girl then he doesn’t hate you. Maybe something specific makes him upset? You should probably communicate with him if you feel like it’s bothering you love.”

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Back at MTC you come in and find Lando. You bite your lip thinking if you should even ask him about Oscar. “Had fun? I can smell the alcohol from here.” You laugh at Lando “I am so sorry. I promise it was just one drink.” You say as you spray some perfume. “Who was that lovely man all over you?” You smack his arm “He wasn’t all over me. He was complimenting my skirt. And he has a husband.” Lando stares at you blankly. “Sorry for being nosy” he says in defense. “Hey Lando? Do you think I’m ever distracted at work? Like I’m not taking my job seriously?” Lando comes closer to you “woah y/n. If anyone takes their job seriously here it’s you. Whatever has you thinking like this let it go.” He says as he places a friendly hand on your shoulder. Little did you know Oscar is on his way down. He stares at you and at Landos hand on you. “How professional.” He mumbles passing the both of you. Lando stares at Oscar confused. “ Please ignore him. He’s rather delicate today.”

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Throughout the rest of the day you notice how Oscar has been distant making your work environment very difficult. You can help but to wonder if you did anything wrong, or if you did anything to offend him. You find Oscar and hand him some papers. “Here is the dress code for tomorrow. The time we are leaving. And tomorrow’s schedule.” He stays quiet. “Oscar?” He looks up at you shooting an upset look towards you. “Look Oscar I don’t know what has you upset. But it’s clearly affecting our communication. If I’m working directly with you, I need you here 100%.” Oscar lets out a dry chuckle. “Please do not lecture me about my behavior. When you’re letting people’s hands all over you at work.” You slam your hand on the table. “Don’t you dare assume anything about me if you don’t know what’s really going on. I will never assume anything about you.” You take a deep breath “If you want to keep our friendship strictly professional from now on, I’ll forget everything. From now on I’m just a coworker.” You say as you walk away from him before he could say anything. Oscar sits there as his guilt starts eating at him.

[absdollievu]

Ruin me gently

bully!abby x reader

Warnings: fingering (r!receiving)

It’s been a week since the library, a week since she got real close to you, close enough for you to feel her breath but never close enough to call it anything real.

Since then, she’s gone right back to normal.

When her friends are around, she’s ruthless — shoving past you in the halls, making little comments under her breath. Smirking when you flinch.

But when you’re alone?

She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even try.

Just glances at you sometimes, like she’s struggling with something in her head, and then looks away.

The days drag. You’re stuck halfway between anger and confusion, not sure which one is worse.

You’re lying in bed one night when your phone buzzes. Unknown number.

hey

you up?

You stare at the screen. Another message pops up before you can answer:

its me

abby

You already knew it was her.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you finally type back:

what do you want

There’s a pause.

idk

just wanted to talk

no one knows

You frown at the screen. Another message follows:

about the library

Your chest tightens a little.

You type back:

yeah

me too

It takes a minute, but she sends:

i’m sorry

didn’t mean to make you feel like I was taking advantage of you

i was a dick

You hesitate. Then:

you still act like one when your friends are around

You half expect her to get defensive, but instead:

i know

its fucked up

not you

You don’t text back. Not tonight. It’s enough — for now.

⸻

A few days later, you stop by your classroom after hours to grab a textbook you left behind.

The door creaks as you push it open, and you freeze when you see her.

Abby’s sitting in the back, alone.

Of course she’s fucking there.

She stiffens when she spots you.

You hover awkwardly in the doorway. She stands up slowly, walking over like she’s not sure she should.

You stay where you are.

When she gets close, she hesitates — her hands flexing at her sides — and for the first time, she looks nervous.

“Hey,” she says, voice low and rough. “Can we talk?”

You nod, even though your heart’s racing.

She steps in, not crowding you this time. Giving you just enough space that you could walk away if you wanted.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “For… everything. Not just the library.”

You stare at her, searching her face. The sharp, cocky Abby you’re used to isn’t here. It’s just her — raw, uncertain.

“I don’t know why I acted like that,” she says. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t—”

She cuts herself off, jaw clenching.

You swallow hard. “Don’t what?”

She laughs under her breath, almost like she can’t believe she’s saying it. “Don’t want you.”

For a second, all you can do is blink at her.

Then — carefully — you reach out and touch her wrist. She looks down at your hand like it’s something fragile she doesn’t want to break.

“Okay,” you say, voice soft but steady. “Me too.”

The relief on her face is obvious.

You kiss her, threading your fingers through her hair, and she groans low in her throat like she’s been waiting forever.

Abby’s hands find your waist, steady and warm. She lifts you onto the desk — not slamming you down, just easing you there like she can’t get close enough.

She pulls back just enough to search your eyes.

“You good?” she asks, voice low.

You nod, tugging her closer by the front of her hoodie.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want you.”

That’s all she needs.

She kisses you again, deeper, hungrier — but still careful. Like she’s finally figured out that you’re not something to take, you’re something to choose.

And this time, you’re choosing her right back.

⸻

Abby kisses you harder now, the tension between you snapping like a pulled wire.

Her hands slide under your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the desk. You can feel how tightly she’s holding herself back — muscles trembling under your palms where you clutch her arms.

She mouths along your jaw, down your throat, her breath hot against your skin.

“You sure?” she mutters again, voice low and wrecked.

You nod quickly, threading your fingers into her hair, tugging a little until she growls under her breath.

“I want you,” you whisper, desperate now. “Please.”

Something in her seems to snap.

She lifts your shirt, yanking it over your head, and immediately dips her head to your chest, kissing and biting lightly as her hands explore your body with reverence and hunger at once.

Her fingers make quick work of your jeans, sliding them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver — or maybe it’s just the way Abby is looking at you, like she’s starving.

“God, you’re…” she trails off, shaking her head like she can’t even find the words.

You reach for her hoodie, tugging at it insistently, and she strips it off, then pulls her tank top over her head too, leaving her gloriously bare. Your breath catches at the sight of her — strong, solid, and somehow still a little vulnerable standing in front of you like this.

Abby steps between your thighs again, one big hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding between your legs.

When her fingers brush over you, you gasp — your hips jerking instinctively into her hand.

“Fuck,” she breathes, leaning her forehead against yours. “You’re so wet for me.”

You whimper, nails digging into her shoulders.

Without wasting another second, Abby sinks two fingers into you — slow, careful, watching your face the whole time.

Your head falls back with a soft moan, and she presses her mouth to your neck, working you open with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Feel good?” she murmurs against your skin.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to breathe out, legs tightening around her waist. “Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t.

Her thumb circles your clit, just enough pressure to make your whole body tense and shudder.

Her pace picks up, still measured but relentless, drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” she mutters, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your mouth. “So fucking good for me.”

You cling to her, the pressure building fast, your whole body trembling.

“Abby,” you gasp, hips rocking against her hand. “I’m—”

“Come for me,” she growls, lips brushing yours. “Come on, baby.”

That’s all it takes.

You break apart with a choked cry, your body shaking in her arms. She holds you through it, murmuring soft, filthy praise into your skin, never once letting you go.

When you finally slump against her, spent and boneless, Abby pulls you into her chest, kissing the top of your head.

She doesn’t say anything at first — just breathes you in, arms tight around your waist like she’s afraid you’ll vanish.

After a minute, you tilt your head up to look at her.

She’s already looking at you. Soft. Serious.

“You okay?” she asks again, voice quieter now.

You nod, heart still racing.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

She smiles — a real one this time, small and a little shy.

“Good,” she says. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither are you.

⸻

a/n: anyway this is terrible but I hope yall enjoyed

part 3?? 🤔