#but he didn’t. he didn’t!!!! and he never will!!!!!!!

[tonycries]

Night(wing) Crawler - G.S.

Synopsis. Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! anti-hero!reader, Nightwing! Gojo, BATMAN AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, píning, MARATHONS, manhandIing, Gojo goes FÉRAL, overstím, he is BIG, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, tummy buIges, BREÉDING, RIPPING suits, spítting, cúmplay, chokíng, arguing during it, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, matíng presses, making Gojo CRY, oraI (f + m rec.), p talking, breaking furniture, Red Hood! Geto cameo, slight vioIence, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.4k

A/N. *evil laughs* I just had to.

“You.”

“You.”

“Enchanté, sweetheart.” And Gojo - oh, it’s so undeniably Gojo Satoru’s sapphire gaze behind that satiny mask - tilts over his tall, bubbling glass of champagne towards you with the cockiest of winks. A wink. 

Your teeth set on edge - out of all the pompous, boorish high society balls that he could crash undercover, it just had to be the one that you were planning to heist. 

And by the most pompous, boorish hero of all. 

If looks could kilI, then you’d be upturning Gojo’s grave to finish him off yourself already. 

“Didn’t think you were one for masquerade balls.” He’s leaning in to brush off an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder, words coming out in scorching hot puffs against your ear. Low, hoarse. “Changed much during your lil’ vacation, hm? How is the Gotham State Penitentiary this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s the hottest one of the Bat Family doing?” You’re sniping back, head cocked innocently. Silent for just how long it takes for Gojo’s eyes to widen, breath to hitch- “Y’know…Toji Fushiguro. How’s Batman doing, Nightwing?”

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin. 

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one? 

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus. 

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus. 

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer. 

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat. 

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs. 

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under. 

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden. 

Tonality dripping with something sickly sweet that makes your tummy lurch, “And it seems like I’m not the only one, Prowler. The Zenin diamonds?”

“The Zenin drug smuggling ring?”

You both give a curt, almost-missable nod. Your eyes back to analyzing the sprawling celebrations for any sign of the aforementioned Zenin heir himself.

Though, not for long- “Y’know, maybe I should send you back to your lovely penitentiary right now, girl. Already did once.” Whispered right against your sensitive earlobe. 

“Darling–” Your plastic smile is almost painful as you feel the interested stares from around the room. You did make quite an eye-catching pair, especially so close. Hand drifting to his beefy, veined forearm and pinching, “-you’re too close~”

“I don’t think I’m close enough.” 

Nails clawing down his smooth skin and towards his pale wrist. “Close enough for me to strike a vein without a single person here knowing any better.”

“That’s kinda hot–” Gojo’s lips quirk upwards, sleek brows quirking up to the curtain of his snowy bangs. And you don’t know where to look - down below, where he’s adjusting his pants with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or up above where his irises follow a triangle between both your eyes n’ your lips, dead-on. “-for a petty thief.”

“You little-”

“Big, actually.” And of course, he has to interrupt with a look on his face that tells you he knew you were fighting to not take a glance downwards and confirm for yourself. “I’m very big.”

“I hear words compensate.” You’re batting your lashes through your own lacy Stygian mask, too close. “And I hear Toji’s bigger.”

“Enough with the-”

“My my, young love sure is fiery!” Saved by a rough, booming voice to your side of the festivities. Though, you’re not sure if it would technically be considered a “save” when you’re finally snapping your head and recognizing the source of those words. “I always do tell Naoya ‘ere that it’s time to settle down. No such luck so far!”

As Naobito Zenin slaps an overly harsh hand down on his son’s crisp, suit-cladden shoulder with a bark of laughter, you mutter. “Can’t imagine why.”

Though, perhaps it was a bit too loud.

Because Naoya’s nostrils flare in a sharp inhale, and you’re hearing Gojo stifle a breathy rumble of laughter from his broad chest- shit, since when were you two even pressed up like this? No wonder it must have looked…romantic to an outsider.

“Naobito Zenin, at your service.”

“Ah, my apologies for being so rude.” You’re pushing away from the hero as if it burned - and by the strange tingling on your skin, maybe it really did. Reaching over to the wizened, leering man for a handshake. “I’m-”

“Mrs. Gojo, of course.” Gojo gets there first. “My wife and I are new to Gotham, you see. We wanted to make connections here in our new home.” A warm hand casually slings over your shoulder, slender digits tight. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

What….the fuck.

And perhaps you should’ve screamed bloody murder - maybe that would make the Zenin’s take pity on you after an encounter with this lecher. 

“That’s right.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have leaned in just as you did to his hard front. But if the way that Gojo was momentarily stunned told you anything, it was that you were doing something right. “It’s all been quite a change.”

Naoya’s thin, mahogany brows raise silently - new to the city and already invited to one of the most elite social gatherings of the year? That certainly was intriguing.

“Gojo? Gojo…so familiar…” Naobito muses out loud, and your veins boil with anxiety as his face scrunches. Before he clicks his fingers with flourish, “A-ha–! You wouldn’t have anything to do with the revered Gojo Enterprises now, would you?”

Your faux-husband places a hand over his heart, “Ah, my most beloved little project.” 

“President?”

“CEO.”

Calling a multi-billion dollar foreign company a “little project” was generous, you think. But what was even more so was- “Though, it’s nothing in comparison to what I have coming up soon.” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Oh! We probably shouldn’t reveal much, however. Confidential, only friends and family.”

Naobito Zenin was practically frothing from the mouth at this point. And you notice that even Naoya’s suspicious furrow had almost completely disappeared. Almost. 

“C-confidential-” The older man squeals, before bumping a fist into Gojo’s puffed-up chest. “Why, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell me tell me- just between you and I, how big are we talking?”

“Big.”

“Bigger than Gojo Enterprises? S-surely impossible-”

You cut in, “Bigger. Better, considering the association with the parliament we’ve negotiated this time. Whoops- my apologies, darling, that simply slipped out.”

And through it all, Naoya stays unnervingly quiet - even while his father tries and fails to hide his squawks of delight. 

It would’ve almost been comedic if the air wasn’t so cut-throat tense. As if the clinking glasses and chatter of the ball were infinite miles away from your little bubble now. 

Past animosity almost evaporated, you’re managing to meet Gojo’s eyes. His cloud-pale eyebrows wiggling with a knowing waver, and you find yourself plastering on an exaggerated look of distress before carrying out the finishing blow.

“Oh, but you know–” Patting the delicious curves of his pecs, “-my husband has been so stressed lately. I’m afraid he’ll overwork himself mad with this new project.”

“Aw, dear…”

“I do wish he’d take on a partner to collaborate and split the innumerable profits with. But, alas, there hasn’t been a company competent or high-profile enough for our taste.”

And by the sharp elbow Naobito digs into Naoya’s ribs, you already know that you’ve won. Well, that the two of you have won.

Reluctantly, almost as if every word made his bones ache, his son purses out a tight. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, my father and I certainly hope this isn’t too forward, but we believe that- ah, we might just be exactly what you’re looking for.”

You both adopt a look of faint surprise, “Oh?”

Another nudge, another step forward. 

“Apologies for the late introduction, but I’m Naoya Zenin. Future congressman, future CEO of the immensely successful Zenin Corporations” Each syllable practically oozing with icy smugness, “I believe I know what you want, and we are it. Please, allow me to reach out on behalf of our Zenin hospitality and lead the two of you to our private business room; where we can discuss this further…in-depth.”

Somehow, the trail end of his sentence made you shudder. 

“Ah, how wonderful!” Gojo’s arm wraps possessively around your waist, “Lead the way, Naoya.”

And if you were lucky to be led straight to the dragon’s lair of treasures, then you were even luckier when one of those said dragons stayed behind.

Indeed, Naobito was held back in conversation with another undoubtedly important parliamentary figure as you and Gojo followed Naoya out of the massive, gilded doors. Silent. Rigid. 

“Take him out. Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds.” Gojo rasps from the corner of his mouth, voice barely audible for you let alone the stiff figure a few steps in front of you. Leading you along windingly decadent corridors and staircases. 

You’re shaking your head, eyes following the velvety curtains and gleaming ornaments on display and wondering whether you should increase your scope for this heist even more than just the diamonds. “Diamonds, then whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds, then prison for you, girl.” He snarks back, “Unless– you wanna make up for this appalling date by actually going out with-”

“We’re here.”

It seems that the Zenin’s did have quite an affinity for interrupting you two at the most important of times. 

And the only thing keeping Gojo from curling his features into a sneer is the sight of those rich, mahogany double doors in front of him. This was it. 

The infamous Zenin office room.

With enough secrets to overturn the nation, and– Gojo sneaks a glimpse at the determined set of your gaze - enough diamonds, too. 

Naoya’s spindly fingers twist on the burnished golden door handles, letting them creak open just a few inches ajar. Dim lighting floods out through the crack, and you’re seeing the outline of an expensive cross between an office room and a lounge room.

He gestures his hands in a wave inside with an almost-bored sort of drawl, “Guests first, I insist.”

Your fingers itch towards the dagger strapped to your thigh, and Gojo’s stare narrows. Tone steely yet polite, “No no, as the future master of the house-”

“I insist.”

“Alright…” He plants a staggering palm on the small of your back, “Come along then, sweetheart.”

Tentatively stepping onto the luxurious red carpet inside at the same time, you swear from your cunning optics you see Naoya’s lips twitch-

And then it happens.

All in the span of a nanosecond that neither you nor Gojo have the time to react - the floor and the ceiling crack open in an almost metre-wide line dividing you two and the door, a thick wall of metal snapping! shut in place before you can blink, and suddenly– suddenly, you’re trapped. 

“Fuck-”

“No!”

“You must excuse me for the rude welcome-” Naoya’s voice drifts over, and you’re noticing that the gleaming wall had a small window pane. Enough for you to see a sliver of crazed, honeypool eyes, “-Prowler and Nightwing.” 

He knows.

Of course, he knew. You were here trapped between a thoroughly bolted, heavy-duty panel of metal harder than diamonds. Ones especially made for trained heroes and- well, you. 

And one furious bang! of your fist told you that not even your overpowered strength would be able to break through - it barely even rattled the barrier’s bolts that proudly stood circumference of your head. Running the expanse from floor to ceiling, you were backed into a corner. 

Looking behind you, you’re met with the rest of the gleaming office; shelves upon shelves of books, a busy desk, cushy loveseats. And no window. 

No exit.

He’s spitting, face twisting into heaps of wrinkles as he grins. “My father might be half-blind, but I’m not.” Pointing accusingly, “You almost got me, I admit. But any fool could tell- the tension, the stupid flirting. Who else would it fuckin’ be if not for you two?”

Crossing your arms, you do your best to keep out the tremble in your voice. “Quite frankly, I’m almost insulted.”

“I’m not.”

And you do not glower at Gojo…this time. To firmly disprove Naoya’s point, if anything. 

The other man clenches his teeth, throwing his hands. “I don’t care what you feel. This is checkmate, so now you both simply die.”

Running your hands through your cage, you could practically feel the power. The strength. “Well, it seems you’re not just beauty- well, you’re not beauty at all, actually.”

“Don’t forget, he isn’t brains either.” Gojo pipes up, nodding towards you. “I know this daddy’s boy wasn’t the one to make this lair. It reads more like the works of-”

“Shut up shut up shut up-” You and him watch in mild astonishment as your captor drags his fingers through his hay-blond locks and pulls. You swear you could count every red, popped blood vessel in his bulging eyes. “-insufferable fucking- I have you two at my mercy, and when my father hears about this he will be pleased. Very pleased.” 

You will yourself not to gulp, “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

“Wait and watch. After all, I am the future head of Zenin Corporations, I’ll kill both of you. It doesn’t matter how.”

Before you can torment him any further, he turns tail and throws a withering glare your way. Hands on the doors, it feels like something leaden is forming in your throat. “Better sit tight until the ball ends and we can have our ah- fun little afterparty.”

.

.

.

“Can’t you stop that infernal noise, girl.”

You’re halting your body mid-punch, a thin line of sweat trickling from your temple. Heaving out, “I don’t see you helping.” 

Not even waiting for a response before you’re back to gifting the office wall with a solid CLANG! You’d already attempted the same with the metallic partition, to not even a single crater. And by the unaffected state of the rest of the room, you’re slowly realizing that every one of these four walls might just be made from the same material. 

Fuck.

BANG!

“For fucks-”

“What are you doing, then?” You’re whirling around to face a precarious Gojo Satoru, standing on one foot on top of a high bookshelf and murmuring utterly ridiculously to something clutched in his palm. “An interpretive dance routine won’t get us out of here.”

He’s been like this for the entire time - it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes - since you’ve been trapped here. All he’s done was rifle through a few files and snatch a few documents. And…this. 

Hell- you didn’t even find your diamonds, yet. 

“You think about ‘us’ a lot?”

Rolling your eyes- you can’t even bother with a scowl. Instead, turning back to spend your time planting CRASH! after CRASH! over his protests. 

“Keep it down, sweetheart, I can’t-” Punching your way through even harder - making even louder noise, on purpose. “-hear-” Perhaps you could kill him before Naoya even gets here. “-the mic-” 

“What?” You’re grunting, ears still ringing from the deafening noise yourself. 

And just then you find your brows knitting together because Gojo Satoru looks so…satisfied. It strikes you to your very core. Which was definitely never a good sign. 

Jumping down from the bookshelf in one, fluid motion, he shows off a tiny rounded gadget grasped in one hand. “You’ll see.” Gojo purrs at your questioning gaze, winking. “You’ll see very soon. We’ll be fine, promise.”

Yeah, you really didn’t like the sound of that.

But before you can swivel back to your target - you swear you were seeing a crack - Gojo’s tucking away the mysterious object into his jacket pocket and taking it off. Letting the silken fabric hit the floor with a dull schwf! Right along with his tie, his belt-

“Wh-what are you doing?” It comes out more breathless than you’d have liked. 

“Changing into my supersuit, that’s what.” He lifts up his mask to roll his eyes, full and well knowing. The pinkish perk of his tongue drags a slow glide of wetness across his lips as he unbuckles his belt - looking you straight in the eyes. “Why? This turn ya on, sweetheart?”

“No.”

Yes.

Fuck, you hated how even despite turning away, you couldn’t help but angle your body just so that you’re ogling Gojo from your peripheries. You hated how every thud of clothes hitting the floor made a fresh new layer of goosebumps bead along your clammy, heated skin. 

It was so hot. 

“You should do the same– you must be getting warm with all that ruthless, blundering violence.” Comes the sing-song voice from behind you, oh- he was enjoying this. It sent Gojo’s heart racing to watch the way you were all flustered because of his actions. His body. 

Scoffing, another punch. “You just want to see skin, lecher.”

“With a body like that- fuck yeah.”

“Save it for the wives of the bourgeoisie.”

“Scared, Prowler?”

Oh, for the love of-

“Not on your life, Nightwing.”

And then you do it.

You make the mistake of giving into your instinctual desire to glare at Gojo Satoru, as if your eyes never wanted to leave him. And then you see it. 

All his long, tantalizing muscles and curves - being hugged so tightly in that black and blue suit that you could count every one of his eight washboard abs. Fuck. Gojo’s body seemed to go on for miles, pulling the latex tightly over his rippling flesh. 

Right on cure, your eyes trail from the bulging valley of his pecs, to the ridges of his v-line to…you gulp.

You always did think it gave him an unfair advantage - just how sexy he was. It was one of the reasons he managed to distract you enough to lock you up in Gotham State Penitentiary last time, after all. 

Tittering, “Take a picture it’ll-”

“Take this fist to your face.”

“Kinky~ it’ll only make me harder, y’know.”

Hard-er. 

And all of a sudden it was as if the tension in the room was like molasses, and you were drowning in the saccharine concoction. Nightwing- Gojo really was too cocky for his own good, but what was even worse was he could back it up, too. 

Your skin flares up with a burning breeze, and your voice comes out peaky. “Fine.” Through his mask, you swear his eyes widen once your hands fly up to take off your own. And then to the zipper of your gown, “But only because it’s so hot.”

Pulling it down just an inch before-

“Wait…let me?”

Just a flash of that glossy black suit of yours, just a single sneak-peek of it enveloping your skin and he was pressing you to the wall. Ravenous.

You were gorgeous. 

Balmy heat of his body making yours sizzle up, all Gojo needs is only one of his massive palms to pin both your wrists wayyy above your head. Meaty thighs massaging up against yours to stop your jostling body. 

Lips twitching up into a smirk at the carnal hunger in your eyes, “Let me…help with that, yeah?” His gravelly words resound in your eardrums and make your thighs squeeze. The fat fringes of his digits draw slow lines down the side of your figure, memorizing. “S’a hero’s duty, after all.” 

You’re growling, “Do it. Do it if you’re not scar- ah!”

But that’s exactly what Gojo had been waiting for. 

Exactly the moment to make your pretty voice break, exactly the moment for him to tuck a finger behind your back and all but rip–! your dress from the back.

“Would ya look at thaaaat-” He’s snickering out in awe as your flimsy gown falls halfway through tatters around you, all along with your dagger. Revealing a snug suit that makes his mouth simply water. All gorgeous lines of your body that he can’t get enough of. “Always fuckin’ hated this suit.”

His sinful pants strike you in gusts when Gojo leans his admiring head down, down, down to push right into the valley between your heaving tits. “Made me s-soooo fucking hard every time I saw ya in it.”

Did you just make Gojo Satoru stutter?

No wait- even better, was that achingly hard outline bumping right between your legs what you thought it was?

He’s rubbing the swollen outline of his mushroom tip at the target of your hot core, drinking in that cutely surprised expression on your face. Something devilish. “Oh~? What’s this? I-if this is what it took to shut that pretty mouth, I’d have done it sooner.”

But what he didn’t account for was the way that you would take the initiative shutting him up. 

The way you would breach that almost-non-existent air between you two and crash your lips onto his. In French kiss so filthy that it makes Gojo moan–

“You’re better like this-” You spit between his strawberry pink lips, the taste of his bubblegum sweet taste now your most favorite. Cherry flavored, almost. “-when you shut up.”

In response, he’s nipping on your lower lip and draaaagging. Smirking at the adorable squeal that lets off from your ajar jaw, “Can’t even keep yer h-hands off of me, always knew you found me irresistible.” And Gojo doesn’t even need his other hand to entrap you now, pinning you with his muscled front. A sultry glissade of mere inches up n’ down up n’ down up n’- 

You could tell that he was big. 

So could that soft palm of yours, sneaking down to cop an agonizing feel of his rotund bulge. Fingers rovering generously along the damp crevice of his slit, “What was that?”

“Found me ir-re-sis-”

Harder. 

“Shiiiit.” He hiccups, head swimming. “Suck- suck on my tongue.”

You do. Making Gojo’s eyes glaze over at the twist of your pillowy lips, making him rut-

“Fuckin’ dirty little thing.” The rough texture of his tastebuds swirl across your own, and even through his mask you swear he looked fucked-out already. Taking off his suave gloves, he leaves one spank on your thigh. Two. “Mmm- spread them f’me now.”

You’re snarling, despite the furious throb you feel from your leaking cunt. “Who’d ya think you are to ngh- boss me around?”

“Have it your way then, girl.”

And when he says that shit, he means it.

Before you know it, he’s sitting on the capped curves of his knees with a loud bam! You’re grimacing for but a mere split-second at just how much it must have hurt, before realizing that Gojo doesn’t care.

It’s the last fucking thing on his mind once he’s gliding an open, calloused palm underneath one of your unsteady legs and wrangling it on top of his sculpted shoulders. 

You’re latching a hand through his soft, fawny strands with a yelp. “Asshole.”

“Witch.”

“Pussy.”

“Pussy, alriiight—” The borders of his short, manicured nails draw an invisible line down, down, down to coast the puffy fissure of your pussylips. Before pinching and tearing cleanly between the legs of your latex suit. Breathing deeply in- “There she is. Pretty girl…hey there, the name’s Satoru. I’m the stuff of your wettest dreams.”

You can’t even bite out a retort - a plea - before Gojo’s diving nose-deep allll the way into your drooling cunt. Nudging apart your gluey folds with his perky buttoned nose, lengthy tongue slathering your hole with a fat drag-

He’s basically glued. Addicted with only a single taste, and swerving his tongue to scratch up in solid, dizzying circles around and around your soppy entrance. 

“Sh-shit-” Your thighs break out in jitters, and he only responds with a firm tug to interlock your craned limb ‘round his neck. Making your spine bend the perfect curvature off of the cool wall, “-more. More.”

SPANK!

The rims of Gojo’s fingers burn into the globes of your ass, and he’s so unrepentant about it. So smug. Making such a spectacular show of letting your globs of slick pour down his tongue. 

Kiss-bitten maw hanging wiiidely agape to make you watch the thick rivulets of sap that hit the back of his awaiting throat. He’s dripping wet all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple, treacly splotches of juice hitting the floor in puddles. 

Gojo gurgles out something feral, still mushing his pert maw to your wet mound so you’re feeling each n’ every vibration. 

“Dooooown, kitty.” Another spank, and another steamy snog of his mouth. Though, this time he’s letting his pearly whites catch on your plumpened clit. Dangerously so. “Watch ngh- watch it, I bite.”

With a frustrated tut, you’re pushing his pretty features even deeper into your pussy. Making him pinch your sensitive nub between his teeth even harder. Slobbering a long drag from every inch of his pointed chin, to the very apples of his high cheekbones. 

“Maybe m’into that…Satoru.”

“Oh- Oh.” Through the bleary gaps in your eyes, you’re noticing that Gojo was blushing. Bright. Red up to the tips of his ears. Burning skin chafing up into your own, and you’re practically melting at his heat.

That sound was like heaven to him. You were like heaven to him. And Gojo’s dilated irises hold direct eye contact with you once he’s digging his round fingertips roughly onto your asscheeks. Resonating out such saturated squelches after squelches as his tongue laps every nook and cranny. “You’re gonna get it- fuck, you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

So many delirious moans rip out of you with every slash of his tongue, perking it in every right sensitive spot of yours - without even trying.

Mewling, “Toru- ngh- Toru.”

“Easy there, easy there.” He giggles out in a wet sputter right into your inner thighs, ragged voice all waterlogged with so many ounces of you and your sweet pussy. In the blink of an eye, you feel like you’re floating - only mere moments later do you realize that it’s because Gojo’s holding you up. 

With only one hand.

Relieving you of any thought other than jerking your cunt repeatedly on top of his open mouth in a sultry tempo. Back and forth. 

“Have no idea h-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He spits into your weeping pussy - both literally and figuratively. Free hand darting upwards to push aside the glutinous barrier of your folds and spray it with a thick wad of spittle. Licking over the shiny sheen, “No idea. Always actin’ so ngh- high and mighty. Had to fuck my fist every time I fought ya, had to run off and- shiiiit cum to the thought of you all over my tongue.”

Gojo was babbling, and right now it was as if he started and couldn’t stop.

“Annoying fuckin’ girl.” He’s snarling, every syllable falling out before he can even think. The swollen point his thumb treks past your walls and catches on the fluttering orifice of your hole. “Ya just need to be eaten out reeeeal proper. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Then you feel like you’re being split-apart, and you knew you were fucked. 

Because Gojo’s fingers were both long and girthy. 

Such a lethal combination that had you mussing up his silky bangs while you held on for dear life. 

His barreling inches crawl right past that first cozy outer ring, showering it with such lustrous layers of pure, slippery need. Pushing and pushing until they’re skirting to thrash right into the bulging area of your g-spot. 

And just when he’s pummelling your molten wall with a harsh strike, just when Gojo’s mouth parts at the pure ecstasy of finding it. Of how pretty you looked. 

You’re letting your own, too, in a frail whimper. “Th-that all you got, Nightwing?”

“Ohhh, I love a woman that bullies me.” 

All that Gojo whispers into your cunt - low, almost reverent - before his touch turns deadly. Cock aching painfully, thighs squeezing together until his pulsing, hot shaft gets squeezed. 

You’re faced with the full force of his slick-covered fingers pumping direct hit after hit. Sending white-hot flashes of pressure straight from the stout ends of his fingerpads and right to your brain.

“That all I got? H-heh, that all I got-” He’s echoing your previous words like a mantra. Breaking. Octaves higher as if he was on the verge of laughing. “How fucking cute.”

“C-cute?”

“So fucking cute.”

“I-I’m not- fuck!”

Pinpointing his long index purposefully in a massage right up against your g-spot, like it was a button for him to toy and push. 

Gojo’s smile leers ever-wider as he holds it there, listening to the way your moans pitch creakily. “What’s that?” And you’re barely spilling off a few more syllables in response before he angles his wrist deeper to push down even harder. Making your entire body shudder, “What’s that? Yeahh, s’what I thought.”

You were so tight around him that Gojo’s forcing himself to bite his driveling bottom lip to hold back countless embarrassing whimpers. Because you were clinging onto him like gum, tugging his fingers back into your boiling hot depths every time he’s reeling back.

And the problem with Gojo Satoru was that he couldn’t decide. 

He wanted you. And he wanted it all. 

Couldn’t stop from alternating between scissoring his dexterous fingers into every ridge and crevice of your goopy cunt, and making out with you like he was parched. Lolling his tongue like he was drunk- all over your swooping slit and rubbing in tiny hearts on top of your hooded clit. 

“Need you. Need you s-shoooo fuuuckin’ badly.” He couldn’t even speak properly at this point. You’re flinching as a third finger slimily squirms inside your pussy. “Want it all.”

So fucking sloppy in ways you’ve never seem him.

Your dewdrops of slick coat the outside of his mouth and stick in delicate strings, growing thicker and thicker by the minute as he once more strikes your magical spot and makes your toes curl. Gasping, “Yeah- yeah, fuck. Take it, take it ngh- all, Satoru—”

You think you’re gonna snap.

“Upsie daisy.”

Basically being manhandled to lean your entire weight on his shoulders. You don’t think you’re even holding yourself up at all this point. Feeling every flex and ripple of the hero’s deltoids underneath your fleshy mounds.

You’re so loud - and not just from your mouth.

“Hell yeah. Talk t’me.” Juicy sloshes spring onto the edges of Gojo’s mouth after every gyration, practically devouring you. He narrows his lust-murked stare to your glistening hole, giggling - fucking giggling - at how your hips just can’t stay still. “She’s saying…ohhh she’s saying- saying she’s gonna be good f’me.”

You’re blinking down with dazed intrigue, watching with an empty head at the way that his motions only get faster. And faster. 

Pupils sprinting allll the way to the back of your heavy lids, “Close. Think- think m’so close, Toru.”

“Ya think?” He muses, drawing a bold stripe up your bruised and battered g-spot. One so hard that it has the corners of your lips flooding with a bubbling torrent of saliva, it has your eyes shuttering- “Oh, girl– I know. You’re cummin’ already, sweetheart.”

Shit- you were? You were. 

Head spinning, throat raw. 

And you didn’t even realize it with just how fucked-out you were on his long, lecherous tongue. Rendering your head permanently dizzy with those vulgar patterns he was drawing with it, both inside and out.

Your goopy walls tingle with the force of your high, ears popping with the pressure of those startling peaks after peaks. Ones that Gojo drags out gladly. 

“Cumming from the hah- the great Gojo Satoru, huh?” He’s groaning, tonality husked with a shiver of something predatory. Unstable. Needy. Smashing away over and over and over on your most tender spots, buzzing. “Cumming all over my mouth. Always was meant for this- meant for me.”

If you thought that the squelches from before were blasphemous, then you surely weren’t ready for the slurps that follow now. 

So loud. 

Slithering the curling tip of his tongue to slap down on your quivering entrance, he’s pounding your hole dually with a mean mouth and even meaner fingers. Merciless. 

You’re cumming and cumming and he’s stringing you along with every explosive ram and suck. Tired fingers pulling out of your hole with a wet plop! and lurching down to squeeze his achingly hard cock. Grinding the fat of his palm over n’ over across his length-

“S-soooo sensitive—” You’re sobbing out, eyes leaking hot tears once the crescendo of your orgasm pulls taut, powerful tingles rushing from where Gojo was latching his neat teeth onto your clit and biting. 

And not even wringing your fingers to scratch his scalp, not even draaaagging Gojo by his sweat-matted hair could get him to part. 

He wasn’t done yet. No. 

His chin hits the very back of your cunt as he targets your pussy with yet another viscous few wads of spittle. Scattering it all over your sloppy hole when he’d drunk up all your sweet sap and there wasn’t enough. “Wanna taste more o-of you. S’fuckin’ sweet, wanna taste more.”

Because to him it would never be enough.

Not even when you’d finally let your toes uncurl, not even when your cracked whimpers were turning hushed. Bated. 

Not even when he finally breaks his kiss between your legs with one last looooong slurp. Well, multiple. Gojo simply kept parting and coming back every few seconds with the most vulgar kisses because it hurt him to leave the very same pussy he’s been dreaming of since the day he first met you. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gojo seethes out through rough pants. The soppy thwack! of wiry ribbons of drool from both sets of lips smacking him in the face. It lacquers all over his prettily flushed face and makes a mess.

Yet, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

And the only thing messier was that smile he was giving you - dopey, and crazed. With beads of syrupy slick hanging off of his cerise lips, “You…you got my mask all dirty, sweetheart.”

“Dirty” was an understatement. 

Gojo’s black mask was drenched, soaked through until every bit of his milky skin touching it smeared with a shimmery lamination of sap. You’d done such a number on him that when he hooks a thumb underneath, it lets out the most sinful squelch!

“Hear that?” You’re watching, speechless, once he tugs it off haphazardly. Impatiently. Ethereal white locks splaying out and over like a halo, “That’s the sound of ya being eaten out reeeal good n’ proper.”

And when Nightwing takes his mask off, you have to blink. 

Because you’d fully and completely thought that Gojo Satoru could never be prettier - but when he was like this? When you could finally see his face fully?

Shit, you’re feeling your heart hammer against your ribs with a painful ba-dump–! just by looking into his summer blue eyes. The cute blush painting his features even more evident, and you’re catching his nose crinkle. 

You’re pushing back the stray twines of his bangs sticking onto his prespired forehead. A touch that makes him shiver, a touch that makes his hardened cock twitch in his supersuit. “Never put that on a-again, I swear.”

“Ate that pretty cunt out and you’ve hah- fallen f’me already, hm~?” He’s wriggling his pale brows, and the look in his eyes is so enchanted that it leaves you momentarily speechless.

If you’d fallen for Gojo now, then he had already fallen for you a long, long time ago.

You hand on his hair tightens, searing. Angling his handsomely pussydrunken face until he’s looking up at you, “And who was saying they’ve been hngh- dreaming of eating my ‘pretty cunt’ for ages now?”

“I…”

“Shut up.”

And when you tell him to shut up, he shuts up. For perhaps the first time in the twenty-something years he’s been terrorizing this Earth.

Oh, for just how famed Nightwing was for his reflexes, Gojo barely sees it coming when you’re pushing him onto the muggy floor and collapsing right on down with him. Feverish. Needy. 

He was so fucking hard that you swear you could see the zig-zag of his inflated veins through that massive bulge. Through his clothes-

Seriously, you’re ripping through the tough latex-y fabric wrapping around his inner thighs with a smirk. If he got to rip your supersuit then you should only return the favor. 

You can’t help yourself, the very tip of your mushy tongue drips with a few pearls of saliva with just how badly you wanted him in your mouth. You’d seen the way that Gojo was huffing and grinding his cock as much as he could when he was filthily making out with your cunt.

Judging by the way he was jolting and moaning at your every touch, you were surprised he didn’t cum just from-

Oh.

He did. 

And from the startled look of awe on Gojo’s face, he didn’t realize he had, either. 

“Oh?” You’re skimming the fat plane of your thumb over his leaky orifice right in the middle, bawling out thick ropes of creamy white which slipped n’ slid allll down your wrist in generous heaps. “A-and you called me ‘cute’.”

Shit, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know where to look.

True to his word, Gojo was big - more than big, actually. 

His cock was oh-so-pretty, standing red and proud at something near nine or ten inches. Oodles of buttery seed dripping down the side and ready for you to lick up. 

Nestled above breeder balls, he’s lightning bolted with fat, rosé veins you couldn’t wait to feel scratch up your insides. A girthy circumference that made your poor knuckles ache to wrap around, so needy that every throb made your wrist jolt. 

So…sexy.

“Satoru…”

And something in your tone of voice seems to jolt Gojo into overdrive. 

He’s letting his meaty thighs crack open, displaying you with the attractive ripples of muscle. “C’mon, sweetheart-” A large hand softly cups the back of your unsteady head, “-clean up this- this mess you made.”

If this was any other time, you might’ve snapped back something about it being the mess he made himself. If this was any other time, you might’ve teased him for the teary cracks shattering his words.

But right now, you were striking the bullseye of Gojo’s round, coral pink divot with a hefty dump of saliva. Thumbing it right over his weeping middle and lazing your tongue tenderly all down the grooves of his veins.

You could feel him throb and buck underneath you, so turned on that you could practically taste it. 

“Gods. Fuck. Fuck, girl-” He’s spitting out through lowered lashes, watching your tongue flop out to lap ‘round and ‘round his mushroomy tip like your favorite lolly. “-like that. Just like that.”

Gojo tucks a thumb underneath the curve of your chin, prying your maw to fall open just enough so that he can tap-tap-tap his blushing, thick head on your tongue. So that he can spurt out a few more gumdrops of seed and watch them glisten all the way to your throat. 

He’s watching you with an open mouth,  “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, my girl. Now you’re gonna hah- take all of me, right?”

Your pussy twitches with interest at his words — “my girl.” And the only thing you can think to do is let your digits sift underneath his tender slit, grinning. “Make me.”

It’s all the confirmation that Gojo needs to lurch open your slobbering mouth even further and plunge his veiny cock into you. Hissing at the way your tongue drags underneath his sinking shaft, he burns red to the tips of his ears. 

“N-now now, play nice and say ‘ahhh’—” Your mouth was so hot. And it was working so many wonders on his fat cock that it was forcing him to gasp out tiny sobs. “Take me- fucking- fucking take me or god help me-”

He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Never breaking sultry eye contact, Gojo’s swabbing his cum around your plumped lips like a whitish lipstain. Fucking up feverishly, his trickling tip hits the very bottom of your throat and stays there-

“Ya like that?” He’s snarling out, perfect teeth pulled back on full display. You’re moaning into his tufted, snowy-white pubes at the sight of his glinting canines. “‘Course you do, course you do. F-fuck don’t know how many ngh- time I-I’ve imagined this. All because of you, nasty girl-”

Without warning, he’s pinching your nose together and you whine in answer. Crescents of your nails clawing down red, red lines all over his toned abs, “Alright alright- ngh- mostly because of you.”

He lets go, finally. Snickering at the steady tears that fall down your cute face. 

Fighting against his flapping lids to watch the way you’re bobbing your head in a primal cadence now. Your nose brushing up against his heated skin every time. A fat few rivers of drool find themselves glazing your lips, your chin, Gojo’s shifting pelvis in a puddle. 

He was so hot and weighty inside, and your jaw was starting to ache just from the sheer bulky fatness. Your cunt leaking - bawling - at the way his ballooned-up veins rub against the roof of your mouth up n’ down.

“You and that damn suit n’ those damn eyes a-and that-” He bucks up, up, up, core tensing sexily each time. Smashing the rounded curve of his tight balls against your chin. “-damn mouth. Now mine, all mine oh—”

Your fingers just barely graze over Gojo’s plump sack, making his precious, pinkish skin wrinkle. Making him gasp- “O-oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-” His head snaps upwards, eyes rolling to the very backs of his head. “-c’mere. C’mere.”

Maybe it’s because of the remaining aftereffects of your mind-shattering orgasm, maybe it’s because you wanted him so bad you couldn’t think; but you’re so pliable in Gojo’s big, strong arms.

He’s bending a few degrees to scoop you up in a mess of boneless limbs, all in one go. Sitting you all pretty and struggling to balance on his slender hips– his v-shape was mouth-watering. 

And your thighs fit so perfectly snugly on either side, glissading your pussylips up and down on his cylindrical shaft. You’re riding all along his bumpy veins, head bobbing at every probing spiral that pokes past your folds. 

“Fuck me.” Gojo whispers against your throat. Reaching over languidly to rip even more of his supersuit for you, all the way down his inner thighs, his chest, everywhere. For you to ruin. “Fuh-fuck me.”

Whining, “Give it- give it t’me, Toru–”

He blushes. 

You didn’t know who was yearning for it more. 

Gojo repeatedly spanks your slippery hole with the very rounded crown of his cockhead, sandwiching himself between your bloated lips. And the sight makes him grin, the sight makes him twitch- “Open. Open wiiiide, sweetheart. Tight fuckin’ thing.”

Your knobbly knees ricket as you splay them out shamelessly, “‘Nough teasing. Want it- a-and I want it now.”

Bratty girl.

Though, he always has loved that side of you. 

And it’s exactly what makes Gojo depart his hips off of the ground in a sudden rut and fill you up to your brim. Just the plump circle of his tip mazing past your entrance enough to render you stupidly speechless. 

You swear you hear him bludgeon just the few inches of his head into your channel with a wet plop! Before your ears ring with something even louder…even wetter. 

“Fucking- shit shit shit-” You’re almost letting your mouth sing with a whimper once his gorgeous eyes shutter closed, a cute pout smearing over your face. Gojo’s shifting, he’s restless, he’s planting his feet firmly flat on the floor and bucking wildly. Through clenched teeth, “This is- all- your- fault.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling something warm and thick soaking through your walls. Slathering ribbons of liquid sloshing around your wet inners and mixing with the waves of your aroused slick. 

Did he just…? Just from putting it inside? 

And, really, you felt so heavenly inside - what was a man to do?

Your gooey walls molding around his length like molten gold, it was driving Gojo crazy until all he could do was wrap his arms around the small of your back as if you were his lifeline. Panting out cloudy breaths against your face, he stares deeply into your eyes and cums-

Your eyes flap open alertly, “T-Toru– did you just-”

“Shut up.” He’s huffing, gnawing on his wobbly lower lip like chewing gum. To shut you up, he’s shoving your face between the plummy cushions of his pecs. Grunting when your tongue comes out to suck his rose pink nipples. “I’m just- I’m- ngh–”

Just fucking his globular wads of seed until you were overspilling, is what. Pumping the bottom of your pussy so full that you’re feeling him smear sticky streaks down your cervix, the gluey-texture making your back arch for more more more-

“Can’t help that this p-pussy is so fuck- filthy.” He’s trawling out syllables from the back of his hoarse throat, a thin line of saliva leaking from one end of that fucked-out grin. Eyeing the plapping of his cum pouring in bucketloads out of you and onto his skin, “That you’re so…”

Can’t help that he’s been dreaming of this since forever. 

Gojo didn’t have to say a word, because the massive puddle formulating from between your icing-topped folds was chatty enough. Really chatty, in fact, that the man finds himself nodding away blearily with every shrill squelch! from down below. 

Humming, “Mhm— real t-talkative, aren’t you, pretty girl?” His pants puncture with a few breathless titters, watery gaze flickering between your sweaty face and where he was disappearing. Depraved. “Nicer than her, too.”

Lips falling into a partially-offended, partially-delirious oh! your brows furrow, “S-so mean. Don’t make me- ngh- don’t make me g-get off, Satoru.”

“Get off, huuuuh?” He’s drawling, hands pushing you down even further along his blushing red cock. You were so insistent and fiery, it made him so much fucking harder. And it was cute, the way you’re flinching when his tip throbs even fatter. “If you wanna ngh- tap- tap out, jus’ say so, my girl.”

“Never.” 

“Never?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes of yours, “You’d tap out first.”

Fuck yeahhhhh, he was shifting his hips just a little to make you feel how much girthier you were making him. The clingy sides of your walls snatching on the way his crownhead pulls taut, stretching your innards to the very max. “No. You.”

He doesn’t know if you even realize just how much more damp you’re getting. A syrupy wet patch already formed and growing on his v-line, dribbling down to his twitchy balls. “Scared, Nightwing?”

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart.”

And with that said, only now do you realize just how true his words are. 

Two impressive hands interlace on the crown of your sticky scalp, pushing you- bullying you down like some glorified ragdoll. 

Your thighs twitch as if you were unsure whether to clench or spread. You can feel Gojo’s sweltering hot cock squeezing and squeezing his fully proud length inside of you - you didn’t even realize that he hadn’t bottomed out yet because he was simply so big.

But when he did finally fit all the way?

God, it felt like he was drilling his split-ended tip right into your lungs. 

“There we go- thereeee we go.” Gojo breathes out thickly, and it felt like something leaden in his tummy was finally unraveling after all this time. Finally stuffed inside your pussy. “Knew you could t-take me- heh. S’biiig, isn’t it?”

Really big. 

And every shallow bounce of yours made your pulse burst near your throat, stars sparking behind your burdensome eyelids when he pinpricks tiny speckles of pre on your most favorite spots. 

“Yeah yeah- ride me.” He grapples at your scalp and pulls. “Fuckin’ ride me. S’all yours n’ I wanna see you ngh- milk it.”

“Gods- ohhhh gods.” You’re shrilling out in a strained pitch when he jerks upwards and clashes into your g-spot, your nails claw ragged lines on the carpet as if you’d just been thrown to the wolves. Stupid now. Hips jerking away from his tantalizing pace-

“No running.” Gojo spits, pained. One hand curling around your throat and dragging you down to smack the backs of your thighs against his weighty balls, the other cupping your face delicately. His long, textured tongue laps up the salty pearls of your tears with looooud slurps. “Wh-where the ngh- fuck do you think you’re going?”

You didn’t even have an answer because every possible one was being fucked out of you. Brutally. 

One sharp jab. Two. Three into your tender alcoves and you feel like collapsing, your front melting into his toned one, drool spilling out in spit-loads. 

It’s all you can do to gyrate your waist back and forth in sloppy circles to meet his pace. Looong figure eights that made Gojo’s thighs shudder, and your clit scratch his creamy happy trail. There were so many thorough inches being fed into your cunt, probing deeply. Over and over and over- 

And no matter how full you were he’d keep rutting and rutting. Like he couldn’t stop. Rotund head sagging down your cervix to leave streaks of pre and he was still pushing.

Gojo bores up at you with glazed eyes, saliva-glistening lips parted ever-so-slightly while he pounded up into you as if in a daze.

You’re swearing his dilated pupils have formed into hearts- “Mmmm– love you, my girl.” He carries out a tender kiss on your forehead, and a rough squeeze on your throat. Jostling your lolling head back and forth ever-so-slightly, to dab his digits in a seeping puddle of slick and push past your lips. “Love fucking you. Being haaaaa– fucked by you…”

It’s not often that anyone can catch Gojo Satoru off guard.

But you’re not just “anyone.”

With your honed expertise, all it takes is one jackhammered thud! into the back of your pussy - two - before you’re flipping your ravenously glissading bodies over. 

“Then f-fuck me properly, Toru.”

Maybe he heard your words through the static-y buzzing in his head, maybe he didn’t. Either way your tone makes something inside him twitch, full-bodied. 

And you don’t think Gojo even registers it beyond a stuttered ohhh–! at first, you don’t think he even realizes the way he’s immediately sprawling you out flat on your back and bending you into a rude mating press. 

Still not slowing down. Still not faltering. 

Ah, you don’t know if you’re a genius or just plain stupid. Because you still manage to yelp, “S’that- s’that it?”

As if on primal instinct, he’s letting out a growl near your mouth. “Hah- haaah– Y’know…I-I’m reeeeal flexible, my girl.” Your calves burn with exertion once he throws them unceremoniously over his shoulders, core tensing in a way you can’t help but ogle. “Real flexible.”

At first you didn’t understand why he was telling you this. At first.

Before Gojo drags his large feet up, up, up until he’s planting them where you can see - sweaty thighs lugging forwards where he’s bending you in half and then some. 

It was so cute how pliable you were underneath him, manhandled to every whim and want and need-

This brand-spanking new angle was everything. 

Thrashing into your springy cervix - hard. Stretching out deeply-seated sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. It makes you feel so fucking filthy at the sting of his papping balls bruising your ass like never before. 

And his tip is so greedy, feeling the swashing splash of his own seed dripping all over your walls and still bursting to erupt with more. He could tell he was close, aligning himself to crash into his favorite target of your g-spot. 

“Fuck–” Your mindless legs threaten to close - not that he would ever let them. “So much. Fuck me, p-please.”

“What was that?”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please!”

Gojo’s hunched over, seethingly red in the face. Ivory bangs half-way covering his intensely half-lidded stare, stray spatters of perspiration hit your chest like bullets. 

“Gonna ngh- fuck you properly.” He spits, hands ghosting over your tummy - namely that globed bulge he was fucking into you. A mere nudge of it with his thumb leaves Gojo’s breath leaving his lungs in a sizzling woosh! Sculptured chest vibrating, “Gonna breed you properly. Gonna…” 

You’re flinching when fingers waft over your nubbed clit, the stark volts of electricity prompting your ass to hit back even rougher against his sharp pelvis. 

“Want it, Toru.” Wobbly arms wrapping around his flushed neck to pull him in close. He looks at you lovingly, while he fucks you like he hates you. “W-want you to ngh- breed me.”

And that does it - for the both of you.

Gojo Satoru’s breath hitches with a cry, balls achingly tight. Needy. “Gonna make you m-mine.”

Running headfirst into your highs, it hits you like a tidal wave. You don’t know where you’re seeing white from; the flurries of stars speckling your vision, or from the torrents of cum Gojo pours out past your sloppy entrance. 

“Your p-pussy–!” Gojo bursts, drilling into you as if he was crazed. Fat tip swirling around your pretty insides with decorative ribbons of pure white, his cum seeps into you thickly and you swear you can feel him well up the door to your womb. “O-ohhhh your pussy your pussy your- p-pussy, takin’ me so well.”

“Fuck me-” You tug on his pink lips with your teeth and it makes Gojo empty out another few webbed streaks of sap into the bottom of your pussy with a thud! Brows furrowing, “Deeper.” Even though he was so deep you think you might burst. “Harder.” So hard you felt raw. “More.”

You were already overspilling, the throes of your burning hot orgasm just barely letting you register the splat-splat-splat of his cum pumping in n’ out of you. 

Two of his slender fingers urgently scoop those few escaping globs back through your pussylips, Gojo’s girth so wide that he doesn’t even have to try to plug you full and tight. 

“A-all safe and sound.” He’s patting at the cumflated outline on your tummy, cylindrical and round. Your walls were so plump and tight with him that just the simplest dig had you squealing. “A-all…”

And Gojo looked like he could purr if he could. 

All fucked out and satisfied, the pussydrunken grin on his face seemed permanent - and so was that tender glint in his eye. Peeking up at you through long lashes, he leans his head over to listen to your juddering heartbeat, “All mine.”

Your tummy lurches, and you find yourself smiling before you can stop. But it’s not like you wanted to stop.

In fact, you didn’t want to stop at all. 

“That last one’s a tie.” Your voice scratches the favorite crevices of Gojo’s brain; so mushy and melted that it takes a long while before his lips drop into an understanding oh! You sweetly peck his lips, “Rematch, Nightwing?”

Fuck. 

His poor, overworked cock twitches.

Fuck. 

And of course, it was a rematch with the two of you.

Of course, the one rematch turned into two. Into three. Into four. Into- you’d lost count after five, and you were sure right now that you couldn’t even do any maths past that.

After breaking Naoya Zenin’s loveseats, after splitting his desk literally in half. Eventually, you’d either forgotten about the man himself and your fate, or you just didn’t care. You were so fucked dumb that all you can cry is a broken, “Sa-to–ru!”

Because if there was one thing that Batman taught in his rigorous training scheme, it was stamina. 

Gojo was taking you from behind right now- well, that was being generous. 

He was slumped down over you until his abs were liquefying down your arched spine, head buried deep into the clammy crook of your neck. Swirling his sensitive cock all around your tenderized insides, thighs trembling where he was pinning the both of you down onto the floor. Too sloppy and fucked to even try anywhere else.

“M’here—” Gojo drawls out, heavy tongue stumbling over the sounds. He pats the cute tummy bulge that he’s responsible for first, and then your gushing pussy. Pulling you to him, he really was acrobatic, “M’here. Toru’s h-here, my sweetheart.”

Fuck- those last two words make him jetstream out a sweltering few beads of seed. He couldn’t even cum properly anymore. 

Driving into you until every voluminous mass in his body was now packed intensely between your snug walls, he shifts inside of you with a sloooow gyration and feels the knotted mess he’s made. 

“My sweetheart–” Gojo’s biceps bulge where he’s shoving your head into the soft carpet, into the pond of saliva that just won’t stop leaking from your parted mouth. His words depart in a cracked plea, “My girl.”

“Y-yours.”

Maybe you’re cumming, maybe you’re not - you don’t even know, at this point. 

Half-lucidly aware of the faint tingles shooting up your spine, and making your temples throb. Gojo himself feels out of control, hips reeling back, back, back to slam into your jiggling ass. 

He’s pawing himself a rough handful of your fleshy mounds once he throws his head back and lets his aching shaft jolt. Straight from his drenched base, all the way to his overstimulated tip- exhausting out one bead of pre. Two. 

Before Gojo cums dry.

“O-oh.” His teeth snag near your pulse, wet splatters of tears soaking your skin. Something animalistic twinging at the back of his cottony mind at the way you literally milked him until he was dry. Despite himself, he laughs. High-pitched. Crazed. “S’a- tie- s’a tie, I went e-easy on you…”

Somehow, you’re managing a grin. “My hero~”

And Gojo was just about to open his mouth - maybe to counter back something nonsensical, maybe to ask for a rematch over n’ over until he passes out.

But what happens instead is that overly familiar metallic gate explodes open.

You have to blink away the clingy fog in your eyes in alarm, and you’re embarrassed to admit that it took longer than you thought. Dammit, he really did win that last round- ah, rematch.

Still stunned, you can barely even dredge up some semblance of dignity as a towering man in a red helmet and skin-tight black suit walks in. Past his sexy biker vest, and those muscles upon chiseled muscles, you think you see- yeah, it really is. A red Batman logo. 

Red Hood. 

A low snicker sounds from underneath his mask, swiftly being taken off to reveal a man so pretty that you feel your jaw slacken. 

He runs a hand through silky, waist-length black hair, amethyst eyes glinting with amusement and something…more as he takes in the sight. Long lashes fluttering, he lets go of a specialized machine gun you assume was used to break down your cage. “Yo, Satoru.”

“Suguru.” Gojo gruffs out in a condensed gasp, though he makes no move to stop. None at all. Still balls-deep, and rubbing his tip down your spongy cervix. “Wh-what- fuuuck, don’t squeeze like that, my girl- took ya so ngh- long?”

Red Hood- Suguru, waves his other hand airily, only then do you see the knife clutched in it. The extremely…bloodied knife. “Ah, y’know~ Had to clean up some messes. Toji wanted revenge on the Zenins, the usual family drama.” Eyes flashing, “He’ll be up once he’s done to ah…join us here.”

Oh god, was the entire Bat Family here? You get the distinct feeling that this was not just “usual family drama.”

But you can’t say a word when the other man bores his piercing gaze onto you next. Tone smooth and syrupy, “So…Prowler, I’m assuming, by the ripped up costume?”

You feel your skin heat. “The one and only.”

“Geto Suguru, gorgeous.” He pulls out a tiny spherical gadget that looked exactly like the one Gojo had been toying with hours- days? ago. “I already know your name, Toji and I heard it over and over. Which, by the way, you should remind that idiot Satoru to turn his microphone off.”

Ah, that explains a lot. And wait- it was on this whole time? 

Shit. 

While Gojo only huffs out a pant of laughter, planting yet another deep jackhammer into you, you feel the apologies bubble to your lips. That is, until- 

“Unless you want someone to feel…” Geto licks his lips slooowly, bangs swooning over his sleazy gaze. You watch with widened eyes as a hand falls to his bulky belt, carnally. “-left out.”

A/N. Mhm what happens when ya let a girl listen to Nightcrawler.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kxtsukixoxo]

just in case // katsuki bakugou

emergency contacts were something you never considered important, you knew if anything had happened you’d tell them to call your significant other, but for some odd reason katsuki threw a tantrum until you added his number to your emergency contacts and added him as a legacy contact, allowing him to access your data if you ever died. 

just in case. 

you didn’t remove him, even after the breakup. you laid on your side, nuzzling into the covers with your phone in one hand as you reviewed your details, updating the necessary information. you finally reached it. his name with an orange heart next to it. you didn’t bother changing his contact name or deleting it too, it felt like a waste of time. you placed your phone onto pillow next to yours, the very same pillow katsuki once fell asleep on. 

you’d be a formidable liar if you ever said you didn’t miss waking up next to him, as the soft hues of daylight shone onto his soft skin, his blonde hair gleaming with life, as you placed a kiss on his forehead. the memory lulling you into a deep sleep. 

you woke up in ice cold sheets, no form of body heat from the empty space next to you, no snoring, just quiet.

following the cycle you did every single day, shower, go to work, get into your car and drive back home. 

“good evening, this is Jaku General Hospital, am i speaking to Katsuki Bakugou?” 

“yes you are.” 

“i regret to inform you that [y/n] [l/n] has sadly passed away, we decided that we should call you first since you were part of her emergency contacts, may i ask what is your relationship with the deceased?” 

katsuki felt his grip on his phone slip, finally clenching it harder, “boyfriend.” 

“do you remember the key to access her details, you’re the only individual she has added to her legacy contacts list” 

how could he forget it, he made you do it after all. 

“hello? sir? are you there?” katsuki placed the phone down as incoherent words exuded his phone, he could still remember the day he pressurised you into adding him onto your emergency contacts list, you were persistent in ignoring such fimble things, yet katsuki didn’t give up. 

receiving your belongings in a small tray, he picked up your phone, your lockscreen displayed a picture you took with him when you two first started dating, you looked so different. you looked happy. 

“passcodes still my birthday huh?” 

[lalunanymph]

CAUGHT

☆° syp: caleb catches you jerking off and decides to try something new with you

☆° tw: caleb x fem!reader, masturbating, watching p0rn, suspension, improper use of evol, dom!caleb, unprotected sex, bondage, dirty talk, possessiveness, silly banter, kinda crack-ish at the end, brat taming-ish, 1.8k+ words

☆° dawn says: caleb's secret times affinity 85 has got me feeling some kinda way so i locked in for two hours and wrote this (shame)

Skyhaven is chilly, but under the sheets of your shared bed with Caleb, you’re sweating your ass off. 

It’s not like you to typically be this… well, desperate, but hey—ovulation week can tank even the most disciplined of girls. And you, for sure, aren’t the strongest when it comes to fighting back these primal urges. 

Your fingers make quick work under the bands of your sleep pants, and you’re huffing, panting as your eyes lock onto your phone screen, drinking in the sight of a woman passionately getting eaten out by her Dominant as she’s dangling from the ceiling in shibari. Look—not to yuck anyone’s yum, but you sure as hell didn’t think you’d find something like this hot. 

Caleb and you were still… finding your intimacy footing. He’s gentle and sweet in bed, always paying attention to your needs. He wouldn’t even come unless you were close, constantly edging himself so you two could fall down the precipice together.

Warm and kind, you could never envision him doing something like this to you. 

The woman moans through your wireless earbuds, her hair cascading in magnificent waves. Her Dom grunts, a mess between her thighs, his chin and cheeks slick with her juices. You can tell from how her belly is constricting rapidly that she’s close, and your body surges in a feverish pitch, trying to find your own peak.

When, suddenly, the blanket is yanked off your body and you’re looking right into the wide eyes of your boyfriend. 

Caleb stands, frozen, still in his Colonel uniform. He’s had a hard day—you can tell. He looks deprived of a few hours of sleep, and his shoulders are rigid.

But, the second he fixes his gaze on you, his jaw goes slack. In awe.

You quickly yank your hand out of your pants and remove your earbuds. But, this damn technology had it out for you. The second your wireless connection is disconnected, moans and slurps fill the awkward space between you and Caleb—definitely blowing your cover.

“Crap!” 

With a squeak, you hasten to switch off your phone, mortification washing over you in waves. You scramble to sit up, and as if you hadn’t been edging yourself to an explosive orgasm, you nervously chuckle, unaware of how Caleb’s eyes have darkened. 

“Pipsqueak…” His voice is low, fringed with curious suspicion. “What was that?” 

Before you can change the subject and claim that it’s nothing, the pull of gravity flicks your phone off the bed and into his hand. He knows your password by heart, like how you know his, and when the screen flickers to life, he huffs under his breath.

“So… this is what my naughty little girl gets up to when I’m not home, huh.”

His words send an unexpected thrill down your spine, but you’re too horrified to say anything else, your cheeks leeched off color. 

You stutter, “It’s not what you think—” But, he cuts you off, shaking his head. 

“Boo. Wrong. Means I’m not treating you right,” he chuckles, and tosses the phone back to you. “But, y’know what, I’ve always liked a little challenge, so maybe it’s time we took things… to another level.”

Curlicues of heat shiver down your body, and you throb hotly between your thighs. Stubbornness, however, would be your downfall when you scoff and try to play off the intensity building you two. “Caleb, you big dummy—I told you it was nothing—”

He grips your jaw, gently tilting your face up to meet his. 

For the past few minutes, you’ve been resolutely avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might find there. But, when you tentatively slide your eyes to meet him, you’re not greeted by contempt or disgust as you originally thought. 

Caleb’s looking down at you with an inexplicable heat in his gaze. There’s a slight tremble in his fingers, though his expression remains deceptively calm. 

“Princess, come on.” His thumb strokes your lower lip. “When have I ever judged you, huh? I love you—” He sounds ardent. Sincere. “I love you and I would do anything you wanted. Anything at all.” 

A fissure of arousal snakes through your veins, lighting you up from head to toe. 

“... anything?” 

Caleb doesn’t hesitate to nod. “Anything.”

… 

Which is how you currently find yourself suspended in mid-air, at the mercy of his Evol. 

Caleb sticks true to the unholy scriptures found on your phone’s browser, on his knees, right between your thighs. 

He does that thing with his tongue you absolutely adore. You squirm in your gravitational bindings and he glances up at you, a glint in his eyes. Hoarsely, he rasps, “You’re so pretty, baby.”

His tongue digs back into your insides, and your warbling cry resounds throughout the room. Caleb’s not gonna stop—he’s gonna make sure the whole of Skyhaven hears you coming.

“Louder,” he growls, and he picks up the pace, slurpin’ down on your folds like it’s his last meal. Fast. Messy. He punctuates the rhythm of his laps with grunts of, “Pretty. So pretty.”

Your pliant body is for him to do as he pleases. Every touch. Every lick. Every caress. Caleb knows what he’s doing—how exactly to drive you wild. This feeling of power and control that comes down on him—it’s heady. 

Addictive.

You’re the sweetest addiction he can never get over. Your body, your sounds.

God, it drives him insane.

The sway of your hips as he bullies his tongue deep into the buttery heat of your arousal makes him grin, shark-like. 

“Enjoyin’ this, baby?” He pauses to whisper between laps. 

You’re unable to move in mid-air. The ends of your hair sway with every tremble of your body. You’re gasping, eyes-crossed, dumb on his tongue. He has your arms dangling at your sides, and maneuvers them over your head with his Evol to really hammer in your helplessness. 

“Pretty like a doll,” he groans, all lustful and thick. Drip, drip. The syrupy gloss of your juices saturate his tongue, and he moans at the taste, like honey and sunshine that comes straight from his favorite fountain. 

Oh, he has it down bad—

Caleb can’t think. Can’t focus past the ravenous hunger demolishing his composure, making him thirsty and hungry for only you. 

And, god do you taste divine. 

His Adam’s apple bulges down on a swallow as you feed him some of your squirt. “There ya go—” he growls, placing a quick smack! on your inner thigh. “Squirtin’ like the ripest peach f’me. Pretty little peach. My pretty—” he rolls his tongue over your folds, swirling it like a madman hellbent on pushing you down the last cliff of your sanity. “—pretty lil’ princess.” 

“Caleb!” Your meek cry doesn’t stop him.

“Nuh-uh,” he moans into the thick of your treacly folds, all swollen and puffy now from his ministrations. “S’not a safe word, baby.” 

You want to hold him. Pull his stupid face up and kiss him senseless.

But, he’s got all the ropes now. You’re just a puppet caught in his web. 

A marionette he can’t wait to fuck straight until she can’t walk.

“Did’cha think I would let you go after that lil’ stunt you pulled, princess?” His leering smirk disappears back between your thighs, the edges of his teeth grazing your trembling, defenseless clit. “Touchin’ yourself like I don’t please you every night—you wound me, baby.”

The raw possessiveness of it all makes you clench down on his devious tongue. Caleb is out for blood, and he won’t stop until he milks you dry. 

He slurs his stake right into the heart of your cunt, lapping at the pearly drops of pleasure oozing right down to the ground. “Anythin’ you want, I’d do it for you. Fuck you on the moon if you want.”

“Caleb—” you whine. 

You’re close—trembling violently. “Caleb, please—inside,” you gurgle. “Inside me, please!” 

He answers your prayers in a split second, cock pushing through your tight heat, up and down, up and down, stroking, thrusting…

He’s as keyed up as you are. The sloppy plap plap plaps of your bodies meeting together makes his pride soar and his balls clench. Caleb digs his fingers into your hips, watching your body undulate in thin air—like a ship rocked apart by a storm with only his cock as an anchor. 

The silver glint of his dog tag slams back onto his chest repeatedly. His abs are coated with a light layer of sweat and exertion. He’s sprinting you to the finish line, both of you keyed up beyond belief—he needs to see you shattering all over him like the finest China falling to the ground. 

“God, you look so good like this,” he licks his lips, dragging his tongue over a spot of pussy juice he missed, moaning when he tastes you again. “Hair all flowin’, body all taut. Imagine if I had you in ropes, baby,” he grunts, gunning for the sweet ending, digging the balls of his feet into the hardwood floor for maximum thrusting. “You’d be—hngnn—under my control.” 

His words snap the fragile crisp of self-control you’re holding onto. 

You come for him, loud and wholeheartedly, and the gusto makes his heart soar, his cock throb—

Warm spurts fill you to the brim, and your shackled-to-the-air legs tremble, your body trembling in zero gravity.

Caleb gnashes his teeth and whines like a mad dog coming down from his high, using the last of his strength to catch you as you both go tumbling to the floor like Lego pieces. 

For a second, the room swims in a pure haze of white light. You can’t feel your feet, or your hands. 

Shit—he’s fucked the soul out of you. 

But, in the ringing silence, you feel his hand gently cradle your head to his chest, and the wayward seed is back on her beloved apple tree. 

Caleb caresses your head, gently leaving kisses on your temple, cheeks, chin. Anywhere his mouth can reach. 

After a moment of silence, you reach for your phone and he raises a brow.

“Seriously? You’re not gonna make a Moments post right now, are ya, Pipsqueak?” 

You flop onto his chest, and rather than being tuckered out like he hoped you would be, you kick your feet up, giggling as you scroll through your phone. “Noooo. Got something else better in mind.” 

He nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of your custom-made shampoo you once DIY-ed with him at a fragrance fair. Your excitement re-sparks the flames again, and he chuckles when you excitedly show him your phone screen—showing off a new position where the bepenised specimen has his unimportant half lying down the side of the bed while his female counterpart hops up and down his more important half.

It looks easy enough, and Caleb is surprisingly limber for his size. 

“Supernova, huh?” He squints at the screen, looking deep in thought. “I guess it’s doable—”

You shake your head, tossing him a grin brimming with mischief.

“Oh. I’m not done yet.” You swipe the screen, and it’s an even more complicated position. He inwardly tries not to break. Caleb has indirectly created an insatiable monster.

“Have you ever tried this one~?” 

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my works into AI.

[gojoest]

from pregnancy freak to postpartum freak — satoru finds himself in a tough spot while your body is recovering from giving birth to his child. he tries to be patient but motherhood looks so beautiful on you… and unfortunately, after you’re ready to have him again, there seems to be another little issue — one that likes to cry and disrupt the moment satoru has been longing for

MDNI, established relationship, f!reader (she/her), pregnancy and postpartum, you have a beautiful baby daughter, mentions of breastfeeding and satoru being really really weird about it, mentions of male masturbation, somno if you squint really hard (just to be safe), pet names (baby, beautiful, sweetheart), nothing too explicit going on here tbf, but there’s a sweet little hint of a potential breeding sesh at the end, not proofread, wc: 1.8k+

your husband (gojo satoru) and you have always had a marvelous sex life, one that would naturally induce a sense of envy in anyone who came to know of it, accidentally or not — the walls were thin, but sometimes it was the mouth of your husband that was too big.

but in all honesty, there has never been a day in which you didn’t desire each other carnally, even after so many years.

you thought, maybe, this might change after he knocked you up with a baby — you had read a handful of articles on the topic and how some men become more distant during that sensitive timeframe — but as it turns out, you could not have been more wrong. either those magazines sucked or your husband was some sort of mutation. maybe, it was both.

your pregnancy could be, in fact, easily considered the peak of your sex life — that round belly of yours really did a number on him, as well as on you. well, with you it was the hormonal changes your body was going through that made you so borderline sexually insatiable, and the mood to bounce on him would strike you more often than ever. at some point, your sex drive went off the roof — you’d ask him to fuck you multiple times a day and satoru couldn’t be more fortunate — he’d drop everything and oblige in an instant, like that was all he had been waiting for, which was not so far from the truth. it was safe to say that you enabled the freak in him, and he was grateful.

“thank god… i don’t know how else i could survive those 9 months with you glowing like this, becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day”, he’d say to you every time you pressed and rubbed your ass against his cock in the middle of the night, not so innocently waking him up because you had a craving.

you had a lot of sex, but he was always careful with your aches and pains, no quirky positions until the baby was born — your physique didn’t allow it as the pregnancy progressed anyway. but the passion was always there, undeniably so, growing along with you.

but things changed after you went into labor and your daughter was born. the perfect little angel, his and his baby’s baby. satoru has never been happier.

to be honest, he didn’t think about sex at all in the beginning. he was on cloud nine, overjoyed. every second of his day was spent exploring this new light in his life and taking care of the both of you.

after you got discharged from the hospital, he took it upon himself to look after the house and deal with the chores — he handled the cooking, he washed the dishes, cleaned, did the laundry and everything else that needed to be done — while you were healing and navigating through motherhood. he helped you nurse your daughter, there wasn’t a single night where he didn’t wake up along with you whenever the baby needed feeding or randomly started crying.

but soon enough, after he adapted to this new pace, his sex drive started showing signs of its return. it came back strong — in fact, stronger than ever, and once again it was none other than you to blame for it.

…because, being a mother looked so good on you.

you have been his wife for years. but now, you are the mother of his child, and that is a title that somehow makes you his even more than ever. it is so permanent. because, even if you leave him one day — which you never would since he would simply never allow it — being the mother of his child will always tie you to him, he will always have a place in your life. that’s it, you just made it impossible for yourself to run away from him. like it or not, you will be his eternally and irrevocably.

he liked watching you be a mother and couldn’t help but get bricked up each time you held your daughter close to your chest, revealing your breast and holding it to her mouth in order to feed her.

was this normal? to get this hard? now of all times? — he didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t bother finding out. because, when was he ever normal about you to begin with?

all he wanted to do in those moments was pin you down and fuck himself into you. you could see it in his eyes and in his bulge that he was trying to readjust.

“don’t try anything funny in front of the baby”

“i would never — i am simply watching and engraving this scene into my mind, for later”

‘for later’ obviously meant when he was jerking off.

the doctor said “no sexual intercourse for six weeks”

your body needed time to heal after giving birth, and that was only natural. and it was okay.

but it didn’t mean it wasn’t arduous for him. he had to watch you day and night without being able to touch you in ways he wanted to.

and now it’s been two months. two whole months without him laying a finger on you. his urges were back with full force, but yours? not really.

sure, you cuddled plenty while the baby was sleeping, which made it even harder for him. but you never got sexually intimate after you gave birth. he was well aware that you needed more time, that your body was still not ready, that you were exhausted physically and mentally because, once again, you were going through all these changes — because of him.

he understood that. but still, he missed you so much.

he’d jerk off whenever he got the chance, more than once a day, in fact. religiously so in the shower, it was a must — or else he would find it more difficult to manage himself around you.

sometimes he’d watch you breastfeed the baby and secretly sneak into the bathroom midway through it to rub one out, because if he didn’t — he’d bust right then and there. but can you blame him? you looked so maternal, so ungodly and unapologetically beautiful. the way you hissed whenever the baby sucked too hard on your nipple made him wish it was him dragging those sounds out of you…

fuck. he was becoming a freak again.

there were nights when he would wake up, as hard as a rock, and watch you sleep while fisting himself in the spot next to you in bed. he would be careful not to wake you when pushing the cleavage of your gown down, just enough to take your breasts out. he’d peck you softly on the nipples and that would inevitably and always lead to him uncontrollably unloading himself inside his palm. sometimes he would make a mess of the bedsheets, other times — of your nightgown.

“shit— if simply touching your skin does this to me, then i don’t want to think what will happen to me the second i slide it in”, he’d curse under his nose while washing off in the bathroom. “fuck. i miss you, baby”, he’d brush a hand over his face. “look what you made of me…”, and he would get hard all over again, just because for a split second he thought of being inside you.

luckily, you soon started dropping subtle hints of desiring him — initiating longer morning kisses, biting your lower lip and giving him the look whenever he walked out of the shower, saying his name in that same sweet voice with an undertone of fake innocence you would use in the past every time you wanted him to do things to you, rubbing his chest as you cuddled in bed or on the couch, sometimes your hand would slide a bit lower down his abdomen… but, that was it.

satoru never saw past the pearly gates, because his sweet angel of a baby would always start crying in the most inappropriate of times, as if on purpose.

“you go — i don’t want to face my daughter with a boner”, he’d whine, and you’d chuckle.

he loved his daughter more than anything, but he was genuinely bummed out and he had to do something about it.

one afternoon, after you fed the baby and left her in the care of your husband to go and take a shower, satoru put his daughter in the crib and leaned over with a serious expression of a parent about to lecture their misbehaving kid.

“listen, little miss, because we have a problem”

the baby chuckles in response.

“…and apparently, you know it”, satoru snorts. “but listen here, i know you love mama and you want her all to yourself. but what about papa?”, he pouts. “papa loves her too and wants her all to himself, at least once a day, but you’re not giving him a chance here. it’s not like i am asking for an entire day, just stay put for 15 minutes — 15 minutes is all i am asking for. deal?”

his daughter lets out another sweet chuckle.

“i’ll take that as a yes”, he caresses her cheek before leaving the room with the baby monitor in hand to join you in the shower.

finally. it was happening.

he stripped out of his clothes and walked into the bathroom, placing the baby monitor on the sink countertop before stepping into the shower cabin, letting the hot stream wash down his body as he reached for you.

“hello, beautiful”

“oh—“, you jolt. “you’re here? but what about the ba—"

“shh—“, he puts a finger on your lips, his free hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. “don’t worry, she’s fine. if something happens, we’ll know it from the baby monitor — so just relax”

you smile against his fingertip and softly peck it before sucking it in between your lips. his cock, already hard and squished between your naked bodies, throbs with a powerful twitch. a low growl rolls out of his mouth.

“god… i’ve missed you so much”, his hips involuntarily push against you, a desperate attempt to seek more friction by humping himself on your stomach. with how starved he was for you, he could probably finish just from this. but he wanted to take it slow and savor every second.

“it’s been so long, isn’t it?”

he nods. “i thought i was going to die”

you laugh. “you’re exaggerating”

“i am not… i never thought our tiny little angel could be such a huge devilish cockblock”

“you shouldn’t speak like that about our kid”, you snort.

“but it’s true. she’s a sly one, and obviously she’s obsessed with you”, he pouts.

“i wonder who she took it from…”

“she’s going to cause me a lot of trouble, isn’t she? but maybe, if we gave her a friend, she wouldn’t feel as lonely. maybe then, we’d get to have more alone time — like this. what do you think?”

“she’s too young for a pet, satoru. you know that”

he laughs. “i didn’t mean a pet, sweetheart. but we can get that too at some point”

[plutoslastwords]

I love ur baby Norris fic smmmm

Can you do one where she gets hurt or smth and Oscar is there to help her and he is the only one she wants to look after her xx

bring your kid to work day (gone wrong)

lando norris x daughter!reader, oscar piastri x norris!daughter!reader

summary: baby norris has an accident when visiting the mtc, who will she listen to? not her dad!

warnings: slight description of a broken wrist

w/c: 1.9k

a/n: ahh tysm for requesting! i hope you like it 😁 thank you everyone for so much love on lost and found <3 keep the requests coming!

~~~

Unfortunately, children were not technically allowed at the Mclaren Technology Centre. To make matters worse, the only random uni student Lando had found willing to look after his daughter for 8 hours for the next few days had cancelled. It didn’t help that Max F, Lando’s only friend currently living in London, was in Brazil either.

Therefore, Lando had no choice but to take you to the MTC with him, making special arrangements with Zak and Andrea that you’d be on your best behaviour, you were an angel! (Most of the time..)

That brings us to now, you are strapped in the backseat of Lando’s car, in your booster seat, as he drives to the MTC, babbling excitedly about what you’re going to do today. 

“Gonna see Osc, Daddy!” you squeal, evidencing your adoration for the Aussie driver, who for some reason you’ve been completely attached to since the moment he joined the team. It's quite strange if you think about it, the quiet, reserved Australian and the hyperactive, excitable 3 year old, but he too is very fond of you.

“Yeah, baby, you gonna give him a big hug?” Lando coos at your excitement, he finds it endearing how much you love Oscar, and it also gives him an excuse to put babysitting duties onto his teammate.

You nod rapidly in response to his question, then completely forgetting about Oscar and going on to chatter about something that had happened at nursery a couple days prior.

Soon enough, Lando pulls his car into the MTC’s carpack, jumping out and coming round to unbuckle you and haul you into his arms, giving you a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You gonna be Daddy’s good girl, angel?” He asks as he walks into the building, bouncing you gently in his arms.

“Yes daddy!” You cheer in excitement, you were ecstatic to be able to visit your daddy’s work, your tiny face plastered with a massive grin.

“My best girl..” He murmurs as he greets some people with a small nod, making a beeline for his office, where you’ll stay whilst he works. He plops you down on the sofa that he has, grabbing your iPad from his bag and putting on a movie for you to watch.

“Okay baby, Daddy’s just going to go to a meeting, I won’t be long, if you need anything then Zak’s office is just next door, I love you my darling.” Too engrossed in your movie to speak, you simply nod and wave at him as he leaves.

In normal circumstances, Lando would never leave you completely by yourself for an extended period of time, but these were dire circumstances and he trusted that he knew enough people at Mclaren who would look out for you if you decided to pull an escaping act.

After about 20 minutes of watching your movie, you got bored, you had already seen this one before, and the songs weren’t as good when your daddy wasn’t singing them with you. You try to entertain yourself by playing some games that you have downloaded on your iPad, but even they did not give you the thrill and excitement that you need.

You remember in the car when your daddy said that Oscar was gonna be here today, but he hasn’t come to see you yet, a pout formed across your face at that realisation. Therefore, you climbed off the sofa, and decided to toddle around the MTC in search of the Australian driver.

With hindsight, Lando thinks that maybe he should’ve sent an email warning Mclaren employees that his daughter was going to make a guest appearance that day, because no one batted an eye as you wandered around the factory in search for Oscar.

You think you’re making progress, something in your 3 year old brain is telling you that Oscar is close, when you trip on your own feet, hurtling down to the floor right onto your wrist.

You let out a blood curdling screech, as pain shoots up your tiny wrist, immediately bursting into dramatic sobs, wailing as you sit on the floor clutching your arm. 

Luckily, you must have been blessed with the gift of prophecy, because as it so happens, Oscar was around this part of the building for his lunch break, stopping in his tracks when he heard your scream. Lando had said something about bringing you in this week… he thought, as he beelined to the source of the cries.

“Oh bug, what’s happened here!?” He exclaims worriedly, scooping you up into his arms as you continue to sob. You don’t make any coherent response, possibly something about your ‘wist’, but Oscar knows that you’re in pain and that is enough for him.

“Okay baby, I’m gonna get you to your daddy, okay?” He tries to put on his best soothing voice, but in reality he is slightly panicking as he holds his teammate's daughter in a bundle in his arms whilst she cries her eyes out.

You shake your head furiously at that, hot tears still rolling down your little face, “Don’t want daddy!!” You screech, your daddy had left you! You just wanted Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t really know what to do, and your screams will soon start to attract attention, so he can’t just be standing in the middle of the hallway doing nothing. He brushes his free hand over the top of your head, trying to calm you down with a soothing motion as he coos soft words at you, “Shh, baby, ‘M not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, breathe sweetheart…”

He decides his best bet is to first bring you back to his office, and calling Lando from there, he knows he’s got some ice in there that he can put on your small wrist, which is quickly swelling and turning a purplish colour, which he decides is probably not a good sign.

Still whispering sweet words to you, he takes your sobbing form to his office, gently sitting you on his own couch and putting some ice on your wrist, cooing soothing words as you complain about the cold.

He then grabs his phone, quickly dialing Lando’s number. “Hey mate, you think you could come to my office, gotta slight problem here…”

Ever the protective dad, Lando immediately picks up on your wails from the other end of the line, “What the fuck is going on?!? I- I’m on my way.” He hangs up before Oscar can explain that no, he has not intentionally harmed his daughter.

In a matter of seconds, much quicker than his usual pace, Oscar notes, Lando is in his office, kneeling at your side. “Angel, what happened? Tell daddy what happened, where does it hurt?” He shoots questions at you.

You just shake your head at him, reaching your good arm for Oscar.

Oscar stands there awkwardly, stuck between his teammate’s betrayed expression and your sweet, sad, big, adorable eyes… he gives in, coming to sit next to you and pulling you into his lap.

“You gonna tell me and your daddy what happened, sweet girl?” He asks softly, smoothing your hair over.

Through hiccups and sobs you manage a few words “T-Tripped! Wrist is sore…” you sniffle, snuggling into Oscar’s lap.

“Your wrist, baby?” Lando asks, “Can you show daddy?”

You just hide your face in Oscar’s chest, shaking your head, and Lando just looks at Oscar slightly helplessly, his own daughter won’t even talk to him…

“You gotta show your daddy otherwise it won’t get better, sweetheart…” Oscar murmurs to you, feeling pity on Lando.

You sniffle but reluctantly pull out your wrist from where you’ve been hiding it from under the ice to show Lando, who has to suppress a gasp - for your sake - at how bad it really is. Oscar’s eyes widen also, as he exchanges a glance with Lando about what they are going to have to do.

Oscar, gently places his hands over your little ears, “You think you should take her to the hospital…? It looks broken…” Lando just nods grimly, the hospital was not his favourite place as a kid and since you’re practically his carbon copy he doesn’t think you’ll be a massive fan either. 

“Angel, daddy’s gonna take you to the doctor’s, okay?” Lando says as soothingly as possible as Oscar releases your ears, “They’re gonna make it all better and then it won’t hurt anymore, I promise..”

You think about it for a moment, you’re not a massive fan of the idea, but your wrist is really sore, and if your daddy is saying that they’re gonna make it better…

“Oscar come.” You decide. Oscar releases a strangled noise of surprise from his throat, and Lando’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“You want Oscar to come..?” He asks, you just nod, your mind was made up and there was no altering your decision. “I- baby, Oscar is very busy, he probably doesn’t have the time to come to the doctors, but daddy will be there, okay?”

You glare at him.

“I- uhm, I don’t mind coming if it’s gonna make her happy..” Oscar interrupts the one sided glaring match that you’re having with your dad.

“Really? I don’t want to disrupt your day, mate, I mean she’s already taken enough of your time today…” Lando starts.

“No, no, I’m sure, I could use a break from work anyway.” You grin at that, like you had never even broken your wrist at all, as long as Oscar was coming with you to the doctors.

So that is how Lando and Oscar ended up at the local emergency room, Lando holding you tightly whilst you grumbled something about wanting to be with Oscar. Either the lady working the desk recognised them and was too starstruck to deny them a doctor, or she saw your grumpy face and decided she didn’t want a screaming child in the waiting room and immediately got you to see a doctor. 

After an x-ray it was determined that yes, your wrist was broken, which broke Lando’s heart, his poor, sweet, girl…

Luckily, the break wasn’t that bad, and you were able to leave a couple hours later with a new, blue cast, as per your request. You had given up on your short lived resentment for your dad, and were snuggled up into his chest as Oscar drove you all back to the MTC. When you arrived, Lando spoke up;

“You gonna say thank you to Oscar for looking after you, darling?”

You wriggle out of his arms, running over to Oscar and wrapping your arms around his leg, “Thank you!” You giggle, the Doctor had given you a light dose of pain relief, so you were no longer screaming about your wrist.

“That’s okay sweetheart, you be careful, okay?” He cooed, you really were adorable. 

“Thanks, mate” Lando smiled at Oscar, scooping you back up, ready to get you home. Oscar smiled back.

The way back was funnily quite similar to the way there, you talked Lando’s ear off the entire time about just how much you loved Oscar!

~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! send in any requests you have xx

[urmum-lovesme]

Ok but toxic!dad!rafe where this don’t effect the children’s life but when it come to the mother of his kids he’s still very overprotective. I mean she is a MILF.

This is the best thing I've ever heard anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Toxic!Rafe as a dad?

Surprisingly present. 

His kid adores him, and in their eyes, he’s just their cool, protective father. He spoils them, takes them out on the yacht all the time, and he makes sure they have everything they could ever want. He told himself he would never be like Ward if he ever became a father, and he- for a change- was living up to his word.

But when it comes to their mom? That’s where the real problem is.

Because Rafe does not change when it comes to Y/N.

Y/N falling pregnant, certainly wasn't planned. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She was young, she had a future and more than anything, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to stay with Rafe, let alone have a baby with him. She didn't tell Rafe right away. Not because she was hiding it, but because she knew- deep in her gut- that he wouldn’t react like a normal person. She needed time to think, to weigh her options, to figure out what she wanted before he got involved.

But Rafe found out anyway.

Y/N had been so incredibly careful, she didn't leave any trace of the positive pregnancy test in Tannyhill; but he just knew her too well, sensed that something was off when she stopped drinking.

“What?”

His voice was quiet at first, his brows furrowed, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But then the realisation hit. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, the room suddenly feeling too small. His voice was calm, but there was something dangerous underneath it.

“You were gonna tell me, right?”

“Rafe, I—I don’t know what I’m going to do yet—”

Wrong answer. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“The fuck do you mean, you don’t know?” His breath was hot against her face, his fingers digging into her skin.

“That’s my kid, Y/N.”

Her stomach churned, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“I just- Rafe, I need time to think—”

“No, you don’t.”

He cut her off, shaking his head like the idea itself was ridiculous, angrily running a hand through his messed up hair.

“You don’t need to think. It’s already decided.”

She tried to take a step back, but his grip tightened, his other hand settling on her waist, firmly keeping her closer to him.

“We’re having this baby.”

Her breath caught in her throat as the words passed his lips, tears stinging her eyes before she could stop the feeling.

“I don’t- Rafe, this is my choice—”

His fingers pressed harder, his face inches from hers.

“No, it’s ours.”

Even now when they have a child together, he still watches her like a hawk. Still gets unreasonably possessive when she dresses a certain way, still makes a scene when he catches another man looking at her for a second too long. And she knows better than to fight him on it- most of the time.

It’s a summer afternoon, and she’s lounging by the pool, drink in hand, wearing a bikini that makes Rafe’s jaw clench. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over her as she adjusted the thin strap of her bikini top. It was tiny- too fucking tiny. The black fabric barely covered her tits, which, thanks to breastfeeding, were even fuller now, spilling slightly over the edges. His jaw clenched as his gaze dragged down, taking in the way the strings hugged her hips, digging into soft, newly gained curves that had him gripping the bottle in his hand just a little harder.

His friends are over, and while they’re talking, his eyes keep flicking toward her, watching the way the fabric clings to her curves. And then- Topper nudges him, nodding toward one of the new neighbours talking to her.

Rafe’s face goes dark.

She’s laughing at something the guy said, totally unaware of the way Rafe’s grip tightens around his beer bottle. He doesn’t make a scene- not yet- but when the guy finally walks away, Rafe strides over, towering over her as she peers up from her sun bed. His voice is deceptively smooth, but she knows that tone.

"Having fun, baby?"

"Yes."

His fingers skim her thigh, tracing the edge of her bikini bottoms.

"You looked like you were having a little too much fun."

She sighs, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on her head, she had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going.

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious." He leans down, voice dropping.

"Go inside and cover up."

She scoffs, shifting to sit up, the towel underneath her crumpling slightly as she moved,

"It’s our backyard and it's a pool party-."

"-I don’t give a fuck."

"Rafe, you’re being ridiculous."

"Yeah?" His grip tightens on her thigh.

"Then why’s he looking at you like he wants to fuck you?"

Her stomach flips.

"Stop," she hisses, even as heat creeps up her neck. But Rafe just smirks, leaning in so only she can hear.

"Maybe I should remind you who you belong to, huh?"

Her breath catches.

And the way he says it? The way his hand tightens on her thigh, just enough to send a warning? It sends a shiver down her spine, even as she glares at him. Because she knows- if she doesn’t listen now, he’ll make her.

Somehow, their kid never see this side of Rafe, he makes sure of it.

To them, their dad is just protective, he just 'cares about mommy so much!'. They never see the way their mother bites her lip in frustration when Rafe pulls her away from conversations. They never see the bruises he leaves- not always from violence, but from gripping her too tight, kissing her too hard. They don’t hear the way she argues in hushed tones behind closed doors, or the way she eventually gives in and melts into him anyway.

Because as much as she hates his jealousy and his control, she loves him too much to walk away.

He is the father of her child after all

[trentln4]

“We are the champions”

Summary: Lando had won the Constructors for Mclaren but had gotten into a fight with his girlfriend over a girl named Magui but quickly make up.

Genre: Fluff

(First fic, sorry its short!)

There he was. Stood there, the Mclaren golden boy of 2024. 

The Mclaren garage was packed. Team members, their families, friends, everyone celebrating Mclaren’s constructors win. Champagne bottles popping open, chatter and cheer filled the room. However she wasn't happy and neither was he. 

Before Lando left for the track this morning, he and Y/N got in a big argument over the fact Magui was here in Abu Dhabi, and he didn’t even tell her. Magui was Lando’s friend who very obviously had a thing for him, which upset Y/N and triggered multiple arguments. But Lando was oblivious to it. They hadn’t spoken since that morning.

Lando stood across the garage, chatting to Oscar and Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend as well as Magui. Lando was no longer in his race suit and was wearing a Mclaren polo and some black jeans.

God he looked hot. 

However, Y/N stood with Lando’s mum and dad, Cisca and Adam. She had an elegant, silk, white dress on with her natural curly hair straight.

God she looked so hot. 

Every now and again, her gaze would drift over to him.. She couldn't help it, she just wanted to hug him and tell him how proud she was.

“Okay Y/N, what happened?” Cisca finally asks, looking into her son’s girlfriend's eyes.

Y/N awkwardly scratches the back of her neck before speaking up. 

“Me and Lando had a fight earlier.. haven't spoken since”

Cisca sighed, “Let me guess, Magui?”

Y/N nodded and Cisca placed her hands on her shoulders. 

“Darling, he loves you! Not her, trust me on this.” Cisca smiled softly at her. 

“Now I recommend you go speak to him.”

Y/N nodded, took a deep breath and headed over to Lando. 

Lando looked up, he was holding a glass of champagne, his blue eyes locked on hers. She walked over, silently biting the inside of her lip before stopping and standing in front of him. Oscar and Lily sense the tension and quickly scuttle away to speak to some more party doers, meanwhile Magui stayed put. 

“Hey..” She mumbled, quietly. Lando just looked down. Y/N sucked up her pride. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight against her. Almost instantly, Lando wrapped his arms around her waist. Their bodies flush together, no space at all. Magui scowled but neither cared.

Y/N lifted her head up from his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek before whispering in his ear. 

“Well done baby.. ‘m so proud of you” She buried her back in the crook of his neck. 

“So, so proud” She murmured. Lando shut his eyes at her praise, rubbing her back. All the tension just flooded away, but he was still upset. 

After a few moments, he pulled away, looking down at her beautiful face.

“Can we talk?” He asked. Y/N nodded, and took his hand as he walked away from Magui and over to a little work bench in the garage. He sat down immediately going to her waist, wrapping around it and resting on her hip. Lando opens his mouth to speak but she stops him.

“Look, Lan. Earlier I was so stupid, I shouldn’t have acted all jealous.. I’m sorry” She blurted out, “I trust you more than anyone, but I just don't want to lose you..” Lando nodded and listened as she spoke, rubbing her hip with his thumb.

“I want you to know.. It isn't that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust her.. I just wish you could see how it affects me.” She added. Lando sighed, stil rubbing her hips.

“Y/N, I’m sorry too.. But you need to know I would never, ever, ever leave you for anyone.. Especially Magui” He replied softly, bringing his free hand to run along her bottom lip. 

“I love you and only you..”

“I love you too Lan..” She mumbled back, his words clutching at her heart strings. 

“Okay, let’s make a deal,” Lando suggests, which Y/N nodded at.

“I, make it very clear to Magui I don’t want her and make sure to not upset you, but you darling,” He said, looking into her eyes,

“You talk to me if I upset you, don’t shut me out yeah? Is that a fair deal, pretty girl?”

She nodded at his words, smiling softly before holding out her pinky which he intertwined his with. 

“I promise you, Lando.” She said softly, before kissing the interlocked pinkies.

“And I promise you, Y/N.” He said back to her, and then repeated what she did. Y/N sighs softly as he kissed the pinkies before they untwine their pinkies. Lando wrapped both arms around her, pulling her side to his chest and gently rubbing her arm. He pressed a soft kiss on her head before whispering, 

“I love you darling.” 

Y/N lifted her face up, locking eyes with him and then carefully captured his lips in a soft tender kiss.

[hanniebaeee]

The Secret Hwang

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is pregnant

Genre: exes to lovers?? angst, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin breaks up with you after the company thinks your relationship is affecting his work. What he didn't know was that you were also gearing up to tell him something very important. But then swoops in two angels in disguise, helping you through the tough time, before it all blows over.

You’re breaking up with me?” The words left your lips before your brain could catch up.

Your heart thundered against your ribcage, like it was desperate to escape what was unfolding right then. And your boyfriend of three years, Hyunjin, looked as miserable as you felt.

Hyunjin stood in front of you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders sagging. He wouldn’t look at you - that was even worse.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice so low it barely registered. “I'm so sorry.”

You take a step closer, his words not making any sense.

“You have to? What the hell does that mean, Hyunjin? Did I…did I do something? Did I hurt you-?”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide and glossy, horrified at the mere suggestion.

“No! Of course not! You’ve never - God, Y/N, no. It’s -” His words faltered, and he looked away again, his hands shaking as they grip his hoodie strings. “It’s…they think it’s affecting me. My work.”

“Who? The company?”

“They said…” He swallowed hard, the words clearly tearing him apart as he forced them out. “They said if I don’t end this, they’ll fire you. They’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. And they’ll…ruin it all for you...”

You stared at him, utterly speechless. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“So what? You’re just going to do what they want? Throw away three years like it means nothing?”

“It’s not like that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By breaking me?” You laughed bitterly, even though it felt more like choking.

You knew he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close like he always did when you were upset, but he didn’t move.

“Baby, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this-”

You didn't stay to hear the rest. You took a step back before saying, “You’re a coward,”

Hyunjin’s head snapped up like you slapped him, but you pressed on.

“You’re letting them control you. Letting them decide what our love is worth. You’re not even fighting for me.”

Hyunjin’s face crumpled, and for a second, you thought he would reconsider. But he didn't. He just looked really sad. And lost.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Hyunjin.”

And then you ran. You didn’t look back. You couldn't. Because if you did, you’d fall apart completely, and you just couldn’t afford that. Not with the tiny life growing inside you.

The three months that followed were hard, no doubt. But relatively less harder than you thought, considering the fact that the boys were on tour. You didn't have to see him everyday as you taught your heart to ‘unlove’ him. If such a thing could be done.

You had decided to go ahead with your pregnancy - bad call probably, because you obviously couldn't tell anyone that your baby was Hyunjin’s. Of course. So you'd have to come up with a creative lie to cover the gap - a non-existent boyfriend or a husband?

It was exhausting.

---

You stood at the kitchen counter, staring at your ultrasound scan result. The sight of your little bean on the screen earlier had brought tears to your eyes - happy bittersweet ones. But mostly, you’d felt so terribly lonely.

Moments like that were meant to be shared, weren’t they? Your heart ached so much. So damn much. You sighed as you gazed at the little form in the black and white image.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Setting the report on the counter, you get the door. What you didn't expect was Felix’s sweet smiling face. You hadn't seen him or any of the boys since the break up (they'd left for the tour), so seeing Felix, your close friend, made you freeze.

“Lix,” you said, your voice more tired than you’d like.

He immediately pulled you into a warm hug, and you had to control that strong urge to just weep.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing you tightly. “I missed you! How have you been?”

“I'm alright. You guys had a good tour I heard,” You managed, stepping aside to let him in.

“It was good,” He said with a smile, and held up a bag. “I brought you a little something from Australia.”

“Lix, you didn’t have to -”

“Oh, hush. I do it all the time.” he said. “You look... tired…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, waving him off.

“You want me to get his stuff? I have it packed and ready.” You said, wanting to get that out of the way as soon as possible.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “ Is that okay?”

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly, but you nodded and said, “Yeah, of course. Let me grab it.”

He followed you into the house, and as you went into the bedroom to get Hyunjin’s things, Felix walked into the kitchen to put the things he got for you away.

When you returned with the bag, however, you saw Felix in the kitchen, uncharacteristically quiet. You walked in and completely froze in the doorway.

Felix stood by the counter, holding your ultrasound result, and his usually bright expression was completely blank, his eyes glued black and white image.

“Lix…” you said softly, panic rising in your chest.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice eerily calm, “what is this?”

You didn’t answer, your hands trembling as you clutched the bag of Hyunjin’s things. Tears pricked your eyes, and you knew there was no use pretending or coming up with a lie.

“Please tell me this is not what I think it is.” he said, his voice wavering as he turned to face you with the paper in his hand.

Your silence spoke louder than words. Tears spilled over, and you quickly wiped at them, trying to keep it together. But it was of no use - Felix took one look at your face and let the paper fall onto the counter.

“Oh my God.” His voice cracked as he crossed the room in two giant strides, pulling you into a tight hug.

His arms wrapped around you like a safety net, holding you together.

“Y/N, please don't tell me Hyunjin knocked you up and then broke up with you. Tell me I’m hallucinating. Please.”

You laughed weakly through your tears, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

“He didn't know, Lix. He didn't know-” You whispered and Felix pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your shoulders.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to form words but couldn't. Finally, he let out a strangled laugh.

“He doesn’t know?!” He shook his head, his freckles standing out against his flushed skin. “Are you kidding me, Y/N? You’re telling me that man broke up with you because he wanted to protect you, and the entire time, you’ve been carrying his baby?”

“I was going to tell him, Lix, I was. That's why I went to meet him, but didn't give me a chance to say anything…he just…he just broke up with me!” you cried, wiping your face. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him and ruin everything?”

“Yes!” Felix shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re supposed to tell him! He deserves to know. This is big, like life changing big!”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you said, “Lix, you don’t understand. This is about his career, his dreams. He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and I won’t be the reason he loses it all.”

Felix stared at you, his face a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I have to,” you whispered, looking down at the floor. “I will.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice was firm, his hands gently cupping your cheeks and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “But don't have to. I’m here. Whatever you need, anything at all, you’ve got me. You’re not allowed to say no, okay?”

Your breath hitched, the warmth of his hands and the sincerity in his voice had you crumblung all over again. “Lix…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes shining with determination. “You’re not doing this alone. I don’t care what it takes. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

You nodded, sniffling as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”

Felix didn’t say anything to Hyunjin. True to his word, he kept his mouth shut, but the secret was eating him alive to say the least. The man had gone full protective mode - literally adopting you, and by extension, your unborn child, completely.

And his possessiveness manifested in the most Felix way possible: constant texting. Constant.

Also, he changed your contact name to George. Why? Because no ones gonna get suspicious about a George he's talking to 24*7, right?

---

7:32 am

Felix: Good morning, sunshine! Have you eaten yet? If not, DO IT NOW. Don’t argue with me.

Felix: I will come over if you don't obey me, George!

You: Felix, it’s 7 in the morning. I just woke up. Also, who's George?

Felix: You’re George. That’s your name now. It’s safer this way.

Felix: And don’t dodge the question: HAVE YOU EATEN???

You: I literally just rolled out of bed, Felix. Give me a second to breathe.

Felix: No time to breathe, go FEED THE BABY.

You: This baby isn’t even hungry yet. Can you chill?

Felix: Fine. But just so you know, I won't hesitate from force-feeding you myself.

---

12:45 PM

Felix: Hey, did you go to your appointment today?

You: Yes, I went.

Felix: Pics or it didn’t happen.

You: I’m not sending you pictures of me at the doctor’s office, Lix

Felix: Why not? What if I need to fight the doctor? I need evidence.

You: Why would you need to fight my doctor?

Felix: I dunno, what if they're bad at their job? I’m not taking chances, George.

You: Please stop calling me George.

Felix: It's your name.

---

7:48 PM

Felix: Are you home? Did you eat dinner? Did you lock your doors?

You: Oh my God, Felix, can you give me a second to exist without you breathing down my neck?

Felix: No. I’m invested now.

You: Why are you like this?

Felix: Because my best friend knocked you up and then left you, and now I feel morally obligated to act like your baby daddy by proxy.

You: Please don’t say that again. Ever.

Felix: Too late. Also, how’s George Jr.?

You: Felix, we are NOT naming this baby George Jr.

Felix: Why not? It’s a great name.

You: I’m blocking you.

Felix: No, you’re not.

---

Hyunjin on the other hand was completely unaware of everything that was happening around him. He was completely shut off, pouring his entire self into practice and his work outs.

He missed you. He missed you so damn much. He would randomly take a walk in the building, hoping he'd get a glimpse of you. But seriously, you were nowhere to be seen.

Hyunjin was on his way to the practice room after a particularly unsuccessful attempt to run into you, when he heard the voices. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the venom in their tone caught his attention.

It took him a minute to figure out that they were actually talking about you, and he couldn't help but feel that rage bubbling up inside him.

“She’s gained so much weight lately,” one of the girls snickered. “I mean, have you seen her?”

The other girl laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be so put together, but now? She’s just… bloated and tired all the time.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. How dare they?! He felt the overwhelming urge to whirl around and to let his emotions loose, to say something.

But of course Hyunjin couldn’t do that. Not really. He was an idol - a carefully constructed image, a brand - and he's already sacrificed way too much for the sake of it. He couldn’t afford to screw it all up now.

So instead, he swallowed his rage, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and started walking again. And then, as if it was a cruel joke, he saw you.

You were walking down the hallway, dressed in a dark-colored sweater, your hair tied back, wisps escaping to frame your face. You looked tired, yes. But, as always, to him, you looked absolutely beautiful.

But Hyunjin couldn't help but see that something was different. His eyes lingered a little too long on the soft curve of your body. Your face seemed rounder, your stride slightly slower, more careful.

His heart ached as he watched you pause at the corner, adjusting your bag before disappearing around the corner. He missed you so much it physically hurt. Shaking his head, Hyunjin turned and walked away, trying so hard to hold it all together.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He had to move on.

If only he knew that a mini Hyunjin was quite literally baking inside you, tucked away and growing strong under that sweater. If only he knew.

3:40 pm

Felix: How's the nausea?

You: I can't understand why it's called morning sickness if it's gonna last all day and trying to murder me

Felix: Don’t worry, George, I’m gonna make you the perfect meal. Zero vomit potential.

You: Omg

---

Meanwhile in Felix’s kitchen:

Felix was in deep. The counter was a disaster of herbs and half-cut veggies, and a pan bubbled ominously on the stove. His laptop sat precariously on the edge of the counter, streaming a cooking tutorial that Felix was utterly failing to keep up with.

“Chop the ginger finely,” the video said.

Felix frowned down at the mangled, uneven chunks of ginger on his cutting board.

“This is fine, right?” he mumbled to himself, throwing them into a pan.

“No, it’s not fine,” a voice said behind him, calm but dripping with judgment.

Felix jumped, yelping as he nearly knocked the pan off the stove. He whirled around to see Minho leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised.

“Hyung!” Felix squeaked, his voice an octave too high. “What are you doing here?”

“We're having dinner together. Forgot I see ?” Minho asked flatly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the culinary battlefield. He nodded at the laptop screen.

“What’s this? I thought we were ordering?”

Felix scrambled to close the YouTube video but fumbled, sending a spatula clattering to the floor.

“No! I just…uh…thought this recipe looked… yummy?”

Minho’s other eyebrow shot up as he read, “Ginger and lemon soup for nausea relief? That’s not exactly your usual vibe, Lix.”

Felix froze, his brain scrambling for an excuse. “I…uh…”

Minho tilted his head, his gaze locked on Felix. He gestured toward the mess. “Who’s it for?”

“No one!” Felix blurted out too quickly.

Minho smirked - like a cat cornering a mouse. He strolled into the kitchen, plucked up the laptop, and read the YouTube title aloud: “Pregnancy-Friendly Meals, huh?”

Felix groaned internally. He was so dead. Minho set the laptop down and turned to Felix, his face unreadable.

“You’re cooking for Y/N, aren’t you?”

“How…what…why would you -” Felix blinked at him, jaw dropping.

“I saw her going into a maternity hospital last week...and now this? It’s really sweet of you,” Minho said, his tone soft and kind, as he started clearing the counter. “She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Felix stared at him, absolutely flabbergasted. How did Minho know? He stayed silent, unsure if confirming or denying would make things worse.

“Relax, I’m not going to say anything. But…” His sharp eyes flicked to the pan on the stove, then back to Felix, a smirk forming on his face. “You’re doing a terrible job. Move.”

Before Felix could protest, Minho rolled up his sleeves and took over. Within minutes, the chaos Felix had created was transformed into a very professionally prepared meal.

Felix hovered awkwardly, torn between relief and panic. “You…you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Minho snorted. “Of course not. And if you’re serious about helping her, then I'll stand right by you.”

He packed up everything in containers and handed it to Felix with a raised eyebrow.

“Now go. She needs to eat.”

---

Felix was at yours in record time, and when he set the food down on the coffee table, you looked up from the couch, sighing softly.

“Did you burn the kitchen down?”

“Nope,” Felix said quickly. “Minho saved me.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? Minho? He knows?”

Felix flopped onto the couch beside you, looking absolutely defeated.

“Yeah, apparently he’s known for a while. He saw you going into the maternity hospital one day.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my God.”

“He promised not to say anything!” Felix said defensively, holding his hands up. “And he even helped cook this. So, technically, you can’t kill me.”

You glared at him but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Thanks for being here, Lix.”

Felix grinned, nudging the plate toward you. “Eat, George. Minho will haunt me if you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes but dug in, and for the first time in days, the food didn’t immediately send you running for the bathroom.

---

The next morning, you woke up to the doorbell, in the early hours. It was still dark outside, as you stumbled out of your bedroom, still half-asleep, and a scowl firmly planted on your face.

“Took you long enough,” Minho mumbled as he walked into your apartment, going straight for the kitchen. 

You were trying to understand if you were hallucinating or if Minho was actually in your kitchen. 

“Minho, what are you doing here?” You asked, trying to tame your hair. 

“Sit,” he commanded without looking up, focused on flipping something in the pan.

You frowned but obeyed, collapsing into a chair at the table. “It’s not even sunrise.”

“Just making sure you eat,” he said simply. “Lix said you're struggling,”

“You're here to cook for me?”

“Yes?”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Felix stepped inside, carrying what looked like a bag of groceries. He stopped short, staring at Minho with the same confusion you felt.

“What is he doing here?”

“I could ask the same about you,” Minho shot back without missing a beat, sprinkling a pinch of salt over whatever masterpiece he was working on.

Felix stormed into the kitchen, setting his bag down with an unnecessary thud. “What are you doing, hyung? And what are you even making? George doesn’t even like eggs that much!”

Minho scoffed. “It’s not for you, so why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’m supposed to be taking care of her!” Felix snapped, crossing his arms like an angry puppy.

“Clearly, you weren’t doing a great job,” Minho retorted. “I saw the mess you called cooking yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “Not this.”

---

Over the next few days, it became a full-on battle between Minho and Felix. It started with each trying to one-up the other in ways that were more amusing than helpful.

One morning, Felix insisted on making pancakes, painstakingly arranging blueberries into a smiley face on each one. “See, George? They’re cute and delicious!”

Minho, unimpressed, countered by making a three-course breakfast complete with fresh juice and perfectly folded napkins. “Pregnant women need nutrients, not art projects,” he said smugly.

Felix glared at him like he wanted to fight. “Pregnant women also need to smile, and my pancakes are adorable.”

But for all their ridiculousness, their constant presence was a comfort. They kept you distracted from the gaping hole in your chest where Hyunjin’s absence had settled. But no amount of blueberry pancakes or perfectly cooked meals could fill that void.

Felix had barged into your apartment one evening with a box of cookies that he'd baked.

“George! I baked you something!”

Minho, already in the kitchen chopping vegetables, glanced over his shoulder with a look that screamed, not this again.

“What are those?” Minho asked, gesturing to Felix's box  with his knife.

“Cookies,” Felix said proudly, setting them on the table in front of you. “Pregnancy-safe, gluten-free, sugar-free, full of love.”

“Full of what?” Minho deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

“Love!” Felix shot back, hands on his hips. “Something you wouldn’t understand, obviously.”

“Love isn’t a substitute for nutrition, Yongbok. Try again.” Minho snorted.

“Oh, here we go,” you muttered, already bracing for the impending argument as you sat at the table, nibbling cautiously on a cookie.

“You’re just jealous because George Jr. is my baby,” Felix said, crossing his arms and glaring at Minho like he’d just won the argument of the century.

Minho paused mid-chop, turned slowly to face Felix.

“George Jr.?” he asked flatly. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What’s wrong with George Jr.?” Felix said defensively. “It’s a strong name! Unique even!”

Minho scoffed. “Unique isn’t always a good thing, Felix. You might as well call the baby Lemon or Carrot.”

“Wow, okay,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“And besides,” Minho continued, turning back to the stove like the conversation was settled, “I do the majority of the cooking, Y/N is thriving on it, so I'm the rightful Appa.”

Felix gasped like Minho had just slapped him.

“Excuse me? Cooking doesn’t make you the dad! I’m the one who gives her all the cuddles and emotional support!”

“You’re like a clingy golden retriever,” Minho shot back, not even turning around.

“Say that again, hyung, I dare -”

“Enough!” you shouted, cutting through their bickering. Both men froze, wide-eyed, and looked at you.

“I'm sure Hyunjin would probably like a say in this whole ‘who’s the dad’ debate.” you said, and the room fell silent. 

And then Minho shrugged casually.

“I mean, sure, if we’re counting his five seconds of contribution to this whole thing.”

You and Felix both turned to stare at him, your mouths dropping open in identical expressions of disbelief. It took approximately two seconds before all three of you burst out laughing.

The laughter started light, then turned uncontrollable, your giggles mixing with Felix’s loud snorts and Minho’s chuckles. You laughed so hard your sides started to hurt, but then, without warning, the giggles morphed into something else.

The tears hit you before you could stop them. One moment you were laughing, and the next, you were crying, the overwhelming mix of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Felix’s smile faltered, and he rushed to your side, wrapping an arm around you.

“George, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his usual sunshine dimmed by concern.

Minho was there a moment later, kneeling in front of you and gently resting a hand on your knee. 

“Breathe, jagi,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. We’re here.”

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself, but the weight of everything - the pregnancy, the secret, missing Hyunjin - was too much.

“I miss him…a lot,” you managed between sobs.

“I know, I know…but we're here for you, George. You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ve got you.” Felix hugged you tighter, his voice steady but emotional.

Minho nodded as he said, “He’s right. You’re stuck with us now. You and George Jr.”

That earned a watery laugh from you, and you wiped at your eyes, looking between them. 

“I don’t deserve you two.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said firmly.

“Absolutely,” Felix added. “And so does George Jr.”

---

Hyunjin was losing his mind.

It wasn’t just the lingering ache of your absence or the fact that he hadn’t heard your voice in what felt like forever. But it was also Felix, his best friend, his other half, his partner-in-crime. Felix was suddenly a closed book. The guy who usually shared everything, from dumb cat videos to the tiniest gossip about their members, had turned into a human vault. A sketchy human vault.

Felix was constantly disappearing. After practice, during breaks, even in the middle of game nights. When Hyunjin asked, Felix always had some vague excuse. 

“Oh, just running errands!”

“Helping out Minho-hyung with something.”

“Had to grab something for George!”

Who the hell was George? 

Hyunjin squinted every time Felix made one of these excuses. Since when was his best friend suddenly so obsessed with running errands? And why was Minho always involved?

Hyunjin didn’t like it.

At first, he chalked it up to paranoia. Maybe he was overthinking. Obviously, losing you had him extra possessive and clingy. Maybe Felix and Minho were just…hanging out more? It wasn’t a crime. But then Hyunjin started noticing things.

Felix and Minho were inseparable. They’re always whispering about God-knows-what. They’d vanish together after schedules, not even bothering to invite Hyunjin to join.

So naturally, one evening, after a particularly grueling practice session, Hyunjin cornered Felix in the locker room.

“Lix,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall like he was interrogating a criminal. “Where have you been going all the time?”

And to his credit, Felix didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, nowhere. Just hanging out with Minho-hyung. You know how it is.”

“Since when do you and Minho-hyung have this…whatever-this-is?” Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

Felix shrugged nonchalantly, pulling his hoodie over his head and saying, “We’ve just been vibing.”

“Vibing?” Hyunjin echoed, incredulous. “You disappear every day to vibe? And what’s with all the whispering during practice?”

Felix zipped up his hoodie and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“You’re being dramatic, Hyun. It’s nothing.”

Hyunjin stared at him, trying to gauge if Felix was lying. But Felix’s face was completely blank, a perfect poker face.

“What about Y/N?” Hyunjin asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Have you…seen her?”

At that, Felix paused, just for a second, but it was enough for Hyunjin to notice.

“I'm sure she’s good, Hyun. Busy probably.” he managed, giving him a smile.

Hyunjin frowned, but before he could press further, Felix clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t overthink, mate. Get some rest, yeah?”

And just like that, Felix was gone, leaving Hyunjin standing in the empty locker room, more confused than ever.

---

The next day, Hyunjin had been lingering suspiciously around the studio after practice, pretending to stretch while trying (and failing) to overhear Felix and Minho’s latest hushed conversation.

Chris, so so used to all the bullshit his boys pulled on the regular, had noticed this constant whispering between Felix and Minho, and also Hyunjin’s not-so-subtle attempts to loiter. He clapped his hands loudly.

“Hyunjin, go home. You’re exhausted, mate.”

Hyunjin, startled, stammered something about finishing up but Chris gave him a hard enough glare that had him reluctantly packing up and storming off (throwing one last suspicious glance at Felix, who pretended to be engrossed in tying his shoelaces.)

Once Hyunjin was out the door, Chris turned to Felix and Minho, his arms crossed and his leader gaze set to high alert.

“Okay,” he said, his voice stern, “what’s going on with you two? You’ve been sneaking around like teenagers, and I have a bad feeling about it. Spill.”

Felix and Minho exchanged a glance, before Minho shook his head. 

“Nothing’s going on, hyung,” Minho said coolly, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t sweating internally.

Felix, on the other hand, immediately started babbling. 

“Oh, you know, just chilling and cooking and - did you know George is a big fan of pumpkin soup? I’ve been learning how to make it. Minho hyung’s been helping…he’s such a perfectionist in the kitchen, but that’s beside the point -”

But the moment ‘George’ left his mouth, Minho sighed. 

“Who the hell is George?” Chris interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing.

Minho sighed, muttering, “Great work, Yongbok.”

Felix blinked rapidly, his face heating up. He could do anything, literally anything in the world. But that anything didn't include lying to Chris. 

“Oh, uh, George is just…you know…a friend!” 

“A friend? You’ve been disappearing every day,  and sneaking around because of a friend?”

Felix opened his mouth, probably to launch into another nonsensical explanation, but Minho cut him off.

“George is Y/N,” he said flatly, like he was tired of the charade.

Chris froze.

“What do you mean George is Y/N?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on?”

Felix started flailing, his words tripping over each other.

“It’s not like we didn’t want to tell you, hyung, but it’s complicated, and she’s been going through a lot, and she needs all the help and support with George Jr. -”

“George Jr.?!” Chris exclaimed, his voice now echoing off the walls.

Minho, as calm as ever, pointed at Felix. “You’re making it worse.”

Chris threw his hands in the air as he said, “What is George Jr.?!”

“You mean who is George Jr.? It’s the baby. She’s pregnant.” Minho sighed, rubbing his temples.

The room went silent. Chris blinked several times, his expression cycling through shock, confusion, and then something that could only be described as 'Dad Rage'.

“She’s pregnant?! SHE’S PREGNANT, AND YOU TWO KEPT THIS FROM ME?!”

Felix, now thoroughly panicking, looked at Minho like he was begging for help. Minho just shrugged.

Chris glared at both of them. “You’re taking me to her. Right now.”

---

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You waddled over and opened it to find Chris standing there, his arms crossed and his eyes full of emotion.

Before you could say a word, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice laced with both worry and frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Behind him, Felix stood pouting like a scolded child and Minho looked like he regretted everything.

“Chris,” you gasped, trying to pull back from his hug. “I can’t breathe!”

He released you but kept his hands on your shoulders, scanning your face like a concerned dad. “You should’ve told me. We’re family, Y/N. You thought of doing this alone? Does he know? Oh my god, he doesn't know, does he?!”

From behind him, Felix muttered, “She’s not alone. I’ve been taking care of her.”

Chris whipped around to face him.

“Oh, you’ve been taking care of her, have you?!”

Felix folded his arms, his pout deepening.

“George Jr. is mine. None of you fake dads are gonna ever-”

Minho, who’d been quiet up until now, rolled his eyes and interrupted him.

“Please. You think you’re the dad just because you baked her cookies? Please.”

Felix turned to him, affronted. “You’ve been helping me! And my baby!”

“Oh, for the love of -” Chris groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, before glancing at you. “We're gonna get through this.”

You smiled at them, nodding. But deep inside, guilt gnawed at you. Everyone except Hyunjin seemed to be catching up. 

You'd started working from home more and more since you started your sixth month. You came over to the company only when you had something important to do. 

This afternoon was supposed to be uneventful. You had planned to drop by the company, grab a few files, and leave quickly. But apparently, fate had other plans.

You were leaving one of the offices when you heard it.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant. You froze in place, gripping the files tightly against your chest. Slowly, you turned to see Hyunjin standing a few feet away, his eyes wide as saucers, his gaze locked on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flickered down to your stomach - the not-so-subtle curve of your six-month baby bump that your sweater absolutely failed to conceal under closer scrutiny.

Hyunjin’s face drained of all color.

“What…Y/N…are you…?” he stammered, his voice breaking.

You panicked, taking a step back. “Hyunjin, I -”

But he was already closing the distance between you, his voice rising into a frantic whisper.

“Are you pregnant?!”

You winced, glancing around nervously, but the hallway was thankfully empty. Still, Hyunjin’s voice, even when hushed, completely floored you.

“Hyunjin, let’s not -”

“Are you pregnant?!” he repeated, his voice breaking. His hand gestured toward your stomach, and he looked so utterly wrecked that you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

So you nodded.

His reaction was immediate. Hyunjin stumbled backward, his eyes welling up with tears, his hands clutching his head as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s mine, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the sight of him falling apart. “Hyunjin -”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was louder now, no longer a whisper. “That’s my baby! Our baby! And you didn’t tell me?”

“Hyunjin, please,” you begged, trying to calm him, but he was a storm you couldn’t contain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded again, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I would’ve left everything for you! Don’t you know that? I would’ve -”

You shook your head fiercely, your own tears spilling over now.

“Hyunjin, I couldn't -”

“I don’t care!” he shouted, his voice cracking painfully. “None of it means anything if I don’t have you!”

Before either of you could say more, Chris appeared, obviously having heard the chaos from the other end of the hallway.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his eyes flickering between you and the sobbing mess that was Hyunjin.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin sobbed, clutching Chris’s arm as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me. That’s my baby.” His voice broke again, and he leaned heavily into Chris, tears falling freely.

Chris’s expression softened instantly, and he glanced at you as you stood rooted to your spot, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Hyunjin, calm down. Let’s talk about this somewhere else, okay?” He tried to guide Hyunjin back toward the practice room, but Hyunjin was not taking orders from anyone at this point.

“No,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m not going anywhere until she tells me why she didn’t tell me.”

You stepped closer, your heart breaking as you cupped his tear-streaked cheeks with trembling hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his eyes red and raw as they searched yours for answers.

“Because,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “I love you. I love you too much to let you give up your dreams for me.”

Hyunjin’s tears fell harder.

“You think I’d regret it?” he choked out. “You think I’d ever regret choosing you? Choosing our baby?”

You shook your head through your tears.

“I couldn’t let you make that choice, Hyun. Not when I knew how much this means to you.”

Before he could respond, Felix and Minho arrived, their worried faces appearing at the end of the hallway. Felix took one look at the scene and immediately rushed to Hyunjin’s side, wrapping an arm around him.

“Hyunjin,” Felix said softly, his own voice shaking. “Come on, breathe.”

Minho, meanwhile, approached you, his arm going around your shoulder, and then glancing at Hyunjin.

“You’re not going to solve anything by falling apart here,” he said calmly. “Pull yourself together.”

But Hyunjin was inconsolable, his sobs growing louder.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. She’s been going through this alone, and I didn’t know. What kind of person does that make me?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm as you said, “Hyunjin, stop. You’re not a bad person. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it's mine. For keeping this from you.”

“I want to be there. Oh my God, I love you! Don’t shut me out again,” he whispered brokenly. “Please.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I won’t.”

As Chris and Felix finally led Hyunjin away, Minho stayed behind, pulling you into a hug.

“Well,” he said dryly, “that could’ve gone worse.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears. “Could it?”

Minho sshrugged

“At least he knows now. He’ll come around. And when he does…” He smirked faintly. “You’re going to have a hell of a time keeping him out of your hair.”

You sighed, your heart heavy but hopeful. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The company meeting was the stuff of legends. Chris had marched in like the leader of a revolution, Hyunjin trailing behind with fire in his eyes. By the end of it, the higher-ups had no choice but to relent. Hyunjin wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were you. And most importantly, Hyunjin was going to make damn sure his family - you and George Jr. were going to be happy, and with him always. 

Now that he was officially back, Hyunjin wasted no time slipping into full-time ‘husband’ mode. His mission? Make up for every second he’d missed. And maybe, just maybe, remind Minho and Felix that while they had been excellent stand-ins, it was time to hand over the reins to the rightful husband.

But, of course, Felix and Minho had no intention of stepping aside without a fight.

---

You and Hyunjin were finally having some well-deserved downtime - he had you nestled against his chest on the couch, his hand resting protectively on your bump. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt calm. Peaceful.

And then Felix appeared.

“Move,” Felix announced dramatically, striding into the room and pointing at Hyunjin like he was accusing him of a crime.

“What?” Hyunjin asked, frowning.

“I said move,” Felix repeated, already wedging himself between the two of you (particularly experienced with this as he'd done it a hundred times before). 

You couldn’t help but laugh as Felix threw an arm around you and placed his head on your shoulder.

“Just so you know, Mr. Biological Father,” Felix began, glaring pointedly at Hyunjin, “George Jr. is mine. We share an emotional bond that transcends DNA, okay? And, George? She's mine too. You being back changes nothing.”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“What are you even talking about?! Why are you still calling her that?!”

Felix huffed dramatically, clutching you tighter. 

“Because she’s my George! And I will not stand for you disrupting the sacred trust we’ve built. Now go be useful and bring George her smoothie.”

Hyunjin looked at you, utterly baffled. “You’re seriously letting him call you George?”

“It’s a thing now. I’ve stopped fighting it.” You shrugged, trying to stifle your giggles.

Felix gave Hyunjin a smug grin.

“See? She’s accepted her destiny. Now go.”

Before Hyunjin could fire back, Minho’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Yongbok-ah, I’m the one making the smoothie. I know how to serve the smoothie I made. Hyunjin, if you’re so desperate to help, why don’t you go fold the laundry or something?”

Hyunjin groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Why am I suddenly the errand boy in my own house?”

Minho appeared in the doorway, smoothie in hand, his expression deadpan.

“Maybe because we’ve been doing all the heavy lifting for months while you were busy, I don’t know, not knowing she was pregnant.” he said, and Hyunjin flinched, clutching his chest like Minho had shot him.

“Okay, low blow.”

“I call it the truth.” Minho smirked. 

“Minho hyung and I have carried this team for far too long. You’re going to have to earn your place here, buddy.” Felix said with a grin. 

Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “She’s literally my girlfriend! How do I have to earn anything?!”

“George belongs to us, Hyunjin. Now go fold the laundry.” Felix said, waving Hyunjin away.

You burst out laughing, clutching your belly as Hyunjin huffed in annoyance before stomping off. He came back with a basket full of freshly washed and dried clothes, and started folding.

“I’ll fold every piece of laundry in Korea if it means overthrowing these two clowns.”

“You guys are all insane, you know that?” you said, shaking your head. 

“We prefer devoted.” Felix grinned.

“Dedicated. Loyal.” Minho nodded. 

“Whatever they are, I’ll beat them at it. Just watch.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes but threw you a wink.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React a Picture of You with Another guy

Request: Hii!! I love your writing so so much (pls never stop)!!! How do you think the lads men would react to the following scenario: mc makes one of her girl friends dress like a guy and post that on her story/moments (to ward off an annoying co-worker, like what Caleb did in uni, but mc didnt want to bother the guys with this request so she asked Tara or another one of her girl friends). The picture, though, is convincing enough to make even the lads men question if she actually does have a partner and who tf is he. I think Xavier would absolutely malfunction since they are also neighbours lol

AN: I am taking a break from the ship event to gather some inspiration. But this was super fun to write. Thank you for sending in such an amazing idea.

Warning: Potential Spoilers. Be Mindful 👺

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff and angst

(I do not own these characters)

Summary: Waking up after an amazing girls' night, you and Tara spent the morning taking silly photos, making all kinds of concerning faces, until inspiration struck.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Tara grinned, pushing her short hair back. "What if—"

Moments later, you were both giggling uncontrollably, staging fake hard launch photos in your bed. The blurry, cozy results? Surprisingly convincing.

"Oh, this is gonna blow up at work."

Tara rested her chin on your neck, wrapping an arm around you for the final shot. The picture was better than you imagined, so naturally, you posted it to your story before the two of you rushed to get ready for work.

And just like that, your social media went up in flames.

Rafayel:

623 missed calls. 200 texts. 82 more missed calls.

All hours after your post.

Who is he? Why are you in bed with him? Is he your boyfriend? What is his name?

You barely have time to breathe after your meeting before the onslaught of texts floods in. Even the comment section of your post hasn’t been spared.

Thomas is already on the case. Rafayel is whining, sobbing, crying and absolutely not afraid to play dirty to get you back.

He's already planned a hundred ways to nip this budding romance at the root.

He thinks he has the upper hand, feels kinda smug about it too.

Still… there’s a twinge of heartbreak. A little ache for having to wait longer for you, for the idea that you might have chosen someone else. But if nothing else, Rafayel is persistent.

So, of course, he’s already forgiven you.

But don’t think, even for a second, that he won’t complain about it.

He’s still mulling over it, dramatically painting all his canvases black, getting ready for his villain arc, when you finally call him back.

"A prank?"

He is indignant.

He cried over a prank.

All that effort… for nothing.

"IT’S BEEN 800 YEARS. JELLYFISH ARE WALKING. NAKED SEA TURTLES ARE CLIMBING TREES. SHARKS ARE EATING GRASS—FOR FREE. "

AND RAFAYEL?

RAFAYEL CRIED OVER A PRANK.

HE WENT FULL VILLAIN ARC FOR A LIE.

HIS CANVASES ARE BLACK. HIS PLANS FOR REVENGE? RUINED.

ALL BECAUSE YOU AND TARA WANTED TO PLAY GAMES.

He might never recover. Might. But first, he needs to call Thomas back before his "investigation" starts a national crisis.

Xavier:

He had just returned from a long night of fighting Wanderers when his phone chimed with an alert.

Half-asleep, he smiled at the sight of your name, already thinking of how he'd respond once he changed and collapsed into bed.

That smile froze the moment he saw the picture.

The phone slipped from his fingers, landing on his face. But he didn’t even wince. Too numb to feel it.

His vision blurred. His chest ached. Tears welled, unbidden.

Genuinely heartbroken. So weary. So tired. For a moment, he was shattered.

Did he have the strength to wager another lifetime?

His time was already running out. His strength faded with each passing day. He had selfishly wanted this spring with you...but this was better for you. You were too kind, too caring to bear his loss.

Perhaps this was for the best. His lips trembled at the thought.

You had someone now, someone who would not bring you grief. And you looked so happy in that photo. He stared at the blurred curve of your smile, tracing it with his gaze.

Somehow, he managed a small smile too.

And then he folded into himself. And slept.

For days.

So long that you started to worry, noticing his absence at work.

Until, finally, you barge into his apartment, breathless and frantic, only to find him asleep, moonlight spilling across his face, eerily still.

Your heart plummeted.

"Xavier." Your voice trembled as you rushed to him, fingers shaking as you took his hand.

For a terrible, suffocating second, he didn’t move.

And then, his brow twitched.

Air rushed back into your lungs.

Zayne:

This was to be expected.

He was never what you needed.

He often failed at words. His gestures, too vague to be understood.

You deserved someone who loved you. Someone who had the courage to say those words out loud.

Not him.

Not someone who could hurt you. His scars only grow deeper with time.

So he accepts it. Buries himself in work.

If he could not be your lover, then he would play his part as a friend.

Pays extra attention to your health. Pours over your reports. He must. Because he is no longer close enough to watch over you himself.

And weeks later, when you finally visit him, he keeps up the act—cold, distant, unbothered.

He does all the tests. Runs all the checks. Everything is routine.

But you see it.

The dark circles, deeper than ever. His skin, paler. Cheeks, sunken. His shirt, unwashed.

"You're coming home with me."

Your voice leaves no room for argument as you take his hand. "You never call. You only text about my reports and nothing more. We need to talk."

You tug him forward. He follows, until he stops.

"Your boyfriend won’t like it," he murmurs, staring anywhere but at you.

Silence.

"What boyfriend?"

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

Sylus:

Sylus spits his coffee, choking as he stares at the pictures.

Does not buy it.

That’s clearly not a man.

Yet somehow, he keeps going back to it, again and again.

It’s only when Luke and Kieran peer over his shoulder that his denial starts cracking.

"Ooooh, boss has got competition," Luke chimes.

One minute, they’re laughing. The next, they’re outside the mansion, the door slamming shut behind them.

Luke blinks. "That explains..."

Kieran yanks him into a chokehold for getting them banished for the day.

Inside, Sylus switches to wine.

The day has been too much.

Not a man, right? he muses, scrutinizing the photo, before accidentally pressing the heart button.

And then, he all but chews the glass in his hand.

He’s not worried.

He just suddenly feels the urge to burn his entire closet because nothing looks good enough.

He doesn’t care.

He’s just made a few calls, just to make sure you’re not involved with anyone sketchy. Unless, of course, it’s him.

Then, like an absolute idiot, he gets a panicked call from an associate.

The only person who’s been in your apartment? Tara.

Sylus stares at the image. Facepalms.

That evening, when he picks you up from work, he looks exhausted.

As if a few hours have aged him years.

When you ask, he waves you off, dodging every question.

You raise a brow. "Are you sure? You look—"

"I said it’s nothing," he snaps, before sighing, dragging a hand down his face. "...Can we just go home

Caleb:

Storming to Linkon.

Geared up to blow up the entire apartment complex.

Spends five minutes struggling with the locked door before finally getting it open.

Marches in.

Stops. Sighs in disapproval at your empty fridge.

Good thing he packed snacks. Leaves them on your counter. You’ll thank him later.

Then, back to the mission.

Collects all forensic evidence needed. Marches out.

No time to waste.

Supervises the DNA administration.

Hair sample. Used coffee mug. Both next to yours.

He will find the bastard. He will take him out.

And then, he will whisk you away to Skyheaven, to console you once you learn of your tragic, mysterious loss.

Grief will bring you closer.

Every intern running tests is sweating.

So are the lead scientists, who have been personally forced to oversee this insanity.

No one is messing with the colonel today.

And then, finally, the results land on his desk.

Caleb stares. Dumbfounded.

Is he to fight both men and women for you now?

You better watch out for Tara because he does not discriminate.

[lologoinsolo]

Added after this one, Part 3, Part 4

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

You stammer at the man as he holds what looks to be a calico. His face looks worse for wear despite how handsome he is. Cut lip and cheek that look as though maybe the cause is from the one wiggling in his hands. “Sir, the uh,” you look down at your phone for the time. “The stores about to close.” You look from him to the kitten and then back to him.

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. Really, I am but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” He rubs at the baby’s head and she nips right at his finger. He groans, “why are you so mean? You were all cuddly in my lap and now you’re being hissy.”

You laugh a little at his lament and rub your own face. “Alright,” you can’t very well leave him like this. You’re sure the kitten would be more than happy to chew on something better than the man’s finger. “Come on,” you motion for him to follow. You don’t bother to page for someone to cover the front. The store’s about to close in 2 minutes anyways. “I’ll get you started, sir.”

“Kyle,” he grins when you quirk a brow, “just Kyle, none of that ‘sir’ business or else I’ll feel far older than I actually am.” He rests his kitten against his chest when she starts wiggling even more. “Curious little bugger, found her shivering at my front door.” There’s a glint in his eye as he retells his findings, “she didn’t even notice me grabbing her till I picked her up and look what she did to my face.” He says with dramatic flare when he holds her up to his eye view. The kitten merely blinks at him and her paws prod his nose.

You pull a cart since you have a feeling he’ll need a lot of things. He doesn’t give off ‘I already have a cat’ energy. “Serves you right for spooking her.” You joke about his woes when he gives you a playful glare.

“You’re only siding with her because she didn’t mark up your pretty face.”

You cough at that and push the cart more quickly down the aisle. You can handle getting yelled and cussed at but god forbid a handsome man says you’re pretty. “So,” you manage to say when he gives you a dazzling smile. He caught up quickly to your step and looks neither winded or strained. Why are all the tall men getting kittens? You inwardly roll your eyes, “you said a friend told you to find me?”

His brow raises slightly and he maneuvers his kitten to be more in his arms. “Yeah,” he simply says, “says you know a thing or two about cats.”

“Did he..” you look a bit hopeful, “did he say if he’d come back to the store.” Picking up some cat toys and placing some cute orange cat shaped bowls in the cart. “He uh, he left in a hurry last I saw.” You give a quick reasoning so as not to feel as desperate as you sound. You still feel the phantom touch of his hand. You never got his name…

“Can’t really tell,” he shrugs and he plucks some crinkle toys and tosses them in the cart. He doesn’t seem to care about pricing either. “Man’s unreadable unless you tell him a stupid joke.” There’s a short chuckle and flash of a memory that goes through his eyes.

You deflate a little, it wouldn’t make sense to feel like this. You don’t know mafia guy anyways. “Ah, well. If you see him, tell him he needs to take his cat to the vet.” Kyle nods and he perks up when he sees the cat clothing.

“When you get older, rug, I’m gonna buy you one of these.” He points to a cut pirate costume as if the kitten understands him. “You’ll hate me for it but at least I can get a picture out of it, yeah?”

You smile at his enthusiasm, from what you seem cats have never been a fan of clothing… but then again the clothing here doesn’t look— “wait,” you jerk your head to him, “rug? As in,” you gesture to the kitten that’s starting to meow when he pulls her back down from his shoulders. She must’ve climbed up there when he was looking through the clothes. “The cat?” You blink once then twice when he shrugs once more.

“Not really a naming guy, plus,” he rubs along her ears, “she was shivering on my rug. Figured I’d just say that and be done with it.”

Better than garbage, you think. “Well…” biting on your lip, “that’s unique.” Trying to save face, you don’t want to be too judgmental.

He gives you a look and then snickers, “I’m just kidding, love.” He comes close and you freeze slightly till he plops his kitten down in your hands. “About the rug name at least. I really am shit with names. Johnny’s better at naming animals.” Placing his hand on his hip and you wonder if that’s mafia guy but then you think maybe not. “If you got an idea then I’m all ears.” He turns on his side and he rubs his chin in thought. He mutters something and then walks off to the litter aisle.

You hold her in your hands. “A name, huh?” Bailey was the only name you could think of but that one’s been taken already… “hm,” you rub her nose to the top of her head. She seems to enjoy that as she curls into your fingers. “Pretty girl, what should your name be?” Humming softly in thought and leaning against the cart when Kyle comes back with a tub of litter and a nice looking litter box. You hadn’t expected to see the nice flex of muscle from his arms but you’re certainly not gonna complain about the view. “I got a secret to share, Kyle.” You say as he comes within earshot

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles and places the litter box in the cart first and then the tub. “What’s that? Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He makes an X over his chest.

“I’m shit with names too.”

His shoulders jump and he lets out a laugh. “Really?” Rolling his eyes, “guess we’re both in a pickle. Might have to stick with rug for now.” He rubs a thumb over his kitten's little head. She nips a little at his finger but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pats the top of her head like one would a dog.

“I think she hates that idea.”

“Very opinionated this one,” he takes over the pushing of the cart and you lead him down to the cat food aisle. You check her teeth and you are pleasantly happy that she won’t need formula. “Now,” he turns side to side to check the kinds of food the store sells. “What does my girl need?”

You give him a thorough answer after having learned your lesson with your mystery man. Explaining what he should and shouldn’t do and placing a weeks worth of 3 different foods. You then also speak about how he’ll need to see a vet. You checked her for fleas and you are incredibly happy to tell him that she only had one but that it’s still good for him to get some flea drops. After you give him the runaround once more around the store, checking for items you know she won’t need but she absolutely needs a carrot cat scratcher. You finally take him to your register so he can pay. Your manager looks none too happy about a remaining customer but your manager has nothing to remark when Kyle looks right at him.

“Okay,” you finally say after bagging all his items and placing them in the cart. “Here’s your receipt,” you pass it to him and you give a little pet to his kitten. “Sweet girl when she wants to be.” He chuckles around you and pockets his receipt.

“Only when she wants to, that’s for sure.” He lets out a low whistle, “cost me a high bill but only the best for her.” He tucks her a little closer and gives you a kind look. “Thanks for staying late for me,” he looks like he wants to say more but hesitates. “I’ll see you around?”

You blink and then nod quickly, “I’m always here, Kyle. Gotta make money,” you laugh shortly and his lips pull back so that you can see just a peep of his pearly whites. He takes his leave, chugging along his cart to place it in his car. He mouths something to his kitten when she tries to get out of his hands. Probably a scolding with how he tuts a finger side to side in front of her face. She’s hearing none of it though from how her tail flicks back and forth. You wave him goodbye and he waves back right at you before he steps in to drive away. You hope he’ll come back to tell you her name once he’s figured it out. You wonder if mafia guy will come back too…

[adriberry]

I can only imagine that he got one right when cars were first invented and he’d take baby Malleus out on Sunday drives in his little motorwagon.

[dollyyun]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✧ P.JS [ TEASER ]

PAIRING ✧ sugar daddy!jay x fem reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), adulthood, 12 years age gap (reader is 22, jay is 34), ceo!jay, strangers to lovers, fluffs, soft love kinda, he falls first and falls harder, jay is a huge simp WARNING ✧ slow burn-ish, some dramas, slight misunderstanding and miscommunication, mild angst, explicit themes, 2 smut scenes (smut warnings will be indicated under cut) TEASER WORDCOUNT ✧ 2.4K CURRENT WORDCOUNT ✧ 15K (est 42k)

SYNOPSIS ✧ jay park is famously known for excelling in anything he does, except his mundane love life — it's practically nonexistent. maybe it's the pressure that constantly presses down on him due to being surrounded by his peers who are either engaged or married, but he no longer desires to retain his solitude, yearning to find someone with the intention to settle down. that is when he finally meets you — the perfect woman just for him, and perhaps the one that his heart and soul have been searching for in a long time. but the only issue is that you only see him as your sugar daddy, or so he thought.

JAY: I’m on my way to your place, doll. Can’t wait to see you :)

That was forty minutes ago, but you’ve been anxiously checking his message every so often, your nerves going erratic to the point where your empty stomach churns unpleasantly that you feel the urge to throw up. You have never felt this extremely nervous before, not even for your finals back in college.

You can still feel the weight of exhaustion in your eyelids that threaten to close, but the thought of Jay ringing your doorbell keeps you conscious. You couldn’t sleep well last night, tossing and turning on your bed, and you knew that it was either the excitement or the nervousness of finally meeting your sugar daddy that prevented you from getting a good night's sleep.

Plus, you had to get up four hours early to do some light chores in order to make your apartment look neat and to make yourself look as impeccable as your skin that is devoid of any unnecessary hair since the dress that you’re currently wearing displays more skin than you intended. You didn’t put in much effort in your makeup, just the perfect volume to enhance your features.

You let out a quiet groan at the realisation of the effort you put in just for a man, an older man at that, which is also utterly ridiculous, because it’s as if you are keen on impressing your sugar daddy, and this is not even a date, or is it?

The doorbell chiming throughout the apartment startles you, prompting you to abandon the couch as you pad across the living room to get to the main door. You don’t bother to check through the peephole, your hand immediately latching on the door handle, albeit your nervousness remains unabating.

Before you can spiral further, your hand has a mind of its own, because the next thing you know, you are greeted by a very handsome man whose stature towers over your figure in an imposing manner, and he’s the very same man who is also your sugar daddy.

You can barely check him out when his dark eyes compel yours, your breath hitching in your throat at the sharp intensity in his dark irises that intimidates you, but in a good way that has your heart beating rapidly. You take the opportunity of the awkward silence to trace every feature of his face with your keen eyes — how strikingly handsome he is with his chiselled forehead and jaw, his flawless nose that evokes envy within you, his dark eyebrows that look naturally refined, and his lips in mutated pink. His jet-black hair is styled impeccably in a slick back, enhancing his striking face. Oh, he’s absolutely the most gorgeous man ever.

Little do you know that while you are in a state of intimidation due to his potent yet irresistible aura that feels overwhelming, Jay feels just the same, his tongue completely tied the moment you opened the door. It is as though he’s seeing an angel, rendering him starstruck. Those pictures of you that he spent almost the entire night admiring did not do you justice, because you look radiantly beautiful up close that even the beautiful constellations in the starry sky pale in comparison.

His eyes roam around you shamelessly, his throat feeling parched while his mind is storming with such dangerous thoughts he has been trying to keep them at bay. You look sweet yet alluring at the same time as you are adorned in a blue floral printed dress that reaches above your knees, revealing the perfect curves of your legs, and the subtle low cut displays your dainty neckline that is bare of any jewellery, to which he makes a mental note to buy you one. He fights off the strong urge to ogle at your defined cleavage and how noticeably succulent the curves of your upper mounds are.

When his eyes return to your face, you are already staring at him with a small smile, your shyness nearly has his knees buckling underneath him. He simply can’t believe that you’re real. Oh, what a wonderful privilege to be able to see you up close.

“Hi.” Jay greets you breathlessly, but you are more surprised at how soft-spoken he is, such a contrast to his unyielding facade that intimidated you earlier.

“Hi.” You reciprocate softly, and it is enough to shoot a Cupid’s arrow to his beating heart. Your voice sounds velvety, a mellow that soothes him.

Jay takes another look at you, blinking his eyes as though you are unreal. “W-Wow. You look—“ He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a nervous lump in his throat. He softens with an awkward smile that completely charms you. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You can’t believe how shy you are right now compared to the yapper you were last night when you texted him for nearly two hours. You take another look at him, feeling a strange flutter in your heart as you admire how he looks delectable in a button-down navy-coloured blouse that displays a teasing peek of his toned chest while his gold necklace complements his metal studs on his earlobes. “And you look really handsome.”

Jay is about to combust right here and now at your compliment that he has heard countless times from the ladies that pinned his attention back then, even more so when you beam at him with a slightly wider smile now. The weight in his hand immediately reminds him of what he intended to do after you opened the door before your beauty distracted him.

“This is for you.” Jay extends his hand to you, prompting you to look down at a small bouquet of flowers in his grasp, but you can see the hesitation in the way his hand slowly retracts from you. “Unless you have allergies to flowers, which is totally fine. I can keep it—“

“I don’t have any, so don’t worry.” You reassure him, and without thinking twice, your hand quickly reaches out to accept his sweet gesture, only to feel a faint electricity when your fingers brush against his before you finally grab the bouquet from him. Your heart swells with something unfamiliar as you look at the flowers before meeting his kind gaze. “Thank you for these. It’s the first that someone has ever given me flowers on a first meeting.”

You almost wanted to utter the word ‘date’ because this is certainly not a date but more like a formal meeting with your sugar daddy as part of the first transaction. You mentally berate yourself for hoping for something that you were initially against and the fact that you only intend to regard him as your sugar daddy. 

Jay’s bashful shell cracks when he adorns a smirk on his handsome face that has you swooning on the inside. “You can call me old-fashioned.”

“I love old-fashioned.” You decide to play along as you notice the spark of mischief in his eyes, but really, you do love yourself some old-fashioned.

“Are you ready to go?” Jay asks coolly, hoping that he doesn’t sound too eager as to how impatiently desperate he really is to spend the day with you.

“Yes. Just give me a sec.” You tell him while making your way to the shoe compartment, where you also place the bouquet on the counter, before grabbing your ankle-strapped heels.

As you return to him, you busily place your feet onto the heels before attempting to secure the strap around your ankles, only to be surprised when Jay gets down on one knee in front of you, rendering you flabbergasted. “Please. Allow me.” He insists without looking up at you, putting his hands into the task.

“It’s okay! I can do it myself—“ But your protest goes unheard as he secures the straps for you with such gentleness that it sends the weird flutter to your heart again, while the way his fingers brush against your skin feels electrifying.

Your eyes never leave him even after he’s done, his figure towering over yours again despite the heels that elevate your height. “Shall we?” Jay asks with a smile, to which you nod your head at before stepping outside of the threshold and locking the door.

The two of you proceed to make your way to the elevator, silence wrapping around you once more, but only less awkwardly. You chew your bottom lip out of habit, wanting to say something to dispel this awkwardness, but the heat of his body close next to you sends your head into a frenzy.

“Do you live alone?” Jay breaks the ice, and you silently thank him because you were slowly going insane. As soon as he presses the button, the elevator chimes open, and he gestures to you to enter first before he follows suit.

“Sort of.” You answer unsurely, earning a look of intrigue from him. You decide to explain shortly. “I live with my best friend, but ever since she got into a relationship, she’s rarely ever at our shared apartment, not that I minded. She can be quite a headache.”

His lips twitch into a smile, almost as if he’s being fond of something. “My best friend’s the same too.” He chuckles lightly, but they sound heavenly in your ears. “What about family? Any siblings?”

“And here I thought it was my turn to ask you a question.” You say cheekily, your lips stretching a little wider as you feel inclined to be frivolous towards him after the lingering awkwardness dissipates into thin air.

His eyes narrow at you in a playful suspicion, followed by a broad smirk on his lips. “You’re a cheeky doll, aren’t you?”

“It’s only fair that I ask you a question after you asked me one.” You say in an airily manner, ignoring how his handsome smirk has your mind in a frenzy once more. “But to answer your question, I’m an only child. My parents are divorced, so I’m kinda my own now. Always have.”

Being a natural observant that comes with an ability to heed the tone of voice, even the subtlest intonation, Jay recognises the underlying resentment in the neutrality of your voice and how he catches a fleeting sentiment he knows all too well in your eye, but the radiant smile on your face immediately overshadows any traces of somberness, albeit he is quick to grasp that family must be a sensitive topic for you. 

“It seems that we have a lot more in common than I thought. I’m an only child too.” Jay says lightly in an attempt to dispel any sour feelings within you. He opens his mouth to say something, but the elevator chimes open, revealing the view of the basement parking lot. He allows you to step out first before he follows suit, guiding you to his car. “So what’s the next question you have for me?”

“What made you become interested in me? You could’ve chosen other sugar babies.” You ask with genuine curiosity. The question has been lingering in the back of your mind all night. As he looks at you with an eyebrow raised, you try to search for something in his eyes, any falsehood or that he’s actually a bad guy with ill intentions, but all you see is the pure kindness that reflects the window of his soul.

“I just had a good feeling about you.” He answers with utmost sincerity, his eyes softening before giving you his signature smirk. “Besides, there was no way I would ever pass up a woman as gorgeous as you.”

A part of you feels so tempted to wipe away that handsome smirk off his face with a kiss, but you immediately ward off any inappropriate thought, diverting your attention to the sleek black Mercedes-Benz, his car.

Jay, being the gentleman he is, opens the passenger door for you, to which you shyly thank him before you carefully settle inside. Not too long later, Jay is right next to you, operating the functions of the vehicle that is wheeling towards where the main road is at.

The silence is accompanied by the music emanating from the radio on the dashboard, but it still isn’t enough to allay the newfound tension settling in your bones. You even distract yourself by discreetly examining the impeccable condition of the car that comes with a pleasant lavender smell before you notice the small bottle of fragrance diffuser that hangs in the air from behind the rearview mirror.

Something different flutters within you, how oddly intensifying it is, but one thing is for sure — you find Jay dangerously more attractive than the first time you felt.

You cave into the temptation to take a glance at him, only to nearly gawk at his strong yet flawless side profile, how his angular jawline looks defined up close. His face displays such cool impassivity, exuding an air of confidence compared to your meekness. Your eyes fall to his veiny hands before they travel lower; his sleeves had been pulled to his elbows, allowing the sultry veins that protrude in his arms and revealing a golden Rolex that latched around his wrist. You quickly look away, feeling the gradual heat building up in your body.

You swear that older men are not your type, but Jay may be the first to change that.

“Are you okay?” Jay asks, his soft voice startling you. The way he’s hot, a stickler for cleanliness, and soft-spoken? You must have done something incredibly honourable in your past life.

“Nervous, actually.” You tell him honestly, daring yourself to look at him as he briefly takes a glance at you before refocusing on the road. Though you still feel diffident, something about him compels you to confide your worries in him. “I just don’t want to mess things up on our first meeting.”

Jay cracks into a humorous smile. “Funny, because I had the same thought earlier.” Oh, he really did, worrying incessantly all morning that he might have fucked up by coming off too desperate for your attention.

“Is this a date?” You accidentally blurt out the question you intended to expel, but a part of you genuinely keen that this is actually a date and not just a formal transactional meeting between a sugar daddy and his sugar baby.

As the traffic light turns red, the car comes to a stop. Jay directs his full attention to you, a gentle smile touching his lips. “You can call it whatever you want, doll.”

You hold his gaze for a little longer, unable to fathom the inscrutable emotions behind the window of his eyes despite the unwavering kindness. You find yourself lifting a smile that mirrors his. “A date it is.”

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[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 1 | N.R

You swore you’d never race again after the crash that nearly killed you. For years, you stayed in the shadows, avoiding the world you once ruled. Then Natasha Romanoff came looking for a driver, and she chose you. You fought her. You refused. But Natasha doesn’t take no for an answer. But coming back means facing everything you ran from: the fame, the pressure, the past. And with the world watching, one question remains: Are you still the driver you once were, or will the past catch up before you can prove it?

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Crash Trauma, Car racing

Word count: 7k

A/N: Helloo, I really love this dynamic and hope you will too, so I can continue the story..🙆🏻‍♀️

At the moment Natasha saw the contract, she knew exactly how this would end.

She had years of experience in this business, long enough to see through every trick, every tactic, every maneuver. She had seen drivers come and go, talent wasted, careers ruined by greed. She had watched men with potential destroy themselves before they even had the chance to prove themselves. And Jake? He was about to become one of them.

She sat in the dimly lit conference room, the only light coming from her tablet screen as she scrolled through the details of his betrayal. The agency’s report had been sent to her earlier that day, and now, as she skimmed through the contract details, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

Jake wasn’t leaving the team for a better one. He wasn’t making a strategic decision to secure his position. No, he was leaving for money. A weaker team had offered him a higher salary, and that alone was enough to make him walk away. To leave Romanoff Racing. To leave the team that had made him relevant in the first place.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, rolled her shoulders, and let out a slow breath. If he had left for a real opportunity, for something better, she would have understood. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she would have respected it. But this? This was pathetic.

A quiet rustling on the other side of the room pulled her from her thoughts. Yelena sat lazily in one of the chairs, skimming the same documents Natasha had just read. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and chewed absentmindedly as she turned the page. “So.” Yelena murmured without looking up, “Walker is an idiot.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Yelena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she tossed the folder onto the table. “Seriously, what was he thinking? That you wouldn’t find out?” She tilted her head slightly, studying her sister. “Or did he really think he could outsmart you?”

Natasha tapped her fingers on the table once before picking up the folder and snapping it shut with a sharp click. Slowly, she stood up, tucking the documents under her arm and adjusting her jacket. Yelena watched her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Natasha didn’t even look at her as she walked toward the door. “Yes.”

The garage was too quiet when Jake Walker walked in. It wasn’t the usual silence after a race, the kind that settled in after a long day on the track. It wasn’t the hum of cooling engines or the distant murmurs of the pit crew. No. This silence meant something was wrong. He slowed his steps, scanning the empty space. Normally, there would be a few mechanics analyzing data, prepping the cars. But tonight?

Only she was there. Natasha stood at the workbench, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She wasn’t in a suit, not in formal attire. She was still in her racing gear, the sleeves of her fireproof suit tied around her waist, the black tank top hugging her toned frame. This wasn’t business. This was personal. A cold feeling settled in Jake’s stomach, but he forced himself to stay relaxed as he stepped closer. “Hey.” he greeted, his voice calm, controlled. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she opened the folder in her hand with practiced ease and then, with a precise flick of her wrist, tossed it onto the table in front of him. Jake frowned and looked down. The moment he saw the contents, his stomach clenched. His contract negotiations. His meetings. His plans. Plans Natasha wasn’t supposed to know about. His mouth went dry. “Listen, I can explai-”

“You thought you could outsmart me.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that was more dangerous than shouting. Jake clenched his jaw. “It’s not what you think-”

Natasha finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time in his career, Jake felt fear. “You could have left for a better team.” she said calmly, tilting her head slightly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I would have understood.”

A pause. A suffocating pause. “But you didn’t.” Jake swallowed, straightening his posture. “It was just negotiations!” he began. “This is standard practice-”

Natasha stepped closer. Not aggressively. Controlled. Calculated. “Do you think I don’t know how this business works?” Her voice was almost mocking. “I’ve been in this world longer than you’ve been relevant. I know the game. And this?” She gestured toward the folder. “This isn’t a smart move. It’s not strategy.”

Another step. “This is greed.” Jake’s hands twitched at his sides, frustration bubbling up. “It’s money!” he snapped. “And in case you forgot, that’s what keeps this whole place running..”

Natasha actually smiled. A small, cold, deadly smile. “No.” she said simply. “I keep this running.”

Jake’s breath hitched for a moment, but he held his ground. “This is a big mistake..” he growled. “You fire me, and I lose everything. My sponsors, my place in the season- you know damn well no one will sign me now! You’re destroying me!”

Natasha tilted her head, as if considering it. Then she shrugged. “Yes.” Jake’s fists clenched, his frustration shifting into pure, bitter anger. “Do you really think you can just replace me?”

Natasha’s smile widened. “I don’t need to replace you.” she said softly, razor-sharp. “I need someone better.” Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ached. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to hit something, do something.

But he didn’t. Because even he wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he stepped back. His chest rose and fell heavily, his career crumbling before his eyes. And Natasha? She didn’t care. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, straightened his posture, and forced his face into a neutral expression. “You’ll regret this.” he muttered.

Natasha smiled. “No, Walker.” she said quietly. “I won’t.” Jake’s jaw clenched. Then he turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him. Yelena let out a low whistle. “Well..” she murmured, still chewing her gum, “that was dramatic.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, shaking off the last traces of irritation before turning back to the workbench. Yelena stretched and tilted her head. “You do realize you just fired your only driver, right? The championship is in three months, and we now have exactly zero people for that seat.” She popped her gum. “Even for you, that’s a bold move.”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for her gloves and pulled them on with a quiet certainty. “I don’t need just anyone.” she finally said. “I need someone who’s willing to risk everything.”

Yelena chuckled softly. “Right. And where exactly do you plan on finding someone that crazy?” Natasha’s lips barely twitched. “Where no one else is looking.”

——

You were crouched beside the open hood of a sleek, jet-black race car, your fingers gliding gently along the edge of the exposed engine. The scent of oil and gasoline clung to your skin, mixing with the fabric of your grease-stained overalls.

“You’re stubborn today..” you murmured, tightening a bolt with a practiced twist of your wrist. A quiet laugh sounded behind you. “She’s talking to them again?”

“Like they’re her children.” another mechanic chuckled. You didn’t look up. “First of all..” You called back, your voice playful but firm, “He prefers to be addressed with respect. And second unlike you idiots, he actually listens to me.”

More laughter. Because that was the thing about you. Everyone here liked you. You weren’t just any mechanic. You weren’t just someone who knew these cars inside and out, someone who could tell what was wrong just by the sound of an engine.

You were one of them.. A racer, a mechanic, an engineer, everyone in the garage respected you. You pulled the final bolt tight, exhaled, and slid out from under the car. “Hey..” a voice called. You turned. One of the engineers, a burly man with a permanent oil stain on his shirt, waved you over.

“She’s ready for a test run.” he said, nodding toward the car you’d been working on. “You up for it?” You hesitated. You always hesitated. One lap. Just to check the steering, the brakes, the feel of the engine. It wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about pushing limits. It never felt like just a test. “Yeah.” you said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

The grandstands were full. A restless sea of bodies leaning forward, voices rising in a chaotic mix of cheers and curses as the race unfolded before them. But Natasha didn’t see the race like they did. She studied it. Arms crossed, weight balanced perfectly, she stood at the edge of the pit lane, eyes locked onto the track as the cars tore through the corners like bullets.

The floodlights cast sharp shadows over her face, making her expression even colder. Beside her, Yelena leaned casually against the railing, popping a piece of gum into her mouth, watching the race with far less intensity. “This is a waste of time..” Yelena muttered, chewing. “Same game, different track. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Because for the past few weeks, Yelena had been right. Driver after driver. Race after race. And nothing. No fire. No hunger. No one who understood the difference between fast and fearless. She inhaled slowly, concealing her frustration. She didn’t need an arrogant, hot-headed rookie. She didn’t need someone who thought they were great.

And then..she saw something. A blue car. It moved differently. Not with the reckless aggression of the others, not with the desperate hunger to overtake. No..it was precise. Every corner was a conversation, a fine-tuned balance between speed and control. The driver wasn’t fighting the car. They were one with it.

But something was wrong. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. The movements were too careful, too calculated. Held back, as if the driver was testing the limits, but refusing to cross them. She had seen this before. This wasn’t a driver racing for the win. This was someone racing against ghosts. Yelena noticed the shift in Natasha’s posture and followed her gaze. “Huh..” she murmured. “That’s..different.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the track. “Who is that?” Yelena waved over an official, a man who looked both honored and terrified to be standing so close to the Romanoff sisters. “The blue car!” Yelena said, nodding toward the track. “Who’s behind the wheel?”

The official hesitated. “That’s..Y/n Y/l/n.” Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly. She knew that name. Yelena let out a low whistle, her usual amusement fading into something more serious. “Damn..” she muttered. She turned to Natasha. “You remember her, don’t you?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Of course, she remembered. For years, you had been untouchable. A legend before you had even reached your prime. You raced like you had nothing to lose, like fear was a concept you had never learned. Till you crashed. Not just any crash. A nightmare. An accident so brutal, so catastrophic, that no one thought you would survive.

For weeks, the footage had played on every sports channel. The final lap of the championship race. You were in the lead, seconds from victory, until it happened. A clipped rear wing. A high-speed spin at 320 km/h. The impact was monstrous. Metal crumpled like paper, the car flipping multiple times, sent flying across the track, disintegrating in a cascade of sparks and fire. When the wreck finally came to a stop, it was nothing more than a charred, mangled cage of steel.

And inside? You. Broken, bleeding and unconscious. Two minutes. No pulse. Natasha pieced the details together in her head, the puzzle clicking into place. She knew what an accident like that did to a driver. It rooted itself deep inside them. It changed instincts. It turned the greatest passion into the greatest fear.

Yet despite everything, despite the hesitation in your movements, there was still something in your driving. A familiarity. A certainty in your instincts that no one ever truly lost. Yelena watched the race with new intensity. “This isn’t just a clean lap..” she murmured. “This is art.”

Natasha gave the smallest nod, never taking her eyes off the track. This wasn’t just a test run. This was someone who wasn’t just testing a car. This was someone who understood it. A corner. One that any test driver would take cautiously, just to gather data. But you? You took it like you were still a racer.

Perfectly timed. Perfectly felt. For the briefest second, for a heartbeat you forgot yourself. Natasha saw it in real-time. The moment you drove on instinct alone. The moment you let go. Natasha recognized the exact moment it happened. The way the car suddenly slowed down, the way the caution returned to your movements.

You stopped yourself. Natasha exhaled slowly. “She’s not just testing.” she murmured. “She’s driving like the car still belongs to her.” The man standing beside her sighed heavily. “Yeah,..” he said quietly. “She still does.”

Yelena frowned, watching as you pulled into the pit lane. “That’s not a driver who doesn’t want to race.” Natasha already knew that. She just didn’t say it out loud. Because she had already figured it out. That hesitation, the moment you held yourself back, told her everything she needed to know.

You weren’t here to test cars. You were here because you couldn’t stay away. And yet, the moment you stepped out of the car, the moment your feet hit the asphalt, you buried it again. The helmet stayed on. Your posture remained closed off, controlled. You handed over the keys, exchanged barely a word, and walked straight back into the garage.

Natasha moved. But before she could take another step, she felt a firm hand on her arm. Slowly, she turned her head and met the calm, knowing gaze of the man beside her. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was definitive. The kind that said: Don’t do it. He knew exactly what she was about to do. And he knew it wouldn’t work.

“She’s not looking for a comeback, Romanoff.” he said. His voice was quiet, but heavy. Natasha didn’t pull away, but she didn’t back down either. “She’s already back.” she countered softly. “She’s on the track.”

The man exhaled slowly through his nose. “Not the way you think.” Yelena folded her arms, glancing toward the garage. “Then why is she here?” The man was silent for a long time. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Because this is the only place that still makes sense to her.”

Natasha remained still. That was an answer she understood all too well. “She disappeared after the crash..” the man continued. “Not just from racing. From everything. No press. No statements. No farewell speech. She just…vanished. And you know what? I think she really wanted to. I think she wanted to convince herself she was done.”

Yelena let out a quiet scoff. “I remember the crash.” she muttered. “Everyone does.” Yeah. Everyone did. Before the accident, your name had been spoken with reverence. A rising legend. A driver who had seemed untouchable. Then, in a single moment. The fall.

Not just any loss. A wreck so violent people had looked away from their screens. A crash that had silenced entire stadiums. “She was dead.” Yelena murmured. “Two minutes, right?”

The old man nodded slowly. “Two minutes. No pulse. The medics pulled her from the wreck thinking they were recovering a body, not saving a life.” Natasha turned to Yelena. “I want to meet her.”

Yelena grinned. “Are you sure? She doesn’t look like she wants to be found.” Natasha’s gaze hardened. “She’s already been to hell,” she murmured. “She can handle me.” And with that, the decision was made.

She moved through it all with quiet precision, out of place but completely in control. She wasn’t dressed for the chaos of the garage, no oil-stained coveralls, no smudges of grease, no heavy gloves. She didn’t belong here, and yet, every step she took demanded the kind of presence that made people move out of her way without a word.

She spotted you immediately, half under a car, legs stretched out, one hand buried deep in the engine bay. The way you worked wasn’t just methodical, it was intimate. The way your fingers moved, the way you tested a part, listened to the engine hum, made minute adjustments you weren’t just fixing a machine. You understood it.

Natasha stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly as she watched. “You drive like someone who doesn’t belong here.” You froze. It was small, barely noticeable, the slight hesitation of your wrist before you finished tightening whatever part you had been working on. But Natasha caught it.

Because she was always watching. A slow, measured breath left your lips before you rolled out from under the car, sitting up with your arms resting against your knees. There was grease smeared across your cheek, a few loose strands of hair sticking to your temple from the heat, but none of that mattered.

Because the second your eyes met Natasha’s, you knew. Your posture shifted. Not in shock, not in surprise. In recognition. And then, just as quickly, in rejection. “No.”

Natasha arched a brow, unfazed. “I didn’t ask anything yet.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands with slow, deliberate movements before standing up. “You didn’t have to.” Natasha smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. “You know who I am.”

You exhaled, shaking your head as you grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby workbench. “Everyone in this business knows who you are.” You twisted the cap off, took a sip, and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before turning your gaze back to Natasha. “And I already know why you’re here.”

Natasha studied you, taking in the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers flexed slightly before stilling. You weren’t just expecting this conversation, you had already decided against it.

“You need a driver.” you continued before Natasha could even open her mouth. “And you think I should be it.” Natasha didn’t confirm or deny it. She didn’t have to. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t even hear my offer.”

“Don’t need to.” You tossed the rag onto the workbench, your movements final. “I don’t race.”

Natasha stepped forward. “You don’t compete.” You turned away, picking up another tool and adjusting something in the car. “Same thing.”

The silence that stretched between you wasn’t tense, it was a battle. Natasha wasn’t used to people walking away from her. She wasn’t used to people ignoring her. But you? You didn’t hesitate to turn your back.

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. “I watched you on the track.” You kept working. “Good for you.”

“You’re not just testing the cars.” Natasha’s voice was quieter now, but sharper, cutting through the noise of the garage like a blade. “You’re still racing.”

Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, you kept moving. Natasha pressed forward. “I saw the way you took that turn. The way you adjusted, the way you let the car move with you instead of fighting it.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “A test driver wouldn’t drive like that.”

You exhaled, slamming the hood of the car shut harder than necessary. “Whatever you think you saw.” you muttered, voice tight, “it doesn’t matter.”

Natasha didn’t move. She stood her ground, unwavering. “You belong on the track.” You laughed. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was sharp, bitter, the kind of laugh that had too much weight behind it.

You finally turned, your expression unreadable, but your voice was cold when you spoke. “I belonged there. Past tense.”

Natasha held your gaze. “That’s not what I saw.” You wiped your hands again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”

Silence. Natasha exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back slightly. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but I know a racer when I see one. And you?” She smirked faintly. “You’re still racing. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your jaw ticked. For a moment, Natasha thought she had you. Thought she had struck the nerve she needed to. But then, you simply shook your head and grabbed a wrench. “Go find someone else, Romanoff.” You turned back to the car, your shoulders set, your posture final.

This conversation was over. Natasha studied you for a long moment, weighing her options. She could push. She could demand, argue, try to break through the wall you had built.

But she knew better. She knew when to walk away. At least, for now. She exhaled slowly, stepping back. “You know where to find me.”

You didn’t respond. Natasha didn’t expect you to. She turned, walking out of the garage, her steps slow, controlled. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t giving up. Because no matter how much you tried to deny it, Natasha had already seen the truth. You were still a racer. And Natasha Romanoff always got what she wanted.

As she stepped outside, the night air cooler than the thick heat of the garage, Yelena fell into step beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She had been watching from a distance, leaning against the wall near the entrance, casually observing the entire exchange.

After a few seconds of silence, she let out a low whistle, smirking. “That might be the first time I’ve seen someone tell you to go to hell and actually get away with it.” Natasha didn’t slow her stride. “She didn’t tell me to go to hell.”

Yelena popped her gum. “No, but she might as well have.” She studied her sister’s expression, intrigued. “So, what’s the plan now? You actually gonna let that be the end of it?”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “No.” Yelena chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

Days went by and you were again on the track. The first laps were smooth. You drove with focus, feeling the car’s balance, analyzing every movement, every response. No risks. No unnecessary speed. It wasn’t a race. Just a test run.

And then you saw it. In the rearview mirror. Another car, at the end of the straight, right in the middle of the track. You blinked. That couldn’t be. No other car was supposed to be here. But it was.

Then your radio crackled. “You’re driving like a damn rookie.” Your heart stopped. That voice. You gritted your teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was almost worse than her words. “Drive.”

You shook your head, pressing the radio button harder than necessary. “I’m working. Get off the track.”

“Make me.”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. The red car moved. Slowly, controlled. It slid into your line, blocking your path, positioning itself exactly where you needed to go. “Romanoff..” you growled.

“You think you can ignore me?” Her voice was sharp. “That I’ll just stand by and disappear?”

“I’m not here for a damn game.”

“Oh, but you are. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her car kept moving, staying exactly in your line. No gap. No escape.

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

Natasha laughed, a dark, mocking sound. “Oh, you have time. You’ve wasted years hiding. Not today.”

Your pulse was racing now. A fine tremor ran through your hands, your chest rising and falling faster than it should.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Make. Me.”

Her voice was calm. Almost amused.

“This isn’t a damn negotiation!”

“No. It’s a race.” And then she took off. Suddenly, the red car wasn’t just an obstacle. It was a shadow, shooting past you, positioning itself ahead, dominating every damn turn.

She gave you no choice. You felt your grip on the wheel tighten, your jaw clenching. “You think you can just challenge me?”

“I know you want it.”

Your heart pounded. “Shut up.”

“Drive.”

She pushed you. Drove more aggressively, more recklessly, cutting you off, giving you no damn room to breathe.

“You’ve gotten weak.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Shut. Up.”

“You used to be someone I respected.”

“I will shove you off this track if you don’t-”

“Then do it.” She knew damn well you wouldn’t. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was shallow.

“You’re not yourself anymore, are you?” Those words dug under your skin, a pain deeper than any physical wound. You hated her in that moment. Hated her for her arrogance. Hated her for knowing you. Hated her because she was right.

“Do you know what disappoints me most about you?” she continued, as if this was some damn therapy session. “It’s not the crash. It’s not that you fell. It’s that you don’t even try to get back up.”

And that was the moment. The moment something inside you snapped. A break. A damn fire you had suffocated for so long that you had almost forgotten it was ever there. Your foot slammed onto the gas. “Fuck you.”

The engine roared. The car responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. Suddenly, there was no hesitation. No fear. No voices from the past. Just speed. And a damn red shadow ahead of you, one you would finally chase. The engine roared under your control as you pushed the gas pedal down. Your car shot forward, vibrating with an intensity that traveled through your bones, but Natasha was there.

Like a damn predator. The red car moved with terrifying precision, cutting you off again and again, blocking your best lines, forcing you into her trap. She gave you no room to breathe, no moment of control. This wasn’t a challenge. It was a show of dominance. Every turn, every straight-line maneuver was a damn game. But not just any game. It was her game. And she made sure you lost.

The next corner approached with brutal speed. A sharp right turn, one that would demand everything. Your fingers clenched around the steering wheel, your body was ready, but your mind wasn’t. You were supposed to brake. A fraction of a second earlier than usual to maintain control. But then Natasha moved over. Hard. Aggressive. Too soon. Way too soon.

Your breath caught. What the hell is she doing? Her line was a disaster, too tight, too risky. She forced you to the outer edge, pushing you into a damn dead end. “Brake.” Her voice cut through the radio. Ice-cold. “Brake or crash.”

Your heart pounded. Your instincts screamed, she had you exactly where she wanted. But your body… your damn body wouldn’t listen. Your leg twitched, your foot wanted to press the brake. Just like back then. Just like on the day you last really raced. A flash shot through your mind, the impact, the screeching metal, the blood. The silence afterward. Your hands trembled. Natasha knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do it.” her voice came through again. “Do it or stop calling yourself a driver.” Your rage exploded. “Romanoff!!!” You yanked the steering wheel, forcing the car into an impossibly tight line, feeling the tires fight for every inch of traction. Your body tensed, everything in you screamed that you wouldn’t make it.

But you did. Your car flew through the corner, just a hair’s breadth from Natasha’s, so close you could swear her gaze burned through the helmet straight into your soul. But she didn’t brake. She stayed with you. She dragged you with her. “Yeah..” you heard her growl as your cars raced side by side down the straight. “That’s it.”

Your whole body burned. Your muscles locked under the tension. This wasn’t a damn race anymore. This was war. And you hated her. Hated that she had brought you here. Hated that you needed it. Hated that you had missed it. The final turn approached. Fast, treacherous. The kind of turn where drivers either proved themselves, or failed. Natasha went in first. Her line was perfect. Almost too perfect.

You could have let her go. Could have let her take the lead. But you didn’t. No. Not today. Not anymore. The anger boiled over, your head screamed against all the voices that had held you back for years. You want me to take risks? Then fine, here you go. You ripped the car into the turn harder than ever before, deeper than anyone would have dared, taking an impossible line, one that couldn’t work.

It didn’t have to work. It just had to prove you weren’t afraid anymore. The tires screamed under the pressure, your car shook, the chassis vibrated as if it would fall apart, but you held the line. And for the first time in this whole damn race, you heard nothing from Natasha. No command. No taunt. Just silence. The finish line came into sight, you and Natasha racing towards it, but you didn’t care.

You had surprised her. For the first time, you had turned the tables. Adrenaline rushed through your blood, your body electric as your cars crossed the line. For a moment, the world was nothing but white noise. Then silence. You tore the helmet off your head before the car even stopped. Your hands were shaking..but not from fear. From anger. Anger at Natasha. Anger that she had dared. That she had pushed you this far.

That she…That she had done it. You jumped out of the car, your pulse pounding as you stormed past her. “See? I-”

“Fuck you, Romanoff.” you spat, your voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. You didn’t look back. Not at her. Not at the car. Not at the damn monster she had awakened in you.

——

You lay on your bed, arms folded behind your head, staring at the ceiling. Since you had come home, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. Not because there was nothing to say. But because you couldn’t. Your head was full. Full of her laughter. Full of the screeching tires, of the way your heart had pounded when you almost lost control. Full of that damn fire Natasha had reignited in you.

You hated her. Hated her because she knew exactly what she was doing. Hated her because she had brought you back to a place you swore you’d never return to. Hated her because it had felt..damn it..alive.

You gritted your teeth and rubbed your face, exhausted. Your whole body was still tense, as if you were about to get back into the car. The tension just wouldn’t fade. For years, you had held back. For years, you had done everything to bury that part of yourself. And then she came along.

Romanoff. And within minutes, she had torn it all down. A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/n, dinner’s ready!” Your mother’s voice. Warm, kind, the kind that usually calmed you. But not today. You didn’t want to go downstairs. Didn’t want to pretend everything was normal, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. But if you didn’t, there would be questions. And questions were the last thing you needed.

So you forced yourself out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shuffled down the stairs. The kitchen was warm, the smell of food lingering in the air. Your mother was still at the stove, your father already sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, while your little brother sat next to him, tapping his fork against his plate.

You sat down silently, grabbed a bowl of food, and started eating without looking at anyone. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe tonight would just be a normal evening. “Y/n were driving again yesterday!” The fork in your hand froze. A cold shiver ran down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, you lifted your gaze.

Your little brother grinned at you, completely unaware of what he had just done. “Yeah, she was on the track! I saw it! Her car was really fast!”Silence. A different kind of silence. The kind that comes before a storm. Slowly, your father put his phone down. Your mother turned away from the stove, still holding the spoon in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“It was just a test run..” you tried to keep your voice calm. “Nothing serious.”

“A test run?” Your father leaned back, his brow furrowed deeply. “Since when are you driving again?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are!” your brother chimed in cheerfully. “And you’re really good! I even saw videos!”

“Jacob, shut up!!” You snapped. Your mother looked at you like she didn’t recognize you. “We talked about this.”

“I know!”

“No, apparently, you don’t!” Her voice was sharper now. “I thought you wanted to leave it behind. I thought you were done with all of this.” Your jaw tightened. “I am.”

“You were driving.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was something..” your father cut in now, his tone cool, controlled, but you could hear the underlying frustration.

“After everything that happened? After the accident?” Your mother’s voice was rising now. “And now you’re telling us it was nothing?”

Your hands curled into fists under the table. “I didn’t want to, okay?” you finally said, your voice lower. “She…she pushed me into it.”

“She?” Your father frowned. “Who?”

You swallowed hard. You could have lied. Could have made something up. But what would have been the point? “Natasha Romanoff.” The name dropped into the room like a weight. Your father took in a sharp breath. Your mother froze for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Natasha Romanoff?” Her tone wavered somewhere between disbelief and concern.

“Yes.” Your father slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “That woman is…Y/n, she’s dangerous.”

“She’s a damn legend..!” your brother chimed in excitedly, as if you had just spoken about a hero. “Jacob, you stay out of this!” your father snapped, shooting him a quick glance before his focus returned to you. “And she’s the one who got you back in a car?”

You felt the anger rising inside you, but it wasn’t the explosive, loud kind. It was deeper. Simmering. Because they made it sound like you had no choice. But you did. And you made it. “I did it myself..” you murmured.

“Against her?” Your mother stared at you in disbelief. You nodded. Her face paled. Your father let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s fantastic. First, she races you, then she pushes you to keep going? What the hell does this woman want from you?”

“I don’t know.” The lie came too easily. But you did know. Natasha had told you. She wanted to bring you back. And the worst part of it all, the part that made your stomach turn, was that some part of you wanted it too.

Your mother rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion clear in her posture. “I don’t understand…after everything that happened, why would you even let her get to you?” Because she cornered me. Because she pushed me. Because she saw what I couldn’t admit. But you didn’t say it. “It was a mistake.”

Your own voice sounded hollow. Your father studied you for a long moment, as if he were searching for something between the lines. But then your mother slowly shook her head. “If you drive again…” Her voice was firm. “If you really go back…then that’s it.” The words cut through you like a blade.

“What?”

“Then you’re on your own. You’re completely on your own.”

You looked at her in shock. “That’s not fair-”

“It is.” She said, her gaze steady, sharp. “Because we’re not doing this again. We almost lost you once. Almost buried you. I will not sit back and watch you put yourself in danger again.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You knew they were worried. You knew, to them, this was never just a sport, it was the thing that almost took their child from them. But this? This was an ultimatum.

“This isn’t fair!” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “Life isn’t fair.” your father said simply. And that was the end of the discussion. Silence settled over the table, thick and suffocating. Your food tasted like nothing. Slowly, you stood up, pushing your chair back. “I’m tired.”

“Y/n-”

“Good night.” You left them at the table, feeling their stares on your back as you climbed the stairs. As soon as your door closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. Damn it. You had never been this angry before. Not just at them. At yourself. Because a part of you knew your mother was right. But another part…Another part knew it was too late.

Days passed, but you couldn’t shut it off. Every time you were on the track, she was in your head. When you walked through your front door, you thought you’d finally get a quiet afternoon. No cars. No Natasha. Just you. “Do you really think she’s happy?”

You froze in the doorway. Your fingers tightened around your keys. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind you. The voices were coming from the living room. You could hear your mother, upset, almost pleading. Your father? Silent. And then..Natasha. She was here. Oh, hell.

You forced your legs to move, following the sounds into the living room. And when you turned the corner, you saw the scene before you. Your mother sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Your father stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

And in the middle of the room, completely relaxed, as if she belonged there, sat Natasha. She had one leg crossed over the other, hands resting loosely on the armrests. Her posture was calm, controlled..but her eyes? Her eyes were ice. She knew she wasn’t welcome here. But she sat there like it didn’t matter. Your mother shot her a withering glare. “My daughter is happy! She chose to leave this madness behind.”

Natasha blinked slowly. Then she looked at your father. “And you? Do you believe that?” Your stomach twisted. Your father said nothing. He had been silent the entire time. Your mother had been the one who stayed at your bedside after the crash. The one who held your hand when the doctors said you might never walk again. The one who swore you’d never sit in a cockpit again.

But your father? He had accepted it. Never questioned your decision. Supported you, but never really talked about it. Now, he looked at you. Not at Natasha. You. And in his eyes, you saw something you didn’t expect. He was searching for an answer. Your throat felt dry.

“Dad..” you murmured. “Tell her to leave.” But he didn’t. Natasha studied him carefully. Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You know, don’t you? You see it.”

His brow furrowed. “See what?”

“That she’s lying to herself.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. “Look at her.” Natasha continued, still watching him. “You say she’s moved on. That she’s chosen to stop racing. But do you really believe that? Or is that just the story you tell yourself so you don’t have to worry anymore?”

“Stop this..” your mother snapped. “She made her decision. You act like you know her better than her own family!”

Natasha slowly turned her head. Her gaze was hard, but not angry. Just cold. Precise. “I don’t know her better.” she said. “But I know what I saw yesterday. And that was not someone who quit.”

Your hands curled into fists. “It was a mistake.”

“Then why are you still thinking about it?”

Silence. You could hear your mother take a deep breath, her fingers clenched around the glass on the coffee table. “I don’t understand you..” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just leave her alone?”

“Because she can’t.” Natasha said simply. Your breath caught. “People like her don’t just stop.” Natasha continued, her voice now quiet, intense. “They can try. They can tell themselves it’s over, that they can live a different life. But deep down, they know better.”

Her gaze shifted back to you. “You know better.” Your heart pounded. Your nails dug into your palms. “No.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Yes.” She reached into the inside of her bag, pulled out a folder, and placed it slowly on the coffee table. “This.” she said calmly, “is a contract.” You stared at it as if it were a weapon. “A seat. A team. A new chance.” Natasha continued. “You don’t have to take it. I won’t force you.”

Your mother sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t seriously expect-”

“No.” Natasha interrupted her. “I don’t expect anything, Mrs. Y/l/n.” Her eyes were back on you. “But I know what’s going to happen. You’ll ignore it. You’ll pretend you don’t want it. But every night, this damn thing will be in your head. You’ll think about it. About the race. About the feeling. And one day, you won’t be able to deny it anymore.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. Your mother shook her head vehemently. “Please leave now..” Your father still said nothing. He was looking at you. And you knew that he knew. That he had always known. You didn’t want it. You really didn’t. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And Natasha knew it. “Take the contract.” Natasha said quietly. “Or tear it up. But if you do, do it because you’re sure. Not because you’re afraid.” You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the folder. But you didn’t open it. You turned away. And without another word, you left the room. The contract felt heavy in your hand. Behind you, complete silence.

Then, you heard Natasha stand up. “I won’t try to convince you again.” she said calmly. “But I promise you one thing. If you tear it up, it won’t go away. This feeling. It will never leave you alone.”

You exhaled shakily. Heard the front door open. Heard it close again. And then Natasha was gone. You stood in the darkness of the hallway, the paper still in your fingers. You wanted to get rid of it. You wanted to ignore it. But your hands wouldn’t move. Because you knew Natasha was right.

-

-

-

-

Part 2

[sweetshuga]

𝑩𝒓𝒂𝒕 𝑻𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ 𝑴.𝑺 [+𝟏𝟖]

ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ cursing ⋆ pet names ⋆ colleague!matt ⋆ mean!matt ⋆ punishment ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ bathroom sex ⋆ keeping quiet ⋆ dirty talk + more.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕... Matt is your good looking colleague—your workplace enemy. After interrupting his important presentation countless times, he decided to finally put you in your place.

You watched as your colleague rushed in late, quickly making his way towards his desk right next to yours before plopping down on his seat, letting out a slow breath. His eyes nervously scanned the crowded office to see if your boss was in sight before letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

"So damn close." He mumbled under his breath before opening his briefcase, taking out the necessary documents and papers. Your gaze raked over his suit-clad body as he worked, careful not to be too blatant but unable to help yourself.

Matt just looked too good in his suit.

It would be a lie if you said you didn’t feel that flutter in your abdomen whenever he was near, because quite frankly, your panties were always somewhat dampened after an interaction with him. Hell, just simply seeing him in his suit made you feel all kinds of ways.

You and him weren’t buddy-buddy though, which made it more complicated to feel this way. Sure, you may have had hate-sex once or twice by accident, but it never went beyond that. You both chalked it up to "in the heat of the moment" or "due to workplace stress" which you knew weren’t good enough excuses.

He’s your enemy for crying out loud.

As childish as it may sound, you two couldn’t stand each other. From little pranks to bigger sabotages—you did everything to see his jaw clenched, vice versa. Today was no different, you had a presentation to do, and unfortunately for you, so did Matt.

۶ৎ

You had already interrupted his presentation twice since he started and you’ve chalked it up to accidents, but you both knew that it was completely on purpose.

Your smirk widened the more frustrated he became, but he couldn’t do anything about it since your boss sat in front, looking and listening intently.

Matt suddenly excused himself to quickly 'bring' a document he forgot, mouthing a silent "Out. Now." to you before he walked out and you decided to comply with his demand just this once, finding his frustration absolutely amusing.

Excusing yourself with a quick ramble about needing the bathroom, you walked out of the meeting room and almost immediately a hand reached out and pulled you to the side.

You looked up and saw Matt fuming, his jaw clenched tightly and his chest heaving with barely controlled anger.

"Sweetheart," Matt tutted, his tongue clicking in annoyance before he continued in a lower voice, "Keep fucking distracting me like that and see what happens." He warned, his tone harsh despite his dilated pupils and increasingly ragged breaths—from anger or something else, you couldn’t quite tell.

You both entered the meeting room again, Matt a little while after you to not make it seem so suspicious. Ignoring your presence completely, he started to present again, his hands moving in expressive gestures to emphasize his words.

Despite his warning, you managed to interrupt his presentation mid-sentence, yet again, by coughing—which caused him to stop everything and stare at you for a few, too many, seconds before continuing his presentation. His expression gave nothing away, but his body language screamed enraged.

Your chest and the side of your head pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall as Matt rutted into you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips and no doubt leaving bruises behind.

Your eyes rolled back with each deep slam of his cock into your squelching wet cunt, and your free hand scrambled to cover your mouth in an awful attempt to muffle the loud noises spilling out of your mouth.

"Yeah, keep fucking quiet, you don’t want any of our coworkers to hear what a fucking whore you are, do you?" Matt taunted, his hips slapping against your ass with enough strength to make your legs tremble and lose balance, your heels clicking softly on the floor as you tried to keep yourself upright.

"M-Matt, too deep-" "Too deep?" Matt mocked your cry of pleasure, deliberately slamming into you roughly before grinding his hips against your ass, stirring himself deep inside.

The pressure against your cervix left you seeing stars.

"Aw, is this too deep? Can’t take it anymore?" He cooed in a mocking manner, pulling out almost fully before slamming back into your cervix, making sparks dance behind your eyes as they rolled back into your skull.

"This is what you get for being a fucking brat — a fucking brat that tries to get under my skin any chance she gets." He gritted his teeth, his own pleasure doubling at the way your insides clenched around him as if you enjoyed his harsh words.

"Oh? Aren’t you getting tighter? You enjoy being degraded huh? What a fucking slut." He chuckled breathlessly, relishing in your increasingly loud moans as your orgasm approached—your hand unable to muffle your noises of pleasure.

His fingers snaked around and started to rub your clit furiously, his other hand leaving your hip and wrapping around your waist instead to keep you from squirming away from his brutal pounding and skillful fingers.

"M-Matt, I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna cum!" He redoubled his efforts, grunting and groaning as he jackhammered into your pussy, barely holding back his own release. His belt clanked and jingled around his ankles where his pants and boxer briefs rested.

"Y-yes, right–right there! I’m gonna—" Your words dissolved into a drawn out moan, body tensing and shuddering as you finally reached your peak.

The feeling of your tightness fluttering around his already swollen cock sent him over the edge with a deep moan. His hips jerked against your ass as he filled up the condom. He finally allowed himself to slump forward, his chest covering your back as he rested his forehead against your shoulder blade, trying to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, Matt pulled out with a satisfied sigh, discarding the used condom and tucking himself back in his underwear before zipping up his slacks, fixing his clothes as a smirk played on his lips.

After he was done, he gave your ass a sharp smack, making you jolt and stand upright, shaking your head to clear the pleasure-drunk daze out of yourself.

"Don’t make it so obvious that you’ve been railed hard and fix yourself before you go out." He grinned, enjoying your frustrated glare before he sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving you to quickly fix your clothes and make up.

Matt hummed a quiet tune under his breath as he walked back into the office and plopped down on his seat, a ghost of a smirk still on his lips as he started to type away on his laptop.

He couldn’t wait to put you in your place, again.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟏.𝟏 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

no one noticed.

no one noticed when isagi yoichi would always walk you home, no matter how cold it would be that day. you never realized that his house was actually in the completely opposite direction of yours.

no one noticed when bachira meguru kept the worn-out friendship bracelet that you made him years ago even though you weren’t friends anymore and that you barely even talked to him these days.

no one noticed when chigiri hyoma always left a hair tie in your locker because he knew that you always forgot to bring one and constantly needed it in gym class because of your long hair.

no one noticed when kunigami rensuke always thought about how beautiful you looked and complimented you in his mind every day during school when he sees you first thing in the morning.

no one noticed when barou shouei always picked you to be on his team in gym class because he didn’t want you to be on the losing side and knew that no one else would pick you to be on their team.

no one noticed when mikage reo would always leave expensive, long-lasting pens on your desk whenever your pen ran out of ink. he knew you hated writing notes in pencil, and he wanted you happy.

no one noticed when nagi seishiro would subconsciously think of you and your favorite things whenever he was at a store, and before he knew it, his whole apartment was full of your favorite things.

no one noticed when itoshi rin always asked the kind old lady at the ice cream store to keep your favorite type of ice cream in stock because you were always so happy whenever you ate it.

no one noticed when michael kaiser would always play with you and talk to you in the park when you were little. no matter how swollen or bruised he was, he always made time to talk to you.

no one noticed when he cried in the bathroom at your wedding.

no one noticed just how much he loved you.

[joelswhcre]

────۶ৎ class dismissed

tommy’s camp set up combat training for young adults, and joel miller got stuck teaching it. you, with your bratty attitude and reckless mouth, decided to push him too far. now, you’re gonna learn a lesson.

warnings: smut, age gap (reader is 18+), teacher/student, spanking, choking, size kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, degradation, praise, overstimulation.

more

ᖭ༏ᖫ

tommy’s camp had rules.

one of them? never fuck with joel miller.

he was brutal, sharp-edged, a man who had lived long enough to carve his own way into the world and leave bodies in his wake. so when they set up training classes for young adults—how to handle a knife, how to fire a gun—he was the first name on the list.

and when you walked into his class, all big eyes and soft skin and a mouth that didn’t know when to quit, he knew he was fucked.

but he had discipline.

he ignored the way you looked at him, like you wanted something you shouldn’t. he kept his hands to himself when you pressed too close, when your fingers lingered on his forearm as he adjusted your grip on a gun.

he ignored it all—until he couldn’t.

until you pushed him too far.

—

"you’re not takin’ this seriously," joel muttered, arms crossed as he watched you struggle with your knife stance.

you huffed, rolling your eyes. "it’s just a knife, miller. not that hard."

he exhaled through his nose. if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was attitude. especially from you.

"come here," he ordered.

you obeyed, stepping closer, holding out the knife.

joel grabbed your wrist, flipping it with ease, and suddenly, the blade was against your throat, the sharp edge kissing your skin.

your breath hitched.

"not that hard, huh?" his voice was low, gritted. he pressed just enough for you to feel it, for you to understand how easily he could cut you.

your pupils blew wide. you swallowed, throat bobbing against the blade.

"careful," joel murmured.

your tongue darted out, wetting your lips. he followed the motion, jaw flexing.

"you gonna teach me or what?" you whispered.

joel knew that tone. knew exactly what you were doing. pushing him. testing him.

"fuckin’ brat," he muttered, letting you go.

you stumbled back, gripping the knife tight.

"again," he ordered, stepping behind you, his chest pressed firm against your back.

his breath was hot against your ear. his hands—big, warm—rested on your hips, pressing you into place.

"hold it like this," he murmured, fingers wrapping over yours, tightening your grip.

you exhaled, your body sinking against him.

"good girl."

it escalated quickly after that.

stolen glances in class. accidental touches that weren’t accidental at all.

until you showed up at his cabin one night, wet from the rain, looking at him like he was the only thing you needed.

he let you in.

"you know this is wrong," joel said, voice rough as you straddled his lap.

"don’t care," you whispered.

he groaned when you rolled your hips, feeling just how much bigger he was, how much stronger.

"’course you don’t," he muttered, gripping your waist.

his fingers dug into your skin, bruising, claiming.

"fuckin’ spoiled," he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck, nipping at the skin until you whimpered. "needy little thing."

you gasped when he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you into the bed.

"gonna take what i give you, yeah?" he rasped, his weight heavy over you.

"yeah," you breathed, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

"gonna let me fuck you proper?"

"please."

his eyes darkened.

"that’s my girl."

he took his time, teasing, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, groaning when he felt how wet you were.

"fuck," he muttered, spreading you open. "s’ all for me?"

"yes, joel—"

"you call me sir when i’m between your legs," he ordered. his hands made quick work of his belt, shoving both his trousers and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

you whimpered. "yes, sir."

he smirked, pressing his cock against your cunt, letting you feel just how thick he was.

"gonna stretch you good," he murmured, pushing in slow.

you gasped, body arching as he filled you, the stretch just shy of too much.

"fuckin’ tight," he groaned, gripping your hips, forcing himself deeper.

"so big," you whimpered, nails dragging down his arms.

he exhaled sharply, rolling his hips, letting you feel every inch.

"yeah," he muttered. "and you’re takin’ it like a good fuckin’ girl."

his hand wrapped around your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

"this what you wanted?" he murmured, eyes locked onto yours.

"yes, sir," you gasped.

"gonna fill you up," he muttered, pace picking up, fucking into you hard, deep, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs.

"gonna breed this pretty little cunt," he rasped, his grip tightening.

your body trembled, pleasure curling deep in your stomach.

"please," you whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

"fuck," joel growled, his pace turning desperate, brutal, his hips slamming into yours.

"gonna make you mine," he muttered. "gonna fuckin’ own you."

and when you came, legs shaking, body clenching around him, he followed right after, burying himself to the hilt, spilling into you with a deep, guttural groan.

he stayed there, breathing heavy, pressing a rough kiss to your jaw.

"you keep pushin’ me, sweetheart," he murmured. "see what happens next time."

and you did.

you kept pushing him.

the next day in class, you acted like nothing happened. like joel miller hadn’t spent the night fucking you into his mattress, his hands wrapped around your throat, his cum dripping down your thighs.

but joel wasn’t stupid.

he saw the way you shifted in your seat, the way your legs pressed together when he walked past, the way you bit your lip when he barked orders at the class.

he saw everything.

"today, we’re practicin’ close-quarters combat," he announced, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the room.

then—

"you."

your head snapped up.

joel motioned you forward.

"since you think you got this all figured out, why don’t you show everyone what you learned?"

you swallowed, heat curling in your stomach at his tone—low, firm, full of unspoken warning.

"yes, sir," you murmured.

a muscle in his jaw twitched.

you knew what you were doing.

he moved first, grabbing your wrist, twisting it with ease, spinning you until your back hit his chest.

his breath was hot against your ear.

"y’think i won’t put you on your knees in front of everyone?" he muttered, low enough that only you could hear.

your breath hitched.

"you wouldn’t."

his grip tightened.

"try me."

later. his cabin.

"you think that was funny?" joel growled, pushing you back against the table.

you smirked. "maybe."

his eyes darkened.

"gonna have to teach you some fuckin’ respect," he muttered, grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach.

you barely had time to brace yourself before his palm came down, sharp and stinging, right against the curve of your ass.

you gasped, body jolting forward from the impact, your fingers curling against the wood.

"count," he ordered, voice low, rough.

"one," you breathed.

another slap. harder.

"two."

his other hand slid up your back, pressing you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"you keep testin’ me," he muttered, kneeling behind you, his mouth hot against the back of your thigh.

his teeth grazed the skin, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"gonna fuckin’ ruin you."

his fingers slid between your thighs, teasing, barely pressing where you needed him most.

"so fuckin’ wet," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

you whimpered. "joel—"

his hand came down again, another sharp slap that had your body jolting.

"what’d i tell you?"

"yes, sir," you corrected, voice shaking.

"that’s my girl," he murmured, fingers slipping inside you, slow, deep.

your breath hitched, legs trembling as he fucked you with them, his other hand kneading the soft flesh of your ass.

"gonna take me like this?" he rasped, his cock pressing against you, thick and hard.

"yes, sir," you whimpered, pushing back against him.

he groaned, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds before pressing in, stretching you open inch by inch.

"jesus," he muttered, gripping your hips, holding you still as he buried himself to the hilt.

you whimpered at the stretch, body clenching around him.

"fuck," joel gritted, pulling back before slamming in again, deep and deliberate.

his pace was slow at first, making you feel every inch, every pulse.

"so fuckin’ tight," he rasped, fingers digging into your hips.

"more," you gasped, body aching for him, needing more.

"greedy fuckin’ girl," he muttered, but he gave it to you.

his thrusts turned rough, hard, every snap of his hips sending a shockwave through your body.

one of his hands tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, his lips brushing your ear.

"gonna fuckin’ fill you up," he growled, his other hand slipping between your legs, rubbing tight circles against your clit.

your legs trembled. pleasure coiled deep in your stomach, white-hot, sharp, consuming.

"c’mon, sweetheart," joel murmured, voice thick. "give it to me."

your body clenched around him, and he groaned, his thrusts turning frantic, sloppy, chasing his own high.

"fuck, baby—"

he shuddered, burying himself deep, spilling into you with a deep, guttural groan.

he stayed there, breathing heavy, pressing kisses along your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your thighs, your waist, your sore ass.

"gonna behave now?" he murmured, voice smug.

you smirked, glancing back at him.

"probably not."

joel exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

"brat," he muttered, pressing one last kiss to the back of your neck.

joel didn't move right away. his body was heavy against yours, breath still ragged, fingers still splayed over the bruises he'd left on your hips.

he pressed one last kiss to your shoulder before pulling back, watching the way his cum dripped from your sore, swollen cunt.

"fuckin’ messy," he muttered, dragging his fingers through it, pushing it back inside you.

your whole body trembled.

"too much?" he murmured, voice quieter now, rough at the edges.

"no," you whispered, half delirious. "not enough."

joel groaned, running a hand down his face.

"you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart," he muttered.

he pulled you up against his chest, holding you there, big, warm hands soothing over your skin.

"but if you keep actin’ up in my class," he murmured, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, "i’ll make sure everyone knows exactly who you fuckin’ belong to."

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.