#but he said he wanted to go watch it with me

[pucksandpower]

#ExposeFIA

Max Verstappen x forensic accountant!Reader

Summary: when the FIA keeps targeting your boyfriend, you decide to do something about it by digging into their financials and learning what skeletons they have hidden in the closet … nothing could have prepared you for what you unearth or the domino effect that follows

Warnings: corruption, kidnapping, violence, and murder

Based on this request

Max slams the door shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the hotel room. His jaw is tight, his hands balled into fists as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the back of the couch. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor with your laptop open, spreadsheets and case files scattered around you.

At first, you don’t look up — this is just Max being Max after a bad day — but then you hear him muttering in Dutch, sharp and venomous under his breath.

“What now?” You ask, closing the laptop with a quiet sigh.

Max rakes a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “The FIA fined me again.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “For what?”

“For cursing!” His voice rises, and he gestures wildly, his frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. “In the press conference. They called it inappropriate. Inappropriate! It wasn’t even that bad — just one word!”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh, but he catches it.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” He stops pacing, leveling you with an incredulous look.

“Max,” you say slowly, rising to your feet, “you do curse like a sailor in every other sentence.”

“Not every other sentence,” he protests, crossing his arms.

You arch a brow.

“Okay, fine. But that’s not the point!” He starts pacing again. “They only do this to me! I swear, it’s like they’re waiting for me to screw up so they can slap me with another fine.”

You fold your arms, leaning against the couch. “How much this time?”

“Fifty thousand euros,” he says bitterly, kicking the edge of the rug.

“Fifty thousand?” Your jaw drops. “For cursing?”

“Exactly! It’s ridiculous!” Max looks at you, his blue eyes blazing with anger and just a hint of something more vulnerable underneath. “Lando swears all the time, and no one says anything to him. This is personal, I know it is.”

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Because, honestly, he’s not wrong.

Max keeps going, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’ve been on my case all season. The penalties, the warnings — it’s like they can’t stand the thought of me winning again. They want to knock me down, and they don’t care how they do it.”

You let out a long breath, watching him as he paces. He’s like a storm contained in human form, all fire and fury and relentless energy.

“They can’t keep getting away with this,” you say finally, your voice low but firm.

Max pauses mid-step, turning to face you. “What am I supposed to do? Complain? They’ll just call me a sore loser and fine me for that too.”

“No, not you,” you say, a sly smile creeping onto your face. “Me.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the FIA,” you say, your mind already racing. “You said it yourself — they’re out to get you. So, let’s find out why.”

Max blinks, caught off guard. “You want to investigate them?”

“I’m a forensic accountant,” you remind him. “Digging into shady organizations is literally my job. If there’s something fishy going on with their finances, I’ll find it.”

“And then what?” He asks, skeptical but intrigued.

“And then we use it against them,” you say simply.

He stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re serious about this.”

“Dead serious.”

Max exhales, running a hand through his hair again. “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s not your fight.”

“Of course, it’s my fight,” you say, stepping closer. “They’re targeting you. And that means they’re targeting me.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases. “You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s a trace of affection in his voice.

“Crazy for you,” you shoot back, grabbing your laptop and plopping down on the couch.

He groans. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.”

Max flops onto the couch beside you, resting his head against the back of it. “What are you even looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t add up,” you say, your fingers flying across the keyboard. “Expenses that don’t make sense, hidden accounts, payments to people who shouldn’t be getting paid. Everyone leaves a paper trail. Even the FIA.”

He watches you in silence for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “You really think they’re dirty?”

“I think it’s worth finding out,” you say. “Worst case, I waste a few hours and we’re no worse off. Best case …”

“Best case?” He prompts.

“Best case, we blow this whole thing wide open,” you say, grinning.

Max leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Compliments won’t get you out of trouble, Verstappen,” you say without looking up.

He smirks. “Didn’t say I was trying.”

For a while, the only sound in the room is the soft clatter of your keyboard and the occasional frustrated sigh from Max as he scrolls through his phone.

“What if they come after you?” He asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Why would they?”

“Because they’re the FIA,” he says bluntly. “They don’t play fair. If they find out you’re digging into their finances, they’ll find a way to shut you up.”

You pause, considering his words. “Let them try,” you say finally. “I’m not scared of a bunch of bureaucrats.”

Max looks at you like he wants to argue, but then he just shakes his head and mutters something in Dutch.

“What was that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

“Max.”

“I said you’re stubborn,” he admits, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, your eyes already back on your screen.

He laughs, the sound low and warm and surprisingly light given the circumstances. For the first time all evening, he looks like the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on his shoulders.

“You really think you can take them on?” He asks after a while.

You glance up, meeting his gaze. “I know I can.”

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then do it,” he says, his voice steady and resolute. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

You smile, a little spark of determination igniting in your chest. “Damn right it is.”

For the next hour, you work in companionable silence, Max occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment or a half-hearted complaint about how long this might take. But underneath it all, there’s a quiet sense of solidarity, a shared purpose that feels unshakable.

By the time you close your laptop for the night, you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re looking for. But you’ve got a starting point, and that’s enough.

“You coming to bed?” Max asks, standing and stretching.

“In a minute,” you say, glancing at your notes.

He hesitates, then leans down to kiss the top of your head. “Don’t stay up too late, detective.”

You smile, your fingers already back on the keyboard. “Goodnight, Verstappen.”

As he disappears down the hall, you feel a surge of determination. If the FIA thinks they can push Max around, they’ve got another thing coming. Because they’re not just dealing with him anymore. They’re dealing with you.

***

The apartment is dark and silent, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night. Max is fast asleep, his breaths soft and steady, the rise and fall of his chest a calming rhythm. You’re lying beside him under the covers, your laptop propped on your knees, the faint glow from the screen illuminating your face.

You should have gone to sleep hours ago. You told yourself you’d close the laptop after one more file — just one more. But then there was another, and another, and now it’s nearly 4 AM, and you’re running on pure caffeine and spite.

Max shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent in Dutch. You glance at him, your heart softening for a moment. He looks so peaceful, so unaware of the storm you’re wading through just inches away from him.

“Soon,” you whisper, your fingers flying over the keyboard. “Just a little longer.”

You’ve been combing through every financial record you can find, hacking into databases and piecing together spreadsheets like a forensic puzzle. And then, finally, you see it — a string of payments that makes your stomach turn.

The account is buried deep, hidden behind layers of shell companies and off-the-books transfers. But the numbers don’t lie. Over the past three years, millions of euros have been funneled out of the FIA’s discretionary budget and into a series of private accounts.

At first, it’s just suspicious. Then it’s horrifying.

You zoom in on the details, your pulse racing. The money trails lead to names — government officials in multiple countries, shady contractors with histories of fraud, and even one account linked to a known arms dealer.

“What the hell …” you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you open another file.

It gets worse.

The payments aren’t just bribes or kickbacks. They’re tied to contracts for military-grade surveillance technology and riot control equipment. The kind of things no racing organization should have any business buying.

“Why would the FIA need …” Your voice trails off, your thoughts spiraling.

And then it hits you. They don’t need it. Someone within the FIA is using their funds as a cover to funnel resources for something darker — something illegal.

You feel a chill creep up your spine as you uncover more details. The timing of the payments coincides with major FIA controversies, including rulings that massively benefited certain teams or drivers. It’s almost as if the penalties and decisions were distractions, designed to shift the focus away from what was really happening behind the scenes.

Your throat tightens. This isn’t just corruption. This is criminal conspiracy on an international scale.

You close the file and lean back against the headboard, staring at the screen in disbelief. Your mind is racing, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together faster than you can process them.

The FIA isn’t just targeting Max. They’re using their position as a global governing body to launder money and traffic illegal goods. And if you’re right, they’ve been doing it for years.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Beside you, Max stirs, his hand brushing against your arm. “What time is it?” He mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

“Uh …” You glance at the clock. “Four thirty.”

His eyes crack open, and he frowns. “You’re still awake?”

You hesitate, your mind still reeling. “I found something.”

He rubs his face, sitting up slightly. “What kind of something?”

You turn the laptop toward him, your hands shaking as you scroll through the files. “Look at this. These payments — they’re using FIA accounts to fund illegal activities. Weapons, surveillance tech, bribes. It’s all here.”

Max blinks, trying to wake himself up. “Wait — what? The FIA is buying weapons?”

“Not for themselves,” you explain, your voice trembling. “They’re covering for someone else. Someone higher up, maybe even multiple people. It’s a money-laundering operation disguised as legitimate spending. And the worst part?” You click on another document. “They’re timing these payments to coincide with penalties and controversies. Like yours.”

He stares at the screen, his jaw tightening. “They’re creating distractions.”

“Exactly.” You meet his gaze, your chest tight with anger. “They’re using you — using all of you — to keep people from noticing what’s really going on.”

Max is silent for a moment, his expression darkening. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” you say firmly. “I’ve traced the accounts. I’ve seen the contracts. It’s all there.”

He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “This is insane. How are they getting away with this?”

“Because no one’s looking,” you say bitterly. “They’ve built a system where no one questions their authority. They hand out fines, penalties, rulings — it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

Max shakes his head, his anger simmering just below the surface. “So what do we do?”

“We expose them,” you say without hesitation. “We take this to the press, to the authorities — whoever will listen. We make sure everyone knows what they’ve been doing.”

He looks at you, his eyes blazing with determination. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” you say, your voice steady. “They’ve messed with you for the last time, Max. I’m not letting them get away with this.”

Max leans back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. “You know this won’t be easy. They’ll come after you.”

“Let them,” you say fiercely. “They’re not invincible, Max. They think they are, but they’re not. And now we have the proof.”

He reaches for your hand, his grip firm and grounding. “We do this together, okay?”

You nod, your resolve hardening. “Together.”

For the first time in hours, you close the laptop. The fight isn’t over — not even close. But for now, you have what you need.

The FIA has no idea what’s coming for them.

***

The findings sit like a live grenade between you and Max for weeks. Every time you try to talk about it, the conversation spirals into an argument that feels more like a desperate plea than a disagreement.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table one morning, coffee in hand, staring at the spreadsheet open on your laptop. Max leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like you’re about to pull the pin and toss the grenade straight into his life.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s trying not to spook you. “You can’t post this. It’s too dangerous.”

You glance up, meeting his intense blue eyes. “Max, we’ve been over this. Dangerous for who? The FIA? Because it sure as hell isn’t safe for anyone else if they keep getting away with this.”

He shakes his head, frustration etched into his features. “No. Dangerous for you.”

You sigh, shutting the laptop and leaning back in your chair. “And we’ve been over this too. If it’s tied to me, and they come after me, it only makes them look worse. They’d be shooting themselves in the foot.”

Max pushes off the counter, pacing across the small kitchen. “You think they care about how it looks? These people are untouchable. They’ve been untouchable for decades. What if they don’t care about subtlety? What if they decide to make an example out of you?”

“Then they’ll prove my point,” you counter, setting your mug down harder than you meant to. “Max, they’re laundering money. Funding illegal operations. Covering up fraud. This isn’t just about you or me anymore. This is about them and what they’re doing to-”

“To you,” he cuts in, spinning to face you. “This is about you, schatje. You think I can just sit back and watch them destroy your life? Watch them drag you through the mud — or worse?” His voice cracks on the last word, and it stops you in your tracks.

“Max …”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can take the fines. The penalties. Whatever bullshit they throw at me, I don’t care. But I can’t …” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t lose you over this.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

You stand, crossing the room to him. “Max.” You reach for his hands, pulling them away from where they’re clenched at his sides. He looks up at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a storm of worry and frustration.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you say softly. “But you can’t ask me to do nothing. Not when I have this.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hands tightening. “There has to be another way. Something that doesn’t put you in the crosshairs.”

“We’ve talked about this,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “The longer we wait, the more time they have to cover their tracks. This needs to come from me. Not you, not a journalist. Me.”

Max pulls his hands away, pacing again. “Why does it have to be you? Why not anonymously? Why not through someone else?”

“Because,” you say, your voice rising just enough to make him stop and look at you, “if it’s anonymous, it’s easier for them to discredit. If it’s me — someone with a background in forensic accounting, someone who has proof — it’s harder for them to bury.”

He stares at you, his jaw working, his frustration palpable. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re worth it,” you shoot back, your words cutting through his anger like a blade.

Max looks at you, his expression crumbling. “This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s bigger than that now.”

“I know,” you say, stepping closer to him. “That’s why I have to do this.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Max sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If you do this … if you put this out there …” He trails off, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know the risks,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. “But we can’t let them keep doing this. If I don’t say something, who will?”

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “I hate this.”

“I know,” you whisper.

The next few days are a blur of preparation. You draft the post, meticulously double-checking every link, every piece of evidence. Max hovers in the background, equal parts supportive and terrified, his tension radiating through the apartment.

Finally, the day comes. You’re sitting at your desk, your phone in your hand, the post ready to go. Max stands behind you, silent but solid, his presence grounding you.

“You sure about this?” He asks, his voice low.

You nod, your finger hovering over the “post” button. “It’s time.”

He exhales, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Then do it.”

With a deep breath, you hit the button.

The tweet goes live:

The FIA has been hiding more than bad calls and unfair penalties. They’ve been laundering money and funding illegal operations for years. Here’s the proof #ExposeFIA

The moment it’s posted, your phone buzzes with notifications, the retweets and replies piling up faster than you can process.

You lean back in your chair, your heart racing as the reality of what you’ve done sinks in. Max squeezes your shoulders, his grip firm and reassuring.

“It’s out there now,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

“Yeah,” Max says, his voice steady. “And they’ll never see it coming.”

***

The world ignites within hours of your tweet.

Your phone buzzes nonstop, the notifications climbing into the thousands. News outlets pick up the story almost immediately. By mid-morning, your name is trending worldwide, alongside “#ExposeFIA” and a slew of related hashtags.

Every major publication, from The Guardian to The New York Times, runs with the story. Formula 1 Twitter is a battlefield, with fans, journalists, and even ex-drivers weighing in. Some praise you as a whistleblower, others call you reckless, but everyone is talking.

Max, watching it all unfold from the sofa, looks like he’s about to break the remote he’s gripping too tightly. “This is madness,” he mutters, shaking his head as he scrolls through his phone.

“Madness is putting it lightly,” you say, typing out a message to your lawyer, who’s already fielding calls from investigative agencies and reporters.

By noon, the FIA releases a statement calling your accusations “unfounded” and “a gross misunderstanding of internal operations.” They promise transparency, cooperation with audits, and a full investigation. It’s almost laughable how carefully worded it is, especially given how many people have already found red flags in the documents you posted.

“They’re scrambling,” Max says, glancing over at you.

“Good,” you reply, leaning back in your chair. “They should be.”

By the evening, things escalate even further. International agencies — Interpol, Europol, and financial crime units from multiple countries — announce that they’ve opened formal investigations into the FIA’s financial practices. Max reads the headline aloud from his phone, his tone a mix of shock and vindication.

“‘Interpol launches probe into FIA money-laundering allegations.’” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve set the whole world on fire, haven’t you?”

You shrug, though your heart pounds in your chest. “Someone had to.”

But the sense of triumph doesn’t last long. By the next morning, the darker side of the storm begins to roll in.

Your email inbox floods with threats, your social media accounts are bombarded with harassment, and reporters camp outside the apartment building, cameras ready to capture every move. A particularly ominous email arrives from an anonymous account, promising that “justice will come” for what you’ve done.

Max reads it over your shoulder and immediately storms out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s back, phone pressed to his ear as he paces the length of the living room. You catch snippets of his conversation. “Former military … no, only the best … round-the-clock.”

When he finally hangs up, you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“Bodyguards,” he says flatly.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Max says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve hired a team. They’ll be here tonight.”

“Max, that’s-”

“Not negotiable,” he interrupts, his eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care if it feels over the top. If they’re sending you threats, you’re not walking around without protection.”

You let out a slow breath, recognizing the sheer fear underlying his anger. “What kind of bodyguards are we talking about?”

“Ex-special forces,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “They’re the best. Trained for high-risk situations. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, they’ll handle it.”

You can’t help but laugh, though the sound is hollow. “Max Verstappen, hiring a private army. Who would’ve thought?”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he steps closer, his expression softening. “I mean it, liefje. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I know.”

By nightfall, your new security team arrives. Four men and two women, all dressed in plain but professional attire, introduce themselves with clipped, no-nonsense precision. They’re intimidating, to say the least, but Max seems relieved the moment they walk through the door.

The leader of the team, a former SAS operative named Sam, lays out the plan in a low, calm voice. “Two of us will be stationed outside the apartment at all times. Another two will rotate shifts inside. We’ll also have someone following you whenever you leave the building. Discreet, but close enough to act.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. “Thanks, Sam. Really.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he says with a curt nod.

Max hovers nearby, watching the exchange with hawk-like focus. Once the bodyguards take their positions, he pulls you aside, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Feel safer?”

“Honestly?” You say, glancing toward the door where Sam is stationed. “It feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Max cracks a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Better a spy movie than a tragedy.”

The following days are surreal. The FIA is in complete disarray, with high-ranking officials resigning or being placed on administrative leave as the investigations intensify. Every news cycle seems to bring another bombshell revelation: hidden accounts, off-the-record meetings, connections to corrupt government officials.

Even Formula 1 teams begin distancing themselves from the governing body. Drivers are asked about it in every interview, and while most offer diplomatic responses, a few — like Lewis and Charles — publicly voice their support for you.

Through it all, Max stays glued to your side, protective in a way you’ve never seen before. Whenever you leave the apartment, he insists on going with you, even if it’s just to grab groceries.

One evening, as you’re scrolling through Twitter, you stumble upon a post from a well-known journalist.

@yourusername’s bravery has set off one of the biggest scandals in motorsport history. But the question remains: how deep does the corruption go? #ExposeFIA

You show the tweet to Max, who nods grimly. “They’re right,” he says. “This is just the beginning.”

You lean back against the couch, exhaustion weighing on you. “Yeah. And the FIA is going to do everything they can to bury me before it gets worse for them.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “They can try,” he says quietly. “But they’ll have to go through me first.”

You smile faintly, resting your head against his chest. The fight is far from over, but with Max by your side — and a small army of bodyguards watching your back — you feel ready for whatever comes next.

***

Max’s voice cuts through the quiet of the apartment. “Don’t go to Austin, please.”

You look up from your laptop, brows furrowing. He’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, but his expression is dry — serious, almost pleading.

“I already told you,” you say, your tone firm but calm. “I’m not hiding.”

“It’s not hiding,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “It’s being smart. Let them think whatever they want. You don’t have to prove anything by being there.”

You push your chair back, turning fully to face him. “If I don’t go, they’ll think they’ve won. That I’m scared of them. I’m not giving them that satisfaction.”

Max exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about pride, Y/N. It’s about your safety. They’ve already made it clear they’re willing to play dirty.”

“They’re already under investigation by half the agencies on the planet,” you counter. “They wouldn’t dare try anything now. Not in front of the entire world.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his frustration bubbling just under the surface. “You’re underestimating them.”

“And you’re underestimating me,” you say softly, standing up. You walk over to him, resting your hands on his forearms. “I’m not cowering in fear. I refuse to let them intimidate me.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his hands twitching as if he wants to pull you into him but can’t quite let himself. “I can’t …” He pauses, his voice dropping. “I can’t focus on the race if I’m worried about you the whole time.”

You tilt your head, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Then don’t worry. I’ll be in the garage, surrounded by your team and my guards. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the conflict in his eyes almost unbearable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Promise me you’ll stay close to the guards. No wandering off, no risks.”

You nod, squeezing his arm. “I promise.”

***

The Circuit of the Americas is buzzing with energy as you and Max arrive for free practice. Fans line the paddock entrance, waving flags and shouting his name as you walk toward the Red Bull garage, flanked by two of your bodyguards. Max’s hand hovers protectively at the small of your back, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

“You don’t leave the garage,” he says as you reach the entrance, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not for food, not for interviews. Nothing.”

“I know,” you say, trying to soothe him with a gentle smile.

Max leans down, his voice low and fierce. “I mean it, schatje.”

“I know,” you repeat, softer this time.

Satisfied, though still visibly uneasy, Max kisses your forehead before heading off to change into his race suit. You settle into a chair near the engineers, watching the monitors as the mechanics fuss over his car. Sam stands just a few feet away, his eyes constantly scanning the room.

Max appears in full gear, his helmet tucked under his arm. He glances at you one last time before stepping toward the car. “Stay here,” he says firmly.

“Go drive, Verstappen,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers on you for a moment before he nods and climbs into the car.

The first twenty minutes of the session pass uneventfully. Max is quick on track, his name lighting up the timing screens. The garage is busy but calm, the sound of the commentators droning faintly in the background.

And then, chaos.

A car bursts into flames on the back straight, smoke billowing into the air. The screens in the garage flicker to a red flag, and people jump into action, radios buzzing with updates.

“Car 23, it’s Albon!” Someone shouts. “He’s out, but the car’s on fire-”

Everyone’s attention is glued to the monitors, watching the marshals scramble to extinguish the flames. The smell of burning rubber seems to seep into the garage, and the noise level spikes as mechanics, engineers, and team officials bark orders and updates.

You glance at Sam, who nods reassuringly. “Stay put,” he says.

But in the chaos, no one notices the shadow slipping through the crowd behind you.

A hand clamps over your mouth, and something sharp pricks the side of your neck. Your vision blurs instantly, the world tilting sideways as your body goes limp. You feel yourself being dragged, but your limbs won’t cooperate, won’t fight back.

Sam’s voice echoes dimly in the background. “Where’s Y/N?”

You try to shout, to move, but the darkness swallows you whole.

And then, nothing.

***

When you wake, it’s like surfacing from a deep, suffocating void. Your head throbs, and your limbs feel heavy, almost disconnected. The first thing you notice is the faint hum of fluorescent lights above you. Then the sharp sting in your wrists and ankles — tight bonds cutting into your skin.

You’re tied to a chair, the cold metal frame unforgiving against your back. The air smells faintly of damp concrete, and the room is dimly lit, industrial — like the basement of a forgotten building.

Panic blooms in your chest as you struggle against the restraints, the rope biting into your skin with every movement. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to think, to focus. You remember the race, the chaos in the garage, and then — nothing.

Footsteps echo down a hallway. Steady, deliberate.

Your heart pounds in your chest as a figure steps into the room. The man is immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back, his face a mask of cold disdain.

The FIA president.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says smoothly, closing the door behind him. He walks toward you, his polished leather shoes clicking against the floor. “I was beginning to worry the dosage was too much. I’d hate to have overdone it.”

You glare at him, your voice hoarse as you manage to croak out, “What the hell … is this?”

He stops a few feet from you, clasping his hands behind his back. “This,” he says, his tone almost casual, “is what happens when you ruin someone’s life, Miss L/N.”

Your heart sinks, but you keep your expression steady. “You kidnapped me?”

“I prefer to think of it as … leveling the playing field,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “After all, you didn’t hesitate to destroy my reputation, my career — everything I’ve built over the last three decades. Surely you didn’t expect there to be no consequences?”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough and unsteady. “You destroyed your own career by being corrupt. All I did was expose the truth.”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of anger breaking through his calm façade. “The truth,” he repeats, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The FIA is in shambles. Investigators are tearing through every document, every bank account. Major sponsors are pulling out. Drivers are threatening to boycott. All because of you.”

“Good,” you snap, your voice gaining strength. “You deserve it. Every single one of you who let this happen deserves it.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Do you think the world will thank you for this? For dragging motorsport into the mud? You’ve made enemies far more powerful than you can imagine.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you spit, though your heart is racing.

He smiles, but it’s cold and cruel. “You should be.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Then he leans down, his face inches from yours.

“You ruined my life,” he says softly, his tone icy and deliberate. “So the least I could do is ruin yours.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Do whatever you want to me. It won’t change anything. The truth is out. You can’t bury it now.”

He straightens, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps not,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “But I can make you wish you’d never posted that little tweet.”

You don’t respond, your breath hitching as he turns and walks toward the door.

Before he leaves, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Enjoy your stay, Miss L/N. It’ll be your last taste of freedom for a very long time.”

The door slams shut, and you’re left alone in the dim, silent room, your heart pounding and your mind racing. You tug at the ropes again, desperation clawing at you, but they hold firm.

You have no idea how much time you have — or if anyone even knows where you are. But one thing is clear: you’re not giving up without a fight.

***

The moment Max hears the words, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

“She’s gone.”

The voice comes from Sam who’s pale and shaking despite his years of military training. The garage is chaos, but Max doesn’t register any of it. The team radios, the mechanics shouting about the car, the fans outside the paddock — it all fades into a dull hum.

“What do you mean, gone?” Max’s voice is low, dangerous, the calm before an eruption.

Sam hesitates, and that hesitation is enough to snap Max’s restraint. He takes two steps forward, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt.

“What. Happened?” Max snarls, his grip tightening.

“She — someone — must have used the chaos to grab her,” Sam stammers, his voice faltering under Max’s fury. “I was right there. I don’t-”

“You were right there?” Max shouts, his voice echoing in the garage. His mechanics freeze, everyone suddenly aware of the storm brewing in the middle of their space. “Then how the hell is she gone?”

“I-I don’t know,” Sam admits, looking down, shame written across his face. “It was fast. We didn’t see-”

Max releases him with a shove, his hands trembling with rage. He feels like he’s going to explode, his chest heaving as he tries to breathe.

“Find her,” Max spits, his voice low and filled with venom. “Or I swear, you’ll regret ever taking this job.”

Sam nods quickly, already pulling out his phone, barking orders to the rest of the security team. But Max doesn’t wait to hear more.

He storms out of the garage, shoving past anyone who dares step in his path. His vision is a blur of fury, his ears ringing. People call his name — Christian, his press officer, even a few reporters — but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

The first FIA official he sees is standing just outside the paddock offices, talking to a group of staff. Max doesn’t even pause to think. He closes the distance in seconds, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall.

“Max!” Someone yells behind him, but he doesn’t care.

“Where is she?” Max growls, his face inches from the man’s.

The official — a younger man with wide eyes and a trembling mouth — raises his hands in surrender. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Max shouts, his voice raw and unhinged. He tightens his grip, the fabric of the man’s shirt bunching in his fists. “If even one hair on her head is hurt, everyone involved will wish they were dead. Do you understand me?”

“Max, let him go!” Christian’s voice cuts through the chaos as Red Bull staff rush toward him, trying to pull him back.

“Stay out of this!” Max snaps without looking, his eyes locked on the trembling FIA official. “You know something. You all do.”

“I don’t!” The man insists, his voice cracking. “I swear, I don’t-”

“You’re all complicit,” Max growls, his voice low and menacing. “You’re all covering for each other, just like always. But if anything happens to her, I will burn this entire sport to the ground.”

“Max!” Christian’s hands are on his shoulders now, trying to pull him back. “This isn’t helping. We’ll find her. You’re just making it worse!”

For a moment, Max hesitates, his breathing ragged. Then, with a frustrated snarl, he shoves the man away, releasing his grip. The official stumbles, gasping for air, but Max doesn’t even look at him as he turns to Christian.

“They took her,” Max says, his voice breaking for the first time. “She’s gone, Christian.”

Christian’s face softens, his usual calm demeanor tinged with worry. “We’ll find her, Max. I promise.”

But Max shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Promises don’t mean anything if she’s hurt.”

He storms off again, ignoring the cameras and the whispers that follow him. His mind is racing, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. Who has you? Why? How?

And then the worst thought of all … what if he’s too late?

***

The shed is suffocatingly small, barely more than a wooden box. Its peeling paint and sagging roof make it look like it’s been abandoned for years, forgotten in the middle of rural Texas farmland.

The search had stretched for days, involving everyone from local sheriffs to federal agents to Interpol. Max hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d barely spoken, except to bark orders and demand updates. And now, standing in front of the shed, his heart feels like it might stop altogether.

“Max,” Christian says, his voice a low murmur from behind. “Let them go in first.”

But Max shakes his head, already moving forward. A Texas Ranger tries to stop him, but Max glares, and the man steps aside, the air between them crackling with unspoken understanding.

The door creaks as Max pushes it open, the sound loud in the eerie stillness.

Inside, the air is stale, thick with the scent of mildew and dust. The dim light from the open door spills into the room, illuminating the figure slumped against the far wall.

You.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

You’re tied to a chair, the ropes biting into your skin, your wrists and ankles raw from the restraints. Your head is slumped forward, but at the sound of the door, you stir, lifting your face ever so slightly.

Bruises bloom across your cheekbone, your arms, the pale skin of your neck. Dried blood streaks your temple, and your lips are cracked, split in places. But it’s your eyes — glassier than he’s ever seen them, unfocused yet somehow still searching — that shatter him completely.

“Liefje,” Max breathes, his voice breaking.

You blink slowly, struggling to process. And then, somehow, against all odds, your eyes focus on him. Recognition flares, faint but unmistakable, and your lips move, though no sound comes out.

Max falls to his knees.

The world blurs around him — voices shouting, footsteps rushing in, hands grabbing for you. But all he can see is you. He crawls forward, his knees scraping against the rough floor, until he’s right in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time, his voice shaking. “I’m here. It’s me. It’s Max.”

Your head tilts slightly, your lips parting as if to say something.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his hands trembling as he reaches for you. He hesitates, afraid to touch you, afraid of causing more pain. “Don’t try to talk. Just … just stay with me.”

Tears blur his vision as he takes in the state of you. Every bruise, every cut feels like a dagger to his chest. He wants to scream, to rage, to destroy whoever did this to you, but he pushes it all down, forces himself to focus on you.

You manage a weak sound — barely more than a rasp — but your eyes never leave his.

“I’m here,” Max repeats, his voice fierce now, as if sheer force of will can keep you tethered to him. “You’re safe. I swear to God, you’re safe now.”

“Max …” you whisper, your voice so faint it’s almost lost in the chaos around you.

“I’ve got you,” he says, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I’ve got you, schatje. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

Behind him, medics and agents flood the shed, their voices urgent as they assess the scene. Someone touches Max’s shoulder, but he shrugs them off violently.

“Not yet,” he snaps, his tone deadly. “Give me a second.”

The medic hesitates, then backs away.

“Max,” you say again, a little louder this time, your voice raw and broken. Your eyes fill with tears, spilling over as you look at him.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

For the first time, the faintest flicker of a smile ghosts across your lips. It’s fragile, barely there, but it’s enough to make Max’s chest tighten.

He leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his hands finally settling on your knees as he grounds himself in your presence.

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmurs, his voice dark and unyielding. “Every single one of them. I promise you.”

Your head tips forward, leaning against him as the medics finally step in, their voices careful and quiet. Max doesn’t let go, not until they’re lifting you onto a stretcher, not until they’re absolutely sure you’re stable.

Even then, he doesn’t leave your side.

***

Max sits in the darkness of your shared apartment, his fingers steepled, his eyes fixed on the glow of his laptop screen. The names are all there. Every single one of them.

The investigation, spearheaded by law enforcement and fueled by global outrage, had revealed the tangled web of corruption that led to your kidnapping. At the center of it: the FIA president and a handful of high-ranking officials who had conspired to silence you for what you’d uncovered.

Max stares at their faces, the headshots lined up on the screen like a hit list. And in his mind, that’s exactly what it is.

There are many things about his childhood that Max tries not to think about. His father’s cold, unrelenting discipline. The constant berating. The punishments for anything less than perfection. Jos Verstappen hadn’t raised a son … he’d forged a weapon.

For years, Max had hated him for it. But now, for the first time, he feels a grim sense of gratitude. Because Jos had taught him something important: how to be cruel.

Max isn’t naïve enough to think the justice system will fix this. No prison sentence, no public disgrace will ever feel like enough for what they did to you — for the bruises that painted your skin, for the fear in your eyes when they finally found you.

These people had tried to destroy you. Max is going to destroy them first.

***

The first one falls within days. A minor official, the logistics director who had helped orchestrate your transport to the shed. He’s found in his sprawling Paris apartment, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. The police call it a robbery gone wrong, but Max knows better.

The second is a middle manager in finance who’d helped funnel bribes through FIA accounts. He vanishes without a trace, his car abandoned on a lonely stretch of highway.

Each one is different. A tragic accident. A sudden disappearance. A stroke of bad luck. But the common thread is unmistakable. The officials complicit in your kidnapping are dropping like flies, one by one, their fates tied to their betrayal.

Max doesn’t get his hands dirty — not directly. He doesn’t have to. Money buys silence, loyalty, and an army of people willing to do what he can’t.

He watches it all unfold from a careful distance, his heart cold and steady. The guilt, if it comes, is fleeting. These people made their choices. Now they’re paying for them.

***

The FIA president is last.

Max makes him wait.

For weeks, the man is forced to watch as his associates vanish, as the walls close in around him. The investigation has left him disgraced, stripped of his title, his assets frozen. He’s a man on the run, hiding in the shadows of his former power.

But Max knows where he is. He’s known from the beginning.

It happens in the dead of night, in the decaying mansion the president had fled to somewhere in the French countryside.

Max doesn’t send someone else this time. This one, he wants to see for himself.

***

The president is sitting at a desk, the room lit by a single dim lamp. He’s aged years in a matter of months, his face gaunt, his hands trembling as he rifles through papers. He doesn’t hear Max until it’s too late.

The sound of the door closing makes him freeze.

When he looks up, Max is already there, standing in the doorway, his face blank but his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal fury.

“Hello,” Max says, his voice calm.

The president’s face goes pale. He stumbles to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. “W-what are you doing here? You have no right-”

“Sit,” Max says sharply.

The man stops mid-sentence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He sinks back into the chair, his movements stiff and jerky.

“You ruined your own life,” Max says, stepping closer. His voice is measured, even, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air in the room feel heavier. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to try to ruin hers too.”

The president’s hands shake as he grips the edge of the desk. “I-I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Max interrupts, his tone icy.

The man flinches, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape. But there’s nowhere to go.

“You didn’t just hurt her,” Max continues, his voice low. “You left her tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere, beaten and bleeding. You thought no one would find her. You wanted her to disappear.”

The president tries to speak, but the words die in his throat.

Max leans forward, his hands resting on the desk. “I’ve let you live longer than you deserve. But this ends tonight.”

The president shakes his head frantically, panic overtaking him. “You can’t do this! I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Max asks, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Run to the police? Tell them what you did? They’d love to hear about it.”

The president’s breathing becomes ragged, his chest heaving as he realizes there’s no way out.

Max straightens, his gaze cold and unrelenting. “You took her because you thought I’d let it go. Because you thought I’d be too afraid to fight back. But you were wrong.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Max’s words settling over them like a storm.

When it’s over, the only sound is the faint rustle of the wind outside.

Max walks out of the mansion, his hands steady, his heart unyielding.

The world will never know what happened to the former FIA president. But Max doesn’t care.

All that matters is that it’s done. You’re safe. And no one will ever hurt you again.

***

You wake with a jolt, the scream clawing at your throat but never making it out. Your chest heaves, your skin slick with sweat, the remnants of the nightmare still vivid behind your eyelids. The ropes, the shed, the bruising grip of strangers. You can still feel it, can still hear the taunts of the man who orchestrated it all.

For a moment, you don’t know where you are. Your hands tremble as you clutch the sheets, the darkness of the room suffocating. But then you feel him.

“Schatje,” Max whispers, his voice thick with sleep and concern. His arms are around you instantly, pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, your breathing erratic as you cling to him like a lifeline. His scent, his warmth, his steady heartbeat — these are the things that tether you back to reality.

“It was just a dream,” he murmurs, his hand running up and down your back. “Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let it.”

You don’t say anything, but the way your fingers fist the fabric of his shirt tells him enough.

Max tightens his hold, his lips pressing to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I let you down. I should’ve protected you. I-”

“Stop,” you croak, your voice hoarse from disuse. You pull back slightly, enough to meet his gaze. His blue eyes are raw, rimmed with red, his guilt carved into every line of his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head, refusing to meet your eyes. “Yes, it was,” he says, his voice rough. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there. If I had-”

“Max,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm.

He finally looks at you, and the weight of his guilt makes your chest ache.

“You didn’t let me down,” you say, your hand cupping his cheek. “What happened was their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he says, his voice trembling. “And I didn’t. I failed.”

“Max.” You sit up straighter, your other hand framing his face. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me. You found me. You’ve been here for me every second since. That’s what matters.”

He tries to argue, his lips parting, but you don’t let him.

You lean forward and kiss him, cutting off whatever protest he was about to make. It’s gentle at first, a soft reassurance, but then it deepens, your hands slipping into his hair as you pour everything into it — all your gratitude, your love, your need to make him understand.

When you pull back, he’s breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “And you didn’t let me down. You’ll never let me down.”

Max’s eyes close, a shuddering breath escaping him as his hands settle on your waist. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he murmurs. “I swear. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I trust you.”

The room falls quiet again, the tension melting into something softer as Max holds you close. The nightmare still lingers at the edges of your mind, but with him here, it feels manageable.

You close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you back toward sleep, your head tucked under his chin.

***

The world looks different now. Formula 1 has been turned inside out and rebuilt piece by piece, its foundation gutted, its walls scrubbed clean of rot. The FIA, once untouchable, now stands as a phoenix reborn — smaller, humbler, and watched under a microscope by a public that no longer trusts blindly.

And the man standing at its helm?

Sebastian Vettel.

His appointment shocked everyone, though in hindsight, maybe it shouldn’t have. A four-time world champion with a reputation for integrity, sharp wit, and an inexplicable love of bees, Sebastian had been the last person anyone expected to re-enter the fold. Yet here he was: a symbol of hope and accountability.

And now, sitting in your living room.

You stare at him, still trying to reconcile the fact that Sebastian Vettel is perched on your sofa, a cup of tea balanced in his hand, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. He wears a suit, though the top button is undone and his shoes scuff slightly on your rug — small signs that, for all his new authority, he’s still Sebastian.

Max, seated across the room with his arms crossed, is visibly tense. He hasn’t said much since Sebastian arrived, choosing instead to lean back in his chair and observe. Protectively.

“Just to be clear,” you say, leaning forward, “you want to hire me?”

Sebastian smiles faintly, setting his tea down on the table. “Yes. You.”

“As a forensic accountant?”

“Yes.”

“To audit the FIA?”

Sebastian leans back slightly, his expression soft but serious. “To make sure nothing like what happened ever happens again. To hold us accountable, to make sure every financial and ethical line is crystal clear. You’ve proven yourself, Y/N. The FIA needs someone sharp, honest, and relentless. You’re all three.”

You blink, thrown off balance. You’d been bracing for congratulations or polite pleasantries — not this.

“Why me?” You ask finally.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. “Because you’re the only person I trust to do it right.”

That knocks the air from your lungs.

Across the room, Max shifts, his brows furrowing. “You’re asking her to put herself in the middle of it again,” he says, his voice low, edged with a protectiveness Sebastian doesn’t miss. “After everything.”

Sebastian turns to Max. “I’m asking her to fix it. If anyone can make sure the FIA stays clean, it’s Y/N.”

Max’s jaw tightens, and you can feel the storm brewing inside him. He’s fought so hard to keep you away from anything that even smells like danger. You know he hates the idea of you stepping back into this mess, even from a position of safety.

But you also know he won’t stop you if this is what you want.

You take a deep breath, turning your attention back to Sebastian. “You understand what you’re asking, right? I’ll find everything — everything. Even the things you don’t want me to.”

Sebastian nods. “That’s the point.”

You study him for a moment. There’s no hesitation in his face, no flicker of doubt. He means it. He’s really here to clean house, and he’s offering you a key role in ensuring that it happens.

Your fingers twist in your lap as you weigh the choice. You could walk away from it all, leave the FIA in someone else’s hands, and never think about its corruption again.

But then you think about the shed. The ropes. The bruises. The quiet corruption that enabled people like the former president to go unchecked for so long. You think about how close they came to breaking you — and how they’ll never get the chance to do it again.

Because you won’t let them.

You straighten in your seat, your voice clear. “If I do this, I want total autonomy. No limits on what I can investigate, no oversight. If I smell anything remotely off, I follow it wherever it leads.”

Sebastian smiles faintly, like he expected nothing less. “Done.”

“And if I say something needs to change, it changes. No delays, no excuses.”

“Done,” he says again.

Max exhales sharply, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Y/N …”

You glance at him, softening. “It’s my decision.”

He shakes his head, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. “I don’t want you anywhere near them again. I don’t care who’s in charge.”

Sebastian clears his throat, respectful but firm. “This is her choice, Max.”

Max shoots him a withering glare but doesn’t argue further. Instead, he looks at you, his expression raw. “You just got out of this. Why would you go back?”

You reach across the space between you and take his hand. “Because if I don’t, someone else will. And they won’t be as careful, or as ruthless.” You squeeze his fingers gently. “You don’t have to like it, but you know I’m right.”

Max doesn’t reply immediately. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

“I don’t like it,” he says quietly, “but I’ll stand by you.”

You smile faintly, your chest warming as you meet his eyes. “I know.”

Sebastian, ever perceptive, chooses that moment to stand. “I’ll give you some time to think it over,” he says. “But … I hope you say yes.”

You nod, your decision already made. “I’ll think about it.”

Sebastian gives you both a small smile before making his way to the door. “Take care of each other,” he says as he leaves.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you and Max alone in the quiet.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Max groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sebastian Vettel as president of the FIA? I didn’t see that one coming.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Me neither.”

His hand drops, and he looks at you, his expression serious again. “If you’re really going to do this, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Bodyguards, security — whatever you need.”

“I’m not going to war,” you tease gently.

“You say that now,” he mutters, his voice darkening. “But I know how this world works. You’re making enemies the second you start digging again.”

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you to protect me, isn’t it?”

Max exhales, his arms looping around you as he pulls you close. “Always.”

You nestle into his chest, letting his heartbeat steady you, the weight of the decision settling over you. You know what you’re walking into. You know the risks.

But you also know you can’t look away — not now, not after everything.

The FIA has been reborn. And you’re going to make sure it stays that way.

[militaryapple]

I'LL GIVE IT ALL TO YOU.

synopsis. caleb finds out you’re sleeping with other men. other men who look like him. if you wanted him so badly why didn’t you say so? it’s fine, he’ll just fuck the sense back into you.

cw. fem!reader, praise, edging, overstimulating, calebs a big meanie, reader fucks around and finds out, breeding, idk I need him so bad.

add ons. guys I'm so tired OH DONT GAG ME I FORGOT TO FIX THE SYNOPSIS THIS WAS MADE AT LIKE 11 AM BABES

wc. 2.2k

caleb has always had tabs on you. whether you liked it or not. he needed to know what you were doing, who you were with. it was just.. a safety precaution - well that's what he told himself anyways. he knew your friends , the people you worked with , even going as far as learning who your neighbors were. he could only thank his position as the fleet's colonel for letting him get this information. he was originally going to plant a chip in your phone and learn about both your social and personal life but this just made his little watch-sessions a little easier than what they had to be.

and so caleb thought he had nothing to worry about, truly. he knew where you were at all times and have been in your life for a decent amount of time there should be no one new. well - anyone that poses a threat to him anyways. it's not like you could hide anyone from him anyways.

is what he thought, so so foolishly.

it wasn't until you started spending your time at different places. unknown places at that. caleb took note of each and every house you were in. he took note of the people who lived there. man after man after fucking man. he didn't want to think the unthinkable, how you could be so stupidly whoring yourself out for perverts? one night fucking stands? this wasn't like you, far from you. it wasn't until he looked closer at the men you were fucking, and jesus.

they looked somewhat similar to caleb. it only engulfed him with rage. his heart hurting and pounding. if you wanted him so badly why haven't you spoken to him? talked to him? why were you going around trying to find scraps of him while he was already here for you? with you? arms open and ready for you whenever you were ready for him? that's when caleb decided he needed a bit of time off from work.

caleb made his way home. door opening as he scanned the living room for you. he sat down on the couch, still. he was going to talk to you about this little issue you had. it was gonna be fine, right? he talks to you, you tell him and this could all be swept under the rug. it wasn't until hours later, he heard the twist of the door and the creak of it opening.

just like when you both were in high school, every time you snuck out you would try to slip in silently. though you were never really silent, and caleb was the first to catch you back home before gran. what made you think this time would be any different?

he hands clenched as he stood. caleb didn't think about changing out of his uniform, hell he couldn't think about anything. all that filled his mind was anger. pure. fucking. rage.

"welcome home." he said, it was almost bittersweet. you looked at him, with a sheepish smile. waving. "hi caleb, didn't expect you home." was all you were able to muster out, and that was before caleb took a step closer to you. he watched as you twist and turn, looking for an escape. anything to help you leave, but that wasn't happening. not with him. not now.

"where were you?" he asked, his gaze shifting from you to your body. the clothes you wore tolling him more than enough.

"out." you said softly, you gaze averting his. "with a friend."

caleb scoffed, grabbing your arm and pushing you on the couch as he leaned down. you felt like you were being interrogated, which in theory, you were. "bullshit." he snarled. "you wouldn't be out for hours at some 'friend's' house. nonetheless a friend named fucking jacob. do you think I'm dense, pip-squeak?" caleb was angry, his hands balled up. his body shaking. every movement made him want to die, he could smell the foreign musk, the way you attempted to fix your hair. it was the only time he couldn't bear to be near you.

"he looks just like me." he scoffed. "just. like. me." he moved away from you. in a situation like this, you would've blown up at another guy. yelling at him on how he was able to even find out what house you were in, but it was caleb. of course you couldn't hide anything from him. how stupid could you be trying to anyways?

you couldn't say anything, you wouldn't dare. you lowered your head, but caleb wasn't taking that. he grabbed your chin tilting your head upwards to face you. "don't do that pip-squeak. if you wanted me - craved me, fucking needed me , why didn't you say anything? I'm here. in the flesh." his words piercing through you. oh how he hated being mean towards you, your wavering lips was all that he needed to see before he eventually got down. your head lowering so you could make comfortable eye contact with him.

calebs hands moved from your chin to your cheek. "come on pips," he huffed softly. "you're being reckless for no reason. instead, I'll show you how much I want you, how much I missed you, yeah? you don't need those other guys. after all, they can't beat the real thing." he snickered softly, and you could only nod your head in approval.

"ah-ah, say it. I need a verbal answer." caleb wanted to make sure what he was doing was okay, was right. he wanted to make it known that after tonight, there were no more caleb 2.0's. no more 'casual friendship'. that there would be more than what the two of you already had.

"please show me caleb."

he tugged on your skirt, pulling it down your leg as he rubbed small circles on your panties making you groan. he was being mean. really mean. you grabbed his arm, "caleb, don't tease me. your hands are cold - ah, your gloves." you whined. caleb could only chuckle. "you think you can tell me what to do right now baby? really? just shh and enjoy what I'm giving you."

you groaned, he was slow, too slow. your heat dripped as you twitched and squirmed. caleb used his evol to keep you down, leaning in and placing small kisses around you neck. "do you know how long I've had to restrain myself?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"how many times -" kiss. "I've had to get off thinking about you?" kiss. "I've held myself back until you were ready." kiss. "and you've made it so so difficult baby." kiss.

each word sent a shiver down your spine, teasing you and handling you. caleb looked over at you smiling. "i think you're ready, don't you?" he said softly.

caleb leaned in towards your aching cunt. staring at it like he was starving. he grabbed his hat before placing it down on the side of the couch. "grab on my hair if its too much 'kay baby?" he rubbed your thigh. you nodded in agreement as a smirk laid on his face. Caleb dug in. he licked your cunt making you mewl. your hands searched for something, anything to do.

caleb sucked on your pretty clit, groaning as he tasted your sweetness. he used his free hand, making his way up your body. finding your hand and making sure he intertwined both of your fingers.

he was starved. he placed sloppy kissing on your lips. his tongue finding any to go deeper in you. you felt hot, fuzzy. he made you feel so fucking good, other men were useless compared to him. he was right, nothing - nobody compared to how he made you feel.

and right now he was making you feel fucking divine.

the feeling of calebs tongue on your click made you shiver in ecstasy, it wasn't until moments later you used the hand on his head to pull him back. oh did he look absolutely pussy drunk off you.

your juices flowed off his chin while he licked his lips. the way he looked up at you in pure bliss. oh god did you love this man. "you look so cute, and you taste perfect." he said softly, going back and licking the juices he neglected. you shook and grabbed more of his hair.

"caleb 'm gonna -" you whined, bucking your hips up as he used his hand to hold you down. the other still holding your free hand. caleb hummed in approval, giving you the signal that you could finally let out the release you were holding in. caleb suckled for a moment before moving back, admiring the mess he just made of you.

he got up, his evol lifting you as he sat down in the spot you were once in. his legs spread before placing you in between them. his fingers pushing your panties over before they made their way inside your cunt. your hips buckled at the feeling, caleb grabbed your waist with his arm bringing you back down.

"its okay baby, you can take it." he coos "I know you can, 'gotta make sure you can take me , hm?" you moaned as his fingers stretched you. the sensation of his gloves curving as he hit every spot of your gummy walls. you clenched and twitched between him, making him plant soft kisses on your face down to your neck. "cmon you can take it. stay still, if you don't get through this you wont be able to take me." he reassured you. how big was he?

caleb pushed another finger in. hushing you and kissing you while tears strained down your face. oh he was being mean. "caleb - please 'm gonna cum again" you cried. in response he moved his arm that was holding you down. now using one hand to pump his fingers in you and another to move in little swirls on your clit. you throw your head back in pleasure.

"aren't i the best? making you cum twice? jacob couldn't do that, could he now?" he hummed in your ear, you whined in approval. caleb moved his hands out of you. "since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you ride my cock. but in return.." his voice trailing off as he moved his finger to your belly.

"I'm gonna make you into a mother." he coo'd in your ear, nibbling it. "so I can show everyone who you belong to. to show that you don't need other men. I'm here." caleb planted a kiss on the back of your neck.

it didn't take caleb any time before he was unzipping his pants, pulling on the fabrics waist line and pulling out his cock. "I need you to relax for me, you're ready." he said, pulling you up by your hips and straddling you down on his hard on. oh god, did he feel good.

your cunt dripped all over his base. he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "look at you, messy girl. we haven't even started yet you're already dripping all over me." he grunted adjusting himself a little more.

caleb rocked your hips. he whined for you "mhm that's it, work those hips for me." he moaned. he loved the feeling of pumping his inches in and out of you. the 'pop' noise your cunt and his cock made as he slid out and back in.

your cunt was brimmed to the top with cock. so full it made you think of only him and you. fuck, you were lewd. you couldn't even form a sentence, the only sound coming out of your mouth being moans and pants that were increasingly getting faster and faster.

"gonna come again? come on come with me its - ah okay." his voice was raw and rasp. his gloves dug into your skin as you made a mess on both his cock and his uniform. he didn't care, he was going to clean his uniform this week anyways. it was a sign to let people know that he was yours, and you were his.

caleb still fucked you deep. he caused your toes to curl up and your legs to lift to help him massage every part of you. clit and all. he grunted as he slammed into you, his rhythm leaving and now becoming messy thrusts. "I'm gonna come inside baby, okay? yeah? I'm gonna make you a mommy. oh fuck" he groaned.

"gonna make you bear all my children. fuck fuck" his hips stammered. "just me 'n you 'kay?" you clenched down on him. your back arched as your hands made their way to his thighs gripping tightly.

caleb bit down on his lip, not wanting to hurt you. both of your breaths steadying before caleb moved his head in your neck. he didn't dare pull out, all of his sweet cum would leak out, and you wouldn't want that right?

"I told you," he heaved "I'm better then some lousy rip-offs pip-squeak." he panted heavily. you nodded in approval. he knew that you wouldn't go to any more one night stands. still, there was a long way to go. he still hasn't made you a mom.

and he was going to make sure you bore his children.

[rafesweetie]

say it to his face. (toxic!ex!rafe)

rafe’s not a very respectful ex. in his defence, seeing you in that little dress triggered him. it had been a while since he’d seen you, let alone those pretty thighs, and he didn’t know how to contain himself. he had bought you that dress, after all.

rafe’s eyebrows furrow from the pool table when he sees you finding another boy at the party. so you’re wearing a dress that rafe bought you while hugging your newest boy toy. it’s almost sad, he thinks, so certain it mean you must still want him.

so, arrogantly, he walks over. “shiiit, y/n, looking good,” he smiles, his hand on your shoulder from beside you so you look over — he always taught you to keep eye contact when he spoke.

you whisper something to your date, a little explanation as to who the hell this was. rafe snaps his fingers in your face when he sees the side conversation and obvious annoyed expression on your face. “hey, hey, what’s going on, huh?”

“rafe, please stop,” you sigh.

“nah nah nah, if you, uh, if you wanna say something about me to your pathetic guy, say it to my face,” he insists, bending his knees a bit to get to your level. “say it to my fuckin face,”

he starts slapping his defined cheekbone with his hand, condescendingly reiterating his former request. “stop it,” you insist. he leans his face in closer.

“and what if i don’t?” he asks, and when you don’t provide an answer, instead just rolling your eyes, he continues. “i just wanna know what you said, baby, don’t be stubborn,”

“i said you were my stupid ex and i apologized to my date for your immaturity,” you say honestly. he stands to his full height once more

“immature?” he repeats, scoffing at the blow to his ego. “yeah, does this guy run his own business? does this guy pay for his own house in figure eight, or do his parents still take care of him? does he even know what fuckin’ aftercare is? cause i sure do, baby, you know that—“

“rafe, stop!” you raise your voice, even though this is the third time you’ve told him to stop and he hasn’t yet.

he scoffs. “no, you stop. call me immature again, dare you,” his face moves over as if he wants you to whisper in his ear.

“you are,” you repeat.

“uuhhh huh,” he nods, as if in thought. “look, i moved houses, i don’t live in tannyhill anymore. here’s my card, has my number. call me and ill send you the address tonight, i’m going home and i’m gonna insist i see you there later,”

“rafe!—“ you start, glancing at your date.

“no, don’t start. don’t say shit. see you there,” he leaves, and in return leaves you standing beside your date, watching him go.

you hate yourself for dialling his number the minute your date is out of sight. you’re in the dress he bought you, for gods sake — you’re never getting rid of him.

[khioneee]

zayne hates the way you look in a hospital bed.

the sheets are too white, the room too sterile, and the iv in your arm makes his stomach twist in ways he won’t admit. you look smaller like this.

too still, too quiet. it doesn’t suit you.

‘you should get some rest,’ he says, his voice even, professional. detached, like a doctor should be. but you know better. you always have.

‘you’re here again,’ you murmur, tilting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he adjusts the blanket over your shoulders, making sure it covers you properly. it’s a useless gesture because the room is warm, and you’re not shivering.

but he does it anyway.

a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. ‘you should be more careful, doctor,’ you tease, voice quiet but laced with something familiar, something warm. ‘the others might think i’m your favorite patient.’

he should roll his eyes. scoff. say something sarcastic like he always does. but this time, he doesn’t. instead, he just shakes his head, something unreadable passing through his gaze before he looks away.

for a second, you swear he almost says something. but then he pulls back, his hand leaving your blanket, his presence retreating ever so slightly.

you let it go.

it’s late when he comes back. the overhead lights are dimmed, the quiet hum of machines the only thing filling the room. you’re half-asleep when you hear the soft click of the door, but even in the haze of exhaustion, you know it’s him. you always do.

‘you should go home, zayne,’ you mumble, voice thick with sleep. ‘get some rest.’

‘i was.’ his voice is quiet, careful. ‘didn’t feel right.’

‘you care for me too much.’

‘nonsense,’ he said instead. ‘there’s only way too much or none at all.’

you force your eyes open, blinking up at him. he’s standing at the foot of your bed, hands in his pockets, his coat slightly wrinkled like he’s been running on autopilot all day.

‘zayne—’

‘you said something earlier,’ he interrupts, and there’s something in his tone—hesitation, maybe. or something heavier. ‘about being my favorite patient.’

you let out a tired huff of laughter. ‘what, did it offend you? i can take it back.’

he exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a laugh, but not quite nothing. then, after a beat, he moves closer, just enough for his voice to drop into something barely above a whisper.

‘you’re my most important patient.’

the words settle between you, sinking into the space where exhaustion lingers, where unspoken things have always gone unsaid.

you study him, taking in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

‘yeah?’ you murmur, softer this time.

his gaze flickers to yours, steady and certain. ‘yeah.’

you don’t say anything after that. but you don’t need to.

instead, your eyes drift to the chair beside your bed. ‘you’re staying, aren’t you?’

he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. with a quiet sigh, he lowers himself into the chair, shifting slightly to get comfortable. not that he ever will. the chair is stiff, unforgiving, and he’s been running on too little sleep for too many days.

but he doesn’t complain. he never does.

you watch him for a moment longer, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes linger on you even as he leans back.

‘go to sleep,’ he murmurs, closing his eyes. ‘doctor’s orders.’

you want to argue, to tell him he should be the one sleeping somewhere comfortable, but the weight of exhaustion is already pulling you under. the last thing you see before you drift off is zayne, slouched in that uncomfortable chair, his breathing steady, his presence unwavering.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone.

because you never knew it. never realized it.

but zayne became a doctor for you.

when you were little and scraped your knee, he was the one who pressed plasters to your skin, his hands careful, his touch gentle. when you sniffled from the sting, he’d ruffle your hair and say, ‘there. all better.’

when you climbed trees too high and got stuck, it was zayne who came running, scolding you under his breath as he helped you back down. and when you fell, because you always fell, he was the one who knelt beside you, wiping the dirt from your palms before you even had the chance to cry.

when you got sick, he was the one who snuck into your house with soup he swore wasn’t that bad, sitting by your bed even when you told him to go home. he would press the back of his hand against your forehead like he had seen adults do, frowning like he could will the fever away just by staying close.

when you started training to be a hunter, he was the one who patched you up after every battle, every wound, every brush with death.

he never once told you to quit, but every time he stitched a cut or wrapped a bandage around your wrist, his hands would linger, as if memorizing every scar.

and now, when the world threatens to break you, he’s still here.

still taking care of you. still choosing to stay.

you wake up hours later, the room still cloaked in soft, early-morning silence. the first thing you notice is the warmth around your wrist.

zayne.

he’s asleep in the chair, his head tilted slightly, dark circles visible beneath his eyes. his hand is wrapped around your wrist, fingers loose but still holding on, like he fell asleep taking your pulse.

like he needed proof that you were still here.

still breathing.

you shift slightly, just enough to tighten your fingers around his. he stirs for only a second but doesn’t let go.

and neither do you.

[strayingawayy]

bigger, warmer, yet still stupidly yours...

...the one where jisung's gotten wayyyy bigger, not that you're complaining, of course

{inspired by @hyunebunx wishing me goodnight and hoping i'd dream of jiji and his big arms...yeah...}

han jisung had always been the definition of warmth for you. his head tucked into your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as he hummed some made-up tune that would, inevitably, become their next big hit...it was warm, it was routine, it was home.

but lately, something was... different. the warmth had somehow increased. you had somehow shrunk in his arms. it was weird. suspicious, even.

so tonight, as jisung effortlessly scooped you up, spun you around twice, thrice, then frice (is that a word? you don't know. you're so in awe of your man) like you weighed nothing, and carried you toward the bed, you knew something was up.

your eyes narrowed. "okay. what is going on?"

jisung blinked at you, all innocent and cute. "uhh, bedtime? you know, when we sleep? and you steal all the blankies?"

but enough was enough. you would put your suspicions to rest today. without a word, you grabbed the hem of his hoodie and yanked it up.

"WHOA WHOA WHOA- BABY! CONTROL YOURSELF, MY LOVE-"

you let out a gasp, pointing dramatically at his now very defined torso and arms. "AHA! EUREKA!"

jisung, ever the confused quokka, tilted his head. "...huh? did i miss something? what's happening? am i being arrested? is it for being too cute? is it for being too in love with you? no wait i'm too young to go to horny jail, i haven't even-", his eyes widen at the last bit before you cut him off.

"THAT'S IT!" you poked at his bicep, watching it bounce back. "YOU'VE GOTTEN BIGGER! NO WONDER YOU’VE BEEN SO EXTRA WARM AND CUDDLY BEAR LATELY!"

jisung blinked down at himself, then back at you. "...oh. ohhhh. yeah, i have been working out a bit?", he says, almost asks, rubbing his nape.

"a bit?! jisung, you look like those ripped teddy bears for cookies you see on the 'net!"

he grinned, flexing dramatically. "do you like it? am i hot? do i look like a man who could lift a car? think marvel will hire me to remake that scene where captain america holds onto the helicopter?"

you rolled your eyes but still definitely felt your heart do a little flip. "you should have told me you were turning into an action figure."

he huffed, flopping onto you so you were squished under all his newfound muscle. "but i wanted to surprise youuuu," he whined, nuzzling into your shoulder, pressing kisses to it before moving to your cheeks. "also, i just wanted to be strong enough to carry you whenever i wanted. not like i couldn't before but gotta keep at it even when i'm sixty four eh?"

your heart burst into little fireworks.

"you absolute idiot," you giggled, running your fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "you were already strong enough for me, baby."

jisung made a happy little noise before effortlessly rolling over, pulling you on top of him like you were a feather.

"see? now i can do this all the time," he said smugly, holding you against his chest like a personal teddy bear.

you let out a laugh, pressing your forehead to his. "put me down, muscle man."

"no <3"

he plants one kiss on your forehead.

"please?"

"no <3"

another on your cheek.

"jisung-"

"no <3"

a final on your lips to shut you up for good.

and honestly? with his arms around you, warmth seeping into your skin, his giggles mixing with yours, yeah....you weren’t really complaining.

[dwaekkicidal]

Nonsexual Dominance with SKZ

wc» 1.1k

cw» gender neutral, d/s dynamics, dom!skz & sub!reader, trad!minho, sfw but some people might see some things as controlling or toxic- it's not meant to be and this is based off a MUTUAL agreement + set boundaries. if you dont like dont interact <3

txt version

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗

Makes you send him food pics regularly. On days where you genuinely don't want to, he won't push it, but for the most part he enforces it and will be upset if you don't send a pic. And this is only really because it means you didn't eat.

He loves it not only for the obvious reason of watching over you even when he's not around, but also because it reminds him to also eat. All those hours in the studio blur and it's only a matter of time before he completely loses track of time- but you and your meals are there to remind him :)

𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠

Ok hear me out, traditional husband!minho... If you don't want it, he won't push it but it works so well,,, If it's far enough into the relationship that the trust comes naturally, he'd sit you down to discuss your opinions on you staying at home all day and quitting your job and putting all the financial burden on him- because he wants that responsibility. He wants to take care of you so extremely.

The pleasure dom in him comes out specifically outside of the bedroom. He absolutely loves cooking for you and spoiling you with extravagant dinners & expensive gifts, and he loves just holding you close just because he can, but he expects you to do everything else in the house- or at least most of it. While he's willing to compromise certain chores, he wants to come home to the house being clean and clothes being washed and all that.

But he always makes it worth your while and spoils you rotten :( Cuddles you until you're absolutely sick of him (not) and tries to take you out on regular dates to spoil you (like while shopping at the mall or taking you out to a nice dinner)

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚋𝚒𝚗

Might sound kind of weird but hear me out- him telling you "no." I think Chris is one that would love to do this but has NO self control and therefore can't bring himself to unless he absolutely has to lol. But Changbin thrives off of it.

Don't get him wrong- he looves to spoil you. But he also loves that little spark in your eyes when you bat your eyelashes at him so prettily and ask him for something- only for you to get a gentle but firm "no" that makes your bottom lip puff out. & It's not that he doesn't want you to have whatever this thing is, it's more so that he knows there's a limit to being spoiled and no matter how much he loves you, you both need an occasional humbling- and he feels like you both could use a soft reminder of who let who have all the control

He'll always make up for it with sweet kisses and maybe a little tickling to make your pout go away, but his chest puffs out a little every time he gets to tell you "no"

𝙷𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚗

Is the kind to having his hand on your body at all times, if you're more than an arms length away from him you'll be getting a certain look that discreetly reads "Get over here now." Sometimes will even curl his finger up in your direction- doesn't care if somebody is watching or even if he's in the middle of talking/an important conversation

He just likes to have you close, and he knows he needs that mental grounding that you offer more often than not. He's just confident about needing it, so he's not afraid to show everybody how much he loves you and needs you by his side

That being said, he will lead you around malls, museums, grocery stores, or hell even the other boy's apartments all with his hand either intertwined with yours or on some part of your body (usually your lower back) that lets him guide you around.

𝙷𝚊𝚗

He felt a little awkward at first bringing this up to you, but now that it's become a regular part of your routine, he lives for these moments: he loves when you sit pretty on his lap and shave his face for him. It's gotten to the point where he will refuse to shave himself at all for weeks on end if you aren't able to do it for him.

It makes him feel a bit more dominant than it should? considering he will see you have free time and point out that he needs a shave- which usually has you dropping everything to go do it for him. But he also sees it as him being loyal to you and you having an equal amount of "control" on his life. (Also you will catch him dead before you catch him complaining about his lover sitting in his lap for any amount of time lol)

Generally just domestic little acts of service that let him "command" you while also letting you have control over his life (that's really only obvious to you two, but that's more than enough for him)

𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡

Doesn't realize he likes it right away, but he loves to talk for you with strangers. He loves to order your food for you, order your coffee for you (sometimes even mobile ordering it so you don't have to talk to people if he's not available), carrying your clothes for you while you shop and being the one talking at the cash register- stuff like that.

Not only does this scratch that little dom itch in the back of his head because he's taking care of you while still being in "charge", but it also allows him to spoil the hell out of you with you knowing how much money he's spending on you lol. You get to sit pretty at his side and look at/play with the little trinkets by the register while he drops literal hundreds on you with a smile on his face.

𝚂𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚒𝚗

Sorry not sorry but he loves his non sexual punishments. No matter what you do in or out of the bedroom, he can and will find a way to punish you for it without having to lay a finger on you.

One of his favorites is making you write a sentence down over and over again. Kinda cliché "teacher" punishment but it usually gets his point across and prevents you from acting out (for like a week max lol). If he's particularly annoyed at you/frustrated he will make you write it in Korean & wont translate it for you more than once lol.

Another one he really likes is making you kneel on the floor instead of on the couch. He's not really huge on forbidding you from watching tv unless you want him to go that far, but you're not gonna be allowed to sit on the soft, comfy couch- you're gonna be kneeling on the floor, most likely by his leg so you can still cuddle up to him (he'll grant you a small pillow if it's a longer punishment)

𝙸.𝙽

Jeongin loves picking your outfits and your accessories for you. He's not usually too dominant out of the bedroom otherwise, and it's very rare that he is, but this is the main way he is.

Even before you two lived together, he would text you a grossly sweet good morning message and would include a comment about how you should send him a few outfits for him to choose from you to wear. But now that you guys are living together, he takes it upon himself to pick out an outfit for you while you're still in bed or in the bathroom waking up.

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[g1rld1ary]

well kept secret - spencer reid x hotch's daughter!reader

wc: 1420

cw: none!

me: back on my criminal minds grind... also im not gonna lie to u guys i just got back from a hosue party and im extremely drunk, so if u see any mistakes don't be afraid to lmk. also if u have any requests for hotch!daughter pls send them thru bc im heavy into reid rn i just adore him <3

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Who is that?” JJ asked, pointing subtly over to the figure walking cautiously out of the elevator doors. The figure, of course, being you, nervously trying to find your way around the glitzy BAU offices.

“God knows we needed a new pretty face around here — no offence, ladies,” Morgan laughed, drawing well-humoured insults from the women of the office.

“I for one don’t take any offence, her shoes are so cute!” Garcia gushed from over Morgan’s shoulder, eyes locked on your sleek black heels.

“Oh my god, they look just like the ones in that window we passed on the way to dinner, don’t you remember? Even Hotch said they were nice!” Kate wheeled her way into the conversation on her swivel chair.

It was a slow day around the office, not something that went unappreciated, so each agent was eagerly amenable to conversation.

“Reid, come over here,” Morgan beckoned, “Has she ever been here before?”

“Me?” He spluttered, eyes searching frantically, “Why would you ask me? Hundreds of people come into this building every day, let alone the thousands we see on the street every day, on cases—”

“And you have an eidetic memory kid, are you thinking straight or is the pretty girl messing up Boy Genius?”

Reid would drop dead before admitting that Morgan’s words had any truth to them, but his usually overactive speech pattern was halted by the vision of you entering the office’s glass double doors. His mouth dried out as you looked around, obviously unsure of where you were headed.

“No,” He finally answered, “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

“She looks lost. Kind of scared, even?” JJ was giving her signature maternal look, concern etched into her face and Garcia was up before anyone could tell her it might not have been a good idea.

The gang watched from afar as your expression brightened from worried to delighted as Garcia began to chat with you, eyes gleaming as you pointed down to your heels. Clearly she’d repeated the earlier compliment.

“Hi! I’m Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, and you are gorgeous. I’m in love with your shoes!” The introduction and compliment took you by surprise but you were by no means disappointed, replying with equal giddiness.

“Thank you so much, my Dad bought them for me!” You extended your right leg slightly to show off the heel more holistically, “And I just love your outfit, the glasses are everything.”

Garcia gushed her own appreciation as the two of you became fast friends, so you chanced a request for help.

“I’m looking for SSA Aaron Hotchner’s office? I know it’s one of the big fancy ones but I’m not sure exactly which.”

“Up those stairs and second door! You can’t miss it, the big boss energy radiates as soon as you go near.” You both laughed and you made sure to thank Garcia profusely.

Reid watched as you pointed up to the private offices, evidently searching for a specific office. He wondered who you could be looking for. He didn’t have to wonder for long as Garcia rushed back, talking a million miles an hour as she explained that you were looking for Hotch. That brought more questions than answers, and the BAU were quick to place bets on what you could possibly want from him.

“Well, she’s certainly too young to be his girlfriend,” Morgan laughed, “Unless Hotch gets down more than we thought.”

“Could be a young woman looking for a mentor? She looks about college age, maybe just graduated?” Kate suggested and JJ nodded in agreement, neither even pretending to be working anymore.

Meanwhile, you’d made your way up to Hotch’s office, knocking softly on the oak door.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, eyebrows raising only slightly, an extreme show of emotion for the man.

“Check your watch, Agent Hotchner,” You smiled, unsurprised that he’d gotten totally consumed by his work.

“Damn,” He huffed under his breath, “I’m sorry, should we go now, then? And what did I tell you about calling me that?”

“Sorry, Dad,” You emphasised the title, “And yeah, let’s head. I’m starving.”

Down in the bullpen, even Rossi had been roped into the shenanigans.

“You’re the closest with Hotch, if anyone would know who she is it’s you!” JJ said, the rest of the group agreeing.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask him?” Rossi shook his head like he was dealing with small children. Sometimes he was convinced he was.

You took Hotch’s offered arm and the two of you left his office, making quiet smalltalk. The office fell eerily quiet as you two emerged from the behind the closed door, and you got the distinct impression that the BAU had all been talking about you.

Obviously Hotch noticed the team very unsuccessfully playing it cool and muttered a curse, signalling to you to head over to them. You supposed you were going to finally get your formal introductions.

“This is Rossi, Derek Morgan, JJ, Kate Cunningham, Penelope Garcia, and Doctor Spencer Reid. Guys, this is my daughter.”

If you thought there was silence before, it was nothing compared to when Hotch dropped that bomb. You could hear a pin drop.

“Um, it’s really nice to meet you all! I’ve heard so many stories about your work.”

“And we’ve never heard anything about you, pretty girl.”

“Morgan,” Hotch warned with hardly any bite as you laughed off Morgan’s playful flirting.

“Derek Morgan you are exactly like I was told. You too, Penelope, my father was not exaggerating about your outfits.”

“I thought you were starving?” Hotch changed the subject to tease you, nudging you to get moving.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You don’t want me taking all your friends,” You grinned, getting moving nonetheless. The BAU laughed, both charmed and confused by you. It wasn’t unbelievable you were Hotch’s daughter — your quiet confidence and posture was the same, but your friendliness and more easily understandable humour set you two apart.

“Bye everyone!” You called over your shoulder as Hotch rushed you out the doors, clearly keen for you to stop making friends with his coworkers.

“She seems nice,” JJ commented, sitting back down in her swivel chair.

“Can we all talk about how Pretty Boy didn’t say a word that whole conversation?” Morgan asked, a hand clamping deviously on Reid’s shoulder.

“Spencer!” Kate laughed, “You don’t have a crush, do you?”

Reid could feel his cheeks heating up of their own accord, his usually genius brain useless to counteract it.

“No!” He blurted out, “I just didn’t want to say something wrong or bore her with facts like I do with you guys.”

“So you do want to impress her?” Garcia teased with a toothy grin as Reid rushed to shake his head no.

“She’s our boss’ daughter, guys. I think all of us should want to impress her, right?”

“I dunno, Reid, I don’t see Morgan or JJ blushing right now,” Rossi chimed in with a laugh before heading back to his office.

You stepped into the elevator with Hotch, chatting happily about your day so far. Your father stuck his hand out to hold the door open with such speed it scared you a little, jumping in your own body. You relaxed when you saw it was just Penelope Garcia, hurrying towards you with a few files in her hands.

“Thank you, sir,” She breathed as the doors closed behind her, “I forgot Rossi wanted these scanned and digitised from the last case!” She punched the button for the third floor. “It was really nice to meet you, by the way. Even if Hotch has kept you a secret all these years.”

“To be totally fair to him, I wouldn’t say he exactly kept me a secret if he only found out I existed a few years ago. It was nice to finally meet you all too, though. I’ve heard so many work stories.”

You bid Garcia goodbye as the doors opened once again. Just as she was almost down the hall she heard your voice whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me doctor Reid was hot and smart?”

Penelope hardly concealed her gasp, delighted at the newfound revelation. This would be fun for her.

[starmocha]

Doctor's Note [Zayne + Son ★ 1289 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Zayne calls home during lunchtime. A/N: orz this was supposed to have been written and posted in December… orz Tag list: @lavlynyan @miudle @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

The meeting was finally over.

Thankfully, it was just a little bit past noon by the time Zayne had returned to his office. As he settled into his seat, he started a video call, waiting patiently until a face completely identical to his popped up on the screen.

“Daddy!”

He chuckled at the sight of his three-year-old son’s bright grinning face. The boy immediately turned away, yelling for his mother. “Mommy, it’s Daddy on your phone!”

“Did Mommy let you answer this call for her?” Zayne asked teasingly, smiling when his son looked bashful and nodded. “Good, I don’t want you answering any phone calls without our permission, remember?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “I remember, Daddy!”

“Good boy,” he responded. He quirked a brow, noticing a rice grain on his son’s mouth. “Are you eating lunch without me?”

“Mommy made me…” the toddler said with a pout. “I told you Daddy would call, Mommy!”

“Zayne, are you turning our son against me again?” You immediately entered the screen with a playful glare. You bent lower and rubbed the rice grain off your son’s face, adding, “We just started eating.”

“Daddy, do you have your lunch?” the boy asked, wriggling his way back into the screen to look at his father hopefully. “Mommy and I made it just for you!”

“Yeah, Zaynie, our darling boy and I made it just for you,” you added with a mischievous smile.

“What did you do?” Zayne responded with a raise of his brow, matching your smile with his own. He set a bento box down in front of him, noticing a folded note attached on top. He opened the note, chuckling softly when he saw the crude handwriting written with green and yellow crayons.

“Is this my little doctor’s note?” he asked playfully, turning the paper with the scribbles to face his phone.

“That’s my note for Daddy!” his son yelled out excitedly.

“Wow, Zayne, our son’s handwriting looks so much nicer than yours,” you teased him again, making his eyes rolled.

“Very funny,” he answered, tone flat. He sighed exaggeratedly. “I’m afraid I have misplaced my reading glasses. Can you read it for me, son?”

The boy nodded. “It says, ‘Daddy should have a good day! I love him very, very, very much and miss him very, very, very much.’”

Both you and Zayne smiled, touched by the little boy’s earnest message. Zayne’s smile seemed to widen as he watched you pulled the boy into your lap to snuggle, his son’s giggles always managing to relieve him from his daily stress. He responded, his voice tender, “I miss you, too. I’ll be home this evening with a surprise.”

“Macarons?” the boy asked hopefully as he wriggled excitedly on your lap, making you giggled as you tried to keep the toddler still. You kissed his cheek sweetly and said in a lower voice:

“Darling, it could be a carrot cake, too, right, Zaynie?”

Zayne’s smile instantly dropped while his son’s excitement grew, as did your teasing smile. The little boy was squirming excitedly on your lap and clapping his hands. “Carrot cake!”

“Oh, but Mommy said we shouldn’t be eating too many sweets,” Zayne added, his eyes darting to meet yours in warning. He smiled stiffly, faltering when you responded cooly:

“Occasionally is fine.”

The boy peered up curiously before turning to look at his father. “Daddy, are you going to eat your lunch?”

Zayne felt grateful for the sudden topic change. He nodded and opened the lid of his bento box, his voice taking on an exaggerated tone as he asked playfully, “Now what do we have here?”

“Rice!” the boy answered brightly, continuing, “And…and…Mommy, what did you say this was called?”

You giggled, your hand smoothing over his hair. You glanced at where Zayne pointed with his chopsticks, seeing the bite-sized fried chicken pieces. “Karaage, my darling.”

“Karaage!” the boy repeatedly loudly, “And…and…”

Zayne smiled as he watched his little carbon-copy son struggled to remember the name of the dishes.

“Rolled omelet, darling.”

“…and omelet, Daddy!”

Zayne laughed at the boy’s earnest declaration. “Sounds nutritious,” he said, adding with a gentle smile, “And they look delicious.”

“Daddy, don’t forget to eat your carrots!”

Immediately, Zayne’s smile disappeared. He managed to compose himself before his son noticed his mood change. Patiently, he asked, “What carrots?”

“The hearts, Daddy!”

He peered down at his lunch again, noticing the heart-shaped carrots and the rounds they were cut from neatly and strategically placed throughout the bento box for a cute design. He looked up, feigning confusion. “I thought these are just decorations?”

“You can eat them!” the little boy insisted happily with a wide grin. “They’re yummy and good for you!”

“You hear that, Zaynie?” you interjected with a mischievous grin, delighting in how your normally calm and collected husband was struggling to maintain his composure, his lips subtly twitching with disgust at the sight of his least favorite food and even worse at the prospect of having to eat them. You continued, chirping happily, “Your personal doctor has just told you they’re yummy and good for you.”

Just as quickly, Zayne directed a sharp glare to you, but you didn’t care, continuing with delight at his misery, “My hubby is so lucky to have such a dedicated doctor who cares about his patient’s health.”

“You put him up to this, didn’t you?” he accused.

“This was his idea!” you protested with a smug smile. “He said—and I quote—‘Mommy, can we cut out hearts for Daddy’s lunch?’”

You leaned down and kissed the top of your son’s head soundly. “Didn’t you, my little darling?”

The boy nodded innocently, his sweet little smile still shining brightly as he waited for his father to take his first bite of his lunch.

“Now Zaynie,” you said teasingly, struggling to stifle your giggles as your husband continued to pierce you with his glares, “Won’t you be a good boy and eat your carrots, per doctor’s order?”

Zayne sighed helplessly when his carbon-copy son stared at him with bright, hopeful eyes. He picked up his chopsticks again, his eyes peering down at his lunch as he quickly tried to gauged which piece of carrot appeared the smallest. He started to reach for one of the rounds with a heart-shaped holes, but you immediately tutted disapprovingly. “A real piece of carrot, sir.”

“They’re all still carrots,” he insisted practically through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, do you not like my lunch for you?” the boy asked with quivering lips.

Damn it.

Zayne smiled reassuringly, speaking gently to the little toddler, “Of course not, son, Daddy was just trying to pick the most delicious piece for his first bite.”

Mentally, he sighed. He unwittingly chose the largest heart-shaped carrot piece and plopped it into his mouth. He struggled to smile as he chewed on the vegetable, his tastebuds screaming in disgust. Eventually, he swallowed, his smile stiff.

“De-delicious,” he fibbed, consciously trying to maintain his smile for his son’s sake. The smile, however, fell completely at the little boy’s innocent declaration:

“Mommy, we should give Daddy more hearts tomorrow!”

“We should,” you agreed with both glee and mischievousness, adding playfully, “Because we love Daddy so much, right, my darling boy?”

“Yeah!”

Through clenched teeth, Zayne’s hand tightened around his chopsticks, and he responded with a forced smile to you, “I love you all, too…so I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“It’s no trouble, Daddy!” the boy said happily, seemingly unaware of his father’s internal struggles. He continued cheerfully, “I want you to have lots of hearts tomorrow!”

“Because we love you so much, Zaynie,” you added smugly, seeing the light in his eyes fading.

“…I love you, too…”

[anonymousmarshmallow]

Also, this happens during the hiring games. Every one of them believes it. Only after asking around (and not just the big 3 either, everyone, the nurse staff, janitors, legal, long-term patients). Most of the hospital staff is like 'yeah that makes sense,' and 'they sure do act like it.' Also due to many convoluted reasons they somehow either just miss Wilson or something always comes up right before they mention it. The big 3 deny it cause they don't have to put up with as much House's shit now. But, the contestants all believe both of them were in the closet for reasons and were forced to come out to avoid jail or a lawsuit, which is horrible. Sooooo cut to part of the team trying to be kind and understanding, thinking 'maybe this is why he's such a dick unable to be yourself, and watching other openly express their love while he can't. Of course, he would be bitter. Maybe he's like this to avoid getting close to people because someone he trusted outed him or bullied or blackmailed him once, and he never fully healed. Their all doctors, and they want to help and show support.' This is completely wrong. The other part mainly decides to leverage this situation and "supports" House and Wilson to (hopefully) get cookie points. Chaos ensues.

The nice ones: looking up support groups for the LGBTQ+ and googling how to support someone who just came out, because coming out like this must be upsetting at the very least

House: Stop kissing my ass. That's Wilson's job

Also House: [milking it for all its worth especially during secret Santa] What you'll get your other STRAIGHT co-workers gifts but not me. Is this a hate crime must be?

House: Now that I'm out, it's so difficult with all the patients in the clinic so many homopophobes :(

The nice ones: Covers clinc duty to stop House being exposed to so much hate

The suck ups: mentions how they like Beyonce and RuPaul. Went to a musical once, definitely has a gay cousin or friend, and makes everything go back to being gay and overly defending House fellow people who are equal to them and deserve support. They always supported LGBLT people.

House: [Let's them talk and enjoying them making asses if themselves] Wow, you are so supportive

The suck ups: [says/does something really offensive]

House: [staring in surprise/and a little horror] Little impressed actually going to remember that for later. But I had reasons for medical reasons to what I said, and you don't. Also, you'll get me in trouble with Cuddy, and if you do that, you're fired. [Makes the couple who sued him give a lesson on the LGBTQ+]

The truth doesn't come out until someone catches Wilson on a date and confronts him, either because 'cheating isn't okay he needs to come clean' or 'I can use this and have him talk me up to House' and Wilson is like "What no! I only said that to keep House out of trouble. We never dated. I'M STRAIGHT! N-n-n-not that there's anything wrong wi... I didn't... Look, it was either a small white lie or House goes to jail, and you lose a job. Besides, it's not like I really lied. House is my friend, and he is a boy. He's a boy friend. Yeah, House, he was just messing with you.

The ruse comes to an end with House announcing he had fun and fires someone.

Also, House knows Wilson's dick size because both of them were drunk, and Wilson was shitting on House about not having a girlfriend or whatever making a joke about being bad in bed. Later, at one of their homes, Wilson passed out drunk. House is curious and takes a look and measures.

House would treat two gay patients like shit and get sued for being homophobic and cuddy would go "he's not homophobic, he treats everyone like that!" which does not hold up in court so instead he's like how can I be homophobic when I have a boyfriend? Wilson stand up. Everyone would turn to Wilson (who had ZERO warning about this) and he'd stutter before glaring at House and stand "yes, House is unfortunately my boyfriend"

Then they'd walk out of the courtroom and Wilson would chew him out which House ignores. Cue 3 days layer when Wilson says House needs to clear up they lied about being gay to get him off (ha) and they're not actually dating because he is NOT getting any dates like this. House would walk into the hospital cafeteria and yell "ATTENTION EVERYONE. Doctor Wilson is not my boyfriend." Wilson would nod for 2 seconds before House follows up with "because we're engaged!" and Wilson can't even be mad because why did he think for 2 seconds that House would make it easy for him

House would try to use this as an opportunity to demand less clinic hours (think of it as a wedding gift) which he does not get because Cuddy knows exactly what's going on and she thinks it's hilarious but she needs his ass working

Cuddy: yeah? You two are a thing? How big is he?

House: 5.3 inches

Wilson: how the FUCK do you know that

[cameronsprincess]

I’ve been thinking about this for ages. So like what if reader is doing yoga at Tannyhill and Rafe being Sarah’s brother, or readers step brother or anything finds it to be such a turn on and rips readers yoga pants and they go at it in the living room. TYYYYY

OH. MY. GAWD. pleaseeee i’m droooling😣

CW: smut! 18+ only! stepbro!rafe, stepcest, fingering, unprotected piv sex, ass slapping, choking, creampie, praise and degrading.

note: i haven’t done yoga since i was like… younger and played around with it for fun so bare with me😂 i be doing my best with my knowledge and googles help! yoga is barely gone into detail with though but yeah!

masterlists.

Your thighs burned from the position you were in— triangle pose — as the sound of the yoga instructors voice on the tv filled your large living room. This was your favorite past time, doing yoga when no one was home to clear your mind.

“Now we’re going to switch to a downward dog position, slowly, arms up, and bend forward. Good job.”

You followed the instructors commands, slowly getting out of the position you were in and stretching your arms high above your head. You inhaled deeply through your nose, letting it out slowly through your mouth as you bent forward.

The sound of the front door opening momentarily distracted you, but you’d chose to ignore it. Footsteps sounded behind you, but you still kept your focus on the yoga pose, keeping your mind clear even though tension thickened in the air, your mind becoming foggy from the larger than life presence that now stood behind you, watching you.

You knew it was him, he didn’t even need to speak for you to know it was him. Rafe, your stepbrother. His presence always weighed heavy on your back, the feel of his eyes on you making a shudder run down your spine.

“The fuck are you doing?” Rafe asked, his voice strained.

You rolled your eyes, “Yoga.” you deadpanned, as if it was supposed to be obvious, which…you thought it was pretty obvious.

A low hum sounded from where Rafe stood, his eyes still burning into your backside. He drank in the way your body was bent forward, your ass in the air, the black yoga pants you wore hugging at your curves and making Rafe’s dick twitch in his pants.

You’d opened your mouth to ask him why he was still standing there, but the words died on your lips when Rafe’s body was on you. His hands tugged at the tight material of your yoga pants, tugging them down your thighs and baring your wet pussy to him.

He groaned, running a finger through your soaked folds. “Why’re you so wet, sweetheart?”

A soft moan escaped your lips when Rafe slowly pushed a thick finger inside you. “R-Rafe.. We talked about this.. Fuck..”

Rafe gripped your hips, tugging you down and out of the yoga position you’d been in. Your knees hit the ground and you were thankful the soft yoga mat was beneath you right now. Rafe’s free hand ran up the curve of your back, pushing you forward so your face was pressed against the ground. He slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, his words low and strained when he said, “You talked… I pretended to listen.”

His fingers curled inside you, hitting at your g-spot and making you cry out his name, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the ground below you. Your pussy fluttered around Rafe’s fingers, a pressure building low in your stomach as his fingers fucked you near release.

“We… We can’t keep doing this, Rafe.. It’s not— Oh, God..”

Rafe’s free hand slapped at your ass, making you cry out, pussy pulsing and tightening around his fingers. He moved them in and out slowly, teasing you. “You telling me you don’t want my dick inside your sweet cunt right now?”

Your mind was hazy, a lust filled cloud jumbling the thoughts inside your head. Truth was, you always wanted him. The moment your mother told you she’d remarried and that the two of you would be moving to a small island in North Carolina, you weren’t too happy about it. But when you’d arrived to this beautiful, big house and met your new step father and step siblings— more specifically your broody, slightly older stepbrother— you had completely changed your mind, deciding you loved your new life. You knew it wasn’t right for you and Rafe to fuck, but the first time he’d snuck into your bedroom, tempting you, you knew you’d never be able to turn him away.

Rafe’s fingers pulled slowly out of you, the tips of them still inside before he pushed them back inside harshly. His hand made quick work of fucking you, the squelching noises of his fingers fucking into your dripping pussy sent all morals flying out the door. The band was strung tight in your stomach, inner walls pulsing around your stepbrothers fingers as you cried out, “No.. God, no! I need you Rafe, please?”

He let out a low sound of approval, his fingers curling and hitting that sweet spot once more, sending you over the edge. Your legs shook violently as you came undone around Rafe’s fingers, the thick digits never slowing until your body went limp on the ground.

You hear Rafe’s belt buckle clanking as he quickly worked it off, his khakis sliding down his thighs followed by his boxers. He ran the flats of his fingers over your dripping core, coating them in your arousal before he gripped his dick, giving himself slow strokes. He presses his swollen tip against your sopping entrance, a pathetic whimper escaping you when he pushed the tip inside.

“Whining already? I’ve only put the tip in, sweetheart.”

You groan in frustration, wanting to feel his thick cock stretching you, filling you until all you could think of was how good he felt inside you. “Rafe.. Please just fuck me.”

Rafe slides in at an agonizingly slow pace, your pussy dripping and aching as every thick inch pushed inside you. He bottoms out, his swollen tip nudging against that spot inside you that had your toes curling and eyes crossing.

“Always feel so fuckin’ good, baby. So wet and tight. This pussy was made for me.”

Rafe’s hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers burning your skin as they dug into you. His hips start moving at a brutal pace, the top half of your body sliding against the cool tile floors with each thrust. You whimper when Rafe slaps at your ass again, “Such a good little slut for your stepbrother..” Rafe rasps, his hands holding onto your hips tightly again as he slowly slides out, his eyes never leaving where the two of you connected. “So goddamn good. You should see the way your pussy swallows my dick, the grip… It’s so fucking sexy.”

You choke out a moan when he slams his hips forward again. “R-Rafe…”

He slaps your ass again, pounding into you from behind. He runs a hand up the arch of your back again, stopping once he reaches the nape of your neck. His right hand snakes around your throat, squeezing tightly and pulling you up off the ground. Your eyes blur with tears, your hands gripping at the wrist that has a tight grip on your throat. Rafe pulls your back flush against his front, never slowing the pace of his hips as his lips come down to leave hot, sloppy kisses against your cheek and jaw.

He nips at your jawline with his teeth, groaning when your pussy clenches down around his cock. “Fffffuck… Where do you want my cum, baby?”

Your lips part, trying to get the words out but you can’t form a sentence with how hard he’s squeezing at your pulse points, plus your mind is so far gone from the brutal thrusts of his hips you didn’t think you could speak even if he wasn’t choking you.

Rafe loosens his grip on your throat, running his hand up to squeeze at your cheeks. “Answer me… Before I cum in this tight fucking cunt..” His face falls on your shoulder, lips kissing and biting at the skin of your shoulder and neck. He smirks against your skin when you moan loudly, “Unless you want that? Does my dirty little stepsister want her brothers cum inside her pussy?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, breaking skin, the taste of blood filling your mouth as you nod profusely, “Yes! Please, Rafe? Please cum inside me..”

A low growl rumbles in Rafe’s chest, his mouth biting, licking and sucking at your neck as his dick swells. His free hand moves down between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight, sloppy circles on your clit.

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock, then I’ll give you what you want and cum in you. Can you do that?” He asks breathlessly, his fingers rubbing harshly against your clit, working you towards another release.

“Yes… I— Shit, Rafe! ‘M gonna cum…”

Rafe bites down on your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth — that was definitely going to leave a mark — as the pressure builds low in your stomach. Your pussy clamps down around his cock, a strangled whine falling from your lips as you come undone around Rafe’s cock. He’s not far behind you, groaning into your neck as his dick twitches inside you. He pushes in deep one final time, stilling himself as he comes in slow spurts, filling your pussy with his cum.

The two of you are panting, fighting to catch your breath as Rafe slowly slides out of you. He watches as a thick glob of his cum seeps from your pussy, smirking as his fingers quickly catch it, pushing it back inside you. You groan, your legs twitching as he keeps his fingers buried inside you.

Rafe pulls his fingers out, wiping them across your lips while smiling. “Come to my room later tonight, wanna watch you suck my dick again.”

And with a light tap against your ass, he stands, grabbing his discarded boxers, pants and belt off the floor before he disappears, leaving you well fucked and exhausted on the living room floor.

tagging some moots: @quinnsbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @hauntedfawnn @nemesyaaa @rafesheaven @rafescvntyclubgf @rafesbabygirlx @maybejj @cherrygirlfriend @dementedkittenribbon @kiiyomei @drewsephrry @rafesangelita

[robertsfloyd]

I can’t stop thinking about Lando’s bunny in heat and wanted little cute bunnies

fun fact!! Two years ago I had plans to get a bunny. he was gonna be called bowser and he was gonna be my baby :(

cw: hints of smut but not rly, heat, bunny wants babies (breeding kink), this is more of a crack fic

"but, laaaaan," you whine, a pout on your face as you held his arm.

a sigh left his lips and he finally turned away from his gaming console. his pretty eyes searched your face before they softened. reaching out, his hand brushed over your cheek.

"bunny, we can't," he whispered and you whined again. "I know you're in heat but we can't! we're not ready for it."

deep down, you knew he was right. you were young, he was young. this wasn't the time for babies. even if they would be cute little bunny babies with your floppy ears and cotton tail.

he leaned in and kissed you, his way of apologising. but all it did was make you needier. you stamped your foot.

all you wanted was a good fuck, some relief and maybe for lando to stuff you full of cum until you were good and pregnant. to your heat addled brain, it was less of a want, more of a need.

but you had hidden the condoms, and he wasn't going to fuck you without them.

planting your butt on the floor, you glared up at him. you just wanted his dick! I wasn't fair. it wasn't fucking fair.

pushing yourself to your feet, you began walking out of the room. "fine!" you called, folding your arms over your chest. "guess I'll go take care of myself!"

lando pulled his headset from his ears. "What was that, bunny girl?" He asked, pulling his headset from his head.

but you were gone. down the hall and into the bedroom you shared.

"bunny!" lando called, but you were gone.

there was no way you could get yourself off. your fingers felt useless as you laid there and rubbed. what did you do? what did you do for him to hate you so?

because what other explanation was there? he hated you and that's why he wasn't going to fuck you.

"bunny?"

you whined pathetically and bucked your hips into your hand. if this didn't make him take pity on you, you didn't know what would.

standing in the doorway if the bedroom you shared with him, he watched as you furiously rubbed. your fingers were never this clumsy when you two were getting intimate; you looked like you wanted to start a fire.

"bunny," he said gently and sat on the bed beside you. grabbing your hand, he pulled it away from your pussy.

you whined at him again. "why won't you fuck me?" you cried pathetically.

"because, baby, you won't tell me where you hid the condoms."

that's right, you wouldn't. no matter what, you wouldn't tell him. he would break eventually; he had to.

sitting up, you let your fingers dance up your arm. "what if it's just the tip?" you proposed, moving your attention down to his belt. your fingers were quick to get it open. "just the tip, you don't have to cum inside me," you whispered.

something about your voice had a moan pulling from his lips. you, his sweet little bunny, proposing such naughty things. really, you were a little shit, but Lando knew that.

"just the tip?"

you nodded your head. but the way you grinned told a different story. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered and stood up, fastening his belt. "go find the condoms then we'll talk."

you stood with him, stamping your foot. "It's not fair!" you shouted, fists clenched.

"life's not fair, baby!"

[httpknjoon]

peach and vanilla lip balm | jjk

plot | No kissing rule was made between you and your secret boyfriend when he learned how you got your lip balm. But can Jungkook win in this rule he probably brought to himself?

words | 2.2k+

genres | fluff, crack,  secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au

pairing | jungkook x reader

note | set before their other friends found out.

main masterlist  |  drabble series masterlist

If your friends were ever detectives, you and Jungkook doubt they would be able to find any clues to a crime.

It has been a couple of years since that New Year’s day when you two made it official to each other. And after one failed attempt to share the news with your friends, you two managed to just keep everything lowkey for the meantime, much to your surprise with how affectionate your boyfriend can get and how much of a bad liar you are. But for now, you two enjoy keeping things to yourselves. It felt more peaceful these last few weeks.

Now, you and your friends are at Jenny’s after she invited everyone for dinner. Every time she wants to try a new recipe as a head chef for one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the city, she calls up everyone to be her official food taster. For tonight, she made her homemade pasta with pesto, along with Caprese salad. To say that everyone was satisfied is an understatement, especially since Blaire brought the rose wine.

After dinner, Jungkook was left alone in the living room with Wooshik and Dara. You were still in the kitchen with Jenny while Blaire was taking a call outside. Jungkook didn’t really catch on to what his friends were talking about as he kept his attention on some dog videos he found on his Instagram feed. He was giggling to himself while watching someone’s puppy howl along to some song playing in the background of the clip.

“What flavor is it? Cherry or strawberry?”

“I like what YN has! It tastes good.”

As if someone called his attention, Jungkook’s head shot up from scrolling at his phone when he heard Wooshik say that. He didn’t really care what everyone was talking about until someone mentioned you. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Wooshik, phone long forgotten while he tried to catch up with what he missed within the ten minutes he was distracted.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asked.

Dara shifted on the couch, turning to him, “Wooshik wants me to buy him something when I go to Tokyo tomorrow.”

“And what is it?” 

“That lip balm YN uses. She said she got it there!” Wooshik exclaimed. “I can’t find it anywhere here. I like the flavor.”

“How… How–” Jungkook finds himself pausing for a second when he feels his tongue-twisting with words he is about to ask, “How did you know what it tastes like?”

“I borrowed it before. It’s not like we kissed!”

“Ew!” you entered the living room lightly smacking Wooshik at the back of his head. “Correction, I gave it to him after he used it without permission. I don’t like sharing lip balms,” you said, lowkey reassuring Jungkook.

You took up the space next to him on the other couch before comfortably resting your legs on his lap. You were a little tired of helping Jenny clean up in her kitchen and dining room. She still has to prepare the dessert that she’s been proud of in your group chat so you promised to take over the cleaning part for her. 

“I was curious! It smells good every time you open it everywhere.” he reasoned, making you roll your eyes.

“It doesn’t give you any permission to use it! You know I buy those straight from Japan,” you replied.

“What flavor is it anyway? Why does Wooshik like it so much?” Dara asked.

“It’s peach and vanilla. It really does smell good! Wait–”

They watched as you sat back up and reached for your purse to get your famous lip balm. Jungkook had seen the small baby pink tube before. You carry it with you everywhere. To prove your point, you slowly removed the cap off the tube. The subtle and pleasant smell of your favorite lip care product filled the room. It smelled exactly what you would expect it to be: fruity and sweet. Jungkook immediately recognized it and immediately connected the scent with you, like it was already ingrained in his brain.

“See?” you said proudly before reapplying the product on your lips.

Your friends agreed before getting back on Wooshik asking Dara to buy that for him. But, your boyfriend got his eyes stuck on you. Jungkook watched intently as the pale pink balm smoothly glided on your lips. He caught how your favorite lip products made your lips glossier and more tinted with pink. His eyes were so focused on your lips that he didn't notice that you were looking at him, observing how he seemed so dazed over that specific part of your face.

After pressing your lips together, to equally spread the product, you see him unconsciously licking his lips. You tried not to smirk. Instead, you smacked your lips together, as if giving a kiss to the air. The action snapped him out of his daze. When his eyes finally moved to meet yours, you were already smiling, scrunching your nose at him, being a tease.

After finishing the night with Jenny’s creamy Tiramisu cake and another dumb debate about eggs and chickens, everyone began going. Dara had to leave earlier since she still had to prepare for her flight. Everyone decided to leave an hour later. Jungkook became the designated driver for you, Wooshik, and Blaire, who currently have her car in the shop. Of course, you were the last passenger in his car even though you already passed by your house when driving Wooshik to his house, who didn't stop talking about your lip balm. Curiosity grew in your secret boyfriend's head and began asking questions while he drove you to your place.

"Is that why you have like a stock of them in one of your drawers?" he asked in a tone like he was learning something useful.

You nodded even though he could not really look at you, "Yeah, I mean, I have to at least make the shipping fee worth it."

Squinting his eyes, he nods in agreement. He continued, "How did you even know that balm anyway if it's from another country?"

That's when you take a short pause, pressing your lips together, thinking if you should tell the detailed version of your favorite lip balm's history. Yeah, he can take it.

"Well... Remember Kenji?

It was like something stirred in Jungkook's ears when he heard that name after so many years had passed. But he remained cool, stealing glances at your direction.

“Yeah, your ex-boyfriend in college?"

“Yeah," you replied, trying to stop yourself from grinning after sensing a shift in his energy. "He was the one who bought me that lip balm at first, back when he visited his grandparents there during a holiday break."

He hummed, suddenly losing interest in that lip balm, "Is that so?"

"Yup!" you popped out your answer. “If you are curious about it, I will let you try it. Here.”

You offered the said lip balm to your boyfriend. Because of the stoplight turning red, Jungkook had a chance to give you a dirty look instead of trying it on his lips.

“Not when your ex bought it for you."

“It’s not like he still buys it for me now. I don't even know where that guy is anymore!" you laughed when you finally got his jealousy confirmed with that response. "It just happens that an ex of mine recommended a great product. That’s why I’m still using it now!”

Jungkook didn't say anything anymore, but you could see the small pout forming on his lips. No one said anything for the rest of the drive. You don't really mind letting the radio take over. But when he stopped the car in front of your house, you gently held his chin and made him look at you before moving your hand on his cheek.

"Baby, are you jealous?" you asked, almost in a whisper, while drawing circles on his skin with your thumb.

He was quick to shake his head before pulling away from your touch, "Nope. Just don't want to try it."

After knowing each other for so many years, even before you began dating, you can see easily through Jungkook's pouty lips and scrunched brows. He can be the jealous kind, you are very much aware of it and find it cute. So, you'll just let it float around for now.

"Okay, that is good to know, that you are being truly mature about this." you grinned devilishly with a sarcasm laced around your words, when in fact, you are not handling the scenario maturely too. You added, "If you don’t want to try it, fine. Then, that means no kissing because I use this lip balm like my life depends on it.”

“Fine,” he replied like it was nothing.

“Fine,” you repeated with the same tone.

 For the last time, you took the cap off and reapplied the lip balm, knowing fully that he was looking at you. Jungkook could not look away as he immediately began regretting the last thing he agreed on. With how competitive you can get, he knows that you will wait for him to break.

“So... I guess, I'll go." you smiled, picking up your purse. Jungkook leaned for at least, a kiss on your cheek. But you opened your arms and gave him a hug with a tap on his back. Like he is some distant acquaintance. He can spot the shit-eating grin on your face as you pull away and step out of his car.

You waved before turning your back, "No kissing! Bye, babe!”

How much must a girl put on that lip balm?

Because Jungkook has been counting and so far, that peach and vanilla-flavored lip balm of yours has moved smoothly on your soft lips exactly fourteen times ever since he arrived here in your house.

It has been thirteen days since that dumb agreement of no kissing and Jungkook feels like he is losing his mind. He feels like a twelve-year-old hoping to finally kiss the girl he was pining for. He kind of hates that he seemed to be the only one affected in this game. He was the one sitting on the couch, watching you silently as he tapped his fingers rhythmically on the couch armrest. You were chatting with Dara about her trip, along with Blaire and Jenny, when you pulled out that balm mid-conversation.

"Why are you mad?" Wooshik suddenly showed up next to him.

He turned his head, "What?"

"You look angry." his best friend pressed harder. "Your hard stare on YN can literally dig holes."

"I don't know what you're talking about." he got up, heading to your kitchen to get a glass of ice-cold water.

Even though you are in the middle of chatting with your friends, you still spotted your boyfriend leaving the living room, where you guys were having your game night that you hosted. After excusing yourself to go get some snacks, you successfully found Jungkook in the kitchen. You never thought someone could look sad while filling up a glass of water.

"You okay?"

That small whisper of yours managed to almost make him jump as he was too deep in his thoughts. You stepped closer, standing next to him, fully taking advantage of your friends being in the other room. He tried not to react when you rested your chin on his shoulder. But then, after receiving nothing but dry hugs and just physical touches from you these past few days, you tiptoed and planted a kiss on his cheek.

It was quick. But enough to break him. You were being unfair, he thought.

So, his hands held your waist and looked at you, looking for any sign of surrender on your face. But all he got was the same grin you sported that night in his car. He rolled his eyes and you chuckled, knowing that action meant that he was already raising his white flag.

"Do you have anything to say, babe? Because I think, we should go back–"

"Princess, I miss you." he pouts.

"But we see each other every day, silly." you teased him, pinching his lips. "I don't know why–"

Jungkook cuts you off again. But this time, it was not with his words. More like his lips. He leaned in, pressing your lips together, finally feeling your soft and smooth lips on his. He felt you smile during the kiss. So he didn't waste time anymore, deepening the kiss. You felt him pressing your body closer to him as his tongue glided on your lips, tasting the peach-vanilla flavor on it.

"So good," he whispered.

He felt the vibration when you chuckled. Just when he felt your fingers in his hair, you heard footsteps coming closer.

"YN, can you–"

"Oh my god!"

Panicked, you accidentally pushed your secret boyfriend much stronger than you anticipated, making him lose balance and fall to the ground. You instantly covered your mouth as Jungkook groaned. Jenny, who just came in to ask you for something, definitely heard the thump since she came in with a raised eyebrow.

"What happened?" she asked.

Jungkook was already getting up with his hand on his side rib, rubbing the skin on it. You were too shocked to even think about your response, which was,

"We... We were looking for my lip balm. I think I lost it here while getting the chips."

Jungkook just nodded at that, "Yeah, I wanna try it."

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[dosiadove]

this reminds me of a hauntjng dream i had awhile ago.

it is with joy and sadness I tell you he has begun to die tonight. when I came back with my father to examine the deer, it was already gone. dad did not belive me. he said I was acting crazy again. that he would take a back to the hospital if this happened again. I was confused, I did not know how to convince daddy that I had seen the deer. I could not speak or tell him of the noises I heard rustling in the forest and ditch. but the noise listened and it heard the noise that I did not make. the bushes rustled, there was a familiarity that grew closer. daddy pulled me behind him. it's antlers were larger than I had remembered. I wonder what it's eyes spoke to my fathers when it stared back. it might have been his last wishes. my father didn't have time to pull out his gun, there was no reason to anyway. the deer turned and went into a clearing, it wanted to rest before it had the energy to die.

my father told me to cover my ears. that he would finish the deer as it must have been in great pain. but things had other plans. I wonder if dad felt the same fear boiling his skin as I felt in mine. I wonder if his heart and throat became one beating mass as mine did. I wonder why it bothered to tell us it was here. my daddy must have felt what I had. he had his gun pointed at the night, but it was all around us. it's stench felt like a hug. I think it was being so loud on purpose. its whispering and growls a mockery to our ideas of control. as it tried to get closer, we moved farther back, until we could move no farther or we would fall apon the deer. but it never came closer. never as long as the deer breathed and we stayed by it. we coward by the deers side, until the night became restless and left us alone.

when we thought it had gone and must have been far off we left the deers side. and it seemed to die as soon as we stood. a final apology. my fathers gun was drawn as we walked back to the tent and the light around us had begun to fade. we hid in the tent. and the night returned it was growling louder, it was mocking us that we had thought it was not always watching. it whispered to us things we could understand but could not know. we knew we would did and it drove us mad. we ran from the tent as the beast chased us, seperating itself from the night. daddy shot at it, it screamed. we ran. we ran till we saw what could have been a porch light or heaven. we did not care which it turned out to be.

the cabin was two stories, with stairs climbing to a large porch on the second. we ran up the stairs and locked all the doors and closed all the curtains when we came in. but the beast did not return. we could only hear it's screams. the clocks were broken and for a moment I knew this was a dream. but the tapping on the door lead me deeper. we looked through the curtains to see a demon. she called to daddy. she whispered she could help. that she could save both him and I. he opened the door and let her in. she carried a book. she told him that if he translated the book for her, she could stop the beast from ending our lives. dad did not trust her, we argued about what was right to do. he told me I did not know what was best for me. and he shook her hand agreeing to the deal, and the father became only a man as the spirt of God left his soul. me and daddy went back into the home and as he translated the book, i wept.

this action did not go unoticed. and no longer then 30 minutes must have gone by when upon the porch we heard 3 great thuds. my dad went out with his gun and there crumbled lay 2 fawns and there mother and as I came out to become apart of its audience, the beast hiding by the stairs, reached out and pulled the mother into darkness. dad prayed but the words burnt his tounge and caused him to vomit. he asked me to pray instead. and as I went to ask God for help I woke up.

It’s not too late to turn back

[custardtartsfan]

Jason Todd head canons that have accumulated over time

many thoughts about the boy constantly rattle around my brain and i would like to share them ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) nothing hanky panky ish for i do not like to think about that

general bullshit ᝰ.ᐟ

he doesnt trust modern technology. he has a Motorola razr. no he will not upgrade, stop asking

has VERY messy hand writing. straight chicken scratch. barley legible

smoked during his late teens (post resurrection period, he was going through it). tried quitting in his early twenties, he bought a menthol flavour geek bar but threw it out cause Roy made fun of him

it wasnt even one of the cool ones with a screen. smh

he has a weird nostalgic affection for the thrift

it reminds him of being a kid, in the rare moments that his mother was sober enough to take him somewhere. and it was nice, his mom was conscious, all was well

and he could get whatever he wanted! he wanted a toy? sure bud, its only a dollar. why the hell not?

he recently walked into a Goodwill and damn near burst an artery when he looked at the tag on a pair of pants. it was NOT like this back in his day

his hair is like wavy, like not curly but wavy. however, he has no idea how to really care for it. shits dry is what im saying

i think hes very competitive about stupid shit

not like he gets pissy about mario kart, he will race you to see who can fold their socks the fastest

largest of the batfam. vertically and horizontally. hes a beefy dude. a brick shithouse

i think hes also the kind of dude that needs to know someone very well before he could consider dating them. id even go as far to say hes somewhere on the aro spectrum

i think he has a very high spice tolerance. like youll pry his siracha out of his cold re-dead hands. he LOVES African curry (yes this one is based off me) thats like his perfect kind of spice

back to his hatred of technology, he collects cds to listen to instead of streaming

he has one of those hip disk players with the headphones. Red Hood has been seen with a walkman

also hates tv, but will watch the news willingly. he will sit down and watch Wolf Blitzer of his own accord

romantic (୨୧• ꒳ •)=:♡

remember when i said he has the handwriting of an 18 month old toddler? yea well thats a little unfortunate cause he LOVES leaving notes for his lover. when he has to slip out the window for a job in the middle of the night, he writes a little note - “had to take care of something, be back soon. with bagels. love, Jay :)” but its written so janky his lover is spending the whole time hes gone trying to decipher it

dont tell him that though, he might cry

hes not a talker particularly. words tend to come out wrong in his experience. instead, he likes gifts acts of service to show you he cares

shopping with him and youre eying a particular top for a while? guess what’s mysteriously appeared in your laundry basket

lowq doesn’t have motion though..soo it might have been Bruce card. but honestly? money is money who gaf

what he occasionally lacks in funds he makes up for in willingness to let you do whatever you want to him

he will waddle after you in sephora, freaking out the occasional employee cause holy FUCK who invited the punisher, letting you swatch whatever you want on his hand

if you’re concerned about the milk in the fridge being yuck, give it to him to taste. he’ll let you know

there is no mountain to high, no dubious forgotten leftover too unhappy looking

cannot cook for SHIT. but he loves to eat

he will mention wanting food and stare at you longingly until you go to the kitchen

hes not gonna be playing fortnite while you’re cooking though, he can chop stuff. you may not want him within 50 feet of a place where food is prepared but he will offer

bless his heart

runs hot like a furnace. probably because hes a large meaty boy

he will grumble like a pensioner when you tuck yourself into his chest at night when its cold, but we both know damn well hes gonna be giggling and kicking his steel toed boots when he tells Roy about it later

he had pretty mixed, strewing negative opinions, about his little white tuft of hair at the front. hes tried cutting it, it grew back the same. he bought box dye, it doesnt take. so hes stuck with it. and he cant say hes happy about it

until you came along, all full of love and life, telling him you loved it. you though it framed his face perfectly and suited him great. you and your fancy affection fuck you

(he was cheesing for hours)

okay lets get sad now

hes got BADD anxiety about hurting you without meaning to. its a reasonable concern, hes a big dude. and these hands dont do a lot of cradling as a rule, more beating heads in

he needs to be reassured, but would rather roll around in broken glass then swim in lemonade than let that be known. hes more of a stare at you until you sooth him

he likes to be kissed and cuddled and cared for. so what? hes only incredibly ashamed. it doesnt matter how many times you re iterate that he has no reason to be, hes a stubborn bitch

thats all ive got! i hope you enjoyed reading my real time jason todd related word association. most of these were typed in a fury on the mobile web app on the subway so..if the formatting is yucky thats up to god (-.-;)y-~~~

[totalswag]

Hi, Hope you are doing well ! :)

Can you do a famous #singer!reader where she just broke up with someone other minor celebrity that was using her 6 months ago. Another male famous celebrity comes to her concert, wanting to check her out and ends up dating her ? (The famous celebrity could be Drew Starkey, Austin Butler,etc.)

locking eyes for the first time ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note thank you for giving me this request. this was so much fun to write. i'm using feather by sabrina carpenter for the "revenge song." request are open again.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary after getting heartbroken by a guy you were talking to six months later you perform at your sold out show and meet drew starkey for the first time.

warning(s) betrayal, breakup, cursing, music, and dating drew starkey.

Six months ago.

You've been talking to this guy⎯he's been the spotlight for quite some time. You found out he was using you for more "fame" and recognition connections. This shattered your heart but confronted him about it⎯he denied it first then admitted at the very end before you kicked him out your house.

His dad is a producer in the music industry. You met at an after party one night and hit it off. He made you fall for him as if he casted a spell on you. He knew what he was doing the entire five months you were together.

"So all of this was a lie, Adam?" You ask, crossing your hands over your chest in disbelief⎯staring at him like he was trash sitting in front of you.

Adam runs his hands down his thighs, sighing, "Look, Y/N, I don't know where you got that information," he pauses looking around, "It's not true," his voice trying to come off convincing.

You scoff, sarcastically nodding, "oh okay, so, Josh, you, and the rest of the guys weren't hanging out and you didn't say you've been using me?" your voice raises, emphasizing using.

"Who told you that?" He questions you in an almost panicked tone. The look on his face said it all: he'd been caught. 

You nod, frustrated. "doesn't matter, is it true you've been using me?" Your voice rises, pointing at yourself.

"Yup," was all he could say.

You huff, "Dude, fuck you," chuckle, "Get out of my face and leave my house," and motion to the front door.

As the months continued to pass, you focused on yourself, surrounded yourself who those who bring you comfort, wrote music to let it all out on pen. You began to feel like yourself again.

Recently came out with a single for your music. This song is based on your experience with Adam. Let's be honest, he tried coming back with all these apologies to come back. You weren't having it.

You're on tour performing your new album and singing one of your popular songs⎯it's about what happened between Adam and you. Everyone knew about the breakup after they saw Adam with a new girl two weeks after.

The first show will be held at the Inglewood Forum. Tonight, your good friends are coming to support you. Madelyn, one of your good friends, will be joining with a few of her Outer Banks co-stars. You were taken aback by how many people were coming from your inner circle.

Madelyn mentioned one of her co stars, Drew Starkey, wanted to come see you perform after listening to your music. You've heard about him⎯good things.

After the show was over, you thanked your fans for coming out for the first show of tour, and cannot wait for the upcoming shows.

"Y/N, you did fantastic out there," Maddie grinned as you turned the corner where everyone else was waiting. 

"Thank you, mama; I'm glad you guys came to watch," you grin, moving away from Maddie and indicating to the rest of the cast. Drew Starkey stood out to you the most.

Everyone is having discussions while showering and changing. When you emerge feeling refreshed and clean, you approach Drew and introduce yourself. 

"You're Drew right?" You ask him abruptly, "My name is Y/N," with your hand out.

Drew turns around, amused to see you. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. My name is Drew," he smiles, gently shaking your hand, "and you did an amazing job tonight."

Drew and you get to talking for a bit until you exchanged socials and numbers. You two began hanging out in private⎯getting to know one another. Learned so much about him and grew to form feelings for him⎯he felt the same way.

Two months later, Drew and you are happily together. Never felt this way about someone in a long time. Feels like he was sent to you for a reason. When you soft launched your relationship to the media, fans were nuts over it⎯even Adam.

Adam: so you're dating someone?

Y/N: and why do you care if you used me? goodbye.

Blocked.

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[militaryapple]

I CAN BE YOUR ANTIDOTE TONIGHT ♡

synopsis. even if caleb isn't there physically, he can still make you cum.

cw. unawared voyeurism, phone sex, mutual masturbation, fem reader, he calls you princess, caleb's a creepo like ughh, nasty perverted man does nasty perverted things like watch you jerk off

add ons. big thanks to gracie poo for getting me out this slump </3 @rcvcgers . this wasn't proofread sorry my grammar goats ily I'll edit if I read and see mistakes

wc. 1.9k

it hadn't been long since you left skyhaven to go back home to linkon. it also hadn't been long since caleb had hired someone to break into your home and set up cameras around your house. okay, fine, he admits that he was probably breaking major laws but sometimes good people have to do bad things to protect the ones they love. he just.. so happen to be one of those good people.

at least that's what he told himself.

he watched you about 4 hours a day, watching your scheduled routine as many other monitors flooded his vision. it was fine. he was used to soaking in information just by a glance, so it wasn't stressful. it was one of the many skills he thanked himself for learning. he could multitask; be at work and watch you.

"I need, hah, to finish writing this report - hn" he would mutter to himself as he watched you through his big monitor, his cock twitching as he oh so gently rubbed his tip through his pants. okay. so what if he was hard from just watching you? it was out of his control. it really was. he watched as the live feed showed you rubbing yourself through your panties. how you shuffled to make yourself feel good.

it was truly unprofessional. he needed to turn off his monitor, think about something else and get back to work.. but he just couldn't. not when you spread your legs so widely, almost invitingly. how you fondled your tits while you whined and begged for him like a dog. oh how he wished he could be there to help you, to touch you. yet he was sitting down, in his office, practically palming himself while watching you through hidden camera's.

he was such a pervert.

it wasn't until caleb had heard his phone ring, annoyed he turned it to see who was calling. his frown soon turning into surprise as he lowered the volume to 0 on his monitor and picked up the surprising call, his eyes darting from the screen back to the phone.

he watched as you tried to steady your breath, how your hands slipped through the waistline of your panties, how you placed your phone down on the bed. face straight into your pillow. he couldn't help but smile, it was cute. what a show you were putting on for him.

"hey pip-squeak. what's the matter?" he said trying to sound as normal as possible. it was hard trying not to moan while watching you fuck yourself on the phone with him. how nasty you were.

"caleb!" you moaned, your breath heavy as you covered your mouth occasionally. "I um- I missed you. I just wanted to hear how your day was going." you sounded frantic - erratic even. your words fast and slurred, hushed. he couldn't help but hold in a chuckle. oh how cute you were.

"my day's good." he said, his hand swirling around the slit of his leaking tip. fuck, he would have to clean his uniform later. "I have a meeting to go to, pips. I'll call you after -" he was quickly silenced by the hurried "no"'s that fell out of your mouth. he smirked, did you want to hear his voice that badly you would jerk off to just hearing him talk about business? how desperate were you?

he looked back to the monitor, how your eyes puffed with tears, how good he was making you feel without having to even try. it could only make his cock twitch.

"hm? is something wrong? you sound a little hurried there." he teased, seeing your teeth impale your lip. "everything's... 'kay here." you couldn't even finish a full sentence. do you think he was that stupid? if he didn't have his monitor or cameras you would still be easy to figure out. the thought alone made him hungry for you.

"really? doesn't sound like it. what are you doing?" he asked oh so innocently. he watched as your hands pulled out of your panties, taking one of your pillows and putting it between your legs, rutting like some dog in heat. caleb tugged on his pants, now bringing his cock out fully. he moved his hand swiftly, listening for the click of his office door and the id lock power to his face only. good. no disturbances.

"pips? c'mon tell me. what are you up to." his voice beginning to shake as he fisted himself. oh the view of you was so so good. you were gorgeous even. he should be there, touching you and feeling you. making you cry and beg for more. how hands should be all of you, his hands pumping in and out of your throbbing cunt. fuck fuck he needed to get off work. the trip to skyhaven to linkon is only 2 hours. he'd gladly take the 2 hours if it meant seeing you, tasting you.

"I - I've 'missed you caleb" you whined out, practically moaning for him. "I needed to hear your voice again. please you make me feel good." you were practically begging for him. and from the look at his monitor he could even see tears roll down your cheek. he couldn't say no to you, the files could wait and he could skip one meeting. you asked so nicely, who was he to say no? he wasn't cruel.

"okay then princess, since you asked me so nicely." he coo'd softly. "stop whatever your doing and just feel yourself." he watched you listen. you didn't question him, why would you? you moved the pillow away your hands dancing around your body. oh fuck, caleb wanted to cum but he couldn't. he needed to hold out for his baby of course.

"feels nice, right? 'need you to touch your tits for me. don't be so harsh with them, gently. rub them, show them the love i'd show them. you can do that right princess?" your hands sliding in your sports bra, oh did it feel good. how you imagined how it was his fingers pinching at your swollen nipples. caleb groaned at the sigh. the sound of him making you shudder.

caleb soaked up the view, "alright, now slowly, make your way to your cunt. not so fast - just a feel around your panties, yeah?” he coo’d. oh how you missed him, his hands, his warmth. you needed him. you whined and in return he let out a grunt.

he couldn’t help but watch as you wrecked yourself, how you imagined he was there. touching you, making you feel good oh god how good he could make you feel. he could touch you in all the right places - all the places that needed to be adored and appreciated for. you were beautiful. “i know baby. slip your panties over, small circles alright?” moaned,

you nodded with hums okay “mhm”s and pants. your legs twitching and body bucking forward. your whines for caleb becoming needier and needier. “i need you caleb , please i need you so badly.” your hands rubbing around your slit. he was trying. oh how he wanted to be with you. it’s fine. the papers could wait - the meetings could wait. it was one meeting he could skip, pleasing you was more important.

you were drenched. he could see your panties soaked, going down your legs as you lifted your legs for a better feeling , god were you ready. “okay okay, one finger in - ” you moved your hand lower, slipping one finger inside your cunt, groaning and twitching. “i know baby, ‘cmon in and out. i know you can do it, find a rhythm” and you did. in and out , in and out “add another.” oh were you fucking soaked.

caleb watched as you fucked yourself; how you imagined your small fingers was his. how it was his hands going in and out of you. pumping you. making you feel so good. you couldn’t help but cry out for him, making him fist his cock faster. he wished he was there with you. you could take him so nicely. your throbbing cunt molding into the shape of his cock. how he would slide in and out of you.

he knew your fingers weren’t just enough. how they couldn’t compare to his thick hands, and how he touched you. how he kissed every single part of your body, making sure that your cunt felt appreciated. why couldn’t you have moved to skyhaven? it was nice, safe, closer. you would be closer. you could be loved and touched all you wanted - when you asked. when you needed him so desperately like you needed him now. caleb moaned as he watched you become a mess.

you lifted your legs up a bit, so you could reach further. you whined as caleb watched you, exploring your body with his eyes. “add another one for me baby.” you nodded - sounds of “mhm”s and “okay”s. you slip another finger inside yourself, hips bucking upwards as your hands pumped into your cunt faster.

“caleb — caleb please ‘m gonna cum. can i? please let me cum please.” you begged him. “yeah? cum for me baby, ‘cmon you can do it. use your other hand and ride it out.” he watched as you spread your legs, rubbing and pumping. your face fucked and dazed - oh how much of a perfect mess you were. a mess he made. your sounds making his cock twitch as he met your pace. the sound of you two panting and moaning like dogs for each other.

you cried out for him, your body shaking and quivering , making caleb almost proud. “i know baby, i know, i know. you’re doing so good for me princess, you sound so so good.” he coos. how pretty you were like this, a show just for him without you knowing. knowing that he was watching your every touch, gasp and quiver. he just cum by looking at you.

caleb jerked his hips forward, grunting. fuck he was close too. he thought about your touch, how he would be deep inside you. his cock buried deep inside your cunt, molding your shape into his. how you would need him to please you over and over again because your fingers just won’t do. he thought about where he would cum on you, your soft tits, your stomach, your pretty ‘lil face.

it didn’t matter, he knew where he would cum in. he would be hitting every spot in you, your walls clenching on his cock while you begged for him. he would fill you up to the brim, making you drip with his load. how perfect you’d feel around him.

that’s where his cum needed to be, that’s where it deserved to be, where it belonged. buried deep inside of you.

it didn’t take long until both of you were groaning with pleasure, the silence after you both made a mess. caleb reassuring how well you did for him and how beautiful you looked. you thought it was weird on how you two were on the phone and he couldn’t see you but you ignored it.

caleb hung up after telling you to get some rest and he’d see you when he went back to linkon. looking at his desk.

fuck, he was going to need a new monitor.