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joelsgoldrush · 10 months ago

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“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. ��Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, sexism, you're going to want to grab a man and shake him, brief argument between Lando/Amelia, protective!Lando, possessive!Lando.

Notes — In honour of Lando's Monaco win, enjoy this long ass chapter xxx

2024 (Bahrain)

The hotel bathroom was quiet, lit only by the soft gold glow of the sconces and the flickering of a candle perched on the windowsill. The bathwater had gone from hot to lukewarm, but neither of them wanted to move. The air was humid, vanilla scented fog clinging to the mirror, and the silence was beautiful.

Amelia sat with her back against Lando’s chest, her legs stretched out between his, one arm resting over his knee, the other trailing lazy patterns in the water. His arms wrapped loosely around her middle — not tight, just steady. Warm. Anchoring.

His fingers brushed the edge of her tiny bump, which was just now starting to round out more noticeably under the water.

“Susie texted me,” he said eventually, voice low, lips near her ear.

“I know. She sent me a screenshot.” Amelia hummed. “Said you told her you were proud of me. Thought it was very sweet.”

“I am.” His nose nudged against her temple. “You said yes to something that was scary for you.”

“I always try to say yes to things that matter,” she corrected, soft but firm.

“Same thing, sometimes.”

She smiled a little, the kind that didn’t quite reach her mouth but warmed her anyway. They fell quiet again, letting the moment stretch. Steam curled in the air above the water.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lando said after a while, “about how we announce it.”

Amelia turned her head just slightly, enough to glance back at him. “The baby?”

He nodded. “People already suspect. We could just... confirm. Say it in our own way, before someone takes that away from us, you know?”

She thought for a second. “No awkward statement. No grid-side reveal or something ridiculous like that. Just a photo.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“A bump pic. Me dressed comfy. I don’t want to show anyone my scans, they’re private. Ours.” She said.

He hummed his agreement. “I can take the picture if you want.”

She pushed further into him. “Yes, fine. I’ll post that, and you can post whatever you want.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, baby.”

“Mm.”

They sat for another beat before Lando asked, quieter this time, like he was tiptoeing toward something sensitive. “You want to go back to work after?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She watched the water ripple as she moved one toe, trailing it lazily beneath the surface.

It was a fair question. With Lando’s salary and her own savings, they were more than secure. Add in both their families’ wealth, and their future, their child’s future, was already built on something solid.

But it wasn’t about money.

It was about legacy.

She loved her work. Loved the process of building something from nothing. Loved running strategy with Oscar and chasing that edge-of-your-seat adrenaline from the pit wall. She loved knowing she’d carved out a place in a world that had once been her only real comfort; a world where she hadn’t always felt welcome, but had made space for herself anyway.

Not many autistic people got the chances she’d had. She knew that. And she wasn’t ready to give them up.

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He’d known her answer before she said it.

Still, hearing it, the certainty in her voice when she said “Yeah. I do.” — settled something in his chest that he hadn’t even realised was unsteady.

Of course she was going back to work.

Of course she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She wasn’t built to. And honestly, he hadn’t fallen in love with someone who could. Amelia wasn’t passive. She didn’t sit still well. Her happiness lived in spreadsheets and simulations, strategy calls and sharp, direct problem-solving that left most people scrambling to catch up.

And he was obsessed with it.

Still; some part of him, ancient and primal and just a little bit unhinged, wanted to keep her home. Keep her wrapped up in soft jumpers and warm beds and low, steady heartbeats. Keep her safe. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t trust anyone else.

And now she was carrying his baby.

That knowledge struck him like a wave sometimes. The reality of it. The fragility. The ferocity of what he felt when he looked at her now; the kind of love that walked hand in hand with fear.

“I’ll get a sling,” she was saying, shifting slightly in the water, her voice more animated now. “Or one of those carrier things. I’ll bring the baby to the track with me. Nap time during debriefs. I’m sure they’ll be able to sleep through Oscar talking.”

Lando huffed a laugh, nuzzling the damp curve of her shoulder. “Probably sleep better with it.”

“I’m serious.” She turned a little, looking back at him. “I’ll make sure they’re safe. Make sure it’s never too loud or too dangerous. But I want them to be involved. Even if they’re too small to remember it.”

“They’ll remember how it felt,” Lando said, voice low. “You being happy. In your element.”

That made her pause.

She blinked. Once. Then again. She didn’t cry, not quite, but the weight of the moment settled heavy between them. “We’re going to be fine, aren’t we?” She whispered.

Lando tightened his arms around her, chin tucked into her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We’re going to be brilliant.”

—

Later that evening, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in one of Lando’s old t-shirts; soft, worn-in, hit mid-thigh. The hallway light was low behind her, and Lando leaned silently in the doorway, watching her.

The bump was barely there. Just a shift. A curve where there hadn’t been one before. But he saw the way she looked at it — clinical, detached, like she was trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be defined by numbers.

He knew that look. Had seen it a hundred times when she was deep in a design challenge, stuck on something she couldn’t brute-force with logic.

Only this wasn’t CFD. This wasn’t something she could sketch her way out of.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, softly.

She startled slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. “Sorry,” she muttered, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

He crossed the room in a few slow steps and slid his arms around her from behind, hands warm over the gentle swell of her stomach. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Just… talk to me. Yeah?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into him slightly. “It’s stupid.”

“Bet it’s not.”

Her gaze dropped to the fabric of the shirt. “It’s just… weird. My body. It’s not mine the same way it used to be.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just held her tighter.

“I know it’s normal. I know it’s supposed to be this way. But I feel like I have to keep checking if I’m still… me.”

“You are,” he said, no hesitation. “You’re still you.”

She let out a breath, shaky. “I have two heartbeats.”

“Yeah.” His hand slid lower, covering hers. “Just another one for me to protect, hm?”

Her laugh was quiet. She looked down again, hands still hovering at the hem of her shirt.

Lando’s thoughts ran in quiet loops behind his steady face.

Amelia was already strong. Already capable. But she was also vulnerable in a way that twisted something primal in him. Not because she was weak, never that, but because she mattered. More than anyone. More than anything.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be like this,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Protective.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but his thumbs were gentle as they traced the curve of her waist. “You’re you. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her breath hitched.

“And if anyone even thinks about making you feel less than perfect, or looking at you wrong, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” She said lightly, looping her fingers in the hem of his hoodie. “Run them over with your big scary Formula One car?”

“If I must.”

Her laugh was breathy, but her eyes were wet again. She leaned in, forehead to his chest, small and quiet and warm in his arms.

The mirror behind them had fogged over, hiding their reflection.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into her hair. “Both of you. Mine.”

And if it was possessive, if it was a little bit selfish, well, maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true.

—

Amelia was called in just after Oscar’s final lap time had been logged and the garage started to empty. The paddock buzzed around her with its usual noise and movement, but her mind was quiet. Focused.

She didn’t knock.

Zak and Andrea were already inside, both standing.

She blinked at them.

Her dad looked uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. His hands were on his hips, eyes on the floor. Andrea was less rigid, but equally tense, shifting a folder between his hands. When Amelia stepped in and closed the door, they both looked up.

“Sit down?” Andrea offered.

“I’ll stand,” she said evenly.

Andrea gave a small nod. Zak exhaled, a breath heavier than it needed to be.

“We spoke to the factory team,” Andrea began, “Reviewed the data from the past three days alongside their notes from the adjustments we made pre-season.”

“They admitted it,” Zak added. His voice sounded rough, like he’d rehearsed this and it still didn’t come out right. “They said you were right. About the aero balance. About the centre of gravity shift. About the torque distribution. Everything.”

Amelia didn’t react. Of course she’d been right.

Zak looked at her like he wanted to see something more; a smile, vindication, even relief. She didn’t give it to him.

“We should’ve listened when you flagged it the first time,” Andrea said. “It was a mistake to sideline your design philosophy.”

“You didn’t sideline it,” Amelia corrected, voice flat. “You replaced it. And let the factory team run with their own version of the spec, assuming I was being difficult instead of accurate.”

Andrea winced slightly. Zak flinched like she’d slapped him, not because her tone was harsh, but because it wasn’t. There was no heat behind the words. Just truth. Clean. Clinical.

Like it was data.

“I’m sorry,” Zak said.

Amelia finally looked at him.

She tilted her head slightly. “For which part?”

Zak swallowed. “For all of it,” he said. “For doubting you. For not defending your position when it counted. For treating you like a junior instead of a peer just because you’re my daughter.”

Silence.

Amelia’s hands were still. She blinked once, slow.

“I’m not here because I’m your daughter,” she said. “I’m here because I’m the best person for the job. I’ve proven that more than once. I led a driver to two incredible championships. But every time I push back, you treat it like a personal affront instead of professional disagreement. And Andrea—”

He looked up, eyes tired.

“—you’ve spent months pretending you trust me when it’s clear you don’t. That has consequences. Real ones. You compromised the car’s integrity because you didn’t want to back me.”

Andrea opened his mouth, but closed it again. There was nothing to say.

Zak was the one who stepped forward slightly, voice quieter now. “I didn’t know how to separate it. You being my daughter. You being in charge. I thought if I gave you too much leeway, people would say I was biased. But pulling back, letting others make the calls, it wasn’t the answer. And I see that now.”

Amelia didn’t move. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fold.

She just looked at him, measured and calm.

“Your worry about nepotism made you blind to sexism,” she said simply. “I wasn’t just second-guessed because I’m your daughter. I was second-guessed because I’m a woman in a room full of men who think engineering should look and sound like them. And you let that happen.”

Zak looked gutted.

Andrea rubbed a hand down his face, shame written clear across it.

“We’re reverting the car to your spec,” Andrea said quietly. “As soon as possible. We’re thinking it might take a while, but you’ll have full oversight. We’ll make sure your pipeline through the factory is restored — direct, no interference. We’ll back you. Properly, this time.”

Amelia gave one small nod. “Miami was your deadline.”

“I know,” Zak said. “It might still look like that — with how long it’ll take to introduce the upgrades in a way that won’t piss off the FIA.”

She hesitated, then nodded again — a fraction slower. “Good,” she said. “Then let me get back to work.”

She turned, her braid swaying behind her, and left without needing anything else.

No smugness. No triumph. Just forward motion; the kind she’d built her whole career on.

—

Amelia stood by the far window, sipping from a paper cup. Her badge was clipped to her belt still, her braid loose from where she’d pulled it apart during debrief. She didn’t move when her dad walked in.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did she.

He poured himself a coffee, too. Let the quiet stretch. Then, “I’ve been awful, haven’t I?.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “Yes. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He waited.

She turned, arms folded, the paper cup tucked loosely in her hand. “You’ve always believed in me as your daughter. I don’t doubt that. But you’ve never made space for me to be more than that when we’re here. You tell me you’re proud; but the second I disagree with you, or someone else in that room, I become a liability.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not.” Her voice stayed calm, level. Not emotional — precise. “I’m not irrational. I’m not reckless. I know that sometimes I communicate differently. But I am good at what I do. You don’t get to keep acting like those things are mutually exclusive.”

Zak looked down. His face, tired and slack under the motorhome lights, was older than she remembered seeing it last.

“You’re not a liability,” he said quietly. “Honey, I know you’re not. I swear.”

She nodded once, accepting it. No more, no less.

“I’m not angry,” she added. “But I’m not going to forget it happened.”

Zak nodded too. “You shouldn’t.”

They stood there for a beat longer.

Then he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She gave him a look.

“I mean—” He raised his hands slightly.

“…Fine.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, awkward. “Is this a bad time to ask if you’re going to want maternity leave?”

She blinked. Slowly. “Seriously?”

“Well, you’re already doing the job of three people. I just thought I should check.”

“I’m not going to be sitting around crocheting for six months, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll take a few weeks to recover. But I’m not vanishing. I’ll still be consulting. I’ll have a baby sling. And my iPad.”

Zak gave a small, helpless laugh — the first one all day that wasn’t exhausted. Then quieter, “You’re going to be a phenomenal mom.”

She looked down at her cup. Said nothing. But her lip twitched.

Zak stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, firm hug. For a moment, she stayed stiff — then let herself soften against him, just for a second.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “For everything. For trying to keep you away from Lando all those years ago, and for underestimating you again and again. I’ve learned my lesson. It'll never happen again.”

She didn’t say thank you.

But she hugged him back.

—

There were four days until the first race of the 2024 season.

The worst of the heat had passed, leaving just a shimmer of warmth on the breeze as Amelia and Lando strolled side by side down a quiet stretch of narrow street, tucked away from the busier tourist spots.

Amelia had her sunglasses on, hair up in a messy bun. One hand rested lightly on her hip through the oversized linen shirt she’d borrowed from Lando that morning. Her other hand was cradling a half-finished bottle of water.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Lando asked as they slowed near the edge of a small, shaded plaza.

“If I sit still for too long, my brain starts building hypothetical aero upgrades. You don’t want that,” she replied dryly.

Lando grinned. “God forbid you solve our side-pod turbulence in your sleep.”

“I already did that.” She told him seriously.

They found a little cafe tucked between two sandstone buildings; one of those slightly touristy places, but quiet, with mismatched chairs and a handwritten chalkboard menu. The awning fluttered faintly overhead as they took a seat outside, the table wobbly until Lando kicked a piece of stone under one leg.

Amelia squinted at the dessert menu propped behind the till. “What’s that?”

Lando followed her gaze. “‘Tiramisu stuffed brioche’,” he read aloud. “Nice.”

“I want it.” She said.

“You want it?” He blinked. “You never eat sweets before four pm.”

Amelia gave him a look. “Yes. Well. Apparently, now I do. Make sure it has no alcohol.”

Lando stood without another word and went to order. She watched him through the front window as he paid, then turned slightly to rest a hand on her stomach — absently. Still not fully used to the motion, but grounding herself in it more every day.

When he returned, two drinks in hand and the promised pastry on a little ceramic plate, he placed it in front of her like it was some precious offering.

“Moment of truth,” he said, eyes dancing.

She took one bite.

Then blinked. Chewed. Blinked again.

“Oh wow.”

Lando laughed. “Oh yes.”

“I want twelve more.”

He leaned back, looking smug. “Say the word, and I’ll clear out their kitchen.”

Amelia broke off another piece, then paused mid-bite, frowning at the treat with faint suspicion. “Is it normal to fixate on food like this?”

“Yes,” he said easily. “And very cute.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s irrational. There’s no scientific reason why—”

“You’re building a human,” Lando said, gently interrupting. “You can have cravings. It’s fine. I find it… weirdly hot, actually.”

She choked on the next bite.

Lando grinned wider. “What? There’s something kind of sexy about watching the most brilliant mind in motorsport fall madly in love with wildly specific flavoured carbs.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Amelia swallowed her mouthful and rolled her eyes, but she did smile, just slightly, as she reached for his drink and took a sip without asking.

They sat in the quiet for a while longer, warm air brushing against their skin, the low hum of the city around them. At one point, Lando reached across the table and took her hand, just held it there, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles.

“Tell the group-chat.” She said. “Before we post on Instagram. It’ll be nice for them to hear it directly from you.”

“Okay, baby.”

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

Lando N.

alright lads

Serious message incoming

George R.

Everything alright mate?

Alex A.

Did Amelia lose her iPad somewhere in Bahrain and you expect us to go searching for it? Bc I’m busy

Charles L.

i will NOT be clicking any weird links this time

Lando N.

shut up all of you for 5 seconds

i’m being SERIOUS

Oscar P.

👀

Lando Norris:

Amelia’s pregnant.

We’re having a baby!

Carlos S.

BRO

FELICIDADES

Pierre G.

WHAT

YOU’RE GONNA BE A DAD????

Fernando A.

Congratulations!

I already knew of course, mi Nina informed me herself x

George R.

Mate. Mate.

MATE.

A BABY NORRIS.

Charles L.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Esteban O.

So you’ll be like… a real life dad? Omg

Lando N.

Yes very real. Baby Norris will be arriving late summer.

Logan S.

Does this mean I won’t be the baby of the grid anymore?

Oscar P.

Sorry Loges. Feels like you’ve been dethroned.

Oscar P.

Also

Lando’s baby is 100% going to know more about aero than half this group before it can talk.

Lando N.

not even a joke

Yuki T.

omg

tiny paddock baby

can i be godfather

Lando N.

we’re not discussing godparents yet 💀

George R.

Tell Amelia congratulations from all of us — and that she’s the real hero in all this

You just did the fun bit LOL

Lando N.

already told her

Max V.

Happy for you both, mate

Hope you’re ready for zero sleep for the rest of your life 👍

Lando N.

ready as I’ll ever be

(i think)

Carlos S.

Let’s gooooooo

Grid uncle squad is forming

Message pinned by George Russell:

GEORGE R.

🎉 CONGRATS LANDO + AMELIA 🎉

Baby Norris incoming — Summer 2024

—

amelianorris just posted . . .

amelianorris We’re having a baby and I am always nauseous 🧡

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, mclaren and 4.7m others

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landonorris my beautiful baby and my perfect little miracle. ❤️ by amelianorris

user82 the fact that i dont know if amelia is 'beautiful baby' or 'perfect little miracle'.... im so soft for them ohmygod. parents fr

maxverstappen1 Congratulations! You will be wonderful parents x

user26 BABY NORRIS IS REAL OMG!!!!!! THE SPECULATION WASN'T US BEING CRAZY!? BABY NORRIS TRUTHERS RISE

maxfewtrell Congrats!!!! So unbelievably happy for you and Lando. Can't wait to be an uncle 🥰

user60 you're telling me that little lando norris is going to be a dad?????? oh my word im speechless

oscarpiastri All my love to you both (baby and mommy) x

landonorris bro??? oscarpiastri oh right congrats ig user16 LMAO so we all know who his favourite norris is 😭

mclaren A McLaren baby! How exciting. Congratulations to you both!!! xxxx

—

The sun was already climbing, casting shadows across the paddock as the first media crews began setting up. There was a crispness to the desert air, the kind that would vanish by noon. The paddock wasn’t loud yet. That would come later, with the rush of media pens and mechanics and cameras and the first official laps of the year.

Amelia stepped out of the car first, tugging her sunglasses into place. Lando was out a second later, gently shutting the door and circling to her side without a word. His hand found the small of her back automatically, a steady point of contact as they began the familiar walk toward the paddock entrance.

She didn’t need the support, not physically, but she didn’t mind it either. His hand there was warm, grounding. She let herself lean into it slightly.

They weren’t walking fast. They didn’t need to.

A few fans had gathered at the edge of the barriers lining the team access road; early risers, most wearing McLaren caps and orange shirts, phones already out. Normally Amelia would’ve walked right past with a nod or a quick wave, but a young woman in a papaya tee held up a tiny baby onesie with the McLaren logo printed across the front.

Amelia paused.

The girl’s voice was soft but bright. “Congratulations, Amelia! I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Amelia blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sincerity. “Thank you. I’m… working on it.”

Lando smiled at that and stepped in slightly closer beside her, fingers brushing over the back of her shirt as she reached for the onesie the girl was offering.

“It's for you. I sewed it myself.” The fan said.

Amelia took it gently. Held it up. It was impossibly small, white with papaya trim, and a little line of checkered flags stitched along the sleeve.

She let out a quiet breath, something unreadable flickering through her expression.

A few others along the barrier were calling softly now — well-wishes, smiles, and congratulations. One older woman, probably in her sixties, just clasped her hands together and said, “You are both going to be wonderful parents.”

Amelia handed the onesie to Lando without comment and took the offered Sharpie. She signed everything that was shoved at her quickly but carefully. “Thank you,” she said, a little quieter this time.

They hung around for a few more minutes. Lando signed hats and flags; Amelia posed for a few photos, a little awkward, but always soft around the eyes. One teenage girl told her she wanted to be a motorsport engineer because of her. Amelia find herself sniffling, embarrassingly emotional over something she’d been told a hundred times, and Lando reached for her hand again without saying a word.

As they turned to leave, he leaned in close. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It’s nice. People caring. Being so kind. You have nice fans. You and Oscar. They’re good people.”

Lando didn’t respond straight away. He just kissed her temple, hand still on her back as they walked into the paddock.

The baby onesie remained tucked into Amelia’s bag.

—

The atmosphere was calm — a rare thing for the days leading up to the first Grand Prix weekend of the season. A few drivers had filtered into the lounge after media duties, still in their polos, half-watching a muted F2 session on the TV overhead, trading quiet comments about the heat and the track changes.

The sliding door opened. Lando stepped in first, a hand gently guiding Amelia at the small of her back. She was dressed simply in team kit and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop her head, posture straight but relaxed.

Oscar was leaned back in one of the corner chairs, legs stretched out, nursing a bottle of water. He glanced up, and his face lit up with something that looked like pride. “Hey,” he greeted simply. “All good?”

Amelia nodded. “All good.”

Charles was beside him, already smiling, the kind that started in the eyes, easy and genuine. “It’s nice to see you both,” he said.

“You too,” Amelia replied, quiet.

Max was near the back wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He gave a small nod. “Well done,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Amelia to hear as she passed. “It’s nice not to have to worry about keeping your secret.”

She offered him a rare little smile. “I know you struggle with secrets. You did a good job.”

A few others looked up; George, Alex, Esteban.

George was the first to speak now, rising from the edge of the sofa. “Hey. Congrats, guys.” His tone was steady, no teasing. “Really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, mate,” Lando said, his hand still resting gently against Amelia’s back.

Alex gave her a quick nod, not pushing. “You feeling okay in the heat?”

“Tired,” Amelia admitted. “But not bad. The heat is frustrating.”

“You’re in Bahrain,” Esteban said, smiling lightly. “No avoiding it, unfortunately.”

There was a quiet round of low chuckles. No one pushed closer, no one stared too long. No inappropriate questions or drawn-out fuss. They all knew Amelia; knew she wasn’t a spotlight kind of person. They treated her like they always had. With respect. With a bit of caution. With something close to admiration.

Amelia turned toward Oscar for a moment. He tilted his head. “Hi.”

She gave him a small nudge. “How are you feeling about today? First practice of the year.”

“Good,” he said simply.

Lando leaned in slightly. “You want to head over to hospitality? Get some breakfast?”

“In a minute,” she murmured.

It was nice. For now. To be surrounded by people who respected her. Loved her, even.

—

Oscar sat half-suited in the car, balaclava tucked loose around his neck, race gloves rolled halfway up his wrists. The garage was alive around them; murmurs between mechanics, the steady beep of telemetry syncing, a dull hiss from an air hose being disconnected.

Amelia was perched on a stool pressed up against the side-pod of the car, elbow resting on her thigh, iPad propped in one hand. Her hair was tied back into a braid with clinical precision.

“The wind direction’s shifted twelve degrees since morning,” she said, eyes on the live atmospheric feed. “Downforce will wash out quicker through sector two. Turn ten’s going to be problematic for you.”

Oscar leaned his head back against the padding and gave a wry smile. “So, usual Bahrain things?”

“Yeah. Except a little meaner today.” She tapped through the sim data, cross-referenced it with the downforce models. Without looking up, she added, “Let the rear settle through seven or you’re going to spike your tyre temps and ruin the run.”

“Do my best.”

She flicked him a glance, dry and fond. “Thanks.”

One of the support engineers leaned over Amelia’s shoulder. “We’re showing high differential pressure variance through the right rear. Might need a last-minute check.”

Amelia didn't look away from the screen. “Yeah, I flagged it an hour ago. We already swapped sensors — it’s the wind skewing the read. Don’t touch it.”

“Copy.”

Oscar snorted. “Still terrifying when you do that.”

She tilted her head. “Do what?”

“Know things before anyone says them.”

“It’s my job.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath, flexing his gloved hands. “Do I need to worry about rear-end grip into Turn 11?”

“Not unless you've forgotten everything you know about driving a Formula One car.”

“Reassuring.”

Her hand came up, instinctively pressing against the curve of her lower belly for just a second, her expression twisting with something that looked a little green around the edges.

Oscar noticed, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her quietly, then offered, “You’re not too hot?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “No. I’m fine.”

His brow arched slightly. “You always say that, so I never know when to actually believe it.”

“I’ve got a thermometer that I keep using to check my temperature. It’s consistent. I’m drinking the exact amount of water that my doctor has recommended. I’m taking regular breaks from the sun and eating in intervals of three hours. I am, by definition, absolutely fine.”

He stared at her. “Sure.”

“I’ll bring you something nice for lunch if you can get through this session without causing a red flag.”

“Wow. Conditional nourishment. You spoil me.” He said sarcastically.

Before she could fire back, Lando passed behind them on his way to the other side of the garage, pausing only to brush a hand lightly along the back of Amelia’s shoulder as he went. She didn’t react outwardly, but her entire body softened for half a second.

Oscar clocked the moment. “He’s not going to wrap you in bubble wrap, is he? I need you.”

“He can try,” she muttered, before standing and glancing down at her iPad again. “Alright. First run’s mediums. Five-lap stint. I want lift-and-coast into lap two so we can log some cooling data. Don’t race the lap. This is recon.”

“Understood.”

She stepped back as the mechanics moved in. One of the tyre engineers looked to her for confirmation.

“Release him. Let’s get it done.”

Oscar gave a lazy two-finger salute as the engine roared to life. “Catch you in ten.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Bring it back to me in one piece.”

—

McLaren’s pit wall pulsed with quiet, meticulous focus.

Amelia sat on her usual stool; headset already in place, tablet resting on her lap, one foot tucked under her thigh.

Andrea leaned against the back rail beside her, arms folded. “Any nerves?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “No. I never get nervous for practice sessions.” She paused. “Unless there’s extreme weather conditions.”

Zak, just settling into his own chair a few feet down, let out a snort. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

Will took his place beside Amelia, offering her a quiet nod. “Track temps are rising quicker than expected,” he murmured. “Oscar might get wind shear on the back straight.”

“I know,” Amelia said, already flipping through telemetry with a few well-practiced taps. “Told him we’d adjust diff mid-run if it hits. He’s got the override mapped.”

The strategists filtered in, eyes flicking between live data and evolving models. One handed Amelia a fresh printout of projected stint lengths based on wind intensity. She scanned it, adjusted two numbers with her pen, and passed it back without a word.

There was a beat of quiet as the first few cars fired out of the pit lane. The soft whoosh of tires on tarmac passed through the headsets. Oscar was next.

“Box clear. You’re good to go,” Amelia said calmly into her mic, eyes on the screen. “Watch your entry on Turn 4 — wind's picking up.”

Oscar's response was dry, as always. “Copy. Let’s have some fun.”

She noticed the red light on the camera above them flicker on. Without missing a beat, she lifted one hand and gave it a small, wry wave; the sort that said, ‘Hello, I’m aware that you’re broadcasting my face right now.’

Oscar’s voice crackled over the radio again as the first run of the day ticked down. “Rear’s light into six, but I can manage.”

“Okay,” Amelia said, scrolling across the telemetry. “I’ll bump rear brake bias up two clicks on the next run. Ride’s holding well, though.”

“Yeah. Feels sharp.”

Andrea stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes on the live delta. Will leaned in closer to her screen, already logging feedback. Zak occasionally asked short, pointed questions and her answers were always clipped, accurate, unemotional.

Still, there was something softer in Amelia’s tone with Oscar. A dry edge, yes, but the undercurrent of investment and care was impossible to miss.

“Sure, ducky,” she’d muttered when Oscar said he was ready to “have some fun” on his out-lap. “Fun.”

Andrea had caught it immediately. “You’re soft on him.”

Amelia didn’t even look up. Just took a drink from her McLaren water bottle — her name printed in block letters on the side, a bold red ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sticker slapped under it like a warning label. “He responds better to praise. I yell at him a lot when he’s on the sim. There’s a balance.”

The morning wore on like clockwork. Data rolled in, Oscar ran clean stints, and Amelia barely left her post except to swap tablets or double-check tire degradation stats with the Pirelli engineers. FP1 ended solidly — no fireworks, but tidy and consistent. Exactly what she liked.

At lunch, she peeled off her headset and headed toward the hospitality area with Lando. He met her halfway, already peeling a banana and offering it to her mid-stride.

“I don’t want your banana,” she said flatly.

He grinned and took a bite himself. “Thought I’d try to help with your potassium. You looked grumpy.”

“I always look grumpy.”

“Grumpier than usual,” he clarified.

Amelia rolled her eyes but accepted the bottle of blue (her favourite flavour) electrolytes he handed over without question. They found a quiet corner inside the team’s motorhome, away from the usual pre-race noise. He sprawled lazily in the booth; she sat opposite, tugging the hem of her McLaren shirt down.

“How are we looking out there?” He asked after a moment, nodding toward the pit lane.

She shrugged, already halfway into reading the FP1 debrief notes on her iPad. “Stable. Better than expected on the straights. Wind's dropping slightly toward sunset, so you’ll get a cleaner second session.”

Lando watched her. “You’re amazing at this.”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Yes.”

He smirked. “But also very modest.”

“No point in pretending I’m not good at my job.” She finally looked up, softer now. “Especially with you and Oscar relying on me.”

He reached across the table and tugged her iPad down slightly. “I rely on you even when you’re not working.”

She blinked once. Then twice. “Lando.” She said. Her cheeks were pink.

Lando just laughed.

—

The desert heat had lessened, but the wind hadn’t. It whipped around the paddock in short bursts, rustling the pit board labels and tugging at Amelia’s hair where it was braided and pinned to the back of her head.

This time, Lando was out first. Amelia watched from her usual perch, shoulder to shoulder with Will, strategists reading live delta and fuel burn beside them. Her gaze bounced rapidly between live feeds and overlays, fingers dancing over the touchscreen surface like it was second nature.

When Lando’s rear stepped out slightly in Turn 12, her voice was calm. “Tell him to adjust your brake migration one click forward.”

Will relaid the information.

“Copy,” came Lando’s voice, low and focused.

Oscar followed soon afterwards on fresh softs. Amelia’s tone changed; not gentler, but more measured. “Remember what we talked about. Brake release into 7. Gentle. Controlled. Don’t throw the car in.”

Oscar’s lap lit up green across sectors.

She let a satisfied breath out through her nose.

—

By the end of the day, both drivers had done consistent long runs and given the strategy team a solid amount tire feedback.

Andrea glanced at her as they began packing up. “Good work today.”

Amelia gave a small smile — appreciative, but measured. Still, she noticed he was making more of an effort lately, and that counted. “Thanks.”

Later, back in the garage, with the mechanics winding down and the last of the day’s noise settling, Lando found her perched on a tire stack, sipping from a cold water bottle. Sweat clung to her temples, and the last of the sun lit her skin in warm gold.

He bumped her hip lightly with his. “Hi, gorgeous. Missed you today.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve been glued to my side every second you weren’t in the car.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he pulled her into a soft, end-of-day hug.

Under the buzz of the Bahrain floodlights, she pressed her face into his neck with a tired groan. “My feet hurt. And my ankles are swollen.”

Without missing a beat, Lando lifted her off the ground. “Better?”

She sighed, tension melting out of her shoulders. “Much.”

He kissed the side of her head and held her a little tighter.

—

The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the night air and the quiet hum of the city. Amelia sat cross-legged on the bed in one of Lando’s oversized T-shirts, blue-light glasses on, tapping idly at her laptop. Notes and track maps were scattered beside her, though she was only half-committed to actually reviewing them.

Lando, sprawled beside her with one leg over her thigh and a bowl of popcorn between them, was glued to his phone, thumb lazily scrolling through TikTok. His curls were damp from the shower, and his body still smelled faintly of sunblock and whatever soap the hotel stocked.

He stopped suddenly.

“Babe,” he said, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Amelia didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“No — look.” He turned the screen toward her.

She leaned closer, adjusting her glasses. The video was a fan edit. A slow, cinematic montage. Piano music overlaid with soft synths. The caption read, “Amelia and Lando through the years — from lovers to soulmates.”

The first clip was grainy; a 2018 paddock interview where a much younger Lando, awkward in his race suit, stood across from her in his garage. She looked different and the same all at once: neater, maybe. Definitely tighter, definitely more guarded. She didn’t meet his eyes once.

Then the timeline rolled forward. Garage zoom-ins. Candid paddock moments. A clip of them bickering while walking into the McLaren garage. Amelia pulling Lando’s cap off and tossing it down the corridor. Him handing her a coffee. All of the podiums he’d taken her to watch before it flashed to him up there and her watching, always somebody behind her in his place.

Her in the garage, arms in the air after a good quali. Him grinning at her during interviews he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of.

And then the quiet moments; fan-captured videos of her fixing his collar or brushing lint off his overalls. A slow-motion clip of him watching her walk away, soft-eyed. The first time they were caught holding hands. Her head on his shoulder during a rain delay.

The final clip was from just a few days ago; her at the Bahrain pit wall, hand resting lightly on her small but visible bump, waving at fans. He was standing just behind her, barely in frame, but watching her.

Lando said nothing.

Neither did Amelia.

The music faded out. The screen went black.

Some things are just meant to be — the caption said.

Lando lowered the phone slowly, gaze still fixed on the screen, eyes slightly wet. “Wow,” he muttered. “They got me.”

Amelia blinked a few times. “I remember that day,” she said. “Barcelona test, 2019. You spilled your coffee on my notebook.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, nudging her foot with his. “You yelled at me.”

“I had to yell at you,” she replied, deadpan. “You tried to dry the notes with a heat gun.”

He laughed, soft and fond. Then he turned more serious, his voice quiet. “You think they’re right?”

Amelia tilted her head. “About what?”

“Meant to be.”

She looked at him fully now, taking in his expression — open, a little uncertain. His hand brushed over her shin, anchoring.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if someone had shown me that video back then, I’d have said no.”

Lando’s mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “Ouch.”

“But,” she went on, “I’d have been wrong. So... yeah. Meant to be. I married you, didn’t I?”

He exhaled, tension she hadn’t realised was there easing from his shoulders. Then he reached up, hooked a finger around her collar, and tugged her into a kiss — soft, sure, familiar.

When they pulled apart, he whispered, “I’m saving that video.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a million more like it.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to watch all of them.”

“Yeah. Should’ve seen that coming.” She sighed.

He grinned and went back to scrolling — but his free hand stayed wrapped around her ankle, thumb brushing slow, unconscious circles against her skin. Amelia turned back to her laptop, but her smile lingered, half-hidden behind the screen.

Meant to be.

That was nice.

—

The sun hadn’t even reached its peak, and Amelia was already overheating. Her McLaren polo clung to her back, her hair was twisted into a no-nonsense knot, and she was halfway through her third bottle of water.

Lando trailed beside her through the paddock, annoyingly energetic. “Okay, but Atlas is cool. Strong. Powerful.”

Amelia didn’t even glance up from her iPad. “An atlas is a book of maps, Lando. Not a person.”

“Exactly. It’s smart. Worldly.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “We are not naming our child after a book of maps.”

They passed a few team staff who wisely kept walking despite the tension radiating off them.

“Fine,” Lando said. “Your turn. What name do you like?”

“Lando.”

“We’re not naming the baby after me,” he said, somewhere between amused and sarcastic.

Amelia stopped walking. Her iPad hung loose at her side. “Please,” she said flatly. “Please can you just… stop.”

Lando blinked. His smile thinned. “Fine. Whatever. Veto all my names. Not like I give a shit.”

The words hit harder than he intended; and he knew it the second they left his mouth.

Amelia didn’t respond. Just looked at him—sharp, unreadable—then turned and walked off toward the garage. The heat shimmered on the tarmac between them.

By the time Lando caught up, she was already perched on a stool in Oscar’s garage, scrolling through tire data like nothing had happened. Oscar lay sprawled across a tire stack beside her, eyes flicking between them with his usual diplomatic neutrality.

“What about Nico?” Lando offered again, voice cautious now.

Amelia turned her head so slowly it was almost theatrical. “Are you joking?”

“It’s a good name.”

“It’s Rosberg, Lando. I work in this paddock. Do you want me to be humiliated?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. Lando looked sheepish.

“Didn’t think about that,” he muttered.

“Clearly,” she snapped—sharper than she meant to be.

The room went still. Even the mechanics seemed to pause, pretending to check something on their tablets.

Amelia exhaled hard and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar lifted a hand like he was waving off a foul. “She’s growing the baby, mate. Obviously she gets to pick the name.”

Lando scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Oscar cut in. “It is that.”

Amelia gave him a grateful look. Lando, meanwhile, folded his arms and slumped into the seat beside her. He didn’t speak again for ten minutes.

They made it through the rest of FP3 in a strained kind of silence—not quite a fight, but not not one either. It sat between them through briefings, hydration checks, and another read of Oscar’s sector times.

When qualifying was called, Amelia handed off her tablet and sent Oscar toward his chassis—but instead of returning to the pit wall, she made a detour to the other side of the garage.

Lando was already in the car, helmet on, gloves secured, visor still raised.

She leaned in beside the cockpit, one hand on the halo. “Hi.”

He looked up.

“I don’t want you going out there with us still angry at each other.”

His mouth parted slightly. Some tension uncoiled in his shoulders. “I’m not angry. Just... frustrated.”

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyes locked with hers. The crease between his brows softened. “Baby, I love you too.”

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze—not an apology, just... a truce.

“I’ll be on the pit wall.”

He nodded once, then pulled his visor down.

Amelia turned on her heel, walked past the media and telemetry boards, and took her seat at the pit wall. She pulled her headset on, pen tucked behind her ear, posture sharp.

Zak glanced over from a few seats down. “Everything alright?”

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He paused. “You and Lando—”

“Fine,” she repeated, firm this time. A quiet warning.

Zak let it drop. He’d learned: if Amelia wanted to talk, she would—and if she didn’t, nothing would pry it out.

Andrea leaned in with a printed tire strategy. “Piastri’s prep lap?”

Amelia nodded, already focused. “He’s ready. Track temp’s down two degrees. We go aggressive into Turn One—he’ll have the grip.”

Zak leaned back and watched her work—cool, composed, headset like armour. Her voice calm, crisp, in control.

—

The motorhome was quiet after quali. Amelia sat cross-legged on the sofa, head tipped back, one hand resting lightly on her stomach. Her water bottle sat half-finished on the table. She hadn’t said much since lunch.

Lando stood nearby, helmet bag in hand, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” he said at last.

She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I was being a prick. A boyfriend, not a husband. You deserve better.”

That made her glance at him, eyes tired.

“You’re growing a human,” he said, crouching in front of her. “You’re doing it in forty-degree heat and still carrying the whole team on your back, and I’m over here sulking because you don’t like the name Atlas.”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but her eyes stayed glassy.

“I’m sorry I made today harder than it needed to be,” he said softly.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying so hard to act normal. But I’m always tired. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m failing if I slow down, but my body won’t let me keep up.”

He didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the couch, pulled her straight into his lap, arms tight around her. Her head dropped to his chest. She melted into the pressure like she’d needed it all day.

His hand moved in slow, steady strokes over her back.

“You’re not failing,” he murmured. “You’re doing something impossible, and you’re doing it perfectly.”

She didn’t respond, just pressed her cheek against him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “We’re a team, yeah?”

She nodded, silent.

When she finally sat up, brushing a tear from under one eye, he kissed her temple.

“You sure you’re okay to run Oscar’s quali?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice steadier. “As long as you go out there and qualify well for me.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

When they stood, she slid her hand into his, fingers lacing tight. The tension had eased. They were okay. They were fine.

—

Oscar caught it first on Thursday. Lando pulling out Amelia’s chair, grabbing her breakfast, nudging her seat in like it was second nature. She said something under her breath, but didn’t stop him.

Oscar bit back a grin. So domestic.

—

On Friday, Oscar glanced over the monitor just in time to catch Lando’s hand at the small of Amelia’s back as they passed behind the pit wall. Subtle, constant—like he didn’t trust the world to make room for her unless he made it himself.

Andrea muttered, “If he stands any closer to her, they’re going to merge.”

—

On Sunday, Lando hovered. One step behind Amelia, intercepting wandering hands, redirecting nosy media, stepping into frame when someone aimed a camera too close.

“Mate,” Oscar said, helmet under his arm, “we have security, you know.”

“They’re not quick enough,” Lando said without missing a beat.

—

Post-race, Oscar unclipped his belts and looked over to find Lando, still suited up, wrapped around Amelia at the edge of the chaos, whispering something into her ear. She didn’t even flinch, like she was used to the weight of him.

Oscar shook his head. Smiled despite himself.

—

At the team dinner that night, Amelia leaned to stretch her back and Lando noticed immediately, rubbing slow circles into the base of her spine. Then one of Lando’s engineers came over, and Oscar found himself absolutely ensconced by how it all played out.

Immediately jealous, Lando draped an arm behind Amelia’s head and said, without smiling, “You lost, mate?” He asked the engineer. Poor bloke.

Oscar pushed his plate of chips across the table.

Amelia beamed at him. “Thanks.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at his wife. “You ordered mash, baby.”

“Want chips now.” She told him. She was already dragging one through a puddle of ketchup.

“Should’ve ordered chips for your wife, mate,” Oscar teased.

Lando glared at him.

—

It all came to a head on the Monday.

They were flying commercial, first class, but still, alongside a handful of McLaren personnel for the long-haul back to the UK. Amelia was curled up beside the window, hoodie pulled over her head, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. Her hand rested over her stomach like it always did now—subconscious, protective and probably trying to quell nausea all the while. Lando was next to her, flipping through a movie menu without actually picking anything.

Two rows back, a small cluster of engineers were half-whispering over the tops of their seats. Tired, still wired from the adrenaline of the race weekend, and just loose enough from the champagne at the hotel bar the night before.

“She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, hasn’t she?” One of the engineers muttered — the youngest in the group, barely out of uni and already puffed up with the kind of confidence that comes with zero experience and too many opinions.

Another snickered under his breath.

“Please,” the idiot went on, leaning in like he was about to deliver a punchline. “She so much as fakes some weird little meltdown and Lando probably rewrites the whole weekend’s strategy just to keep her from crying.”

That got a quiet laugh.

“And let’s be real,” he added, voice dropping a touch. “He’s not still at McLaren because he’s irreplaceable. Man married the boss’ daughter. Locked in his contract and his pit wall privileges in one go. Fucking genius, honestly. Should’ve tried it myself.”

A third engineer made a noise halfway between discomfort and amusement. “You know she’s, like, three months pregnant, right?”

The first one just shrugged. “Not like that ever stopped a girl from using it to her advantage.”

Lando’s head turned, slow and sharp. He’d heard every word.

Amelia, mercifully, hadn’t. Her noise-cancelling headphones were still on, hoodie hood pulled down like a signal not to bother her.

Lando’s eyes flicked to her, still unaware, then back to the cluster of engineers. His jaw locked.

He stood without a word and walked two rows back, stopping just beside their seats.

“You. Up.” His voice was low, cold. Directed squarely at the younger engineer.

The guy blinked. “What?”

“I said get the fuck up.” There was no raise in volume, but the danger in it was unmistakable.

Around them, a few passengers glanced over. Lando didn’t care.

The kid stood, suddenly very aware that everyone else had stopped laughing.

Lando jerked his chin toward the galley. “Now.”

They stepped past the curtain separating the cabin from the service area. Lando folded his arms, body angled just enough to block the guy from view of the rest of the cabin.

“You think you're funny?” He asked, voice still quiet but razor-sharp.

The engineer’s face had drained of colour. “I—I didn’t mean anything. It was just—”

“No, you did mean something. You meant every word.” He took a step closer. “My wife’s name doesn’t belong anywhere near your ugly fucking mouth. You hear me?”

The engineer opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Lando stared him down. “You don’t speak about her. You don’t joke about her. You don’t look at her the wrong way. You want to talk shit about me? Fucking fine, I couldn’t give less of a shit.” He let the silence stretch long enough to let the weight settle. “But if I hear anything even remotely like that again, you’re done. I’ll really live up to the guy you think I am and go straight to Zak.And then you won’t just be off the travel team; you’ll be blacklisted from the entire industry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the guy croaked.

“Good.” Lando stepped aside, gesturing back toward the seats. “Go sit down. And if I see you look at her one fucking time for the rest of this flight, I’ll assume you didn’t understand me, and mate, I know how to throw a fucking punch.”

The engineer practically bolted.

Lando waited a beat, steadied his breathing, then ran a hand down his face and returned to his seat. Amelia had shifted, half-waking at the curtain being drawn back.

“Hey,” she mumbled sleepily, tugging her headphones down. “Where’d you go?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Needed to piss. You okay?”

She nodded, settling back into the seat and tucking her feet into his lap.

Lando glanced back two rows, just once, then looked down at her and wrapped a hand gently around her ankle.

He was smiling, just faintly. But his eyes? His eyes were still on fire.

—

The hotel room in London was dark, save for the soft glow from Lando’s phone. Amelia had crashed the second her head hit the pillow, curled into the sheets, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other thrown haphazardly across the entire bed.

Lando stood at the window in his boxers, thumb swiping absently across his screen.

He called Max.

It only rang twice before the Dutchman picked up.

“Alright, mate?” Max sounded half-asleep, but not annoyed. Just Max.

Lando hesitated. “Did anyone ever say shit about her when she was working with you?”

Max was quiet for a beat. Then, with a tight tone, asked, “What kind of shit?”

“About her,” Lando muttered. “Just… you know. Fucking guy shit.”

Another beat.

“Yeah,” Max said eventually. “A couple of times. Why?”

Lando exhaled. “One of the new guys in our team said something on the plane back. She didn’t hear it. But I did.”

“Ah.” Max’s voice was a little clearer now. “You threaten to kill him?”

“Pretty much.” Lando rubbed his jaw. “Told him next time he even looks at her sideways, he’s off the team.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Max said, “That’s the right call. I did that a few times, only had to get physical once or twice. Everyone seemed to get the hint after that.”

Lando sank down into the armchair, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “She’s feeling like shit, still nailing every call, and this guy, this fucking kid, thinks he can talk shit about her?”

“I had a guy once say she was a distraction,” Max said quietly. “Because she was wearing a skirt in the garage.”

Lando barked a laugh, mirthless. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Max said, with that resigned sigh that only came from dealing with idiots too often. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever worked with. Some men just don’t know how to handle seeing a woman be better than them.”

“I just—” Lando exhaled hard. “She doesn’t even know. She trusts these people. And it’s like… she deserves to feel safe. Not watched. Not judged. Just—respected.”

“You can’t fight every battle for her.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Max chuckled under his breath. “You sound like me in 2021.”

“She’s my wife,” Lando muttered. “And she’s growing my kid. I don’t care if it makes me look soft or dramatic. She deserves better.”

“You’re not soft,” Max said. “Well, maybe for her, but we all are, aren’t we?”

Lando laughed quietly. “She’d murder us both if she heard this.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d be six feet under.” Then Max said, “You want me to have a word with Christian? Make sure this kid doesn’t try to abandon camp and find refuge with us?”

Lando smiled faintly. “Thanks, man. But I’ve got it.”

“Alright. Call if you need me.”

Lando paused, glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “Yeah. Night, mate.”

He hung up. Stood. Crossed the room and slipped back into bed beside Amelia, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He lay there for a long time, eyes on the ceiling, thinking of all the things she’d never know he protected her from.

And how proud he was that she never needed him to; but how damn sure he was that he’d do it anyway.

NEXT CHAPTER

579 notes · View notes

chereid · 2 months ago

Text

೯⁺ 𖥻 𝓨𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗜𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 ! ᰋ

ꨄ︎ 𝒫 airing : : 𝒮pencer reid x female!bau!nonverbal!reader

ꨄ︎ 𝒮 ynopsis : : being nonverbal has it's difficulties. you speak with your hands━━SPENCER REID learned them by heart.

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ontents : : nonverbal!reader. reader knows sign language. asl. spencer learns asl. fluff. mutual pining. rossi knows sign language. the reason why reader is nonverbal,, past trauma( the team knows but won't be talked about ). light smut. reader being the one rambling( using sign language ) and spencer focusing on you and your hands alone. teasing from the team. the team didn't know about your relationship for a while(aside from rossi). grammatical errors. ooc.

ꨄ︎ 𝓦ord count : : 1.7k

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ase file shelf.

ꨄ︎ 𝒲hispers of viana : : OKAY. i made this a week ago. also,, this idea popped up after reading,, this by @/mggslover !,, gained the motivation to write it because of a boy my age who is nonverbal !! met him at the hospital && he was sososo sweet. i couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me😭😭 i made him type on my notes,, he didn't seem bothered by it,, so it's okay... ishm I FORGOT TO ASK FOR HIS SOCIALS IM GONNA KMS. also! i mentioned i met the guy at the hospital ,, yeah,, still haven't recovered.. SO THIS WON'T BE GOOD-GOOD I'M SORRY💔 also i still don't know sign language so indented = sign language. i made rossi know asl,, bc yay why not,,, contains too many breaks because i acc do nawt know anything ab sign language but,, wanted to write thistgisthis. and for the last time . I AM MINORLYATFAULT DAMMIT

the first time SPENCER REID laid eyes on you, you were signing with rossi. it was quick, neat, rehearsed. the others were slightly confused, derek arching a brow, jj tilting her head, emily sort of just standing there with a strangely amused expression. but reid? reid was focused. like laser beam concentrated. he was already trying to recall what you had just signed.

rossi had patted your shoulder and left, but you remained standing in the center of the briefing room, notebook held in front of you like a shield.

"she's nonverbal," garcia had whispered afterward, when she added, "not mute, though. trauma-related, i believe. i overheard that from strauss once. she can talk, just. doesn't. or won't."

it didn't make him pity you. he just considered how you spoke. how calculated it was. how careful you had to be, how you hacked out understanding in silence. he thought that was sort of beautiful. he thought it was absolutely beautiful.

so naturally he began learning asl. and not the watered down kind. complete, perfect grammar, complete complications, practiced every night( he read eight different asl books and read each of them three times). he didn't want to ask you to adjust for him. he wanted to be able to meet you where you were.

he began small.

hi.

and your eyes had widened a bit, guarded. but you signed back,

hi, spencer.

and that was the start.

over time, your conversations increased. it became kinda a secret language between you two( if you take rossi out of the picture ). sometimes in the car on stakeouts, he'd ask you questions just to see the way you signed. like the way you'd talk about the stars or the way the wind blew that day. usually it's him who rambles. but he can't help it. and you'd always get a little smile when you saw him staring at your hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the universe.

the team saw something, but not everything. you always signed to them, usually to rossi, but gradually more and more to spencer. and yeah, reid signed back, but they just thought he was being nice. helpful. because he was like that. always happy to learn a new language. especially so he could converse with a friend. and don't take it the wrong way, they're learning. trying. but they aren't spencer reid who could finish reading 20,000 words per minute.

rossi was the one who glanced at you both with that knowing look.

"pretty sure he's in love with you, kid" he told you one morning, dryly, as he was making coffee. you blinked at him. signed,,

how do you know?

he smiled. "because he stares at you the same way emily stares at tequila."

... don't you mean you? you wanted to state, but restrained yourself.

the teasing came later.

morgan began it all. "pretty boy's got himself a signing buddy,"( more like you got yourself a signing buddy. ) he teased one morning. "y'all look like you're passing notes in class."

reid blushed so red it was really alarming.

you just rolled your eyes and waved your fingers:

jealous you can't keep up?

"i━━ okay, okay, she got me. i'm out."

everyone laughed( he couldn't even understand half of what you signed ). except rossi, who sipped his coffee like he was privy to some information they were not.

reid was quiet that entire day. and the next.

of course, he'd eventually snap.

he saw you in the break room, empty. where you typically retreated to escape the commotion. he seemed nervous. restless. hands quivering slightly as if he couldn't help but keep them moving.

can i talk to you?

you nodded, clearing a space beside you. he sat down across from you. deep breath.

i like you. i like you a lot. i think about you constantly and not just in a friendly way. in a.more-than-that way.

he winced a little, as if preparing himself for rejection.

you blinked. heart pounding. giddy. and then slowly, you signed,

me too. i like you, spencer. but. let's keep it private? work is still work.

his entire face beamed. "yes! yes, of course. absolutely. private. secret. top secret. agent-level secret."

you smiled. just a little gasp. no sound, but he could see it in your eyes.

he was already lovesick-looking.

oh, and dating spencer reid was like falling into poetry. he signed you good mornings, good afternoons, and good evenings. he annotated books for you with both little notes and signs he wanted to show you. he kissed your hands sometimes like they were the whole language he adored.

no one knew. or at least, they didn't know know. you were always signing regardless. sometimes you'd touch your fingers against his wrist and jj would just smile, thinking nothing of it. morgan was too busy making noise. hotch, well.. hotch. garcia kept shipping you with literally everyone( mostly spencer ).

the one and only rossi raised an eyebrow whenever reid would look at you for just a fraction too long.

"still think i was wrong?" he whispered one afternoon, walking past you in the corridor.

no. definitely not. but you didn't sign.

"so," rossi asked a week later at the round table, not even glancing up from his file. "you two finished sneaking around yet?"

you and spencer both stiffened.

morgan choked on his coffee. "wait, what?"

"they've been dating. for weeks now. maybe months. i don't know. you all are blind."

emily looked at you with big eyes. "what?"

you just signed,

hi.

spencer coughed. blushed. again.

"man," derek complained. "i knew something was up."

"no, you didn't," garcia chastised. "rossi knew. he always knows."

rossi just smiled, smug. "i read fast."

it was raining the night it happened. spencer had volunteered to drive you home from the jet. everyone else had already separated.

he came up with some reason to come in. books he borrowed? something along those lines( silly of him, you both just left the jet, what books ?).

the moment the door closed after him, he turned to you.

"can i kiss you?"

you nodded. a little too quickly. too eagerly.

and it was soft. soft. but also desperate. like he'd been waiting for years. your hands in his hair, and his arms tight around your waist like he couldn't believe you were real.

you took him to the couch. didn't need to utter a word. he trailed, kissing you once more like a habit. his fingers traced your jaw, your neck, down your back. your hands signed between kisses,

you're so warm.

he grinned against your mouth. "you're perfect."

it became hotter. clothes were not completely vanished but they were. relocated. his lips on your neck. your legs. your belly. and you ━━ you couldn't keep it in.

the moaned. escaped before you could shut them up. breathy, soft, but oh so there.

spencer stopped. eyes wide open. he stared up at you. you freaked out.

i'm sorry.

you signed, panicking.

"don't be," he breathed. "god, don't be. that was the most gorgeous sound i've ever heard."

and then he kissed you again, slow and once again, desperate.

you allowed him to hold you afterward. his hand beneath your shirt was warm but never inched any lower, as if he was scared of rushing you. and perhaps that's why your body trusted him.

perhaps that's why when he asked ━━ with a gentle brush of his lips against your jaw, eyes asking permission more than anything ━━ if he could kiss you again, you let him.

and it was messier this time. not the hesitant type, not the uncertain type. it was desperate, much longed for. his fingers buried in your hair, and yours gripping the nape of his neck, thumb tracing behind his ear. and the way he kissed, god, he kissed as if he was committing every curve your lips held to memory.

his glasses misted, but he didn't mind. you smiled during the kiss, teeth clashing once as he attempted to smile in return. you signed against his chest ━━ adorable. ( adorable. adorable. adorable. ) he only smiled harder.

"you're unfair," he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of your mouth. "you know what you do to me?"

tell me.

he leaned in to kiss you again. slower, softer.

"you ruin me."

in a good way?

"the best way."

somehow, you found yourself lying back on the couch. your fingers intertwined in his shirt and his weight resting carefully over you. you buried your face in his neck and kissed there. slow, soft.

he grunted ━━ not even ━━ but you felt it more than you heard it. you kissed beneath his jaw. again. again. again. you did not say a word but you were loud in other ways. he let you feel safe enough to be loud.

he whispered something akin to "jesus, you're perfect" against your cheek, and it curled your toes. his hand remained at your waist, and your leg touched his. you moved ━━ wanting more, not all, just more.

he drew back only to ask, "are you sure?"

you nodded. signed ,

yes. please.

his lips slammed against yours again.

it was still soft, but different now. a little deeper. teeth brushing, tongue dancing. he didn't force. he let you welcome him. and you did. you drew him in again and again. he kissed you like a man who'd waited months., because he had.

he kissed you until your chest was heaving and your body was warmer than ever.

and when you moved again, thighs touching more, his hand crept up to cradle your cheek.

"we can stop whenever," he vowed. breathless. hopeful.

i don't want to.

he kissed your fingertips for that. soft, reverent. then your knuckles. your wrist. your pulse.

when he finally drew back, both of you were flushed and swollen-lipped. you let out a soft giggle.

so. dating?

he blinked. then laughed. his laugh is also adorable. head thrown back, nose scrunched.

"yes. very, very much dating."

cool.

you attempted to look and act cool, too, but your smile was way too wide.

"cool," he repeated.

the following week at the office, nothing changed. to everyone else.

to rossi, you noticed the smirk you received from him across the conference room table.

to reid, you signed,

missed you.

while getting coffee.

he clenched his lip to keep from grinning. signed back,

me more.

morgan cocked an eyebrow from the hallway. "you two ever gonna share the inside joke or what?"

"nope," reid replied, taking a swallow and not looking at anyone.

never.

but when he strode past your desk, he touched your hand. and you looked at him like he hung the stars.

and yeah, you were still quiet.

but with him, you never had to be quiet.

298 notes · View notes

tricksters-captain · 7 months ago

Text

Declan O'Hara imagine - I'm not doing this.

A/N: I thought about this one shot weeks ago... finally writing it. Probably been done already by someone else but who isn't obsessed with rivals atm. I also haven't written in years.

Summary: Declan is fighting against himself and everything he believes in when you come into the picture.

Warnings: Age Gap, fem!reader, NSFW content 18+, strong language, bit of a slow burn.

"Taggie, honestly, I don't know why you'd ever willingly add Brussel sprouts to anything." You chuckled as you both crept through the door to the kitchen.

"They're good for you!" Taggie tried to defend her culinary choices for her Sunday lunch.

"If they're good for you then I always want to be bad."

"Who's being bad?" A thick Irish accent filled the room as Taggie's dad sauntered in, a mug of coffee in one hand with his other burrowed deeply into his trouser pocket.

"Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N) was just objecting to my sprouts."

"Oh yeah, I agree, terrible things. Even the dog won't eat 'em" Declan brought his mug to his lips, smirking through the thick moustache that hid his upper lip.

You felt your insides alight at his dark, playful expression as he teased Taggie.

That was the first time you knew you were a bad friend. A bad friend who wanted your new friend's father to lift you onto the kitchen table and bury his head between your thighs.

The thought made your cheeks burn red as you laughed at Declan's remark and Taggie's complaints against him.

The man left the kitchen when his eyes flitted back to you, sending you a nod and a 'lovely to meet you, (Y/N). '

You couldn't help but replay the way he said your name in your head over and over and over again until you were desperate for his voice to sing it again.

The next time you saw Declan O'Hara was at the O'Hara New Years Eve party.

"You better not spend the whole time in here. I'd actually like you to put a dress on and come out to dance at some point tonight." You pleaded with Taggie as she clasped your necklace for you.

"I'll try but I can't make any promises. Anyway, you're out there to be my eyes and ears. You need to tell me if anyone complains about the food, okay?"

"Yes, Taggie. But no one will because you are amazing and your food is amazing and you are so right for not letting me help you cook or serve after I burnt the soup last time." You faced her as she continued to prep the ingredients she would need for the feast she had planned.

"You are a great friend but you are a terrible cook." Taggie agreed. You felt a lump in your throat at the words. Were you a great friend for literally fantasising over her father after almost every time you had an interaction with him? "Now please go next door and make sure that all the tables have the right cutlery for me?"

"Anything for you, Agatha!" You headed to do as you were told. Looking down to smooth out your dress when you felt yourself collide with something solid.

"I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see Declan turning, laughing softly at your clumsiness.

"It's okay, love." Declan's own eyes fell down your body, his lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you all dressed up. He knew you were an attractive girl but you were Taggie's age and one of her only friends in the surrounding neighbours beside Lizzie. "You look beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice caused a chill to roll up your spine.

"Thanks. You look very handsome too, Mr. O'Hara." You didn't know why you felt so shy around him. You were so used to owning your space and holding your confidence when you fancied someone.

"That's very kind, (Y/N). And it's Declan. I don't want to tell you again." Declan send you a wink as he started to pass you. "Hey, and no snogging my son at midnight. You're way too good for him."

Your heart squeezed at the taunt. Patrick was a gorgeous boy and he had tried to flirt with you when he met you but you were far too interested in Declan for Patrick to make any dent in your crush.

"He's not my type anyway." You managed to find your tongue to quip back an answer.

"Good girl."

Good Girl.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself replying something entirely inappropriate in response.

As the night went on, you felt your heart drop more and more. Declan was obsessed with his wife. His wife was obsessed with anyone else.

You were desperate to try and make more conversation with the man but almost everyone was grabbing his attention to discuss some work matter or other.

As the countdown began, you gut wrenchingly watched as Maud and Declan kiss. You put on a smile and exchanged celebrations with those around you. Giving Lizzie a kiss on the cheek as her husband blanked her as he usually did.

"Happy New Year, chicken." Lizzie pressed on a faux smile as you did.

"Happy New Year, Lizzie."

"A little advice for your new years resolution if I may?" Lizzie whispered as she drew you closer.

"You may want to get better at hiding your admiration for Taggie's father. I know nothing hurts more than something you can't have." Lizzie's words took you back, you felt your cheeks burning red and your smile drop.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm mortified! Please don't tell Taggie." You begged.

"Not a peep." Lizzie motioned locking her lips with a key before grabbing your hands to singing sway along with the room.

The night went on and Lizzie tried to encourage you to join in festivities. You drank more and more, being forced away whenever you tried to help Taggie wash up, and you soon found yourself needing some quiet time.

You let yourself into Declan's office, leaning against the desk, fingers gripping the underside to give you some stability when the room started to ever so slightly spin.

You closed your eyes. Inhaling a shaky breath when you heard the door creek open.

"I thought someone unwanted had decided to sneak through my things." Declan's melodic accent forced your eyes open.

"I'm wanted, am I?" You smirked slightly, through the sickness as your eyelids closed again.

Declan didn't respond. Instead he just studied you from across the room. His hands in his pockets, his stance leaning back just ever so slightly.

"You struggling there?" Declan was amused at your state.

You tried to push yourself off the desk but instead felt yourself stumble forward.

Declan's amusement quickly turned into concern as he stepped forward to catch you.

"Steady on." Declan had managed to stop you from hitting the floor, your face pressed against his chest, his strong arms engulfing you as he pulled you up towards him.

"I'm so sorry..." You mumbled as you leant away to look up at him.

His features were so strong up close. You could smell the whisky on his breath as your eyes lingered on his lips.

"Maybe we should get you some water and put you to bed."

Declan's words drew your eyes to his own. His chest seemed to go tight as he starred down into your glassy (Y/E/C) eyes.

"You can take me to bed any time you want, Mr O'Hara." Your words slurred together with your weak attempt of drunkenly flirting.

"It's Declan."

"Okay, Declan..."

That was the first time Declan had heard you say his name. Something inside him knew he wanted to hear you say it again but he fought against the thought, pulling away from you as you gained your stance.

"Let's hope you don't remember this in the morning, ay?" Declan tried to make light, convincing himself the electric feeling he had was nothing.

"Why? I finally got my chance in your arms. My dream come true."

"Yeah, you really won't want to remember this in the morning. Come on..." Declan opened the door, waiting for you to follow suite. The noise of the party echoed around you; you had almost forgot it was still going on outside.

"Have you ever thought about me?" You had no idea where this liquid confidence had stirred from.

There was a pause before he answered.

"No." He was lying. He knew he was lying. He watched the disappoint subtly encase your eyes as you pursed your lips into a thin smile.

"If I was dreaming, you would've said yes. Goodnight, Mr O'Hara."

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

-------------------------------------------------------

As the weeks went on, rivals became friends. Friends became rivals. You grew closer to the O'Hara family and the moment from NYE had simply been forgotten. Or so you thought...

The dread that had filled your gut that New Years Day after you remembered the incident brewed inside of you for weeks. You had successfully avoided Declan, only seeing him in group scenarios and meetings for Venturer.

"(Y/N), I left some of my flyers on the table in the living room if you want to use them." Taggie climbed into her car, shouting over at you as she rushed off. You both had been going door to door for Venturer in different areas to cover more ground but you had run out of flyers to hand out.

"Thanks, Tag!" You rushed inside, running through the house that still held a cool air inside despite the early summer warmth outside.

"Careful!" You heard a voice proclaim as your bodies hit.

Within the blink of an eye, you had hit the floor with a body on top of you.

"Are you alright?" Declan groaned as you winced underneath his weight. The hard floor sent a wave of pain through your back but you had managed to not hit your head.

"Ow." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Did you hit your head?" Declan propped himself up on his arms, examining your face with a furrowed brow of worry.

"No." Was all you managed to say.

"I thought we had left bumping into each other for last year." Declan recalled on when you knocked into him last New Years Eve before the party had started.

"Clearly I'm not very good at keeping to New Year's resolutions."

Declan chuckled, pushing himself up before offering his hand.

You felt the warmth of his body leave you and the coldness of the floor pierce your bones.

You took his hand; hauling yourself to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Declan insisted. His hand reached out to take grip of your waist, his thumb and finger burning against your skin that had been revealed by the edge of your venturer top riding up. His other finger waved past your eyes, checking for concussion.

"I'm fine. No more running in the house with blind corners." You took a step back from the man, straightening your shirt to try and control the lingering feeling of the mans hand on you.

"Now... are we okay?" Declan rephrased,

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), don't play stupid. You've avoided me for almost half a year now. You won't even walk around the house without Caitlin or Taggie next to you."

You didn't think that Declan would've noticed with how busy he was with work and his life. Why would he have cared where you were or what you were doing in the house?

"I'm still living down my behaviour at New Years." You reluctantly admitted.

"What, that? Everyone says stuff they shouldn't when they've had a few too many. Doesn't mean you have to never look me in the eye again."

"What I said was completely inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. You're the same age as my daughter and I'm a married man but I'll have to admit I'm a little flattered." Declan tried his best to ease your anxiety. "I don't exactly see myself a teenage heart throb."

"I'm not a teenager." You bit back, the harshness your voice surprising you both.

"There's not much difference. You're practically a child and should be going for someone your own age." Declan quit the joking tone he had been using, taken back by your defence.

"Don't call me a child. I'm not the same age as Caitlin. I am older than Taggie and I've been with men before so I'm not playing silly little girl games over here. This isn't some school girl crush on a handsome teacher. You're right my feelings for you are inappropriate because you're a married man and I'm friends with your daughter but not because of my age. I know who I am and what I feel." A fire lit up your chest as you finally had broken out of the timidness you hated.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Declan took a step closer to you, his stare burning into you as he lowered his voice.

"You're the one who reads people. Tell me what you see in me." You matched him, standing so close to him you could feel his breath on your face as you gritted your teeth.

The air was thick. The silence of the house engulfing you both, your breath audible and quick. You thought you could almost hear your heart thudding against your chest.

Declan was the one to break away. Storming to his office with a hard slam of the door.

How did your conversation turn so heated?

That night Declan tossed and turned, his head filled with moments of you. He rolled over and gently woke up his wife with soft strokes on her shoulder blades.

"What?" Maud hummed, rolling her head over her shoulder to Declan.

"I'm awake." Declan pressed himself against his wife.

"I can feel that." Maud looked at him through a sleepy gaze.

"Let me touch you." His fingers glided over her skin until he reached the space between her legs. Maud moaned quietly as Declan began to part her folds with his finger.

"Declan..." Maud sighed as she pressed her backside into him, feeling his member hard against her.

Declan wasted no time in entering her. He closed his eyes as his dick pressed inside his wife. And all he could see through the darkness was your eyes looking up at his. The first time he had seen you in the kitchen. The bump in the hall, the incident in his study, every time he had caught you intensely listening to one of his speeches to the group, the crash against the floor. You underneath him. The tiny bit of skin his hand had managed to caress from the bottom of your shirt.

He had never thought of you before. Not with Maud, not with his own hand and imagination and he couldn't make sense of why that night he finished almost as fast as his inexperienced teenage self had once before.

-----------------------------------------------------------

It had been Declan's turn to avoid you from that day. He couldn't be too close to you without feeling his throat go dry, a sickening guilt and twisting conflict rising with it.

It was the evening you'd find out whether Venturer was a real contender against Corrinium.

The O'Hara house was filled with people eagerly waiting except one who had decided to leave the house for good.

The house erupted in cheers and celebrations as the phone call confirmed it for you all.

You watched through the window as Maud drove off, leaving Declan and Taggie behind.

"We did it!" Taggie squeezed you tightly before embracing her father and to your surprise, Declan had also pulled you into a tight hug. You had hoped no one picked up on the slight awkwardness that left the embrace when Declan moved onto join the others. You couldn't help but feel it.

The party went on and you tried to keep an eye on Declan without making it too obvious (like Rupert and Taggie had failed to).

When Rupert left Declan's side for another whiskey, (Taggie swiftly disappearing just after), Declan slipped away to his study. You followed.

"I'm sorry about Maud." You made your presence known as you watched him place his glass down on the desk, his back to you when he replied.

"Don't."

"Fine." You clenched your jaw, unsure of what to say next at the warning in his tone.

"What do you want from me?" Declan's voice had a hint of desperation. He turned to face you. You had seen this look before.

"I don't––"

"––No 'cause you followed me in here. You are everywhere I look. I can't even get a wink of sleep most nights without dreaming of two things. You or beating Tony fucking Baddingham. And I can't think of you because you're young enough to be my daughter and I'm a fucking hypocrite for telling Rupert to stay away from Taggie when I look at you in that dress and wonder what you would look like with it on this floor right now. I'm not doing it. I can't do this."

Declan's outburst kept your feet frozen in place. Had he really just admitted to wanting you as badly as you wanted him.

You felt your hand roll the zipper of your dress down your side, your body moved without force as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Fuck..." Declan barely breathed out the word. His stare devouring every inch of your skin.

"I'm not doing this." Declan uttered again barely even audible as if only to himself before striding towards you. His fingers found your hips as he thrust you against the door.

His lips were on yours before your back found the solid wood behind you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up towards him, trying to bring your body as close to his own as possible. You needed every gap between you gone. You wanted to feel the heat of him even on this sticky summer evening.

"What am I doing?" Declan broke away and dropped to his knees, placing a firm hand on the middle of your stomach to hold you flush against the door.

There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, never breaking his gaze from your face to almost check if what he was doing was allowed.

You threw your head up, trying to find the air he had stolen from you, one hand finding a grip within his dark curls as your welcome reply.

"Please." You whispered.

Declan moved your panties to the side, a finger running over your folds, sending fire against your skin before he closed his mouth around you.

You let your eyes roll back as his tongue darted across your clit. Electricity filled your body with every moment of contact.

You felt his fingers circle lightly around your entrance. Your hand jumped from his thick curls to tightly grip the back of his own that pushed against your stomach. His grip on you felt as if it were all that was holding you up.

"You want me this badly?" Declan asked with a mixture of teasing and shock. The wetness of your heat coated the tip of his fingers and glistened on the dark hairs of his moustache.

"I've imagined this so many times." You admit honestly.

"I best live up to your expectations then." Declan inserted a finger inside of you, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips, which made Declan's cock twitch inside his boxer shorts. "Shhhh"

You placed your free hand over your mouth to which Declan smiled a toothy grin at you.

"Good girl" he purred.

Declan rose to his feet as he placed another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you in a painfully slow motion that only made you ache for more.

Declan turned the lock on his door with his other hand before pulling himself away from you completely.

You pouted at the lack of contact to which he tutted.

"So impatient." He uttered as he undid his belt, pulling it from its loops and then kicking his trousers down.

Your eyes fell on the large member pressed against his underwear. The tip seeping precum through the material in a dark stain.

"Go to my desk." Declan ordered.

You almost ran over, Declan caught you by the waist and lifted you up onto it. Spreading your legs with his knee.

"Are you sure you want this?" Declan stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his chest covered with dark thick hair that you reached out to touch. This didn't feel real.

"More than anything." The words were so quiet but Declan seemed to hear them as he freed himself from his underwear.

You reached behind and unclasped your bra.

"Jesus..." He took a handful of your breast, squeezing you firmly as he stroked his member.

"Declan, please." You couldn't wait any longer. The ache pained you.

Declan didn't need to be told twice.

He tore your underwear down your legs and pressed his tip slowly into you.

You bit down on your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise.

"Holy fuck..." Declan failed at being quiet. You were so tight against him he felt he could've finished inside of you within minutes.

You reached forward and hooked a grip behind his neck, encouraging him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me please." you pleaded, trying to move your own hips to create some friction.

Declan took the hint and began thrusting into you quickly. His fingers almost bruising your skin as he held you steady on the desk.

The rattle of the belongings on the desk seemed to echo around the room alongside the slapping of skin.

Declan lifted you up, still inside of you and gently placed you down on the floor.

He hovered above you, just like he had once before, watching your face twist in pleasure as he fucked you.

You squeezed his shoulders, your nails leaving an impression whilst he brought you closer to your climax. You pressed your hips up into his creating hot friction against your clitoris, making you throb inside.

"Declan..." You tried to let him know; still trying to whisper to stay quiet.

"Cum for me, princess." Declan smirked, his stare never faltering as he rode you through to your end. He could feel you tighten around him only encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

You bit down on your hand as your climax convulsed through you. Your body shaking in between Declan and the floor.

Declan moved you both effortlessly, lying on his back with you sat on top of him.

You leant ever so slightly forward, steadying yourself with your hand stretched out against his chest.

You smiled wickedly at him as you rolled your hips.

You felt exhausted by your own finish but knew you wanted to see the older man in the same state.

"That's a good girl." Declan held onto your hips, helping you pick up your pace.

His lips parted as he watched you ride him, sweat dripping down your skin mixing with his own as his dick twitched inside of you.

"Fuck (Y/n)." Declan cursed.

You shifted your hand to his neck, Declan almost laughed, flipping you again so that he was behind you. Both of you on your knees as he held you against his chest, his hand wrapped firmly around your neck with his opposite arm securely around your middle.

The sensation was almost unbearable as his thick member pumped in and out of you at such speed.

"You think you want to be a bad girl?" Declan hissed in your ear.

You could only shake your head.

"Bad girls get punished." Declan bit hard down on your shoulder and you fought to not cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine now." Declan's own proclamation brought himself to his own climax. He pulled out, spilling his seed over his own thighs to avoid finishing inside of you much to your own disappointment.

"I know you wanted that inside of you like the dirty girl you are." Declan teased you as he gave your throat one final soft squeeze.

You fell against him, both trying to catch your breath.

"Declan?" A voice and a knock came at the door.

"Shit..." The realisation of what had just happened and where it just happened hit Declan like a cricket bat to the face.

"I'll be out in a mo." Declan scrambled for his underwear and you did the same.

"Hurry up! I know that's where you're hiding the good stuff!" Bas' voice was more evident now and whilst he was definitely talking about the whiskey. The both of you couldn't help but laugh.

#Rivals #Rivals Imagines #declan o’hara #Declan o'hara one shot #Declan o'hara x reader #rupert campbell black #aidan turner #taggie o'hara #Declan x reader #Declan o'hara imagine #smut #imagine #one shot #x reader #rivals tv show

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darlingbabyboo · 2 years ago

Text

The Fluffy Life of Dating a Delinquent

Tokyo revengers boys and the little things they do (that I want because I'm lonely lol)

Warning: extreme fluff, just Tokrev characters being in love with you

Mikey is the type to buy snacks for you, no matter what. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, he's got some food for you too. He's calling you at 3am in the morning and telling you that he got you some chips, can he come over. He thinks sharing food is the best way to share love and well, he's right ❤

Izana will know everything about you. Your favourite colour, your favourite places to go, what you like to watch. Honey, he got you. You're his assignment and he's passing with an A+. He's the best person when you're sad because he knows exactly what to do. He can cheer you up in five minutes, tops.

Draken is so protective of you 😭. He knows he's well-liked and he's got an entire brothel, might as well take advantage of it. He wants to take care of you, and he knows you need boundaries and space sometimes but he lives a bit of a dangerous life, he needs to make sure you're taken care of. If someone actually got a scratch on your head he's killing them. No questions asked.

Hakkai didn't come from the best family. After the death of his mother, everything kinda fell apart. That's why he wants to start new traditions with you. Getting take out every Friday, matching accessories, whatever it is. He considers you family and he can't wait until you two pass down these traditions to your children.

Baji names cats after things related to you! Your favourite things to eat, do, whatever! Anything that's remotely related to you, that's the new name of the cat! Has given cats pet names that he usually uses for you, sometimes it's a bit confusing, but it's more so endearing.

You can say all you want about Kisaki but no one can say that this man isn't your biggest fan. You're the only one in his eyes but you're also the best. You got no competition but you're also destroying your competition with the twitch of your finger. Ain't it nice, to be someone's one and only 😆

Ran's ideal date is a sleep date. You two watching a movie on the computer, cuddled together under the blankets. He lasts half the movie but it's worth it because he has his hands on your waist and chin on your shoulder. He says he's not a cuddler but his grip on you is like iron, he will not let you move.

Mitsuya will fit you into his schedule no matter what. He's got two younger siblings and a Hakkai to take care of but he always has time for his baby. Yeah, he has three late assignments, five new outfits to make and grocery shopping to take care of, but please tell him about your day. Will take a break from what he's doing for his beautiful baby.

Might not look like it, but Benkei has the best hugs. You guys see him latting Shinichiro's head, now imagine those big strong hands wrapping around you. He's so warm and comforting, his hugs are meant for a higher power. Even if he's strong, he's incredibly careful around you. Big strong men being delicate for you despite their strength 🤤

Rindou makes mixtapes for you. You're always on his mind and when you're on his mind, he just makes a playlist for you. You and him probably share a Spotify account at this point with the amount of playlists dedicated to you. And they all have the same sappy titles 'to the Love of my Life'.

You ever see someone looking at their partner in the picture instead of at the camera. Yeah, that's Shinichiro. He knows that he was lucky to get you, and he's in awe that you still choose to be by his side. Now, the only time he smiling is because he's looking at yours 😁

Cooking together, the best and tastiest love language around. Fits that best boy, Angry has it! Will make your faves, and he HAS to learn food from your culture. He likes going on picnic dates because he can show off his skills to you, and he loves hearing your enjoyment (and you're the real winner with how delicious everything is). You two cook together. Though if you're one of those who are a mess in the kitchen, Angry's just happy to see you enjoy things he made. Pls praise him though, he won't say it but be revels in your praise. Your words are everything to him ❤.

Takemichi is loyal to the end. Don't worry about this boy lacking, he's here for you. He could be in a room of models but the only one he's got his eyes on is you. You're #1 to him 🥰

If you hate someone Chifuyu hates them even more. You say something bad about someone once, he despises them forever and wants to sell their soul to Satan. He will not forgive and he will not forget. He loves you and he will never get other people who don't feel the same.

Wakasa would quit smoking for you. The minute you cough around him, he's throwing his cigar away and replacing them with lollipops. No matter how much he might miss them, your lungs are more important 😙

Those things that you're obsessed with that no one else really cares about? Kakucho will erase those worries, easy. He doesn't mind your ramblings, encourages them. Will keep it all in his mind and remember them so he can participate deeper with things. Your interests are his interests hun!

Kazutora loves spontaneous dates so much. And he makes sure that you two go on them often. Wants to make sure that your relationship never weakens so he loves being around you, and the best way to be around you is doing your favourite things! He will sneak you out if need be so you two can have a picnic in the moonlight.

You need some support, good thing Sanzu offers it unconditionally. Going from things like you needing help on wash day to you needing to cover up a body, your bae's got your back. He might not enjoy doing everything, he's just a tad bratty, but no matter how loud he's complaining throughout, he still gonna do it!

Smiley will defend your honour! He hears some bitch talking about you, he won't let that slide. Blood will be spilled. Someone got something fun to say about your heavenly skin, he gonna kill someone. He's like Draken if Draken was an unhinged gremlin. He will beat someone up and then look at you with a smile on his face like, are you okay precious?

All your dreams of drowning in a strong man's clothes (that's a fantasy we all have, right?) are fulfilled with Mucho. He's so much taller than you (and if not, he's got muscles for days) so whenever you steal some of his clothes, you swim in them. It's a beautiful, comforting, amazing feeling.

Atsushi is the kind to learn how to braid just for you! He knows that going to a barber is expensive so he's got your back. He's doing goddess braids for you, cornrows, whatever you desire. And if you're not a braid person, well good thing he can learn how to!

Shion's pet names are ridiculous! Will call you baby cakes all the time and then start calling you pumpkin the next day. Is he doing this because he's stupid yes but he also likes to see your little smile. All he wants is your goofy little smile 😘

Takeomi is a planner, always, and you're always going to be part of his plans. When he's talking about the future, you're going to be part of it. It's so sweet how casual he is about it, you two will just be laying down in his bed holding hands and he'll be mentioning how good you'd look with a ring on your finger.

Hanma is secretly a romantic. He's an adrenaline junkie in the end though, so he spins things to an insane degree. Sneaking up a ferris wheel and kissing you under the moonlight, telling you to skip school so you guys can watch the sunrise and sunset, skinny dipping at the beach! If it's a bit too much, he gotchu. He's fine with both of you just hanging out on your bed or chilling in the bath. He's not your typical love interest, but he's surprisingly understanding and sweet 😍

Can y'all tell how deprived I am 😭. Also, not proof read because I'm lazy!

5K notes · View notes

xomakara · 8 months ago

Text

Ranching Hearts

SUMMARY | You're an overworked accountant with little time for a love life. Desperate for a break, you join your girlfriends on vacation at a dude ranch. Mingi, the handsome ranch owner is instantly attracted to you and vice versa. But Mingi is about to lose the ranch and everything he's worked for. Will you extend your stay to help him out?

PAIRINGS | Mingi x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

GENRE | cowboy!Mingi, overworkedaccountant!Reader, smut, modern Western au, country/ranch life

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, filthy dirty thoughts, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, oral sex (both female/male receiving/giving), dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, vaginal penetration, creampies, shower sex, outdoor sex, sexual innuendoes

LENGTH | 16,907 words

TAGLIST | —

NETWORKS | @illusionnet @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork. @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Hi hello. Thank you @aaagustd for the beautiful banner and thank you @kpopflowerfield for beta reading this! I really appreciate it💚 Show support by liking, commenting and reblogging. Love you all 💚

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"Oh come on," Hyemi sighed, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the van. "This trip won't be the same without you."

"You really need a break, Y/N," Jinhee muttered. "You're so overworked these days, and all that stress can't be healthy."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as the women clamored their agreements. Despite their arguments that it wouldn't be the same, they were all packed, ready to go, and stood around your luggage as you dithered. "Why a dude ranch?"

"Because we needed something in the middle, so everyone could get to it with ease," Bora said. "And we already paid in full, plus I saw some super hot photos of the cowboy who runs it."

“Cowboys? Seriously?” you asked, incredulous.

Jinhee tossed a magazine towards you. A six pack man filled the front page of it, and your brow furrowed at the photo. Something about the set-up felt artificial, and not only because the man was topless. His boots were pristine, not worn out like you expected. Was this guy actually a cowboy?

"Real life cowboys do not look like this," you announced.

“Have you ever met one?” Hyemi asked.

“Yes,” you replied.

"Seriously?" Hyemi leaned on your shoulder to look at the picture again. "You have been holding out on us! Have you—"

“I’m a country girl, did you forget?” you shook your head.

Bora hopped back onto the van, laughing as the other girls got in. "Tell us all the deets on the way there!"

"Oh, and Y/N?" Hyumi smirked and hit the van door twice to make sure you couldn't close it. "I put condoms in your bag, okay?"

"Maybe there's a hot cowboy, looking for someone to ride him instead of a horse." Hyemi cackled. "If you catch my drift."

"Can we please get going? I have no patience to listen to you guys go into a hyena-like laughing fit," you grumbled as your heart began to hammer away. The prospect of meeting a stranger—no, a possible lover was thrilling enough to make the argument to join them seem pointless now. With a sigh, you waved at Hyemi. "No promises, but I will come along and see what the place is like."

A squeal tore through the van and you cringed at the loud sound. As the chatter in the car began again, you couldn't keep the small smile off your face at the thought that maybe your vacation wouldn't suck. Maybe, just maybe, you'd find someone worth coming home to.

The road trip was filled with laughs and lots of chatter. Your fingers had scrolled through hundreds of articles by the time you arrived and pulled up in the long driveway of the ranch. The entrance to the farm was huge; large wooden signs pointed in different directions, denoting different barns, activities, and lodgings. In the distance was a house, which sat behind the largest barn and closest to the river you saw winding around the land. Your eyes widened at the view.

The air seemed purer, crisper, as though nothing from the city could touch such a remote place. Fresh grass coated the fields of the property, a stark difference to the worn and dull roads you passed as your taxi traveled from the main highways and smaller routes before it. Rolling hills gave the feel of being in a separate world; this place was idyllic, a hidden gem in a world of chaos.

Bora beamed, "This is fucking incredible. Look at the river!"

"Do you think people go fishing in it?" Jinhee asked. "Like, for fun?"

Hyemi smiled as she shook her head. "We can ask the man when we check in. Speaking of—" She grabbed the receipt from your hand and headed for the door. You didn't have time to follow or call out for her to stop, as a tall man appeared from the first barn.

His clothes were much different than the ones you'd seen in the photos in the magazine. A plain white shirt was tucked into well-worn and dusty jeans; black hat covered a mop of black hair and equally dark brown eyes looked over you in one sweep.

Your knees buckled when his gaze landed on you; was he as affected by the attraction as you felt? The tension in the air felt suffocating in its heaviness.

He had his hands pushed deep into his pockets as he watched the rest of your party empty from the vehicle and a light chuckle escaped his lips. "Ladies."

Hyemi took a few steps separating the two of you and held out her hand. "Hello, my name is Hyemi. This is our first time staying here. Are you Mingi?"

Mingi?

"Sure am," he drawled as you took in the deepness of his voice and his strong accent. His gaze moved between the four of you. "Is it just y'all here or do more folks drive down?"

"It's just us. But we heard about the dude ranch and it seemed like the perfect destination to escape the city for a bit and see the countryside. Y'know... uhm... horses, cowboys, nature, all that?" Hyemi asked with an eager expression.

A rumble left Mingi's lips as he fought a laugh. "Of course. Well, welcome to Sunflower Ranch. As your hosts, me and the other guys will provide anythin' ya need, be it horses for a trail or drinks and dancin'. We got plenty of stuff goin' on so if y'all would like to follow me, I'll bring y'all to the cabins."

Mingi reached into the van and removed some luggage with practiced ease and with one more glance at your figure, turned and gestured for the group to follow.

Hyemi smacked your shoulder, her voice hushed with awe. "He's checking you out."

Your own voice came out high-pitched and whiny as you walked to follow. "Who, Mingi?"

"Yes, obviously! He didn't give me or the others the same intense eye fuck as you did." Her eyes took a quick assessment. "Damn, maybe I should've bought some more sexy clothes."

Your heart hammered. "Don't you start—ugh, fuck—this whole weekend."

"Maybe we won't have to. Mingi looks like a man who eats pussy like—" Hyemi continued.

“Hyemi!” you scolded.

"Fine, fine. But I'm snagging the first cowboy that looks my way and it better be that hottie with the long luscious hair," Hyemi adjusted her outfit as she eyed a tall man coming your way to help with the luggage. "You can have Mingi. I'm gonna go and milk that tall drink of water and get a good ride while I'm here."

“You are insatiable,” you said, shaking your head.

"Ain't nothing wrong with enjoying yourself and having fun, Y/N. Maybe you should take a leaf out of my book and have a wild side while we're here. Fuck the stress," Hyemi laughed when your brows knit together in a scowl. You picked up the pace, aware of Hyemi giggling like a fool. It's a mystery how that girl managed to attract so many people when she can't keep her dirty little comments to herself.

You'll have to remind Hyemi not to go and make a joke like that in front of the employees of the ranch. The last thing you needed was to offend Mingi in any way or god forbid have her embarrass you further with her words, so you make a mental note and stick your earphones in. Hyemi will have a heyday of pointing out all the beautiful men on the ranch. At this moment, you can't deal.

As you and the others fall in behind Mingi, the closer proximity gives you a good chance to size him up. His large muscular frame was tightly confined in his clothing and damn did those jeans hug him in all the right places. Not a single thing you were complaining about. Your eyes fixed on that plump round behind, the thick muscles of his thighs and it was hard not to notice the long lengths of his legs. The guy was damn well hung. A blush bloomed over your cheeks when a snort of laughter escaped Hyemi.

Caught red handed.

How embarrassing.

"First time to a ranch?" The man with the long luscious hair asked, as he stepped in tune with Mingi. "I'm Seonghwa and I'm one of Mingi's many helpers. There's eight of us, including Mingi, that will be making sure ya ladies are well taken care of while on the premises."

Hyemi spoke first, taking a moment to flutter her long eyelashes. "That's good news, we want all of your help, right Y/N?" She nudges your side with an elbow and you nod slowly, pretending not to notice her sudden attraction for the taller man, which was borderline embarrassing, not to mention desperate.

"Yes," you sigh. Hyemi pressed her body to your arm as her smile deepened. You side eye her, annoyed she was clearly up to mischief.

Seonghwa chuckled, "Whatever the ladies ask. Here we are. Y'all will be in the end cabin."

Mingi pointed the building out, a row of four smaller structures of varying designs and sizes. "There is a bathroom that everyone shares since the one in the main house is being renovated right now. I would suggest you ladies shower in the mornings between seven to nine since the guys are usually in there in the early mornings."

"Noted," Jinhee nodded and clapped her hands.

"Just head on inside and we'll get your things settled," Seonghwa gestured to the open cabin doors and you and your friends began piling inside. The two men deposited your things inside and dusted their hands as they both exchanged nods.

A gasp fell from Jinhee as she took the building in. "Will you look at the lake! This view is incredible."

"Take a swim after dinner? Ladies night." Bora laughed.

"Are y'all interested in fishin'?" Seonghwa asked.

Hyemi smiled, her voice simpering. "Anything you'll teach me."

Your brow knitted as the flirting ensued. How anyone could do that so brazenly was baffling. If only you had such confidence... Then again, Hyemi wasn't one to get too attached. And given the look on Seonghwa's face, that wasn't going to be a problem here.

Once you get into the room you couldn't hold it in. "Damn, you're quick to pick."

"What?" Bora and Jinhee squealed and hurried to watch Hyemi.

“Seonghwa,” you said. “Looks like Hyemi made her choice already.”

"Wow, we are literally five minutes in and you're already throwing yourself at a cowboy," Jinhee laughed.

"Am I a bad girl for wanting to ride him?" Hyemi sighs as she stares out the window, looking for Seonghwa.

"When are you a good girl?" You quipped.

“Never,” Hyemi giggled.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. Hyemi could go for anyone here if she played her cards right. There's no shortage of people, and no shortage of looks on the ranch. "They did mention that there's six more of them running around."

Bora glanced out the window and nodded over to a handsome figure. "I bet he's one of them. Just look at those bulging muscles! Maybe he can throw me on his shoulders."

"He looks like he could pick anyone up and fuck them against the wall," Jinhee added as she stared out the window.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "God, I'm surrounded by a whole bunch of horny women."

The comment earns a laugh as you step outside. A slight breeze lifted the edges of your loose tee and cooled the skin that had already begun to warm beneath the sunlight. Taking a look around, your gaze focused on the large barn. Though it wasn't obvious what it contained, curiosity begged your feet to lead you toward the source of the loud voices and banging noises. As your steps led you close, the distinct sound of hooves caught your attention first.

Following it, the shadow of something massive and alive passed overhead and your gaze slowly tilted upwards. It took a few seconds for the creature to pass your gaze before it hit you. "Horses!"

"Big bastards, ain't they?" a deep voice said from behind you.

Jumping slightly, the soft laughter caught you off-guard and you turned, sheepishly meeting Mingi's gaze. "Sorry! I haven't seen one in years."

"Naw, not a problem, but why the interest?" He stepped in beside you, watching his hand move to adjust his hat. There was no denying the heat swirling inside, seeing this cowboy up close, smelling the mixture of sweat and spicy cologne was one hell of a rush and your head swam as the sensations washed over. Was he this beautiful and tall when you arrived? Maybe. Your head is full of lust filled thoughts, seeing him next to you in the bright midday sun just amplified the attraction tenfold.

Your words sounded faraway, even to your own ears. "Oh, uh... I-I grew up around horses."

"Really?" He tipped his chin and peered beneath the lip of his hat, those big brown eyes piercing and wide in wonder.

A spark flew inside, your stomach suddenly in knots. This guy had a pull, but you weren't sure if it was the charm and attraction or his expression, or the way his head tilted. "Uh, yeah. I grew up on a farm. Been a while, but I used to compete as a teenager."

“And here I thought y’all just came here to have a nice time away from home. Ya sure did surprise me,” Mingi chuckled.

You let out a small laugh. "My friends are city folk. I moved to the city for a job a few years back, but my family... They're all still in the countryside. Guess I missed it, even the early mornings and mucking out stables."

A chuckle rose. "Y'all wanna muck out the stables, just say. We can get it sorted out for ya. Free, too."

The way his dimpled grin warmed as you locked eyes made your cheeks heat up. "Maybe another time, if I'm up for it. Besides, I doubt my friends would enjoy it."

"Or just keep it our lil secret?" he winked.

You found it hard to break your stare away from his eyes. Something behind those pools of dark chocolate seemed to want to tell you something. A sense of ease lingered, you couldn't explain the calm you felt and the desire to be next to Mingi was hard to push away. Your tongue flicked to wet your dry lips and you smiled, "I'm sure we can work something out."

Mingi leaned back against the fence, watching the animals graze lazily in the green pasture. Your gaze followed and took in the other four horses. Some were big, some short with stubby legs. A couple had spots, another was entirely black, and the fourth horse was pure white and looked the biggest. The urge to stroke its neck tugged at you.

"Cute ones you have here," your smile broke the tension.

"Some are mules, and they're in need of some attention." His eyes went to the four mares and a hand came down, resting on your shoulder. "Ever ridden bareback?"

Your eyes widened.

"If the sight of horses excites yah so much, then what 'bout a nice ride? We could saddle the animals or..." The heat in his eyes was intense. "Maybe you're a daredevil and prefer it free. Up to you, darlin', I'm willing to oblige your needs. I'd give it to ya however yah wanted."

Words caught in your throat. "You want me... to ride... bareback?"

"However, you want, darlin'," he breathed as you inched closer. His other hand moved to touch your shoulder, giving you a brief rub before the same hand lowered to your hip.

Your breathing turned shallow, your knees weakening with each passing second. Heat seared the air around you, but you stayed where you stood, drawing courage to respond to the playful innuendo. "Okay, but if I break my leg, that's on you."

Mingi laughed and jerked his chin back towards the big barn. "I'm sure ya can handle this ride, darlin'. You said you've done this before. Now's a good time to refresh that knowledge, get to know the horses, and give them a workout. Think of it as the best type of warm up to really get you loose and warmed up."

A deep throb burned in your pussy.

Shit, had you gotten wet from some double meaning sex innuendos, and the suggestive smirk playing on Mingi's face made the butterflies swarm furiously in your belly. What the hell was happening to you right now? His finger pressed against your lower back, encouraging you to start walking toward the open doors of the barn and a gasp left your lips when you realized just how much the simple touch sent shivers throughout your body. You don't think you'd ever wanted to be touched so much before by someone.

Fuck... were you this desperate for a man that the simplest of touch would set you off?

"Picked the horse yet?" Mingi asked as your gaze landed on a massive black beast. Its tail flicked gently and a warm welcome flared in its eyes as Mingi led you over to the gate of its paddock. "I was thinkin' you should ride Raven here. He's a big bastard, but once you ride a stallion, any other horse becomes easy. How 'bout it?"

“H-huh?” you stuttered.

"Would ya like to ride a stallion?" He raised his brow, but a teasing smile played on his lips. His hands grabbed the rail of the pen as you walked through the gate and he leaned forward, bending a leg and resting it on the lowest bar. It should've been illegal to look that good when dressed for manual labor. "Have you ridden a stallion before?"

What kind of question was that? A million dirty ideas flooded your mind.

"It's been a few years, but I'd like to try one," your voice seemed huskier, low enough to get his attention, and Mingi lifted his chin, eyes scanning your face. A hitch of breath escaped him and you took it as encouragement, moving closer. He smirked, which only deepened his dimples. How easy it would've been to run your finger over each little dip on his face, but the act would be too bold, right? Too much for two strangers?

Yet he was inviting you to ride...

You moved over to the stallion, placing a hand against its nose as your fingers brushed against the coarse, yet soft hairs that made up its mane. Your lips pulled upwards when its head moved close to your body and leaned against it, eliciting a soft, nicker sound. "Hey, gorgeous."

Mingi opened his mouth but his words died when he caught your expression, noting the smile you were wearing. Damn, did you look good as you stood, hand petting his stallion, talking softly and exchanging pleasantries with the big creature.

As you interacted with his horse, the thought of him going behind and sliding his hands around your waist to steady the movement or hold you upright flashed, sending the blood to pool below. It took a conscious effort not to lick his lips, but damn it all to hell, was his mouth dry with the imagination running through his mind. "Do you... need help getting up, miss?"

You glanced at him. "I think I can manage."

Moving closer, he let his hands hang in a relaxed way at his side, hoping the thick material of his jeans hid the growing bulge. What the fuck were you doing to him so fast? He barely knew you, didn't know much beyond your name, yet his mind was in turmoil; he had never had such a physical reaction so quick, and for a woman to affect him in the ways you did wasn't helping his growing problem.

Said problem seemed to have a mind of its own, not to mention a penchant for ignoring the current issue.

You swung a leg over the back of his horse and he inhaled sharply. Oh, dear, sweet hell... how badly he wanted to see your thighs spread for something else entirely. To get between and taste you, bury his tongue against those smooth folds until your sweet sounds are lost to the wind.

Mingi bit his lip and offered you the reins as his mind imagined its way into an improper fantasy. Those damned city girl shorts you had on showed too much of your perfect plump ass. Nowhere near proper attire for riding a horse bareback or sitting in the saddle. That ass needed something thick and stiff to sink into, to take a punishing ride. The feeling of you on top was going to kill him.

"Good?" Mingi asked as he watched you settle onto the horse's back.

You grinned, eyes crinkling from the smile.

That was a look he'd not forget anytime soon, especially given the situation down south, which was ready to burst his seams if he was still thinking in those terms. When was the last time he felt so inclined? Never.

"A lot harder without a saddle, but it feels good," the smile is real, one that touches your eyes and makes him burn with curiosity. "I missed this feeling of being on a horse."

Mingi nodded. "I bet you did."

You couldn't help but stare at Mingi as you watched him converse and talk in a fluid manner with one of the men named Yunho, a very tall and attractive man with brown hair. You were sitting with the other girls at one of the benches waiting for dinner and there were lots of conversations. Jongho, one of the more quiet ranch hands, had served a bowl of steaming hot vegetable soup and bread to your table. The smell of the cooked carrots, onions and green peppers were all mixed in nicely with the savory taste of the broth. A bottle of ice cold water was placed next to you as well, it felt like a fancy restaurant serving amazing food. The bread was fresh and homemade, you noticed from the breadcrumbs when you bit down.

But you weren't talking, just admiring the view of a handsome tall and masculine cowboy. You took a gulp of your water and cleared your throat. The flutters came in as you looked back at him, not wanting to be obvious in your staring. But that didn't seem to go unnoticed as Bora tapped you with an elbow to your rib. You looked back and narrowed your eyes at her as she took a slurping spoonful of soup and giggled at the sound.

"So you were spending the whole time riding horses, huh?" Jinhee started and gave a quizzical smile to you.

“I... felt a little inspired today,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “Mingi knows how much I enjoyed it, though. And it was fun. I haven't had a workout like that in a while.”

Hyemi looked up and glanced at you from her spoon of soup, her eyebrows scrunching, a face only for you and she returned to the spoonful of broth. "We are talking about the horses, right?"

"Hyemi," you whined out her name in annoyance, brows dropping in the center in a scowl, only for Hyemi to return a smug smile as she sips her spoon again.

"The first day's been wild," Bora spoke again and wiped the corner of her lips with a tissue as she chewed on the chunk of bread she cut off from the roll and chewed a bit.

You took a sip of water, happy at the sudden topic change. There's no telling what else your friends have to say or rather what they might assume. It isn't like you were expecting anything from Mingi. You were here to have a good time with the girls. That was your motto and motto only, no other reasoning or implications was to be associated, and certainly no fantasizing, so why would it cross their minds otherwise?

You smiled again and placed a napkin in your lap. "Thanks for dragging me out to come here. This reminds me of home. I didn't realize how much I was craving that country air until right now. Makes the food even better."

"Is the country girl happy?" Hyemi teased.

"Are you city girls happy?" You countered with an equally joking response.

"So, um, which one do you girls wanna choose tomorrow?" Jinhee asked and scooted her chair closer. "Ride the trails, fishing, hiking? I'm dying for some adventure here. I need more than the pasture, and these mountains look lovely. I wanna feel the dirt beneath my feet, wading through a shallow river."

"Oh," Bora responded with the sound coming from the back of her throat. "That sounds heavenly. Hey, Seonghwa!"

He paused his steps, glass and jug of tea in hand. "Yes?"

“Can you find a good trail for us to hike tomorrow? And a river with calm water for us to wade through?” Bora asked. “Jinhee really wants a thrill while we're here.”

Seonghwa nodded with a deep chuckle and made a step back towards the cabin to gather a list of activities for the four ladies. "San and Wooyoung are available, I'm sure they'd show y'all to the good spots."

Bora laughed, her voice catching the cowboy's attention. "Let's do the works tomorrow, shall we? Ride the horses, fish, cook the fish, then hike and play in a river. All that good stuff. Hyemi, you in?"

Hyemi smiled, that cat-like smile in place that revealed her dimples on the one cheek and nodded. "Yup, I'm in. "

“Y/N, what about you?” Bora asked.

You purse your lips as you think about it. "I was thinking about getting my hands dirty and mucking the stables."

Your girlfriends stare at you as if you'd gone bonkers. Even Hyemi gave you a hard stare, almost as if trying to figure out where the fuck that idea came from.

Bora had a perplexed look on her face, the wrinkling in the corners of her brow apparent. "You're actually going to do that? With those hands? You're actually willing to break a nail?"

"Yeah... Why not?" You said. "I used to do that all the time back home."

Hyemi sighed as a strand of hair blew across her face with the breeze, a sight that should have distracted anyone else. "Don't you wanna play with the sexy cowboys? Jinhee here is already eyeballing one named Wooyoung."

You shook your head. "It's fine. Really."

"Will you muck stalls every single day while we're here?" Bora questioned.

"Of course not, don't worry," You patted the top of her shoulder.

"I guess you can't take the country out of the girl," Jinhee jokes.

"It's only for one day," your friends still looked unconvinced. "I just wanna muck a stable."

"Or, ride another horse," Hyemi quipped under her breath with a tiny giggle.

You rolled your eyes and picked up the remaining chunks of your bread, taking it as a chance to leave. "And I'm heading off. Good night, you three. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Yes, mother dearest," Jinhee hollered.

You picked at the bread piece and swiped it, tossing the remnants into a nearby garbage. One by one you stepped into your sleeping quarters and began gathering a set of sleepwear and clean underwear, before padding toward the shared bathroom, determined not to be distracted by the languid caress of cool breezes that wafted gently over your bare arms and shoulders.

An evening shower was calling your name.

Stripping the dirty garments off and tossing them aside in a hamper, your hands found the water dial, turning on the warmth as steam clouded the mirror. You stepped in with an exhale, sighing out loudly. Fuck, a bath or shower was always a welcome break. The warm water relaxed and softened skin, easing sore muscles, and that was a welcoming feeling after the long afternoon horseback riding session.

Warm streams coursed down your body. Soothing sensations coated the entirety of your flesh. The feeling of fingers in your scalp, massaging shampoo in and the heady fragrance of honey-vanilla filled the room as you ran your conditioner covered hair through a comb. After letting the conditioner marinate into your hair strands for a while, you rinsed it clean and turned off the water, wiping down your hands, face and hair as you squeezed out excess water, standing naked as the last drops ran down the drain.

The door to the shared bathroom flew open.

"Shit," you shouted as you wrapped a large, clean towel around your wet body, glancing around to catch a shirtless Mingi. His cheeks turned beet red as his gaze averted out the window as he rubbed a hand over his mouth.

He shook his head. "Sorry, didn't think you'd...I didn't think anyone else would be up this late to shower."

You're eyeing him and he's eyeing you back, in fact, his eyes were eating you up. There was no denying how you enjoyed the hungry look in his eyes as they drifted along your wet curves, and you felt like the moment was to keep him busy and allow him to look his fill. "I just wanted a late night shower after all that riding."

“Don’t let me get in your way,” Mingi said. “I can go later, s'fine.”

You grabbed his wrist to stop him, pulling him back inside the bathroom and closing the door behind him and locking it. The tug made him move forward toward you and the end result was his muscled chest against your covered breasts, nipples protruding and rubbing against the hard muscles. You wanted to keep him and his perfect physique close, feeling his hard and chiseled edges press up against your body.

His expression seemed flustered.

"Join me," you said with a quick lick of your lips, sending him a seductive gaze and hoping that his brain was able to grasp the meaning behind that. "Or rather..."

A finger curled around the strap of your towel and gently pulled downwards, releasing the hold and leaving the fabric on the floor. Mingi's breath hitch and his lips parted. You leaned up as he dipped his head and met your lips, crushing against them softly, savoring the connection and the kiss. Your naked chest pressed against his own naked chest and his hands skimmed down your sides until he's gripping and pushing a thigh in between your legs, leaving your dripping cunt wide and open against his denim-clad thigh.

Your skin erupted into goosebumps and a soft moan slipped out of you when his lips connected to your throat and your teeth nipped playfully. A hand snaked downwards toward the growing erection pushing insistently against his jeans and Mingi growled into your skin as your palm pushed down slowly. The feel of that firm member, twitching beneath the constriction made your toes curl with the realization. You wanted that big dick in you now, wanted to get stretched open until you were stuffed to the brim with his cock.

But first things first.

With nimble fingers, you undid the front buckle, working on his belt and tugging the jean fabric down. The brush of Mingi's lips came off your throat and landed on the shell of your ear. His heavy breathing was a symphony. A sensational noise you'd wanted to hear.

"Damn, woman..." he husked and the roughness in his baritone made you shiver. "Need me that bad, don't you?"

"You were the one who said that you'd give it to me however I wanted," you said and felt the heat rush to your core as a pair of calloused hands clasped around your ass cheeks.

"I meant for ridin' horses," he was guiding your body backwards until your lower back hit the smooth surface of the bathroom counter and hoisted you up to sit on it. "And didn't imagine in my head that you'd make it dirty."

"That's what you say, cowboy," you placed a kiss to the edge of his mouth. The hands squeezing at your plush flesh was intoxicating.

His fingers slid upward along your sides, until those thick digits traced the curve of your waist and a single thumb reached up and brushed the edge of your supple breast. You're rewarded with a moan escaping your throat as his thumb found a hardened nub and twiddled, eliciting a string of heated moans as you closed your eyes in pleasure. You relished his touch as it moved back down to your thighs and he parted your legs, those talented fingers dipping low as the tips teased and pressed lightly at your sex. "So how do yah wanna get it, darlin'?"

"Surprise me," you replied, but Mingi didn't waste time as his strong, broad shoulders pried open your thighs. He gripped the fleshiness, fingertips digging as your stomach lurched in anticipation. What's he planning on doing? The cowboy dropped to his knees with a thud as you watched.

"Move backwards a little," he said in a gravely tone, not hesitating as you spread yourself before him, angling your body up and raising a leg over his shoulder to give the man better access. "Just relax and let me do my magic."

Watching the man on his knees, spreading you wide was such an erotic sight. His expression held lust and hunger and you felt a swell in your chest, aching to be touched and nibbled and licked at by Mingi's tongue. Then a palm presses to the inner-meaty of your thigh, nails softly digging.

His mouth is on you then, licking along the slit. The swipes tease and taunt you, making you throb for more attention. You want to fuck his face. How lovely and filthy a sight. That thick tongue swirling around the sensitive spot sends sparks to fly and dance throughout the room, soaking your inner folds. It's divine, indescribable even, what he's doing to you, and his skilled ministrations had your head falling back in bliss.

His thumb finds a pert nipple again and lightly grazes over it, massaging it slowly in small circles. There's a slight pressure as his middle finger travels between the inner lips, the cold feeling making you gasp and want to contract against his digits, wanting them deeper inside of you. "Holy shit, Mingi."

“Do you want me to keep going?” Mingi asked.

"Please," the word is more of a purr than a statement, and the sensation has you wrapping both thighs around his neck. The fingers curl and press right against that bundle of nerves, making your body erupt into a fit of moans. Then his mouth is back on your center, adding to the delicious teasing from his tongue and your toes are curling as you press the backs of your legs into him.

And you're lifting your body slightly upwards as if encouraging him further to work deeper into that spot. There's an almost growl emitting from him when you wiggle your hips and you swear there's a grin that appeared against your soaked sex. Mingi is fucking smirking, eating your juices like a damn meal.

“Gods, yes...” you moaned.

"Fucking delicious," he muttered against the folds, and when his other hand grips your ass to bring your pussy closer, you throw your head back and close your eyes, one hand gripping onto the counter top and the other finding a home in Mingi's dark hair. Your nails lightly tug at the locks, and you're rewarded with a groan against the hot, wet heat between your thighs.

"Shit, that's good," your walls clenched tighter around his fingers as he increased the pace. He works faster, sucking and nipping as the walls clamp down harder with each motion and sensation. There's a desperate tug now in your clit, pulling tighter. He's not only sending you spiraling closer and closer, he's edging you to your climax. "Fuck, that's perfect."

"Cum for me, darlin'. Cum on my mouth. It'll make my job that much easier." Mingi moans against your heat.

Oh, lord...

You shuddered and twitched as his fingers thrusting inside the pulsing, twitching sex made it harder to breathe and focus on his words. Your back arched in response and your body jerked violently in a trembling motion as that sensitive pearl continued to be manipulated by Mingi's experienced thumb, sliding slowly over the folds.

"That's it," he says softly and that's it, the coil bursts and unravels, flooding your whole system with relief and release. The tension evaporated. You came hard on Mingi's lips. So hard your walls clamped around his tongue and his digits as a few drops squirt out of your entrance and down your thighs, covering his wrist as he worked you through the orgasmic pleasure and high.

When the grip of your legs loosen and his arm retreats back to his side, you glance downwards and see the smirk forming on his lips. They glisten, plump and swollen from eating you out, but you reach a hand out and pull him towards your face and lock lips, your mouth finding his own, tasting the leftover mixture of his saliva and your nectar. A mixture which has you wanting to moan.

"We're not finished, cowboy," you whispered against his lips as you reached forward and gripped his now aching hard on in your hand, watching him squirm and writhe as his dick throbbed in response to your touch.

"Woman, I've been dying to be in since you rode that stallion." Mingi admitted.

You grinned. "Dying you say?"

"Fucking hard, and ready. Ready to be mounted by you," he grunted as you palmed the long length, applying the perfect amount of pressure to bring the cowboy pleasure. "Riding a stallion's one thing. Now you wanna ride something else."

Your heart stuttered in its beats as you replied with an answer. "Always."

Mingi chuckled, unlocking the door. "Let's save the rest for later, hmm? No point gettin' started on the main course, while the other guys are in the vicinity. Though I might wanna suggest taking this little show out of the bathroom next time, and doin' it in my bedroom, somewhere more private and quiet."

Your cheeks reddened and you bit back a tiny smile. "Maybe I'm okay with that. Being alone and having no prying eyes."

Mingi nodded, leaning in towards your mouth, grabbing the back of your head and tilting your chin up. He pecked a couple of small kisses to the edge of your lips, placing a finger along the top of your chin. "We have all week, darlin', don't worry. We have lots of time. Plus, I know exactly where to put a nice little hickey, so no one will see."

Hearing that and imagining that, made you shudder. You released a sigh as he kissed you, tasting remnants of your sweetness along the upper lip, his eyes twinkling. A single hand glided through your damp tresses and came up along your jawline as the kisses became deeper, exploring his mouth.

You could kiss him all night. But at the mention of 'week' it occurred to you that you'd spend every other night for the following seven days getting your fill of Mingi's dick. Couldn't have anything more perfect than that.

Mingi grinned.

And when he did, you melted.

Fuck the damn man-eater.

With your friends hiking the trails and Mingi tending to some of the work around the ranch, you find yourself somehow in his office trying to make some sense out of the paper mountain on his desk, after Seonghwa and San had warned about Mingi's flair for letting everything pile up for too long. You didn't mean to be in here, it's your vacation after all, but you needed a quiet place to escape to answer a few phone calls and emails.

When you stepped into the room with your tablet under your arm and some of your own work documents for reference and in search of a table, you didn't anticipate getting yourself involved and wrapped into Mingi's paperwork. Mingi found you in a flurry of folders and documents scattered across the office floor, filing cabinet drawers flung open as you frantically looked over receipts, trying to piece the puzzle together.

“Y/N, why are ya in here?” Mingi asked.

You raised your head and offered a sympathetic look. "Mingi, hi. I wanted to help."

“Ya know, you are a guest here. Ya didn't have to do that, none of this stuff, and my messy stack of papers ain't yer concern. You should be spending your vacation out riding horses with the others or soakin' in the hot springs,” Mingi said.

You bit your lower lip. "I couldn't stop looking, and it felt important. As an overworked accountant with absolutely no time for a social life, and therefore not dating anyone, and hence the reason I'm here for the week, this felt important. Maybe I could help."

Mingi watched carefully. "Help with what exactly?"

Your expression softened, though you tried to remain neutral. "Help with the muckstacks of financial records, the expense records, invoices and ledgers. I want to help."

"Look darlin', you don't have to," his hands pushed down on his jeans as he adjusted his stance. You wanted to look elsewhere, anywhere, at something besides the tight material pulling at Mingi's muscles and thighs and cock.

He had his full attention fixed on your face. It wasn't going to do you any good. There'd been enough interaction and temptation between the both of you as it was. "It's fine, just let me have a few moments and I'll take care of the mess later. Why are these files in so much disarray?"

He looked up in the air as if in deep thought. "These were put together and sorted by Jongho, one of the employees around the ranch and well, that guy's not good with math or anythin' related to the ranch's financial stuff."

You scanned around the cluttered office. "Well, at least his intentions were noble and I think we'll have some fun sorting this out later."

"Fun?" Mingi laughed.

You sighed. "All work and no play makes for a very, very dull girl. Besides, my friends are going to be gone for a while. And I might as well do something while they're gone hiking."

“Hiking? Why didn't ya go along?” Mingi asked.

"I prefer the company of the horses and other ranch activities," you said. "You can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl."

His grin had returned, lighting up his face. "They headed off with San and Wooyoung, or who knows, one or two more people might come down to help later. I'm guessing they'll be back around evening for some campfire activities."

"Guess that's something to look forward to," you said.

You brushed your thumb along the edge of the stack. A page had slid out and you picked it up, frowning at it.

"What is it?" Mingi asked.

"How has the ranch been doing financially? Your ranch has a nice reputation with its clientele and your reviews speak volume," you answered. "And yet these numbers, some of your expenditures here, show some discrepancies."

"A little money trouble," he answered with a shrug.

You furrowed your brow, turning to the calculator and scribbling some quick numbers, before jotting them down on a small notepad. Mingi is now hovering, watching you work as if mesmerized.

"Okay, these expenses are adding up, you've been a little irresponsible with some purchases but overall this should still leave your profits over what you're actually projected. So this money must have gone missing somewhere along the line, I'm guessing in payroll," you explained.

He's impressed.

"You can see that in such a quick manner and those pages I handed ya? No way..." He laughs then and you're taken aback. There's something boyish, gentle in the gesture and in that laugh. He's sexy, he's charming, and now this cowboy is full-on boyish and you find it undeniably alluring.

Damn it, you want him so bad.

You return his smile.

Mingi cleared his throat, a blush working up his neck and coloring his skin a dusty pink. "Darlin', you're amazing. S'much appreciated, and thank ya, i'd love your help."

"Of course," you replied and started sifting through the stack of papers, plucking some up here and there.

He had no clue as to why you'd even offer, when you were already taking time out of your vacation and then here you are doing his bookkeeping as well. "What made ya come on a week long horseback adventure in the first place?"

"I was persuaded by some of my friends," you responded. "They told me that they wanted me to tag along, that I needed to spend time away from my stressful and dead-end job. That I had spent too much time being a hermit and wanted to bring me on a nice trip to relax."

"No boyfriend to drag along or some such? A pretty thing like you not havin' someone special around makes me a little suspicious, honey. How many hearts have ya broken along the way with yer beauty?" Mingi asks.

You snorted and shook your head at the suggestion and shot him an incredulous look. "What about you, cowboy? Why don't you have a girl of your own, Mingi? I find that surprising. Seems like you would be scooping ladies up off the ground wherever you went."

He laughed. The sound is charming and a little intimidating. "Just haven't found a gal quite perfect for me. Guess I gotta be lookin' a little longer then."

You flashed him a half smile and went back to work, moving onto a small stack of receipts, jotting down things, calculating, and comparing numbers.

"Hey, mind if I stay in here a little while to watch you work? Yah know, keep you company and all," Mingi questioned.

You shook your head. "Don't bother me at all. I really appreciate the company."

So, as you began to scatter the papers all over the surface of the large table and organized a system, Mingi dropped himself down into a nearby chair and began observing your working and sorting, paying attention to what you were doing and trying to learn, much to your amusement.

Watching you at work was impressive as hell, and it didn't take you much time to notice the fact that his eyes never wandered. In fact, they seemed locked.

Mingi may not have been an educated guy, not in the books like you, but he was focused, you could tell. Mingi is driven. When he's on something, nothing comes between him and it until the job is complete. Right now, it's his ranch and what he wants. You have to admit, he's dedicated to what he wants, he wants his dream alive and well, and here you are.

At some point, you'd gotten lost in your numbers that you'd forgotten Mingi was there. Not until a large hand gently touched your backside.

"Why don't ya take a break from work and come outside with me," he'd suggested.

You're still startled from the small touch but not repulsed by it. A little tickled pink. "What for?"

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, horse ridin', feedin' the animals. I'll let ya hold the baby chickens if ya promise to not run away with one, steal it and smuggle it to the city."

You tried to control the laughter but you failed, letting the bubbling up come through. "That wouldn't be very bright, I live in an apartment."

"Guess not then," he said.

You let out a small stretch. "But you know what, how do I say no? I would love to go riding with you."

The corners of his lips curved up a bit as you set down your pencil. You glanced outside toward the setting sun. What the hell, a change of pace was going to be interesting. You stood up from the small office table, where you'd been organizing and taking stock of inventory. "Lead the way, Mr Song."

"O' course," he said and made sure you were behind him, to follow him to the stables. "After yah, Miss L/N."

You both headed out towards the barns to catch a few more hours of daylight. You weren't expecting the view, watching Mingi trot out of the stall on his own personal horse, leading another towards your direction.

Your breath hitched.

Okay, sure you told the girls that cowboys don't exactly look like the men in the magazine because you know cowboys, you've met your fair share of cowboys before. Dated a few even. The picture of the cowboys didn't even come close to how beautiful this man in front of you truly was. He's gorgeous, simply and utterly breathtaking and you couldn't look away if you tried.

“You still with us?” Mingi asked.

Hearing him say that and knowing he's still on earth with you brought a rush of heat to your cheeks. Oh fuck... "Um, yes. Sorry, spaced out for a moment there. It's the accounting."

He flashed you an easy grin. "Take a break from those numbers, darlin' and come along with me. No point in being surrounded by such paper piles when you have something better to look at right in front of you. Ya'll have all week."

You let out a laugh as you swung your legs over and mounted the horse. Once you're situated with your balance and grip on the reins, you begin leading the stallion on the outskirts and just outside the property where you're able to view the vast space surrounding the barn and the ranch.

Mingi let himself have a big wide smile. He watched as you expertly climbed on the back of the horse, positioning yourself and getting into the saddle and not missing a beat. Sure there were other women that would throw themselves at him during their stay at the ranch, but all those women only wanted him for the view. For the image of a hot cowboy with abs and the talent on the rodeo. But not this girl.

Not you.

You didn't come to the dude ranch just to make eye contact with him. You'd been riding the horses since a young age. You were the kind that liked nature and didn't wear high heels, didn't do anything extravagant or try to impress him with fancy and glamor. And that's the kind of woman that captured his attention, that could probably have him falling. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt for you. He was losing it, falling fast and there was absolutely no point in trying to stop it.

That was it for him. He was a damn goner. You were it.

“Darlin’?” Mingi called.

The wind pulled the words away, leaving you barely hearing what he's saying to you, and it's nice, so lovely, to hear his voice out here, where you're just enjoying nature and not buried into sheets of documents and numbers.

“Yeah, Mingi,” you replied.

“How 'bout a friendly race?” Mingi asked.

A friendly race. He's asking you for a challenge. You lifted your brow and the corners of your lips raised. With his horse he can have an unfair advantage. After all, you didn't expect him to come saddling out behind you with his own horse. A big grin appeared on his face, while he had your stomach dropping. His features looked rugged under that damn hat of his and he's just got that dangerous sort of glint in his dark eyes. You shivered with thoughts, all the wicked and filthy images coming to mind.

“I thought you might go easier on a guest of yours,” you said.

“But I never had a guest who knew her way around a horse,” Mingi replied.

"True," you replied, gripping the leather saddle beneath you, the old material coarse against your palms.

Mingi narrowed his eyes. "So? Do ya accept then? I got a price of some sort for ya if ya win."

Your eyes sparkled at the challenge and you took a deep breath, clearing your thoughts. Your attention returned to Mingi. "And what is that, if I win?"

He raised his chin up, licking the edge of his lower lip. "Name the reward then. Whadda you say? Come on darlin', lemme get an answer from yah. Put me out of my damn misery."

Your chest flutters at the last word and at that hopeful expression in Mingi's eyes. What could a nice race possibly give you as a prize? Anything would be worth it. "Okay, Mingi, if I win the race, you have to do something for me."

“Like?” Mingi asked.

You were both traveling slowly across the landscape, both keeping your respective horses on a short reign so as to not gallop away too quickly.

“An exclusive date with the handsome cowboy who owns the ranch,” you said.

You watched him swallow as you proposed the suggestion. "Just that then? I'm a lucky bastard, I'd be thrilled if I win. Then I'd get a date with a girl as pretty as you. Winning a kiss, holding your hand for a single day could be nice."

The warm flush works its way down your neck and settles below your throat. You shift in the saddle, watching his head as he turns to focus on the ranch and the landscape in front of you. A white cap has now settled itself and a tiny breeze drifted around you both.

"And you?" you asked, your gaze falling back toward him, observing how the horse moved beside yours, watching how he adjusted his hands against the leather bridle.

"And I what, darlin'?" he asked, leaning forward and you notice his upper arm muscle bulging from under his shirt sleeves. He's staring forward and now you can see a pair of gray-blue eyes focused.

“Well, what's your end of the bet? What is the prize to you?” you asked.

You.

You reached a river flowing gently across the landscape, watching the currents change with every slight turn of the horse you're sitting on top. Beside you, Mingi adjusts his hat on his head as he leaned back in the saddle.

"Guess ya won this one," he said quietly.

You pull the reins and lead the horse around, coming face to face with Mingi. The both of you had dismounted and led the horses to the riverside, giving them a moment to feed on the fresh grass. The stallion is kneeling down near Mingi's horse, tearing the green shoots up and chewing the sweet tender grass blades.

"Better luck next time, cowboy," you patted the horse. "Now, don't we have a little business we need to attend to?"

Mingi, red in the cheeks and feeling warm all over, nods. "Ya won."

“That means the winner gets her prize. How about right now? Just you and me,” you purred.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing but the river and these fields," he smirked and lifted his hands. "What do you plan on doing here?"

"Showing you a little something," you murmured, your fingers grasping the hem of your shirt. Mingi's eyes grow wider as he watches you lift off the white cotton shirt to reveal a pretty blue lace bralette.

"Let's finish what we started the night in the shower," you muttered as you dropped to your knees, your hands grasping the leather belt on the front of his jeans. "Is that okay? Don't you want me to?"

"I do, sweetheart. I do," Mingi let out. "But you deserve to be in the comforts of a bed, not out here on the grass. Are you sure?"

“Mingi, right now, on this field or in the middle of that cold shower, it doesn't matter,” you said. “Right here, just us, as long as we're together is where I want this.”

"Then so it'll be," he says with a smirk. He walks to his horse and pulls out a thin blanket from one of the side pouches, draping it over the ground. "I don't want you to get dirty, and the grass is prickly."

Your hands had undid his pants, freeing his thick length from the fabric confinements and watched as his cock had already started growing. The warmth of his hardness against your palm. "I bet you fucked plenty of girls out in the open if you had a blanket ready."

Mingi laughed, but there wasn't humor in it, as you began stroking up and down his shaft. "Not as many as you're thinkin' sweetheart. I only have it on the days I'm riding out at night and sleeping out under the stars."

"Yeah?" you muttered, dragging his pants further down his legs. You glanced back at him and he's now unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slide off.

"Yeah," Mingi answered, then stepped out of his jeans and tossed them on his boots. "Open up those pretty lips, darlin' and take me deep."

"You don't have to tell me twice," you grinned and inched closer to his crotch, guiding your tongue along his length.

Your soft wet tongue glides against his shaft. Mingi's not quite prepared and so you open wide as you suck him down, listening to him gasp when you bob down and back up again and begin sucking harder and harder, taking a few inches further in.

Your tongue swirled at the tip before you dove right back onto his thick cock, stretching your lips to accommodate his size, feeling him press back toward your throat and you swallow, letting it tickle down into your throat. He's already filling your mouth so well with just a taste.

"Good girl, just like that," he grunts and strokes your hair, using it as an anchor, tangling his fingers and weaving it through as you sucked his entire length. "Let me see those beautiful eyes."

And he's watching you now, his gorgeous brown eyes as they stay glued to your face, meeting his lusty gaze. That familiar hunger had come back, so intense, making you weak to the bones. You've been with plenty of men, plenty of cowboys, and none have ever had the same effect, have taken hold of you so fast like this.

"Such a filthy girl, your lips look amazing around my thick cock," Mingi is beautiful above you. His eyes shuttering close, his head falling back, lips parting in a groan.

When he opened his eyes again, they were darker. As he continues to rock in and out, he makes a low sound and places a large hand on the back of your head, his fingers digging in tight. He's pulsating in your mouth and you can feel his thickness throbbing, that thick head forcing its way back against your throat.

"Ah fuck. Darlin'... fuck, baby, that's good, too damn good," his voice groans.

You pull back, relaxing your throat and give yourself a moment of relief to catch your breath. You're using the opportunity to continue jerking and slicking your hand. Saliva and pre cum was spilling on your skin, creating a slippery friction.

You stared down at your hand, your fist moving in a pumping motion against Mingi's thick, wet cock. There's a bit more slickness at the tip, pre-cum dribbling down, running in a steady stream over his length. Mingi grasps your jaw. You have to tilt your head.

"Don't think you're done yet, pretty baby," Mingi reaches for the waistband of your shorts and pulls it down, then guides his fingers to slip inside of your panties and move them over.

"Fuck," Mingi muttered. He can feel the warm juices spilling out of your soaked and sticky slit. He plays at your entrance, just teasing it before slipping his finger into you. You clenched tight and he smiled down at you, moving in a quick circular motion and back out. His hands move to pull the lace down further, revealing his glistening wet fingers, that's coated with your essence. He smirks, his expression dripping with filth. He licks them.

"Darlin', there's something I gotta ask," Mingi's voice is deep and raw, filled with desire, and oh he can barely keep himself contained, wanting to dive into you and bring you to pleasure again. "Ever ridden a cowboy before?"

You rolled your eyes and smirked, biting down on your lower lip. "Maybe," you admitted, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Mm hmm," Mingi slid his pants the rest of the way off and took you by the wrist. He sits back on the blanket, his erection sticking up, angry and stiff, curving almost perfectly as he relaxes against the flannel material. He pats his thigh, a smirk working across his lips. "Come and mount me, cowgirl. Saddle on up."

With a smile, you position yourself over Mingi's thick cock, slowly sinking down inch by inch until you have the entirety of his shaft, stuffed inside. A delicious moan slipped out of you. It was just as full and stretched as it felt during the night at the shower. His girth split you and you're nearly shuddering with how the heat throbs between your legs. You're clenching against his thick length and it feels incredible. "Oh my god... Mingi, it's..."

"Gonna be a bouncy ride. Don't worry sweetheart, I'll hold you tight, trust me," he grinned at you, sliding his large hand across your ass cheek and grasping it, palming at the supple curve.

"Yessss..." you drawled out a moan and the moment you start moving, feeling him glide in and out of your slick passage. The ripples of pleasure began to ripple from the bottom of your toes and run all through. "Shit, you're gonna ruin me for anyone else. Mingi, god, this thick dick is gonna wreck me."

He licked his lower lip, thrusting up, pushing his hips and following you. "Feel good? Tell me, I wanna hear, tell me just how you feel, darlin'. Take all of this big fat cock you can get."

You leaned back, reaching your arms up to get a nice grip on Mingi's muscled shoulders. It was easy to steady your pace, his girth sinking into your warmth with his constant upward strokes. It was different, doing the motions in reverse, having a view of the man before you while still seeing his perfect cock slip in and out of you.

"This what ya needed, honey? Say my name," Mingi's voice is gruff and sultry, as you bounce your cunt against his cock, causing wet skin sounds that could be heard with every smack of his thighs meeting yours. His dark, piercing stare remained on you, focusing in, paying attention to the little details, especially every inch of exposed skin, everything that could send pleasure through your body.

"Fuck, it feels amazing," you whispered against his ear and sank your teeth on the skin of his earlobe. He grasped your ass and yanked you towards him, ramming his cock inside of you. "Yes, fuck, I love how good this is. It's going to ruin me, but damn, I don't even want it to stop."

A deep chuckle left his chest. His warm breath grazing the skin along the crook of your neck. "Ride this cock till you milk me for every drop. Use me for every inch you need. Whatever it is, whatever ya want, darlin', it's yours. You have control."

Mingi stroked your face with his free hand. Your soft warm pussy clenched against his shaft as you continued riding him. Mingi groaned, his fingers pressed into the flesh of your thigh. "Fuck, that's what you wanted all day, isn't it? Just the promise of my dick deep in you. Needed me to fill up your pussy, sweet baby."

You've fucked a cowboy or two, in your experience, but man none of them compared to Mingi. None have held a candle to how fucking thick his shaft is as it reaches every spot inside. Even your toys have nothing on the stretch that you're getting from the man currently beneath you. Mingi's dick felt amazing sliding deep, your cunt sensitive and tensing.

"Yes, yes. It's the only thing I've wanted," you told him. "Nothing better."

The corner of his lips tilted upwards, feeling a bit smug as he raised his knees and changed the angle. He's angling your movements now and it's hitting that glorious sweet spot with ease.

"This dick the best you've had, sweet girl?" He grunts in between breaths. His strong thighs rocking, grinding, driving his fat shaft. "Nobody else is gonna fuck you this good, hm? No way any other cock will be this thick or nice, make you feel like this."

He's taking your moans like a goddamn mantra of sweet noises. "Oh? What was that sweetheart? Come and lemme hear."

He pulled you flush with his body. Your cunt now kissing the base of Mingi's hard shaft.

"No one..." you managed to gasp out, breathless, and began working up the pace. Fucking him fast, feeling his thickness caress that special spot again. "Never.. felt this fucking good," your hands grabbed his hard pecs. "Oh fuck, Mingi!"

"Come on, baby, show me just how much ya love taking my fat cock," he grinned up at you, eyes bright and flashing with wicked gleams of light. "That's right, show me, sweet thing, c'mon. That's good, good fucking girl. Keep it like this and milk me til ya squeeze me dry. All the cum I've got for ya."

Hearing him talk was beyond hot. There is no doubt he has ruined you. Fuck any other guy. Mingi's the one you needed to be fucked by. Your hands found a grip on his solid muscular shoulders. Your pace never slowed down. Mingi was helping you out, setting the rhythmic beat, meeting the clap of your hips.

"Oh yes. I'll be your dirty girl, no matter the kind of request, no matter how nasty. As long as it's you giving me all the cock," you purred. "Fuck, no one will ever compare. Want this inside of me everyday."

“Such a greedy little thing,” Mingi chuckled.

"Fuck, cowboy, yeah just like that. Ruin me," you whispered, arching your back, bouncing down, harder, faster, allowing him deeper. "Make me addicted to this big fucking cowboy cock."

Your dirty, sexy words drove him crazy, feeling him turn wild underneath you. In a split second he's switched you both, rolling so he's on top now. Your legs fell open wider, letting his full weight down on top of you. He's starting a vicious and wicked pace, just drilling into your cunt, rough, strong, slamming the base against you. "What would your friends think, huh? Sweet pretty thing like you, enjoying such a dirty fuck. Laying under me with such a greedy wet pussy."

"Don't care," you grunted. "I only fucking want you."

"Are you on birth control, Y/N?" His voice came in a husky tone. He kept moving, pumping into your clenching heat.

"Yeah, yeah I am. Mingi," you whined, your grip firm on his arm.

"Good, beautiful. Been dreaming about coming inside, fillin' ya up all warm. Making you drip out all my seed. Damn it," his lips found your own. He was moving as close to you as possible, leaving little room for his hands. He kept fucking hard into your core. "How much of me can you handle?"

"All, everything. I'm begging you," you met his lips with more force, loving his kiss, hungry for the taste. You held on to his head, not breaking the touch as he moved and pumped harder.

“Hang on then, you're about to get a damn gusher,” Mingi warned.

A throaty moan leaves you, feeling that hot gushing warmth filling you up. There's so much cum, already slipping out as he continued fucking into you, drawing out every last drop. His body shuddering on top, your arms holding on, squeezing his large form and you were moaning from the intense pressure of your orgasm rippling through.

Your pussy is flooded with Mingi's cream as he gently drops his mouth on your neck and kisses and licks away, continuing to spill his seed deep inside of you and you both enjoy the mutual pleasures of your orgasms. You closed your eyes, rolling in ecstasy, your entire body becoming relaxed and tired.

"Thank you, sweet girl," Mingi dropped his forehead on yours, catching his breath and gradually calmed his thrusting. He was looking down at you with such a content face, sweat slicking his hair. "Let's get ya cleaned up and then head back to the ranch."

Your friends watched the whole scene unfold between you and Mingi riding back in on the horses as they waited for your return. Jinhee sees the small smile on your face from her position near the picnic table, setting up for some good old fashioned dinner style campfire. She let out a silent squeal, squeezing her hands tightly and grabbing Bora by the forearm. "Y/N and Mingi are riding back."

"She looks so happy," Bora replied. "I think she really missed the country lifestyle."

Hyemi nodded. "She looks at peace here. I've never seen her this happy ever since she joined the firm. She could finally enjoy herself."

"She's actually been relaxed for once in her life," Jinhee teased, resting the platter of hotdogs and meat onto the side of the table and taking a long gulp from her s'mores stick. "Not wound up and frazzled with all her paperwork she brings with her everywhere she goes."

"Uh, ladies," Hyemi began, moving closer towards the women.

You rode up along the pasture with the tall cowboy not too far behind. You tugged on the reins, bringing the mare to a slow walk and allowing Mingi and his steed to catch up.

"Nice race, pretty lady," he gave you a wink.

"Can't believe I beat you at a race. Are you really rusty?" You laughed.

“Maybe you were pretty damn distracting along the ride back to the stable,” Mingi replied. “Distracting enough to leave me speechless. You sure damn well know how to leave an impression.”

You turned and watched him climb off his stallion and steady his footing, throwing the straps over the wooden bar. Once he's secured the animal, he offered you a hand and helped pull you down off the saddle.

Your feet finally touch the ground. "Pretty good for a city girl, am I?"

"Ahhhh but you're a country girl, remember?" He winked.

"That I am," you laughed. You patted the horse. "I'm not ready for my friends' teasing. They saw us ride back in."

"So they saw me get my ass whipped. Oh well, what's a man's pride anyway when he's faced with a beauty like yourself," Mingi replied and let out a smile. "Hey, you did earn your reward darlin' and I'm a man who keeps his promises. Now go on. I think your friends are waitin'."

He kissed you on the cheek, a small, chaste brush against skin. He's left you breathless, staring after him and your knees feeling a little weak, all too aware of how hard he can kiss. It wasn't fair to turn on that charm at a moment like now.

The women all giggled, waving you over once you've headed towards them.

"So...were those rosy cheeks because of a nice ride on your horse? Or because of a certain tall, dark, and handsome someone you were with?" Jinhee questioned, eyeing you from head to toe.

You were a mess and you know it, covered in sweat from your horse ride with Mingi, still filled to the brim with adrenaline and some hormones.

"You're asking me the wrong questions, I'm too overwhelmed and heated from the sun," you joked.

Bora crossed her arms, frowning, not buying any of the bullshit. "Something is different. That sparkle, the glint, in your eyes says there's something more to that cowboy we met the first day we came."

"Pssssh," Hyemi pipped up. "Don't lie, Y/N, we saw the look on your face when you were riding back. You looked happy, more happy than I'd ever seen."

Your shoulders shrugged and your lips pursed, holding back the excitement and pure happiness wanting to pour through.

Hyemi went up behind you and clasped her hands together. "Oh come on, tell us more. Tell us anything, everything!"

You were not going to tell your friends about having gotten eaten out in the bathroom by Mingi or even have sex out in the open fields, but you could tell them about the racing bet.

You turned to them, facing the group as one. "Well, let's talk about that over some beer and dinner. I'm starved."

The sun set beyond the horizon and the glow illuminated the landscape. With the lantern lights, the campfires and the company, this is the most peaceful and happiest you've been in a long, long time.

The coolness of the evening washed over your skin and you felt free, carefree.

Not spending time worrying about money and expense statements for a single business, stressing and working non-stop every single week just to make ends meet. You're used to this, you've lived with the pressures of city life.

And being in this place? Back in the countryside and enjoying your old habits and life, brought you some type of solace and a level of contentment you never experienced.

The familiar crackle, pop of the fire as you sat around, snuggled in a quilt. The cold beer, the smores, and laughter. You breathed deep into the fresh air. It'd been so long since you'd seen so many stars in the sky. A couple nights in the city would yield nothing.

This was your heaven.

While the ladies gathered themselves and talked, you didn't feel a little lost on the side of the camp, looking up.

“Beautiful view, isn't it?” Mingi asked.

You jerked your neck in the direction of the sound. Mingi had sat next to you with a beer in hand and a curious look upon his features.

"It certainly is," you responded. "It's hard to look at the stars in the city. But this? Makes me not want to return."

He cocked his head to the side. "Surely this can't compare to your fancy job," he said.

Your shoulders raised. "Honestly? It isn't glamorous or exciting like the people might think. All I do is stare at numbers day in and day out and live for those paychecks. So the view here? Is something I missed about home."

"Ever thought about going back?" He questioned. "Thinking maybe that move was a mistake."

You let out a soft sigh. "Every single day. I'm thinking that I've made a huge mistake. Working in a place where I can be overworked and not paid what I'm really owed. I don't understand why I'm struggling in the first place, but I do know that there has to be a better option out there. But I wouldn't have met my friends if I didn't move to the city. But still, there are times when I want to go back."

He's so close to you, and in the darkness his eyes look like glitter, bright and reflecting the starlight.

You shook your head and broke out of the haze you were caught in. He leaned closer, closing in the distance and the gap between you. Your throat thickened as your skin pricked, an awareness washing over your body. His jaw works as he swallows hard and lets out a slow and hot, heavy breath. He wants, so badly, to press a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips. But he wouldn't dare ruin this, not with your friends just a few feet away.

"Then stay," Mingi murmured and lifted his head so his gaze could meet yours. The hand holding his beer shifted, and you could swear you saw his fingers move toward yours as a sweet offer. "Stay with us. I could use your help around the ranch, a woman with your skill could be the blessing I'm waiting for. Staying would give ya a chance to get out from beneath those numbers and back out here in the country. The ranch isn't far from the city so your friends could visit anytime."

The warm huff of his words breezes across your nose, and then it's his smell that surrounds you. His sweet musk and the deep earthy woodsy scent.

“You've been working on my papers so you already know how bad my books are. The ranch isn't thriving right now, not when I got these things just hangin' over me. But with a fresh pair of eyes? Maybe a new opportunity? I need your help, Y/N,” Mingi said. “In anything. Accounting, bookkeeping, the finances. Heck, if ya offered to help around the ranch, I wouldn't mind that either.”

You heard your friend's conversation still playing out, their soft, lilting laughter in the background. And Mingi's whispers as his mouth ghosted the curve of your ear. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he muttered as he leaned his head closer, his hand cupping the curve of your face, bringing your nose closer to his and leaving a short gap between your lips and his. His lips pressed against the soft pillow of yours, kissing it briefly and ever so softly.

The world faded away. All that's left is Mingi. And it's just his voice, his closeness and the way his breath touches you and ignites tiny sparks underneath your skin.

He inhaled, taking a sharp, small breath as his face inches nearer towards yours, noses nearly touching and lips barely grazing against each other, a ghost-like touch and heat, making you warm. You breathed in his musk scent, an intoxicating pull that pulled you to him. He kissed you again, soft, not seeking any kind of tongue, and you didn't dare try either.

A warm wave washed over you, this warmth of desire spreading through and the blood humming with the light contact of lips brushing lips, both pulling each other closer.

His mouth fit so perfectly against yours.

You broke away slowly and looked into Mingi's eyes, heavy lidded. Your forehead dropped to his shoulder and the soft chuckles vibrated through his chest, causing a ripple against you.

The beer was forgotten and you were only holding onto the blanket around you, you heard the hoots and hollers of your friends that jolted you out of the fantasy. That you had to snap back into reality. Your lips are on fire and there's still the warmth that he left with that sweet little touch, seared onto your skin and igniting every part of your body.

He had sat up straighter, away from you, watching from his peripheral view and knowing there were eyes trained on the pair of you. He coughed and started to drink his beer, but you've both lost that brief moment of privacy and connection you just had moments ago.

"Gonna think on it, darlin?" Mingi asked and reached over to grasp your hand and stroke a thumb over the knuckles, slow and intimate.

You couldn't breathe, and he chuckled and dropped his hand from yours. Mingi stood up and gave a brief smile, and a quick nod before tipping his cowboy hat at you. "Let me know." Then he walked towards Yunho and Seonghwa, who were eyeing him while drinking from their own bottles of beers, and slung his arms around both the ranch hands' necks. The three men laughed and walked back towards the direction of the stable.

Fuck you had it bad for Mingi. Badly. Like ridiculously fucking bad.

"Don't you even try to deny anything!" Bora pointed. "We all fucking saw that shit. You had heart eyes! Who the fuck are you and what have you done with our serious and strict workaholic friend who won't even allow herself time to enjoy the simpler life?"

"Was he a good kisser?" Jinhee asked, a genuine curiosity on her face.

"Yes," you mumble.

"Say that again? You're gonna have to speak up because even a mouse is quieter than you." Hyemi teased.

"For fuck's sake, yes he was a damn good kisser. Wouldn't you wanna be kissed by someone like him?" you let out a sigh of defeat.

Bora and Hyemi high five each other while Jinhee is cackling.

"She admitted it, pay up, girls," Hyemi held her hand out, awaiting a few large bills. She collected the money from Jinhee and Bora. "Didn't I tell you I called Y/N and her cowboy kiss?"

“Did you two do anything else? Anything kinkier than a sweet and chaste kiss?” Bora asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Uh.." you didn't know how much you should admit.

"Y/N, you dirty minx," Hyemi winked and slid a drink over your way. "But I won't press you, I just hope it was satisfying and worth your time."

You took a gulp and said, "It was more than satisfying."

"Well, well, well," Bora put her elbows on the table and leaned in, pressing her hands to her chin, resting her head against them. "What's gonna happen to our best friend?"

"Who knows," you sighed, allowing the cool crispness of the alcohol burn down your throat and calm your racing heart, wondering what would happen now. How did things progress further with a simple and brief touch of the lips? "Who the hell knows."

Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa wandered back up the pathway, walking towards the stable to call it a day and start to head inside to meet up with the other five men that were his ranch hands and friends.

Seonghwa had a big smirk plastered on his face, tossing his hand up and patting a hand against Mingi's shoulder blade, shaking his body. "Someone's got an itchin' for a certain lil lady."

Yunho was walking alongside, listening, giving Mingi a side eye.

Mingi put up a dismissive gesture, shrugging.

"My question is," Seonghwa started. "Is this about lust or love? Huh?"

"She's not mine to claim, Seonghwa, not just yet anyway." Mingi stopped to look up at the night sky, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand and taking off his hat. He brushed it along the curve of his leg, ridding himself of dirt before he returned it.

He heard some distant squeals and yells from the girls across the yard, coming closer. A beautiful night filled with beautiful memories. "A week isn't long enough to develop feelings for a pretty girl such as herself," he commented.

"Bullshit," Wooyoung groaned and his brows knit together. He swung a strong arm at Mingi's, cussing at the man who's got the bigger body structure. "All ya do is eat, sleep, and fuck. Those feelings don't exist?"

"She's different, okay? I can't explain why, I know this is very hard to believe considering I fuck around all the time. But Y/N? Man, she knows her way around a ranch, she knows business and books and that kinda stuff," Mingi breathed deep. His eyes followed as the group walked by. "She knows about the situation with the ranch and she offered to help with the papers when I never asked her to. No strings attached and she wanted to do it because she has a heart of gold and that kindness is why she decided to. It was just for fun but she is intelligent as fuck and knows her shit when it comes to numbers. Y/N could easily kick my ass if we were on even footing. Don't even question me man, she's special."

The girls continued to move around.

Mingi closed his eyes. "I'm not looking for another fling."

"Shit, is my pansy ass cowboy boss fallin' in love?" Jongho questioned and placed his palms on his chest, a loud groan. "Love makes you weak."

Mingi tried to shrug, a smile creeping to his lips. "Haven't ever thought of feeling this way until I met Y/N. Hell, I even asked her to stay longer."

"What?!" Yunho finally spoke, eyes wide and round as he looked over to his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingi replied. “And I wasn't kidding.”

"Are you stupid?! Have you lost your mind asking someone who's got their whole life planned back in the big city, to stay here with the likes of us? Living like this in the country,," Hongjoong raised his voice.

"You guys weren't there when she was talking about missing home. Missing her family's ranch and having that time out of the corporate bullshit she does day to day. She's lost, she knows she needs to leave but doesn't have a reason. Maybe Y/N stays for the ranch, maybe she'll stay for me," Mingi suggested, grinning. "What do I have to lose?"

"Your sanity. Everything you have is riding on that little city slicker," San joked.

"Look, you can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl," Mingi interjected, laughing. He turned away from the others, walking toward his house. "Who knows, if this is about a one week fling, then fine. She goes and that'll be it. But Y/N stays a little longer and she fits right in here with us, then I'll be damned if I let her go back."

"Ya'll fucked, didn't ya?" Wooyoung commented, brows furrowed.

Mingi waved him off. "Piss off, you dickheads, leavin' ya to clean the mess in the stable and tuck the horses in for the night. Don't forget to give the chickens fresh water!"

Mingi kept a smile on his face, laughing when Seonghwa scoffed and he looked over his shoulders. "And go ahead and polish the stallion's boots because I'll be sure not to leave the stallion untied!"

San chuckled, mumbling. "That's what ya'll are..."

Mingi flung his hands back, his middle fingers up high, pointing both his fingers out for his group of friends. "I can hear ya, asshole!" He gave one final wave before stepping back into his house, calling for his dogs, and closing the door.

He rested against the wooden frame, leaning his head against the entryway. He couldn't get this week out of his mind.

He didn't expect any of these events to transpire. For a girl, for a woman, for you, to make him feel so strong and alive. Mingi can't wrap his mind around it, the fluttering feeling in his chest that made him weak in the knees, whenever he's with you.

He exhales sharply and tries to close his eyes and breathe. But this time, his fantasies of you come rushing forward. He can see your beautiful body spread bare underneath his gaze, head thrown back, naked chest flushed and panting. He can see it all with clarity, and his cock gets harder thinking about it. And it makes his heart pound faster, and Mingi wants you again, badly, so so badly, but for a completely different reason. It wasn't a physical thing, not anymore.

After those events between you and him happened, everything has changed. The need for him and wanting his body has transformed. Mingi knew that somehow you felt the same way. Maybe you're the girl for him.

Mingi's body yearns for a good night's rest and he is quick to start a shower. He quickly strips and takes a hot, soothing shower, allowing the steam and water to wash over his aching muscles and body.

But he cannot shake the urge to see you, his soul cries for you, so he peeks his head out of the shower curtain. His eyes dart quickly around for any sight of his boxers, but they're nowhere to be seen. He checked and rechecked his laundry basket. Nothing, empty, nada. Mingi saw that those boxers were nowhere to be found. "Sonofabitch." He was hoping, praying that his dogs haven't gotten ahold of his boxers. Because of the teasing that'll happen with those smartass guys that work with him and him having to deal with their non-stop joking comments, that's something that'll really irritate him for an entire week. He shook his head and grumbled, a habit he had picked up from Seonghwa.

Fuck it. He quickly finished up and scrubbed his body, smelling of a soft forestry scent, and grabbed his towel from a rack in the shower to wrap it around himself. Water dripped along the toned muscles of his chest, sliding along his abs, the indents that the towel molded to. Water dribbled from his dark wet locks, splashed against the shower and floor. He was so engrossed in drying off, his legs swinging wildly to a beat as he danced and shimmied while drying his lower half, that he didn't even notice you entering his bedroom.

"Oh my god, Mingi," you hastily turned away and put a hand over your eyes. You peeked through the crack of the two fingers holding over your eyelids and Mingi couldn't help but laugh.

"You're so shy all of sudden? This is the same woman who was bouncing up and down on my dick for the world to see outside?" Mingi snorts and continues drying off his body. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Couldn't sleep so I figured I'd help finish your paperwork, also-" you stopped. You almost blurted out that you missed the hell out of him and couldn't get him out of your mind but bit your lip and prevented yourself.

“What else? Your face is reddening up. What is it?” Mingi asked.

"Well, I, uhhh- " Your hands were clasping and wringing the hem of your pajama shirt, biting on your lower lip. The awkward silence between you was becoming so very obvious. And in the corner of your peripheral vision, you could see him shaking his head and scoffing, smirking as he reached for a pair of pajama bottoms and throwing the towel to the floor.

"If you want more, just say so." Mingi winked.

"Yeah?" you breathe. "You'll give me more?"

"Somethin' tells me that the bookkeeping stuff isn't what brought ya here in the first place." Mingi smiled as he pressed up against your body. Your chests colliding with his full and naked body. The rough texture and sturdiness of his body provides the support to your own body that is needed.

"Can we just lay in bed together instead?" You looked up with hopeful eyes and whispered against his collarbones.

"Now darlin', you don't gotta ask. If that's what makes ya happy." He threw himself on top of the covers of the bed. Gestured for you to come up beside him and welcomed the embrace with arms open, wrapping around your form. A tiny, perfect fit within his long frame. His muscular arms and legs trapping your smaller ones. You breathed a contented sigh. It felt perfect, being in his arms. "You're not gonna disappear in the morning are you?" Mingi asked.

You huffed a laugh, his fingers were stroking and kneading through your hair. "Not planning on going anywhere."

"Mmm…" his eyelids drooped as his thumb rubbed your scalp, melting into a warm state. "And if your girls are looking for you?"

"They can deal with me tomorrow. They're big girls. And I'm tired," you breathed against his bare shoulder.

"Yes ma'am. Do what you will. Although, I gotta say," he shifted, releasing your head to look at you, only for you to rest against the planes of his bare chest. You felt a few droplets of water trickle across your forehead. You both remained in comfortable silence. You heard his deep inhalation and felt his lungs expanding beneath your arms.

"This is something I'd wanna wake up to every day," he whispered and brushed some stray hairs away, his thumbs stroking your jaw, and pulling your chin up. Your lips pressed firmly against his soft, full and puffy ones. "I like you, darlin'. Real, real bad. So I'd love it if you stayed."

He pulled the blanket up, covering your shoulders. He turned to switch off his bedside lamp. And then, it was darkness that settled. Only your quiet breath could be heard, and the deep evenness of Mingi's that you matched.

"Thank you for the week, Mingi," you whispered and tipped your nose up, brushing against the soft sensitive skin under his chin, trailing soft kisses along the skin there. "Really."

Some Months Later

"Mingi...The girls are going to be here soon!" you whined as your back was plastered against the wall, arms wrapped around his neck and his legs caging you. There is the light flush of your cheeks. Lips, red and bruised. Mingi's cowboy hat placed crooked on your head.

"Don't care, baby, we have a few minutes before they're due," his raspy and growling voice had you pressing your knees closer together, fighting off a soft whimper.

"So...rude," you sighed heavily and crossed your arms, avoiding him. "At least give me time to catch my breath!"

"No, baby, want ya now," Mingi groaned out.

"God, you're fucking impatient!" you groan and giggle as his head bows and peppers soft kisses across your cheeks.

"Yer fault for looking so sexy wearing my clothes." Mingi muttered.

"It's only a t-shirt, it's comfortable, okay,” you retorted.

"Mmhm...and my hat," he whistles low. "Love seeing you wear that and nothing else."

"When my friends get here, you better behave," you warned him.

Mingi nodded eagerly, nuzzling the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your pulse and biting a mark. He wanted everyone to know you belonged to him. "Yes, ma'am. Do I ever disobey yer orders, darling?"

"Yes," you quickly responded. "So often and I hate it."

His large warm palms grazed up and down your thighs and squeezed a handful of your ass. "Now, what do you really want, darling?" He rolled his hips and gave his stiff erection a light press against the area where your thighs met, giving a sharp hiss at the contact and pressure.

"Okay. maybe, I like you disobedient," you moan. "But can we wait until later? They'll be here and I-"

"Seonghwa and the guys can help them out," Mingi nipped at your collarbone. "It's not like the girls haven't been on the ranch before."

"I guess, just a quickie, maybe?" you glance over the clock hanging near your hallway, time is running low.

"How much time do you think we got? Five minutes tops?" Mingi laughed.

"Maybe five, or less," you dropped your eyes. You just couldn't resist him. You never could.

Mingi smirked. "Have I told you how sexy you are and how I want you all the time?"

You kiss him softly. "At least a hundred times in the past week." You slipped a hand down his chest and dipped a finger into his pants. His hips jerked.

"Hey," you heard a voice and footsteps coming from the door. "Yunho wanted me to─Oh damn it," and Bora started coughing to hold back a laugh, eyeing the way you clung onto Mingi. She turned back away quickly, hollering at the others. "They're still fucking! Don't bother knocking! She can't be separated from him!"

"Sonofabitch," he groaned. "I guess not today."

"I told you we didn't have enough time!" you pull down your top and slide Mingi's hat from your head, placing it back. You roll your eyes and tussle your hands through his hair. "Behave, yeah?"

"Never," his hand is on your back and he walks with you out of the bedroom. "Baby?"

"Hmm?" you give him a quizzical look.

"I'm happy you decided to stay. This all means everything to me," he whispers softly and leans down, embracing you in a slow, tender kiss, dipping his cowboy hat at you with a wide smile once he pulls away. "Love you, darlin."

You giggled and patted his shoulders, smiling right up at him, "Love you too, sweetheart."

After another kiss, you and Mingi walked towards the others and watched as Wooyoung showed Jinhee how to feed a horse. Bora was eyeing San and asking him many questions while Seonghwa and Hyemi conversed amongst each other. Jongho and Hongjoong were busy attending to a few others who were also out for riding and your eyes fell to Yunho and Yeosang. They were busy showing other guests a couple things to make sure they were riding safely and had your brows furrowed.

As soon as Hyemi turned to her side and noticed Mingi and yourself, she rushed over with excitement, arms around you. "The ranch sure is growing fast, it's looking great here!"

"I still can't believe you decided to stay. All because of one cowboy man," Jinhee patted her hands against your arm and sighed. "But if you're happy, then I'm happy for you."

"We missed you!" Bora ran from her spot over to you and latched herself onto you, tightly gripping at you and her.

"Not too tight," you let out a small laugh. "I can barely breathe."

"Oh?" She pulled away with her brows raised, grinning widely.

"Well," your hands fell to Mingi's biceps, fingertips massaging the warm muscles. He hummed happily. "I was waiting to tell you the news."

"What news is it that you couldn't tell us over the phone?" Jinhee cocked a brow.

"Turns out," you looked up to Mingi, then glanced over at the other men around. "We're getting married and..."

You shared a brief look with Mingi. A happy gaze over one another, warmth growing. Mingi's smile broadened and the smile crinkled as his arm dropped and reached out for your stomach, feeling the smooth, tiny curve there. And the fingers that curled over your hip pulled you close, leaning his head down.

"Yeah," he breathes. "We got a new little rancher, ready to join our family."

"You're having a baby?!" Your girlfriends exclaimed in unison.

"I'm moving to the ranch now just so I can be here when the little one joins," Hyemi was hopping from foot to foot, giddy. "Do you have an extra room for me?"

“There's lots of rooms. Unless...maybe you're willing to bunk up,” Mingi said.

"I think Seonghwa's willing to bunk," you teased and gave a loud laugh.

Seonghwa lets out a laugh and comes over, his arm stretching around her, pulling Hyemi over his shoulders. His lids dropped in a lazy fashion. He let out a simple, yet attractive chuckle, "If the little lady wants."

Hyemi blinked. She gulped and slowly gave her approval with a gentle nod and her voice wavering slightly. "Yes please."

Seonghwa lets out a hissing laugh. And his expression softened, the usual blank look was washed from his face, making him look almost human and his lips quirk upwards as he gave her the friendliest smile anyone had seen on him. His brows wiggled. "I'd have you begging for me within a month."

"Excuse me, Mr. Park, you got your work cut out for you," she gives him a challenging smile. And Seonghwa tilts his head, curious at the cute remark. "Cause' I don't think you'd have to try."

Seonghwa wraps his arm around her lower back, pulling Hyemi tight against him. "I miss ya too, darlin'. Thought ya would never show yer cute face again."

You let out a laugh as you watched Hyemi's face turn rosy red in a flash and let out a squeak. You nod in her direction, your finger poking his chest and scrunch your nose playfully, "Have fun tonight, don't keep her out too late, mister. You have animals and people to take care of tomorrow."

Seonghwa smiled softly. "Yes, boss." He gives you a wink before guiding Hyemi back to his cabin, murmuring under his breath.

Mingi lifted you off the ground and gave you a twirl, followed by a long and affectionate kiss. Then his palms were splaying out across the slight protrusion in your abdomen, soothingly caressing his knuckles gently.

You saw the tender look that was on his face and your heart melted for him. His affection was so innocent and warm, and you wished he'd continue to look at you like this forever, every day, always, you were falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

Your hands gripped around his neck, fingertips curling through his dark locks. "I love you, Mingi, so much." You whisper.

Mingi set you down and he turned to see his friends smiling up at him. Yunho, Jongho and the other's were clapping softly. He was a proud father. Or, at least, soon-to-be-father and it wasn't going to change. This man and child are his and the love and adoration you give back to him is so special and Mingi's world is shining bright as you look right up at him and he would do absolutely everything for you to remain right in his arms like this.

He kissed your lips softly, chuckling softly before whispering against your mouth, "And I love you both, so fucking much, sweetheart."

#illusionnet #cromernet #wonderlandnet #kvanity #other side outlaws network #ksmutsociety #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez stories #ateez fanfics #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez mingi #mingi #song mingi #mingi smut #mingi x reader

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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 11 months ago

Note

Please can we have more Yan justice league?

Maybe the reader has a boyfriend in the military so she doesn't see him much and when he comes back to visit, the go on a fancy date before they crash it?

It would make it even better if they reacted to the boyfriend about to propose to her!

A Day in Life: Heartbreaks

Synopsis: A day in your life where your yanderes find a secret of yours and tell you another one.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Modern!40s!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Tw: Bucky you’re one of my fav characters from Marvel, I'm so sorry I did u dirty😭; Heavy mentions of cheating and NO forgiving; Stalking; English isn’t my 1st language.

Word count: 1k

Requested? Duh.

Extra notes: I should be studying instead of writing this. Also omg I got so many requests in just a few hours, thank you very much!! I'm writing them all!!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Since most of your days became filled with stress and anxiety, you started appreciating even more moments where you could just forget all your problems, from small ones — like, lack of motivation to go to the gym, bad hair days and an ingredient you forgot at your fridge and became rotten—, and big, out of your control ones — like seven superheroes, who you see almost everyday, stalking you.

Your boyfriend getting back was one of the best dic(k)strations.

Bucky was a sergeant, he spent weeks, even months, away from you on missions. It was hard, but you were both busy people, so your mind was usually too stimulated to think about boy problems only all day, most adults were, and you believed the hard work would be worth it one day. The future was hopefully bright.

The League never mentioned him. Actually, some of them implied more than once that they thought you were available, so they probably didn't know about your relationship. You didn't use much social media and your boyfriend got especially busy this year, so it made sense.

He paid for you to get your nails done earlier and took you to a nice restaurant. After that, Bucky took you for a walk around the city, lively and beautiful even at night, and stopped at the park where your first date happened. Everything was fine, until he got on his knees. Suddenly, seven, mostly colorful, figures descended upon you from out of nowhere, screaming.

— (Y/N)! YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM! — Flash’s voice startled you, confirming your suspicions to who the group was.

You growled.

— SERIOUSLY? LEAVE ME ALONE! IT'S MY DAY OFF! — Bucky, who had swiftly gotten up with his fast reflexes as soon as the heroes charged, blinked at the sight. He looked between you all.

— Doll? What’s this? — You looked apologetic at him.

— Sorry, Bucky. Since I got my job, my bosses got… Protective over me… — You didn't want him to get hurt. Bucky and his friends had a great sense of justice and hated bullies. He would surely want to do something if he knew the true extent of things. You also didn't want to ruin the vision he had of his idols.

Since their obsessive behavior started, you just counted your lucky stars that they would just get tired of you one day or wouldn't sabotage your relationships. They seemed fine with you having friends, but dating was different.

You turned to the League.

— Go! — They shook their heads.

— You can't trust this bastard, darling. We have proof of his betrayal to you. — You looked at Wonder Woman skeptically and crossed your arms. Bucky gulped.

— Oh, really? How so? — You raised an eyebrow.

Batman fiddled with his wrist computer, a second later, a protection was shown and different pictures and videos of your man talking and being very intimate with someone very familiar to you appeared. Your stomach churned and your heart ached.

— This is fake! Doll, you have to believe me! — Bucky cried out and got in front of you, holding your shoulders, trying to cover your vision from the images. You took a step back and kept looking at the images.

The League had more than enough means necessary to fake all of this, but you knew Natasha was Bucky’s ex, and they were still friends and coworkers, even with their intense heartbreak. You sometimes got insecure and worried since they spent so much time together, but he always told you you had nothing to worry about…

You gulped.

The League was all glaring at his back while he shouted a hundred words per minute, desperately trying to convince you he was telling the truth.

Superman growled and walked forward until he grabbed Bucky by his shoulders and pulled him away from you.

— Stay away from them, you asshole. (Y/N), I would never do that to you. — You ignored Green Lantern's words, like you were doing since the pacifier incident. You knew he was getting desperate and that made you specially scared, but at least he gave you some distance.

— Not now. — Batman took a step forward. — A few hours ago, we discovered your relationship. For security reasons, we searched, and found these pictures and conversations from his second social accounts, that he uses to commit his cheating.

— He didn't try to hide much, he thought he wouldn't get caught. — Flash stated.

— I-I need more proof… These could be old… — Your first words spoken made Bucky shut up. Mind scrambling for something.

— Let the Lasso of Truth speak for him. — In a second, the Lasso was thrown around Bucky's torso and he was squirming. — Speak, you worthless mortal! — Wonder Woman ordered.

Bucky was able to struggle for a few seconds, before he blurted out.

— It's truth! It's truth! I told her we broke up and started dating her again! I thought I could have you both at the same time!

You gasped. Your hand shot to your chest.

Flash was on your side in a second, trying to hug and comfort you, but you pushed him away. You started crying from heartbreak and anger.

— HOW COULD YOU?! — You glared at him and pointed at his face.

— Doll… I swear I love you both. But I'm also narcissistic, insecure and look down on women. — The Lasso was really doing its job. You laughed humorlessly.

You had nothing to say anymore. No reason to stay. You took advantage of his tied arms and got close, punched his nose, and stomped away.

The League contemplated going after you and trying to bring you comfort, but Batman and Martian Manhunter decided to just let Bucky go (after intimidating him so as to not get close to you again) and follow you discreetly, watching you from the shadows, intervening only if necessary.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

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@wandalfnation

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 months ago

Text

“To the Moon and Beyond” pt.4

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players into a secret relationship—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2025 WNBA Draft.”

The venue erupts in applause, a few camera flashes already firing off as families sit up straighter, hands tightening on the backs of their loved ones’ chairs.

I glance back toward Paige’s table — she’s seated now, nestled between Bob and Azzi. Amy’s beaming, Coach Geno leaning in to say something that makes Azzi laugh behind her hand.

It’s a beautiful picture, but even from here, I can see the weight in Paige’s shoulders. The quiet tension in her jaw as the clock ticks down.

Then—

“With the number one pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Dallas Wings select… Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.”

The venue explodes. Clapping, screaming, camera shutters.

Paige’s POV:

My head drops for a second. Not in disbelief—I knew this moment was coming. But it’s reverent. Like I’m praying not to fall apart under the weight of what it means.

Azzi hugs me first. It’s tight. Long. She says something low into my neck and I can’t even register it through the rush in my ears, but it keeps me grounded.

Coach Geno’s next, grinning like a proud dad. He pats my back twice, then holds my arms like he wants to say something else — but doesn’t need to. It’s in his eyes.

Then my dad, pulling me into a tight squeeze.

And my mom. Her hands cradle my face before she kisses my forehead, her eyes glossy. “I love you, Mads.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

But I’m not done.

Before I even take a step toward the stage, my feet veer right — toward the only other table that matters.

She stands the second I approach.

We don’t say anything at first. We just hug. And it’s real — real like everything that’s ever existed between us.

Her lips brush my ear.

“M’so proud of you, Madsy. I love you to the moon and beyond.”

I pull back just enough to whisper, “You’re a reason I’m number one.”

Her eyes water, and I can’t stay in that too long or I’ll lose it completely. So I let go, step back, and head toward the stage.

I pose with the commissioner, jersey held high. Smile locked in place.

But before I even make it down the steps good, I get gently pulled into an interview setup on the side of the stage — Holly Rowe waiting, mic in hand.

“Paige, what does it feel like to hear your name being called as the number one draft pick? What’s racing through your mind right now?”

I laugh, a breath of disbelief caught in my throat. “Umm… just an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Uh, it’s super surreal — just being here with the other draft invitees. My teammates are here, my family’s here. I’m just super grateful. I’ve been focusing on staying present, staying where my feet are… and to be here right now? I’m extremely blessed.”

Holly nods, eyes soft. “You fought through the hardest times to still be here, standing, against all odds.”

I blink, then nod slowly. “Uh, through my faith. Through God’s purpose. Through my teammates, my family.

The coaching staff, the strength and conditioning staff. Everybody’s invested a lot in me. It’s part of me wanting to give back to them — show that I can do better, show them that their hard work helped me get to this stage. I didn’t do it alone. It took a village. So I’m extremely grateful for them.”

“And what about your teammates who came here to support you tonight — how important has this group of women been to your journey?”

That one gets me.

I swallow, blinking hard as my voice tightens. “Uh… they’ve changed my life. Those are my sisters.”

I pause. Just for a second.

“Just extremely grateful for them. I think two teams — or one smart one — should absolutely pick up Kaitlyn Chen and Aubrey Griffin tonight. They’re ready. I believe in them. I love them. And they’re going to be my sisters for life.”

Holly smiles. “Last one. What’s it been like to be drafted the same night as your childhood best friend — someone you’ve played with since your Rec and AAU days all the way through high school? What was going through your mind when you hugged Y/n before coming up here?”

My chest tightens.

“It felt like I was letting go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding in,” I say slowly, honestly. “She’s been a part of my village since day one, basically. And I just… yeah. The distance meant nothing in our friendship — we made it work. And I just love her. To the moon and beyond.”

I smile, blinking quickly as I look over toward her again.

“And I can’t wait to play against or with her in the W.”

The interview ends, and the applause picks up again.

Y/n’s POV:

Suddenly it’s my turn now, and the cameras all pan to me.

“With the number five pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Y/n Y/l/n from the University of Southern California.”

Everything else blurs for a second.

I hug my grandma first — her arms trembling as she whispers prayers against my cheek. Then my grandpa, whose voice cracks as he says, “You did it, baby.”

My dad is next, pulling me in like he used to after every high school game, and then my mom — eyes full, hands cradling my face like I’m five years old again.

I soak it in. All of it. Every touch, every tear.

Then I walk toward Paige’s table.

She’s already on her feet, arms wide open.

“You did it, mama” she whispers in my ear the second I’m wrapped in her. Her voice is quiet, thick with emotion. “Go do great things, yeah?”

I nod into her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut just to stay in the moment.

Azzi’s arms come next, folding around both of us for a beat before Paige steps aside.

“One chapter ends. A new one starts,” Azzi says into my ear. “Give ’em hell, baby. You deserve it.”

And then there’s Kiki, grinning with watery eyes, pulling me in for a tight hug that makes me laugh through my tears. “You’re my favorite hooper, don’t tell nobody.”

I finally make my way up to the stage, taking my picture with the commissioner before stepping off and walking straight into Holly Rowe’s interview zone.

The lights are hot. The mic in her hand steady. She smiles warmly as the camera rolls.

“Y/n,” she begins, “first off, congratulations. How does it feel to officially be a Golden State Valkyrie?”

I let out a small laugh, still slightly breathless. “It feels insane. Surreal. Like… something I dreamed about since I was a little girl. To hear my name, to walk that stage, to know I’m repping a team like Golden State—it’s everything. I’m ready.”

Holly nods. “And right before you went up, we saw you hugging Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, and your USC teammate Kiki Iriafen. Especially Paige,” she adds with a slight smile, her tone shifting, probing. “What was it like to have that moment with her?”

The second she says especially Paige, something tightens in my chest.

I blink quickly, trying not to break. But the lump is there.

“It felt like… home,” I say, voice soft, then firmer. “Like everything we’ve been through wasn’t for nothing.”

I glance over to where Paige and Azzi stand watching, arms crossed, eyes full.

“They’ve kept me up when I didn’t think I’d get up. My teammates like Kiki and Rayah, they’ve been some of my biggest pillars at USC. I couldn’t have made it without them.”

My voice starts to catch, and I steady my breath.

“And… and just to experience this moment with such an amazing friend like Paige, it’s surreal. She’s been there for me through the good, the bad, the ugly, and so much more. So to be able to share that hug with her in that moment…” I pause, eyes welling. “It just felt like I was back home.”

Holly gives a soft, yet mischievous smile that only I can pick up on after years of media training. But I can also see the glint in her eyes — the one that means she’s fishing for something.

Something I wasn’t going to give her.

And then.

She tilts her head slightly. “So, earlier tonight, Paige also said something… heartfelt during her own interview. The same phrase you just used, actually: To the moon and beyond. I’m curious — can you tell us what that means to hear those words from her? How does it pertain to the love you two clearly share? And how does it feel to have such a special phrase between the two of you?”

The air stills.

My jaw flexes just slightly. My media training kicks in, but my eyes? They cut daggers.

I smile — calm, warm, but firm. “I think what’s special between Paige and I, or Azzi and I, or really anyone who’s supported me, is just that — it’s special. Personal. Something we’ve built through years of growth, struggle, and love in every form it takes.”

I let the words settle.

“That phrase—To the moon and beyond—isn’t about spectacle. It’s about loyalty. Gratitude. Being proud of the people you’ve walked through fire with.”

And then, softer — deliberate:

“I’m proud of her. I’m proud of us. And yeah— I love her to the moon and beyond.”

The crowd around us claps quietly, moved, and Holly gives a slightly more sheepish nod as the segment wraps.

“Congratulations, Y/n,” she says. “Golden State’s lucky to have you.”

I thank her, walking down the steps.

But as I pass her, I pause just long enough to lean in for a quick, polite hug. Close enough for only her to hear.

“Respectfully,” I whisper, “what you just did was inappropriate. This is an important night, for women, not a time to be messy for a headline.”

And I keep walking — head high, heels clicking, Valkyrie-purple and black draft cap now tilted on my head like a crown.

But by now, as the third round had started most of the crowd has thinned out.

The glitz and chaos of the first two rounds faded into calmer applause, quieter conversations, softer flashes from cameras less concerned with making headlines and more about capturing heart.

I could’ve left by now. Most people in my shoes would’ve. But I stayed.

Part of it was respect — for the women still waiting to hear their names called, still gripping hope in one hand and faith in the other. But mostly? It was because Paige and Azzi hadn’t left yet. And I wasn’t going anywhere without them. Also, their teammates who I’ve became friends with over the years.

I was sitting beside Azzi, my heels long abandoned, barefoot and leaning my head on her shoulder like she’s known me forever. Technically, she kind of has.

Paige’s off doing media — bouncing between interviews and photo ops, still glowing from her number one selection. But I know she’s itching to come back. She always finds her way back.

That’s when the room shifts.

A pause. A slight hush. And then—

“With the 30th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Kaitlyn Chen from the University of Connecticut.”

The reaction her teammates and I is massive. But it’s real, and raw.

Kaitlyn gasps from where she’s seated with her UConn teammates toward the back, hands flying up to cover her mouth, pure disbelief painting every line of her face. The girls erupt around her, jumping to their feet, whooping, hugging, pulling her into a pile of joy and disbelief.

I rise to my feet too, clapping, grinning, and—

“YOOOOO! LETS GOOO CHENY CHEN!”

A familiar voice echoes as Paige comes running full-speed back into the venue from the hallway, her face plastered with a proud mom smile.

“LET’S GOOOO, KAIT!” she shouts, and suddenly she’s in the pile too, lifting Kaitlyn halfway off the ground in a hug so tight it almost knocks them both over.

Azzi’s laughing from beside me, already filming it on her phone. “She sprinted in here like it was a buzzer beater.”

“She’s never moved that fast in transition,” I tease, nudging her.

The joy is infectious, like we’re all breathing in some shared miracle.

And just as the room begins to settle again, another voice fills the speakers.

“With the 37th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Minnesota Lynx select… Aubrey Griffin from the University of Connecticut.”

The girls, Azzi and I jump to our feet again. Jana was the first to pull Aubrey in a hug.

“I told you. I fuck told you.” She said as she finally let Aubrey go, within seconds, Paige is, grabbing Aubrey in the kind of hug that lifts her clean off the ground too.

More laughter. More love.

The applause hasn’t even fully faded from my ears by the time we’re slipping into the private elevator together—me, Paige, and Azzi, tucked away from the noise and flashing cameras.

Azzi’s got her arm looped around my waist, her thumb gently brushing over the exposed skin of my back. Paige is leaning against the wall, still slightly buzzed from all the emotions and champagne, a soft smirk on her lips.

“You’re really not gonna tell us what you’re wearing to your party?” Paige asks, stepping forward and boxing me in with her arms on either side of the elevator panel.

“You’re both in for a surprise,” I grin, nudging her chest gently with a finger. “You really thought I’d let Brittany dress me like that and not make y’all wait?”

“Brittany won’t even text us back,” Azzi huffs.

“Exactly,” I wink.

The elevator dings, and Paige steals a kiss—soft, sweet, pressed right against the corner of my mouth like it’s instinct.

Azzi leans in next, brushing her lips over my cheek, her voice low and warm. “We’ll see you soon, star girl.”

We split off at the lobby—Paige and Azzi headed to their car back to the hotel to change, and me toward my suite upstairs to get ready.

The private suite smells like body oil and setting spray, the air thick with glam prep and controlled chaos.

My team is already there waiting—my makeup artist starts a completely new look on my face, my nail tech adjusting new rhinestones, and Brittany? She’s holding a glass of champagne and pacing, talking like she’s coaching a championship game.

Halfway through getting changed, my phone lights up.

FaceTime: Paige

I smirk and answer, angling the camera so she only sees my face in a robe and glam half-done.

Her eyes narrow.

“Where’s the dress?”

“Hi to you too,” I laugh, adjusting the robe collar.

“Brittany’s being a vault,” she groans. “Azzi tried calling her and got nothing but ‘no spoilers.’ C’mon babe, just a hint? Straps? Color? Texture?”

I shake my head, smug. “Sorry babe, you both gotta wait and watch to see what your woman is gonna pop out in.”

“That’s so disrespectful,” she pouts. “How am I supposed to survive this?”

“I believe in you,” I wink, blowing her a kiss before hanging up.

Minutes later—

FaceTime: Azzi

I’m in my mini robe and getting a final touch-up on my lips when I answer. Azzi’s hair is slicked up in a bun and she’s in a gorgeous shimmery black dress, but the second she sees me, she squints dramatically.

“What are you wearing?! I know it’s not just a robe.”

Before I can answer, Brittany swoops in from behind, sipping from a flute and wagging her finger in front of the camera.

“Nope,” she says with her full chest. “She didn’t see y’all’s lil outfit change—y’all can’t see hers. I don’t care if she’s y’all’s girlfriend or not. There will be no spoilers.”

Azzi’s mouth falls open. “This is so not fair.”

“You’ll live,” I grin.

With that I ended the call and began getting dressed.

Brittany had helped me change into this black mini that’s doing exactly what it needs to.

Strapless, velvet up top, hugging me just right, and the skirt? Full of these little textured ruffles that bounce every time I move. It’s short—like, “you really made it to the league” short—but not too much. Just enough to feel fun, a little bold.

I’ve got on these strappy heels that make my legs look a mile long, and I’m carrying this tiny leopard-print bag that really doesn’t hold anything but makes the outfit pop. I feel like I could walk into any room and own it. Scratch that—I already did.

“Girl, Paige and Azzi not even ready for you,” Brittany says, turning toward me just as the hairstylist finishes pressing the last section of my wig.

“I already got them looking bad and boujee at Paige’s party, but you? Oh, you ‘bout to make jaws drop. Hell—mine already on the floor and you ain’t even stood up yet.”

I grin in the mirror, watching my reflection morph into something out of a dream.

The wig is immaculate—deep, rich violet with a soft wave to it, edges laid to perfection, giving main character energy and a little bit of what the fuck you gonna do about it?

My hairstylist gives me a final fluff, a nod of approval. “Purple’s your color, babe. You’re giving future MVP.”

I rise from the vanity slowly, deliberately, the velvet mini hugging me in all the right places, the ruffled skirt catching the light with every step I take.

Brittany lets out a full “Whew!” and does a slow, dramatic circle around me like she’s evaluating art. “Yeah, no, you can’t sit with us type shit. You’re giving league legend meets Vanity Fair cover meets… ‘I got your girl and your backup dancer.’”

I laugh, throwing my arms around her. “I’m not even at Paige’s yet.”

“You don’t need to be,” she says, sipping her champagne. “The minute you walk in, the whole place gonna go silent. Azzi gon’ choke on her drink. Paige? Paige is probably gon’ stutter and forget how to function. You about to put every post-game interview she ever did to shame.”

“She doesn’t even know what I’m wearing,” I murmur, smoothing the dress over my hips one more time, heart doing a little dance in my chest.

“And that’s exactly why she about to lose her mind.”

My phone pings.

🦵🏽: “Paige just made me take another shot because you’re not here yet. And we have no idea what you’re wearing. Where are you, baby?”

I smile down at it, thumbs dancing over the screen.

Me: “I be there shortly babe. Tell P to pace herself. I need her upright.”

🦵🏽: “No promises. But hurry. We need you.”

My breath hitches a little, heart fluttering under the weight of her words.

I close my clutch, give my wig one final fluff, and turn to Brittany.

“Time to go turn parties upside down.”

Brittany flashes her teeth. “Let’s go, Valkyrie.”

The bass thumps steady beneath my heels as I step further into the private lounge, lights dimmed low, champagne already bubbling in glasses, and my name etched in silver across a custom neon sign hanging above the bar.

Y/N Y/L/N — Valkyrie Made.

It’s surreal. All of it.

My after party’s buzzing—friends from USC, family from back home, even a few familiar faces from the league who’ve come to show love.

Cousins are off in the corner doing some version of a victory dance to whatever DJ is spinning. My mom’s laughing with my aunt, both holding cocktails, and my dad? He’s already found the dessert table. Classic.

Every hug, every toast, every flash of a camera feels like a quiet you made it.

I check my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Paige sent a photo earlier—her in a white linen shirt left half open, a chain glinting at her collarbone, a drink in hand, Azzi leaning into the frame mid-laugh. Wish you were here, the caption said. You look like a star tonight.

I smiled so hard I had to step away from the bar.

They’re still at Paige’s official draft party—bigger venue, fancier crowd. UConn royalty everywhere. I told them I’d stop by later. I wanted this first—my people, my space, my moment.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t counting down until I could be in Paige’s arms again.

For now, though?

I toss my head back and laugh at something my cousin shouts over the music. Someone’s uncle tries to breakdance. High school friends and I are screaming along to Nicki lyrics.

And I just let myself exist in this joy.

Drafted. Loved. Alive in the moment.

Tonight, I celebrate everything.

And soon, I’ll go celebrate her.

And her, too.

Because lucky me?

I got both.

The driver pulls up outside the venue, for P’s party, a velvet-rope affair in downtown Brooklyn, camera flashes already popping as we step out. But the moment I walk in?

It’s like the air changes.

The bass is deep, sensual—SZA’s “Used” thumping through the walls—and heads turn instantly. My dress, my skin, this hair. My Golden State Valkyries cap from earlier is still in my clutch, and I slide it on backward as I walk through the crowd, owning it.

Azzi sees me first—nearly drops her drink, eyes bugging out as she grips Paige’s arm like she just saw Beyoncé.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

Paige turns.

Freezes.

Then stares.

Like I just stepped off the cover of a fantasy she’s never dared say out loud.

Mouth parted, eyes locked on mine, shirt still half-open, gold chain glinting at her collarbone.

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Then louder. “Holy. Shit.”

Azzi’s fanning herself. “Paige, are you breathing? You good?”

She leans back and really looks at me then—eyes widening like she’s seeing me for the first time tonight.

Paige blinks like she forgot how to be a functioning adult. “She’s wearing black. Her hair is purple. What the fuck. What the—who let her walk in like this?”

Her gaze dragging down my body and back up with exaggerated reverence. “I—uh. Yeah. No. You ate. Like. I’m not okay.”

“I told you,” Brittany cackles from behind me, brushing invisible lint off my shoulder. “Didn’t I say she’d go feral?”

Azzi nods, still fanning herself. “Feral. Unhinged. That’s the look.”

I grin, tugging a strand playfully. “Thought I’d give the people drama.”

Paige’s jaw is on the floor.

“You—” she tries, stepping toward me, hands already reaching. “You look—Jesus, come here.”

And suddenly I’m in her arms, being spun once, twice, her lips pressed to my jaw, her breath hot in my ear.

“I’m gonna have to fight someone tonight,” she murmurs. “You cannot look like this and expect me to act normal.”

I smirk. “Baby, you were never normal around me.”

She grins, eyes shining with that familiar softness—drunk off champagne and love and me, apparently.

“I’m so happy,” she murmurs, breath fluttering into my hair, voice breaking a little. “God, I’m so proud of you. You looked so beautiful tonight—like stupidly beautiful. And I kept thinking, that’s my girl, that’s my f—fuckin’ girl, and no one can say a thing ‘cause you’re magic, and you did it, and you stayed, and you always show up, and I just…”

Her breath stutters against my collarbone. I tighten my arms around her.

“I love you,” she says quietly, with that Paige kind of conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Madsy,” I whisper back, barely holding the tears. “To the moon and beyond.”

She sniffles, hiding it with a laugh as she pulls Azzi into the hug too, her arms wrapping around the both of us.

“I don’t even know how I got so lucky,” she says, voice cracking again. “Y’all stayed. Through everything. You never let go. Thank you. I’m never gonna stop being thankful.”

We stay like that for a long moment, a little pile of love in the corner of the world, before Paige suddenly smirks and grabs for my hat.

“Trade with me,” she says.

So we switch—my Golden State Valkyrie SnapBack lands on her head, tilted to the side with cocky Paige energy, and her Dallas Wings cap ends up on mine, turned backward.

The perfect contrast: her softness, my fire.

Azzi cackles beside her. “She’s been speechless since you walked in. I’ve never seen Paige malfunction in real time.”

“One more word and I’m taking her to a dark corner,” Paige mutters under her breath, and I pretend not to hear the chaos in her voice.

One too many shots in, and a blur of tequila later, I’m in the middle of the dance circle, losing every last shred of chill to Get It Sexyy by Sexyy Red.

Paige’s Dallas Wings SnapBack is still turned backward on my head, and my mini dress? It’s making its case for fit of the night as I drop it low, knees bent, back arched, ass bouncing to every beat.

Slim thick, caramel skin, 5’5”, this bitch a ten (yeah)

Hair done, bills paid, catch me slidin’ in a Benz (vyoom)

The circle is hyping me up like it’s a damn arena. Azzi is losing her voice, Paige is grinning like she’s watching a miracle unfold, and Kk is literally fanning herself.

Lili is recording the entire moment on her little digital camera like it’s 2005. Somebody starts throwing dollar bills like we’re in Magic City.

And I am thriving.

I shake, drop, twerk to the floor—turn around and give them the look over my shoulder that makes Paige’s jaw damn near hit the ground.

Azzi hands me a shot, and I take it like a pro, licking the salt off her hand and winking at her before tossing it back.

Then Paige disappears.

A moment later, she’s at the DJ booth. I know that energy. I know what she’s asking for.

Then the beat drops.

Practice by Drake.

I spin, eyes wild. Paige’s doing this on purpose. She knows what that song does to me.

I grind into the beat like the track was written for my hips, my body pulsing with the rhythm. I see Paige watching—biting her lip, shirt halfway undone now—and Azzi? She’s behind her, laughing, whispering something in her ear that makes Paige tilt her head back.

And then—

Paige walks over, holding a shot.

She grins. “You’re not drinking this unless it’s from my mouth.”

Gasps. Cheers. Screams. The whole party goes feral.

I raise an eyebrow. “Only if you do one with Z. And then Z does one with me.”

The circle erupts.

Challenge accepted.

Paige pours the tequila into her mouth, steps up to me, and kisses me—slow, hot, deep—letting the shot flow into mine. I swallow, lips lingering on hers, breath caught in my throat.

Next, Paige does it again, but with Azzi this time. Azzi giggles into it, a little shaky, a little buzzed, her fingers curling into Paige’s shirt as the liquor passes between them.

And then Azzi turns to me, eyeing me up and down as she takes a shot glass from Paige.

Her hands are on my hips as she leans in. She pours the shot in her own mouth, and next thing we’re mouth to mouth. The tequila burns but her kiss softens it.

When we pull apart, we glance toward the circle—

Paige is standing there in absolute shock, jaw slack, blinking like she just witnessed her first lesbian porn in real life.

Ayanna and Aubrey are fanning themselves, literally fanning, shouting over each other:

“WOW—”

“Did that really just happen?!”

“Play that back—I need an instant replay.”

I throw my head back laughing as Paige runs both hands over her face like she needs divine intervention.

“Jesus,” she mutters, “I am so going to hell.”

Before anyone can make it worse, Azzi claps once. “Alright, lovebirds. Time to slide.”

“To where?” I ask, breathless from laughing.

Paige grabs my hand. “Upstairs. We reserved the rooftop. And there’s a jacuzzi with our names on it.”

Azzi hooks her arm around mine on the other side. “And there’s dessert. And more tequila. And vibes.”

We make our way to the elevator as a trio, laughter trailing behind us like confetti, Paige still occasionally glancing at me with that same stunned look.

Right before the doors close, she nudges me softly and whispers, “I wasn’t kidding about the corner thing.”

I smirk. Raising my eyebrow. “Mm really.”

Azzi sighs. “I swear, if y’all start making out in the pool again, I’m bringing a Super Soaker.”

“Do it,” I tease. “We’ll only make it worse.”

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️