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lvrclerc · 17 days ago

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✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke.

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it.

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression.

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.”

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it.

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in.

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off.

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued, voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.”

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend.

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder.

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play.

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever.

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours.

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it.

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes.

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t.

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his.

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

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lyrefromthesea · 11 months ago

Note

You’re absolutely one of my favourite writers 💙 Please could I request hashira x reader, where the reader looks after the hashira’s family/ those they care for when they are on a long mission 💙💙

Male pillars x reader - family matters

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

who would've expected nearly the entirety of the Uzui family to fall sick? it luckily didn't hit him, but Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma all fell ill.

you would've done it without his pleading, but when he asked you so kindly to take care of his wives, you couldn't say no.

you were in a relationship with them too, it was only right to take care of your loved ones, right?

so when Tengen came home and saw you put wet towels on all their head with the outmost patience, he felt his heart swell with pride.

"i'm back, are you all feeling better?" he asked, looking down at the three sick women. they were cuddled up in their shared bed, not wanting to be alone.

he was glad when he watched them slowly nod and tell him how good you've taken care of them.

"thank you, beautiful.." he said to you, glad that there was someone he could trust. "let me help now."

Obanai:

when Obanai left for a mission and left Kaburamaru with you, he knew you would take care of his friend. however, he didn't expect finding you like this.

you have fallen asleep in the kitchen, your cheek squished against the counter. Kaburamaru had found his place around your neck, as if he wanted to keep you warm.

Iguro looked around, seeing Kaburamaru's food bowl. it was empty, but he knew the snake had eaten today. he could tell by the way Kaburamaru was sleeping with you, having filled his stomach.

furthermore, there was a plate full of food placed near you. he could see another empty plate in the sink, indicating that you've already eaten.

he had told you when he would come back from his mission, figuring that you've prepared the second plate for him.

he looked at you with a gentle gaze, not wanting to wake you up, but knowing you shouldn't sleep in the kitchen. with a quick and careful movement, he had picked you up and carried you to the bedroom.

you had taken care of him and his snake, it was time to take care of you now.

Rengoku:

multiple bottles of liquor stood in front of his family's estate. they were all empty.

he knew those were the bottles his father used to buy, but the man would never place them here.

knowing that you had been staying in his house for the past few days, he figured it would have something to do with you.

"i'm home, dear!" he greeted, happy when he saw you run up to him. perhaps you had been spoiling him too much, but he was used to a kiss on the lips whenever he returned to you.

"first you take my sake away and now this? i'll puke!" Shinjuro scolded you, but you just smiled back at him.

Kyojuro was confused at first, quickly remembering the empty liquor bottles in front the family estate.

"don't pretend like you didn't like the past days! you even played board games with me and Senjuro." you countered, sticking your tongue out.

perhaps it was because you weren't a demon slayer, but Shinjuro could speak to you much more calmly than with others. or maybe it was because you reminded him of the peace of earlier days.

"you did? let's celebrate my return with another board game!" Kyojuro enthusiastically offered, earning a happy nod from you.

"you're going to play as well, right?" you ask Shinjuro, not surprised by him rolling his eyes, knowing he would join you two and Senjuro.

Sanemi:

"is he okay?" Sanemi asked, his fists clenching hard. he was desperate to know about his little brother's state.

when he heard that Genya had been hurt during his fight with a demon, he had wanted to see his brother right away, but he couldn't look him in the eyes anymore.

he knew that Genya hated him for what he had done, he had no right to worry over him now.

naturally, his eyes lit up when he saw you take over the role of a nurse, watching over Genya properly.

"he's doing better." you answered, seeing him quiet down and nod. he felt relief settle in his heart, coming closer to hug you.

his head rested on your shoulder, his arms hanging by his side. his heart was trapped in a mix of guilt and relief.

"you know, he told me that he missed you. you should see him.." you told him, knowing the story the two brothers shared was a sad one.

"no.." he simply said, but you could hear the sorrow in his voice. he probably wanted his brother back as much as Genya wanted him.

"thank you for looking after him.."

Giyuu:

he had trouble revealing his feelings to other people, but when he heard Tanjiro being hurt once again, you noticed the look on his face.

when you told him that you'd temporarily look after the young demon slayer, you saw the man relax slightly. he trusted you and he knew you'd do your best.

he wanted to do his best for you as well, deciding it would only be fair to visit you and Tanjiro now and then.

"Tomioka-san!" Tanjiro beamed, nearly making his way out of the bed, but you held him back, letting him remember that he needed to rest as much as possible.

"Tanjirou, are you feeling better..?" he asked, stepping into the room Tanjirou got assigned. he glanced up at you, seeing a soft smile form on your face.

he made his way towards you while he listened to the boy talk.

"i'm feeling so much better already! [name]-san took great care of me!" Tanjirou said, enthusiastically fiddling with his hands. Giyuu moved to your side, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"thank you for taking care of him." Giyuu whispered against your ear, turning your head to face him. "i have another mission now, wish me luck, love."

you nodded, knowing that you would pray for his return every day, you just didn't know Tanjirou would speak up again. "Tomioka-san! Tomioka-san!"

naturally, Giyuu hurried out of the room.

Gyomei:

"namu, cat cute.." he mumbled, pressing the small animal against his body in a squeezing hug.

you chuckled quietly, seeing the cat meow and wiggle in an attempt to get out.

you had found it a few days ago, the cat couldn't walk due to it's injured paw. when Gyomei came back that day, he was fine with you keeping the cat until it was healthy.

truthfully, he was more than fine with the addition to his home, especially when he found the cat sitting on one of his shirts a few days later.

he took it as a sign that the cat liked him, first feeding it and then trapping it in his arms.

"was this really a good idea? i feel like the cat is getting more attention than me." you teased, not expecting his strong arm to wrap around you as well, now trapping you in the same hold as the cat.

"you're cute too, don't worry."

#kny #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #obanai iguro #obanai x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #giyuu tomioka #giyuu x reader #gyomei himejima #gyomei x reader

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bueckers555 · 2 months ago

Text

MOTH TO A FLAME — paige bueckers x reader

summary: in which, you’re in a relationship with caitlin clark and it’s great… except for the fact that she can’t fuck for shit. not the way paige bueckers can…

warnings: cheating (for the plot), smut, FILTH, oral, fingering, yk the usual

authors note. something i whipped up after march madness p came back today anyways i dont condone cheating dont startttt this for the plot also this is heavily inspired by moth to a flame by the weeknd

The gym lights buzzed overhead, the air thick with sweat and the sharp squeak of sneakers on hardwood.

Iowa’s practice had just wrapped, and you were leaning against the bleachers, scrolling your phone, waiting for Caitlin to finish her post-session rundown with the coach. She was all business out there—focused, intense, her dark ponytail swinging as she nodded at whatever Coach Bluder was saying.

You loved that about her, the way she owned the court, the way she’d built this empire around her name. But off the court? That’s where it got messy.

Caitlin was your girlfriend—had been for almost a year now. You’d met at some Big Ten event, hit it off over shared laughs and her goofy charm, and it’d been good—solid, even. She was sweet, attentive, the kind of girlfriend who’d text you goodnight from the road and bring you coffee after shootaround.

But in bed?

Fuck, it was like she didn’t know where to start.

She’d try—God, she’d try—but it was all quick fumbles, awkward kisses, and half-hearted moves that left you staring at the ceiling, unsatisfied, aching for something she couldn’t give.

You’d fake moans, plaster on a smile, let her think she’d rocked your world, but every time, you’d end up on your back, staring at the ceiling of her dorm, pussy still throbbing, wet and unsatisfied, craving something she didn’t have in her. It wasn’t her fault—she just didn’t get it, didn’t know how to dig into you, pull you apart, make you scream. You’d fake it sometimes, just to keep her smiling, but the itch never went away.

And then there was Paige. Paige fucking Bueckers—UConn’s golden girl, all swagger and sharp edges, with those blue eyes that cut through you like glass.

You’d known her longer, from AAU days, back when you’d trade barbs on the court and sneak glances off it. She’d always had this pull, this heat that stuck with you, even after you picked Caitlin, even after you tried to bury it.

But Paige knew how to get you—knew every spot, every rhythm, every filthy word that’d leave you shaking. She’d fucked you into oblivion back in the day, before Caitlin, and that memory lingered like a ghost, haunting every night Caitlin couldn’t finish the job.

Your phone buzzed—Paige’s name flashing across the screen, no warning, just a text: “Heard you’re in CT this weekend. Hotel room’s open. 312.”

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck as you glanced at Caitlin, still deep in her convo, oblivious.

Iowa was playing UConn in some exhibition game Saturday—neutral site, Hartford—and you’d tagged along, figuring it’d be fine, just basketball, just Caitlin.

But Paige seemed to be the flame you couldn’t stay away from, and that text was the match.

You typed back quick, fingers trembling: “Can’t. With her.”

Sent it, locked your phone, tried to breathe. It buzzed again, instant, like she’d been waiting. “She don’t fuck you like I do. Don’t lie—312. I’ll be there.” Your throat went dry, your legs clenching together.

Fuck.

Your throat went dry, your legs shifting as that old ache flared up, the one Caitlin could never touch. You didn’t reply—couldn’t—but Paige knew. She always did.

—

Saturday rolled in fast, the arena a madhouse—yellow and black clashing with blue and white, the crowd electric.

Caitlin was locked in, her game face on, draining threes and barking plays like the star she was. You sat courtside, cheering, playing the good girlfriend, but your eyes kept sliding to Paige—her lean frame cutting through defenders, her grin cocky as hell when she’d hit a shot and jog by, winking at you like she owned you still.

Caitlin didn’t notice, too caught up, but every look Paige threw your way tightened that coil in your gut.

Post-game, Iowa took the W—close, gritty, Caitlin with 28 and the game-winner. She was hyped, all smiles as she hugged you on the sideline, sweat dripping, her arm slung around your shoulders. “You good, babe?” she asked, her voice loud over the noise, her hand squeezing your waist.

You nodded, smiled back, but your mind was already slipping—Paige’s text burning a hole in your pocket, her room number looping in your head like that.

You made the excuse later—told Caitlin you were grabbing something from the team bus, needed a sec to clear your head after the crowd.

She bought it, too busy soaking in the win with her teammates, kissing your cheek quick before you slipped out.

The hotel was a five-minute walk, your pulse hammering the whole way, guilt gnawing at you but not enough to stop. Paige was the pull—the flame—and you were the dumbass moth, wings already singed.

Room 312.

You knocked once, sharp, and the door swung open fast—Paige standing there, still in her UConn warmup shorts and a cut-off tee, her hair damp from a shower, her smirk lazy but her eyes hungry.

“Knew you’d show,” she said, her voice low, rough, stepping aside to let you in. The door clicked shut, and the room smelled like her—clean sweat, citrus, that stupid coconut lotion she always used.

“Shut up,” you muttered, flustered, dropping your bag by the bed, your hands already fidgeting. “This doesn’t mean shit, Paige—I’m still with her.”

She laughed, short and dark, stepping closer ‘til her chest brushed yours, her height forcing you to tilt your head up. “Yeah? That why you’re here? ‘Cause Caitlin Clark’s so fucking perfect?” Her hand found your hip, gripping hard, pulling you in ‘til you felt her heat through your clothes. “She don’t fuck you right—never has. I can see it all over you, starvin’ for it.”

You shoved her back, half-hearted, your breath catching. “Fuck you,” you said, but it came out weak, your body already leaning back into her, that pull too strong. “You don’t know shit.”

“Don’t I?” Paige’s grin turned sharp, her hands yanking your jacket off fast, tossing it to the floor, her fingers sliding under your shirt, nails scraping your stomach. “I know how you sound when you’re actually feelin’ it—how you shake, how you beg. Caitlin ever hear that shit? Nah, she don’t.”

She was right, and it pissed you off.

Caitlin tried, she did, but it was all vanilla, all clumsy hands and quick finishes that left you hollow.

Paige?

She was nasty—knew how to break you down, make it sick, make it good. You grabbed her shirt, pulling her in, your lips crashing into hers—angry, messy, all teeth and tongue, her groan vibrating against you as she shoved you back toward the bed.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” she muttered, her voice thick, her hands rough as she pushed your shirt up, yanking it over your head, her mouth already on your neck, biting hard enough to sting, her tongue flicking over the mark. “You’re still mine—don’t care who you’re with.”

You moaned, loud and raw, your hands clawing at her shorts, shoving them down with her boxers, her skin hot against yours as she kicked them off. She was on you fast, flipping you onto your stomach, her weight pinning you to the mattress, her breath hot against your ear. “She don’t get you wet like this, huh?” she whispered, her hand sliding between your legs, tugging your jeans down rough, her fingers finding you soaked, rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your hips buck.

“Paige—fuck—” you gasped, your voice breaking, your hands gripping the sheets as she pushed your thighs apart, her fingers plunging in deep—two, then three—stretching you, curling hard, her pace ruthless. “Look at this fuckin’ pussy,” she muttered, her voice thick, her fingers sliding through your folds, slow, teasing, your arousal coating her hand, sticky and hot. “Soaked for me—Caitlin ever get you this wet? Ever make this pussy drip like this?”

“No—fuck—no,” you whined, your voice muffled, your hips rocking back, desperate, your pussy clenching around nothing, begging for her. She laughed—low, nasty—her fingers plunging in—three, thick and deep—stretching you wide, your walls spasming, slick gushing out as she pumped hard, the wet slap of her hand against your pussy loud, obscene.

“Fuck—listen to that,” she groaned, her voice ragged, her other hand smacking your ass hard, the sting sharp, your skin blooming red. “This pussy’s mine—always been mine.” Her fingers curled, slamming that spot, your back arching, your moans spilling out—raw, filthy—as she fucked you relentless, her thumb grinding your clit, rough and sloppy, your juices dripping down her wrist, pooling on the sheets. “Caitlin don’t do this—don’t fuck you ‘til you’re cryin’. But I do—I always will.”

You whimpered, your face pressed into the pillow, muffling your whimpers and cries, her thumb grinding your clit, the wet slap of her hand against you echoing in the dim room. Your legs shook, your vision blurring, that sick heat building fast—Paige knew your body like a map, knew how to ruin you, and she wasn’t holding back.

“Fuck—gonna come—” you choked out, your voice wrecked, your hips grinding back into her hand, desperate, chasing it.

“Not yet,” she snapped, pulling her fingers out fast, leaving you empty, aching, your whine pitiful as she flipped you onto your back, her eyes blazing—wild, possessive. “Wanna see you when you do.” She shoved your legs up, hooking them over her shoulders, her mouth crashing between your thighs—hot, wet, her tongue flicking fast, then slow, dragging over your clit like she was savoring you.

“Paige—shit—please—” you begged, your hands in her hair, yanking hard, your back arching off the bed, the sheets sticking to your skin, damp with sweat. She sucked hard, her fingers sliding back in—three, deep—curling fast, her groan vibrating against you as she licked you clean, her eyes flicking up, watching you fall apart.

You came—hard—a scream tearing out, your thighs clamping around her head, your body shaking, slick gushing against her chin as she worked you through it, her tongue relentless, her fingers pumping ‘til you were a trembling mess, sobbing her name. She didn’t stop ‘til you pushed her off, gasping, your legs twitching, the room spinning.

She pulled back, wiping her mouth with her wrist, her grin cocky, smug, climbing up to straddle your hips, her hands pinning your wrists above your head. “Still think she’s enough?” she muttered, her voice hoarse, her arousal dripping onto your stomach as she rocked against you, chasing her own high.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, breathless, your hands breaking free to grab her hips, pulling her down harder, your nails digging into her skin as she ground against you—slow, then fast, her breath hitching, her abs flexing under your grip.

“Fuck—yeah,” she groaned, her head tipping back, her hands gripping your thighs as she rode you, her clit slick against your stomach, her pace frantic now, her moans low and real. “Shit—gonna—fuck—” She came quick, a shuddering gasp, her body tensing, her release hot and wet against you, her hands slamming into the mattress to brace herself as she shook.

You lay there—panting, tangled, the room heavy with sex, guilt creeping in slow but drowned out by the buzz of her. Paige flopped beside you, her arm slung over your chest, her breath ragged, her grin lazy but real. “You’re fucked up for this,” she said, her voice rough, teasing, her fingers brushing your jaw. “But you’re mine—always gonna be.”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t—your phone buzzing somewhere on the floor, Caitlin’s name probably lighting it up, but you didn’t move. Paige’s heat lingered, her scent all over you her, breath hot against your cheek.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #wlw smut #uconn wbb #uconn #wlw post #smut #paige buckets #caitlin clark

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peachetteprice · 3 months ago

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I think I blacked out when I wrote this - CW; infidelity, miscarriage, squirting, oral sex... John Price being the biggest fucking DILF of a married man.

Everybody says John Price Dad's Best Friend, John Price Dad's Best Friend; SHUT THE FUCK UP.

John Price Husband's Best Friend?

It was a really a stroke of misfortune that you met Peter before John.

He was a nice enough man; he wore a tie to your first date, for God's sake, but he was, what some might call, rough around the edges. He laughed too loudly and finished it off with a piggish snort. He dribbled Kopparberg onto his torso when drunk. He was sloppy in bed. He never remembered your wedding anniversary, even though it was the same day as his own parents'. He always forgot to clean his beard hairs from the bathroom sink.

The town you forged your career in, and indeed the town you settled down in, was small, the lot of you cramped into townhouses up and down the street like mill workers, always seeing the same faces and saying 'lovely day, isn't it?' to the same few people.

Peter went wherever John did; it had been that way since they were 11 years old. You figured that out when you finally met the man, two months into your relationship, pregnant with Pete's son, when Pete followed him to the bathroom to talk motorbikes, whilst John had tried to ask how you were feeling all evening - you hadn't touched your pasta once. John came to your wedding - he was the photographer, in fact. He was right alongside you for the welcoming of your first child, your second, your third that never quite made it to birth, and you were there whilst his wife Linda had her first, her second, her miracle third. Lovely woman, Linda. A tad abrasive to the ears whenever she spoke, but lovely nonetheless - she held your hand as you delivered your stillborn when Paul was away in London and told you it simply wasn't meant to be.

Of course, that was the cruelty of the village life - everyone knew everyone, for better and for worse.

John accompanied Linda to every parents' evening and listened attentively when you explained that their third child, their son Owen, may possibly qualify for autism, and John held her as she sobbed and spit vitriol about it all being one big joke that the universe was pulling on her - the joke that she had three gorgeous, darling children with a man who bought her flowers and chocolates every time they had sex, whilst yours put a towel on the bedsheets for 'splatter' and a hand over your mouth when you were being 'annoyingly loud'.

Something changed when Peter crashed his 1987 Ducati and was hospitalised for three days. It was all a bit touch-and-go, really. He required a skin graft on his knee and a rod through his hip and a dozen injections that sent him right to sleep whenever he woke up and wanted to talk. John sat right beside you throughout the whole debacle. Each day. Every night. He rested his hand on your knee. He wiped the tears from your eyes. He hugged your shoulders.

Something certainly changed. Three weeks after his hospitalisation, Peter wished for a celebratory dinner. Everyone was invited. John, Linda, their three children, including little Owen, who sat in the corner with his tablet and played colour-matching games whilst the others scarpered around the house; Peter, you, your two children, Linda's friend Holly and her husband Ben, Rachel and Samuel. Everyone was invited, and they all wanted to play Scrabble at the end of a long evening, but you were never one for finding the right words.

"How are you?" John asked as he sat down on the sofa. It was just the two of you at that point.

No kids - they were cavorting about upstairs - no television, no phone conversation, no distractions, just the lamp on the little table emitting a warm glow against the hollow of his face, and four glass-fulls of red wine in both of your stomachs.

He had his arm around the rear of the sofa, elongated. His fingers could touch your hair, but he made sure not to let them.

"Fine, thanks." You smiled, and that was about it for the the sorts of conversations you found you had nowadays - Peter and Linda tended to have a lot more things to talk about between the four of you than you and John combined. Life had sucked the whimsy out of the both of you - you realised it when Linda was five months gone with her first.

Eleven years ago, that was.

There was a hoot in the background from Samuel - he just won Scrabble. Yahtzee, he posed for them to play, and they all readily agreed.

"How are you really, I mean?" John asked. He was closer, now, idling with his watered-down Scotch in hand.

On Tuesdays, there was the PTA at the school. The headmaster raved at there being a new curriculum scheme added to the roster, and you hardly had the time to get your head around it. There was swimming on a Wednesday from four until five, football on Thursday for your son from six until seven, Netball on Friday for your daughter from five until six. The kids needed their lunches packed daily but they didn't want ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches because they apparently didn't like ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches even though for the past 5-8 years all they'd eaten was ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches and tuna sandwiches, so your son had chicken and lettuce and your daughter had egg mayo. Of course, the dog needed walking after work every evening and before work every morning, and Peter had decided he didn't want to walk the dog every evening and every morning so it was up to you to walk the dog every evening and every morning. You'd recently been tolerating a burning pain in your abdomen that the GP told you was probably not likely to be cancerous, but nonetheless had advised you not to rule it out as a possibility, and above all of that, you hadn't gotten over your third child in your third bedroom that stayed a nursery since the day he never came home.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. "Just busy, I suppose."

John smoothed a hand over your knee, and there it was again - that feeling of having lost something you never had in the first place. "Well, you look good for 'just busy'."

You surprised yourself when you laughed.

"How's Owen?" You probed - as his teacher, John couldn't keep quiet.

"Yeah, well, he'll get over his mum not loving him," he joked, but the sincerity wrought his usually jovial features to a stand-still. "God."

Silence was wonderful with John.

"Where did it all go wrong, hey?" He scoffed. It would have been a throwaway comment had it come from anyone else's mouth. "Three kids, a wife, and a thriving career. I should be bloody over the moon."

In truth, John had only found Linda because he was lonely at the sight of you and Peter. You knew that the moment he brought her out and paraded her around the bar, how awkwardly they kissed, and how he glanced at you as if to say 'look, I have one, too, now, now we're all happy'. She was a bright thing back then. Not so much, now. Sometimes, you wondered if he'd pay to have someone else - someone who'd love him the way he was meant to be loved.

John swirled his drink and drank a bit of it. Just a sip. And, right as you thought he was going to stand, he swept a hand round the back of your neck and kissed you tight. Then, he left without another word.

Since then, all John had done was steal.

When Peter went to the garage to show him the headlight of the Ducati he totalled, John took you on the sofa, sunk his hand into your panties, and got you off in a matter of minutes. He was all hot cum, sweat and fur, nothing half a man like Peter. Snogged you until you came undone and set you straight before Peter could ever know. At dinner parties, whenever he said he didn't have time for board games, you found him in the bathroom and he fucked you against the wall. You bit the flesh of his palm to stop yourself from screaming.

You palmed his cock beneath the dinner table when nobody was looking.

John bent you over in secret, forwards, backwards, twisted you sideways, claimed you from behind, let you ride him as you vented about your day, made you feel him in places you barely knew you had the nerves available there for feeling. He pumped you placidly until you squirted mid-weekend and warmed his face with your cunt in the evening, pulled you taught against his abdomen when you took his cock down your throat, and at the end, instead of chucking the towel into the wash and smothering you so you were quiet, he asked if you were alright, bought you flowers and chocolates, said he was sorry about the baby and promised to have you properly in the next life.

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coldfanbou · 4 months ago

Text

Least Restrictive Environment

So, this isn't what I wanted to put out. I got sick in the middle of the week, and looking at a screen has been difficult. I just happened to have this nearly finished, so I added a little bit more to it. It's part 2 of the Sana and Momo Kinkcember fic. That being said, it's pretty much just an update on what happened after P1 and smut, so it might be better to call it an epilogue. I'm starting to ramble anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

Length 2.1K

Sana X Momo X M reader

Once your relationship with your foster sisters had come to light, life became awkward in your home. The three of you would have constant sex when your parents were out; it didn’t matter where in the house it would happen; in the kitchen, bathroom, living room, everywhere was fair game. Your foster parents had had enough after a time. The smell bothered them more than anything. Considering there was no blood relation between any of you, they were okay with you being together; they just wanted you all to move out.

Together, the three of you were able to afford a decent place, renting a nice-sized apartment that quickly became your home. With the constant urge to play with each other, it was only a matter of time before Sana and Momo got pregnant. They were as happy as could be when they found out, and they wouldn’t allow their pregnancy to stop their daily activities.

While Sana went out to get some shopping done, you were with Momo, your hands digging into her shoulders as you massaged them. Momo groaned as your hands unknotted the tension, feeling your breath against her back move her to push for more. You hadn’t had sex yet, having agreed to wait for Sana to come back. Momo figured she might be able to convince you. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at you, “I need you to get a spot, but let me take this off.” She said, making you pause. Momo lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it on the bed. The shirt was Momo’s only clothes, leaving her naked; considering how far along she was, she didn’t wear her bras anymore, and with the constant sex you all had, she had given up on panties long ago. Momo smirked as you asked her where she wanted you to focus. She reached back and grabbed your hands, “Right here,” Momo said, placing your hands on her engorged tits. You move closer to Momo, looking over her shoulder. Her breasts were weightier; her nipples had turned a darker color as well. The sight of her bare breasts turned you on, and Momo could feel your hardening cock against her ass.

“Oh, it feels like you need to get some tension out, too,” Momo said with a smirk. She has you squeeze her tits once before turning around. “Lay down for me, baby, and take those clothes off. Mommy is going to make you feel good.” You had to admit Momo taking charge aroused you more than anything, so you did as you were told. Once your clothes were off, Momo patted her lap, “Lay down here.” You rested against Momo, letting her adjust your position at will. In the end, she had her hand wrapped around your cock as she offered you one of her tits. You couldn’t resist; the large mounds were hypnotizing. You leaned in, running your tongue along her areola before taking it into your mouth. Momo’s hand began to move along your length slowly. You were growing harder, and Momo noticed, smiling as your precum began to cover her hand. “Oh, you’re so hard already. Does Mommy’s hand feel that good?” You nod, continuing to suck on her tit. “Are you going to cum soon?” She asked, speeding up slightly. In her pregnancy Momo had little patience, often wanting to drain you of all your cum as quickly as she could.

“Cum for Mommy,” Momo whispered into your ear with a smirk, her grip becoming oh so slightly stronger. You groan as she moves her hand along your shaft, her delicate fingers massaging the head as she moves to the tip. You can barely focus on her tits, Momo’s hand never stopped moving. Your groans only get louder, even as you suck on her tits. Momo’s breathy moans grow longer as she pumps your cock, feeling it begin to throb in her hand. “You can cum whenever you like. Mommy knows you have a lot more for her.” Momo cranes her neck, reveling in the pleasure as you flick her sensitive nipple with your tongue. “Mmm, keep going, baby; maybe you’ll get some milk.” Momo moans. You reach up and gently squeeze her breast, drawing milk from her nipple. “Ah! Don’t steal it all.” Momo’s breathing gets heavier as her milk fills your mouth. You feel her hand on the back of your head, keeping you against her chest as the hand on your cock begins to speed up.

You were getting close to cumming, and wanting to last a little longer, you tense your body. As you do, though, you accidentally bite down on Momo’s nipple. She yelps and squeezes down on the tip of your cock, making you cum. Your semen sprays onto her hand, coating it in the sticky substance. You quickly release your bite and pull away, apologizing as Momo continues to stroke your cock. “You can’t be so rough,” Momo says softly, bringing her hand to her lips. She drags her tongue along her hand, happily swallowing your cum.

She lays back on the bed, spreading her legs for you, her bulging belly more noticeable now as you take in her body. Momo notices your stares and places her hand on her belly. “This is yours, I’m yours.” She says with a smile. Momo moves her right hand down to her wet lips, spreading them apart slowly. You gulp, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at Momo’s body. Grabbing your cock, you inch closer to Momo, your foster sister, your lover, the mother to your soon-to-be child. You rub yourself against her entrance, both of you cooing from the jolt of pleasure.

Just as you’re about to push inside, the bedroom door opens. “Yah! You said you would wait!” You turn around and see Sana, her cheeks puffed out. “Don’t move! I get to go first!” The flustered woman rushes to take off her dress, slipping the straps off her shoulder and pulling it over her belly until it falls onto the floor. Sana waddles over to the bed, climbing onto it and putting herself beside Momo. The younger woman pouts, her brows furrowed as she looks at the shameless older sister. “You said you wouldn’t start without me.”

“It’s not my fault. He was giving me a massage, and I thought he needed some relief, too.” Momo retorted, a smirk on her face, and a feeling of smugness came over her. She turns to you, “You wanted me to help you, right?” Momo was trying to pin all this on you. You can’t help but appreciate the ridiculousness of her claim, especially when you both knew Sana would side with whatever you said.

Sana turns to you, expecting to hear an honest answer. “Momo seduced me. She started moaning when I was massaging her shoulders.” You tell the younger woman. Momo sticks her tongue out at Sana, who returns it with an angry pout.

“You guys didn’t wait, so it’s only fair that I get to go first.” Sana says before reaching out for you, “Come on, let’s go,” Sana says, playfully kicking her feet. You move over to her and rub your cock against her slit for a brief moment before pushing into her cunt, her plump lips spreading as you push inside of her. Sana shuts her eyes and moans softly as you fill her; even though sex was a daily tradition at this point, she missed having your cock inside her. She runs her hands down your arms and intertwines her hand with yours, smiling at you as you begin to thrust into her. Momo pouts and gently turns onto her side, reaching over and squeezing one of Sana’s engorged breasts, letting some milk leak from her nipple.

“Mm, you’re both so mean for leaving me out.” Momo whines, unbothered by the situation, just wanting to remind you both she is still there. The older woman turns Sana’s head and kisses her, continuing to squeeze her foster sister’s tits and adding to the pleasure she was feeling. Sana’s whines were muffled because of the kiss. Momo had teased Sana’s tongue, coaxing the younger woman to poke it out before she began sucking on it. Sana could only moan as you thrust into her cunt; she was being pushed to the edge as you both played with her body. You added to the pleasure, sneaking one of your hands away from Sana’s and using it to brush at her clit.

“N-no, I don’t want to cum yet,” Sana mumbled with a grimace as she felt the waves of pleasure coming over her faster and faster. Her walls began to tighten around your cock, and her body tensed before she exploded, her cream covering your cock as she came. Sana cried out as you kept thrusting, pushing yourself to the edge.

“Sana, I’m cumming, “ you grunted.

Sana quickly pulled you in, holding you tightly against her chest. “Inside! Cum inside me!” Sana shouts, wrapping her legs around you in an attempt to keep you inside. It made you smile to see her so desperate for it, you were always planning on giving Sana a creampie, and this just made you want to do it more. You bury yourself inside Sana, pumping her full of your semen. Sana breath hitches as she feels your hot cum flow inside her. She smiles, and her body relaxes around you. Momo smiles and pinches the tired woman’s nipple before stealing a kiss from her.

“Did it feel good?” It was a rhetorical question, but Sana answered anyway.

“As good as always.”

Momo wrinkles her nose before laying back and beckoning you to her. “Now it’s my turn.” The elder sister spread her lips much like before. You rub your cum-covered cock against her entrance, making her giggle. “You’re going to leave me all dirty.”

You lean over the pregnant woman, “You’re always dirty when we’re done.” You whisper into her ear. Momo laughs as you slide your dirty cock inside her, moaning as your thrusts begin. You watch as her tits bounce along with your thrusts. They had only grown bigger since she had gotten pregnant. The same could be said for Sana, but Momo’s breasts often stole the limelight. You held onto Momo’s waist as you thrust, moaning as her tight walls clung to you.

Despite being tired, Sana still had enough energy to return the favor Momo had given her. She turned on her side and latched onto one of Momo’s breasts, suckling on it as fucked the older woman. “Ah, wait! That’s-” Momo bit her lip, her hums filling the room. You leaned down and latched onto her other breast. Together, you and Sana drank from Momo’s breasts, drinking her sweet milk. “That’s too much.” Momo groaned. Sana smiled, knowing that Momo was already on the verge of cumming because of her whines. She pulled away from her sister’s tit and kissed her, giving Momo a taste of her own milk. While Sana was doing that, you made sure Momo’s breasts were being pleasured, pulling and pinching the engorged nub. Momo began to writhe, the pleasure overwhelming her.

“Are you going to cum already?” You ask her, continuing to thrust into her wet cunt.

Momo nods, weakly saying, “I’m gonna cum. Mommy’s going to cum.”

“Oh, you’re calling yourself mommy? I should do that, too!” Sana adds, smiling as she sees the grimace on Momo’s face. The older woman had prided herself on lasting a long time in bed, but since her pregnancy, she’s been cumming just as quickly as the rest of you. You grabbed Momo’s arms, crossing them under her breasts and holding onto them as you sped up your thrusts. Her tits bounced wildly as you rammed your cock inside her, Momo bit her lip as she tried to hold herself together, but it was futile.

She cried out as she came, and you followed soon after, your cum pouring into Momo’s cunt. You pull out of Momo and lay on one side of her while Sana lies on the other, using her tiny fingers to pull on Momo’s hard nipple before moving her hand down to Momo’s belly. The older woman does the same, touching Sana’s stomach. “Don’t you think it’s great how big our family is going to get soon?” The cheer in her voice was enough to drag Momo into the conversation despite how tired she was.

“It’ll be so big. Our little brother is going to keep putting his babies into us. Isn’t that right? Daddy?” Momo says, her voice going into a low, sultry tone as she refers to you as Daddy.

“Of course, how could I not? Especially when we do it every day.” You say a bit of sarcasm in your voice at the end. Sana laughs, and Momo smiles at you, knowing that for all three of you, it was hard to resist the temptation.

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #twice smut #sana smut #momo smut

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caffeinatelove · 2 months ago

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࿐ ࿔:･ﾟdating reo and nagi

𝐛𝐲𝐫: these are just headcanons! female reader, polyamory, intended lowercase, includes swearing, possible out of character / mischaracterisation, fluff, very reader-centred and indulgent, suggestive & sexual themes!

getting together wasn’t something any of you had planned.

perhaps you went to hakuho high as well, crossing paths with the two by getting into group projects and sharing bento at lunch. or maybe you were hired as something like a health nutritionist for blue lock, having to essentially babysit them when reo would huff about his experienced palate not allowing him to stomach such cheap side dishes and then nagi who would barely eat due to his own exhaustion.

either way, one thing became clear immediately: you had caught their attention.

reo made it obvious from the start. or at least he tried to.

he was charming, confident and somehow always knew what to say. time and time again he found ways to be around you. shamelessly complimenting you. spoiling you. doting on you.

the mere thought of having two people to pamper and look after was very appealing. so to say reo was doing everything in his power to get you, would be an accurate statement.

but truth be told, you were a bit oblivious to his advances. under the impression that reo was just a very charismatic man who had more money than sense you figured that he acted this way with all of his friends. because he sure did act like it with nagi.

oh boy, how wrong you were.

then there was nagi who took way longer to confront the fact that he might be interested in two people at once. it wasn’t that he didn’t like you, but he just didn’t know what to do with the feeling. and the confusion only intensified once he noticed how worked up reo was getting over you.

liking one person? sure. but two? that was a thought he needed warming up to!

the realisation hit him like a semi truck one day, whilst watching you and reo laugh together. something unfamiliar bloomed in his chest, realising that he didn’t want to indulge in that moment with just reo.

but you, too.

it took months of forced proximity, lingering touches and moments where it was clear that the three of you were happiest when together, for nagi to finally accept it.

and by the time you made it official? nothing really changed since the three of you had been each other’s for a long time.

anyways, being in a relationship with the two left you constantly showered in affection. because while the boys did have their own moments together, and lots of them, their mutual obsession with you was what truly defined the relationship.

nagi is clingy as hell, especially. not in the traditional way because he’s not really whiny or needy about it, but if you’re within reach? trust that you’re getting cuddled like a doll.

the first time it happens you’re really caught off guard. you assume he’s too engaged with some video game on his phone to even notice you walking past, but without looking up, he’ll mumble. "ah, y/n. sit with me."

pleasantly surprised, you move to sit next to your boyfriend on the couch, but that’s when he balanaces his phone in one hand — grabbing your waist in guidance and pulling you casually onto his lap with the other.

incredibly flustered, you try to balance yourself on his broad shoulders. "seishirou, i can’t really see what you’re doing like this–"

he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder, pressing his chest to your own as he continues to play. "just stay. please?"

it doesn’t matter if he’s playing video games and suddenly needs a new form of motivation. or if he’s just doomscrolling on his phone and needs someone to share his love for mindless media consumption with, or even if he’s half asleep in bed and needs a cuddle buddy. if you pass by, he’s tugging you into his lap. as well as claiming that it’s too much effort to sit alone. (somehow)

reo, on the other hand, is definitely more outright romantic.

i feel like he’s big on those sickeningly sweet pet names, and princess is his trademark favourite. sometimes it’ll be innocent, merely calling out to you. sometimes he’ll say it with a smirk, and sometimes it’ll be whispered against your ear to fluster you.

it’s kind of like a secret weapon — he enjoys how you get embarrassed so easily. and it’s kind of satisfying to see his charm get put to good use again after having to face nagi’s constant nonchalance. which can be a bit of a confidence killer.

and on the note of embarrassed, no matter how much you insist you don’t need something, reo will still find a way to buy you whatever you want. whenever you try to disregard it, it kind of just makes him want to get it for you even more. what you can do? the boy loves a good challenge.

"reo, this is way too much. i swear, i’m not spoiled, i don’t need it.” you’ll ramble, unable to tear your eyes away from the price tag on the vivienne westwood purse you initially swooned over.

he’ll snort. "that’s cute, princess. now tell me which colour you like best, just so i can go and buy both anyways."

nagi, who’ll also be chilling during the mini impromptu shopping spree, chimes in. "i think the leather one suits her more."

"great taste, treasure. here, i’ll get someone to ring up both."

your mouth falls slack in a gape of exasperation.

reo has stated that he’s a guy who typically gets what he wants. and what he wants? you. you and nagi, wrapped up in the little world the three of you built together.

and you guys barely go out anyways, unless it’s reo dragging you to some new expensive place he wishes to visit.

"this is way too fancy." you’ll mutter, looking around the luxurious restaurant. from the candlelit dinner to the impeccable view of the city hanging just below you. it was indescribable.

"it’s not often that we get time away from blue lock. besides, you deserve the best." he’ll smile at you, pretty smug as he can tell how enthralled you are by everything.

"mhm. she does." nagi will hum, biting into his wagyu with surprising energy.

reo will laugh under his breath, turning to face him now although the adoration in his gaze doesn’t waver. "you just like that i pay for everything."

"mhm. i do." nagi responds, completely unbothered as he shoves another piece into his mouth.

when you’re not going on dates dressed to the nines, though, most of your time together will be spent chilling at home. and in the off chance that they’re free for a whole weekend, you’ll usually wake up completely sandwiched between your two boyfriends'.

reo loves spooning you, burying his face into the back of your hair and pressing soft kisses where he can reach. while nagi would be pressed against you like a koala until his long limbs reach reo, totally trapping you in the middle.

"err, guys, i need to get up." you’ll grumble once the time comes, unable to free yourself from the vice-like hold of two athletes.

"no, you don’t." reo will sleepily counter.

and if anything, you saying that just makes nagi tighten his hold. "mmm. stay.”

domestically wholesome moments like that were truthfully your favourite, and as more time went on, the more they occurred.

upon lounging in his house one day, you noticed that nagi had his own 'pet' cactus, named choki. you asked reo about it, not really expecting your other boyfriend to have anything… live, but once he explained it to you, you thought it was totally adorable. it was surprisingly thriving, too. which showed that that your boyfriend actually did have the willpower to take care of things!

even if a cactus was extremely low maintenance.

you found yourself buying a 'pet' flower of your choice to match. bringing it round to nagi’s house often and watering it next to his, as if it were an actual pet going on a play date. he adored this, and entertained the thought of it completely.

reo, who quickly caught onto the whole thing, also bought a succulent of his own in order to not be left out. it only took a few days of him bragging about how his was the healthiest, until nagi quietly pointed out that his succulent was actually fake.

they totally argued about it, reo growing heated in defence and nagi trying to prove himself right by lazily tugging on one of the succulent leaves. it wouldn’t budge, showing its synthetic material, but reo would just swat his boyfriend’s hand away, telling him to lay off his child. you watered your flower in the corner, sheepishly humming to yourself.

yeah, your boyfriends' were very silly. but in saying that, it was also majorly why they were very loveable. and you often found yourself wanting to repay all the love they’d shown you up until now. one day, whilst shopping alone — because you knew that if you went with them it’d be a day to never end — you stumbled upon possibly the cutest sanrio plushies known to man, and you decided to pick one out for both of them.

you land on grabbing a gudetama plushie for nagi. you think it’s extremely fitting seeing as they’re both severely sleepy creatures. which was mostly the driving force behind choosing it. then, going a bit niche, you decided to get a plushie of tuxedo sam for reo. they both looked put together and very handsome. so you thought: why not?

reo pretended not to fawn over the gesture of you getting him a plushie, and a childish sanrio one at that, but he definitely sleeps with it every night. nagi just straight up uses it as his pillow. unapologetically.

now hear me out i feel like they also have moments where they compete against each other just for fun and just because they can.

like one day, you steal one of reo’s hoodies just to relax in, and he absolutely loves it.

"is that mine? you look so good in it. you know what? keep it, princess." he’ll immediately insist, practically drooling over the sight in front of him.

nagi will notice it too, of course, but he doesn’t say a word.

the next day, you wake up with a different hoodie draped across you. blinking curiously, it takes a moment for you to realise that it’s actually nagi’s. it’s basic and black so you don’t come to that realisation for any particular reason other than the fact that you’re practically swimming in it, due to how oversized it is.

"did you put that on her while she was sleeping?" reo will sigh.

"maybe." nagi hums.

"oh my gosh." you stifle a laugh, bunching the sleeves up to your elbows.

reo will heave a laugh, turning to his boyfriend, "you’re unbelievable."

"mmm. but she’s wearing mine now."

jealous nagi is a real concept! like maybe you go to reo specifically for help one day, before praising the boy on whatever it is that he helped you out with.

nagi overhears the entire interaction, simply staring blankly at the two of you, and you think nothing more of it. because that is classic nagi behaviour if you’ve ever seen it.

until later on, you decide to ask him for help with something, maybe like opening a jar or grabbing an item that you keep on the very top cabinet. and he’s fully aware of what he’s doing when he tells you to "go ask reo."

the sheer pettiness in his words makes you giggle, and you can’t help but to ruffle his white locks. "ah, you’re not jealous, are you?"

"i don’t know what you mean." he refuses to help you out for a solid ten minutes before eventually giving in to your head scratches.

and no, these sweet moments you share with your boyfriends' aren’t limited to just time spent away from blue lock. whenever you’re there, in the compound, you’re always checking on the two specifically.

even going as far as to be their cheerleader when you had the time.

reo loves when you call out his name mid-game. he acts all cool on the field but the moment he hears you screaming at the top of your lungs his ego is fully restored.

meanwhile, when you cheer for nagi, it kind of distracts him. but in a way, that kind of gets his head more in the game once he realises it. it’s like your voice elicits a subconscious urge to play harder.

the moment their match is over, their attention is focused on one thing, and that’s on immediately jogging over to you. before you can even react, you’re being attacked with affection. reo kisses you first, it’s deep and full of energy. then nagi follows instantly, pressing slow lazy kisses along your jaw.

of course this prompts immense curiosity from the rest of blue lock. as, whoever was unfortunate enough to witness such a display of public affection, realises that isn’t just some weird bromance you intruded on, anymore. no. something was there. and that’s what led the three of you to eventually confess the truth about your relationship.

“so, uh… how does that even work?"

everyone’s supportive, of course. chigiri snickers, saying something along the lines of how he knew the entire time. kunigami is taken aback by the weirdly modern relationship style, but he gives the three of you a strained smile regardless. gagamaru nods curtly. bachira bounces with excitement for the happy revelation. even rin seems to just shrug at the news.

but isagi’s blunt question still echoes in the confined room. his gaze alters from nagi to reo before finally settling on you. you can tell that he’s just genuinely curious about the dynamic when he adds on,

"like, do you guys take turns? or–"

igaguri suddenly shouts from next to him. "what kind of a perverted ass question is that, isagi?! i know you’re curious, but have some decency like the rest of us!"

"what?!" the other boy immediately turns into a defensive flustered mess. "i didn’t mean it like–i wasn’t talking about that! not a very holy assumption for you to make!"

you can’t help but to bury your face into your hands. reo simply snorts. nagi couldn’t care less; at least everyone knows now.

there were some disadvantages that came with it, too, though. like the occasional bad reaction from the other jerks that happened to reside in blue lock for the time being.

"three people…" kaiser would scoff in his thick accent, eyeing you in judgement once word got around to him. "some relationship. is this not just glorified cheating?"

"not really, no." nagi would hum calmly.

noticing his disinterest, kaiser then tries to provoke your other boyfriend. "aren’t you a mikage? guess that explains the predicament. people with their daddy’s money always crave for more.”

"hey! don’t assume such things." reo barks. he was wholeheartedly about to square up, had nagi not been holding him back.

ignoring them, he then tilts his head mockingly towards you. "and you. so selfish you really need to have two boyfriends? women these days. never satisfied."

kaiser’s misogynistic insult hits you with about the same impact of a soggy tissue. you just look up at him in amusement. "yep."

that was quite a loaded statement to make. seeing as you were more than satisfied with your boyfriends'.

in fact, isagi wasn’t entirely in the wrong to ask such a question. the truth was, you did tend to take turns. it was …less overwhelming that way. although less was subjective. because when it came to reo and nagi, neither of them knew when to stop.

you recalled a few nights ago. how reo would exhale a worn out laugh, sprawled out on the bed, knowing he’s already had his way with you and then some. "hey, treasure, careful. you’re gonna overstimulate her."

nagi would hum, still lapping at your spongy walls despite your last orgasm having washed over you a good few moments ago. "mmm. she likes it." he argues. knowingly.

he’d been eating you out for the better half of twenty minutes. how his jaw wasn’t tired yet was still a mystery. turns out mr hassle man really did have energy for things he deemed important. and turning you into a complete mess? was of utter importance. and it was a victory that came rather easily. maybe you’d be holding up a bit better if reo hadn’t been previously pounding into you at a merciless pace.

“guys.” you’d whine, helplessly reaching for reo who immediately takes pity on you, shifting closer so you can cuddle him, "but i already… three times..."

reo coos, a heavy palm settling on one of your boobs as if to remind you that this is far from over. "you wanted both of us, sweet girl. don’t act like you can’t take it now."

his words make your face flush in embarrassment. and simultaneously, leave arousal coursing through your veins.

“now, you gonna be good and come again for nagi?" his thumb runs across your sensitive nipple, toying with it.

just when you’re about to confess that you don’t think you can handle it, nagi seems to use the last slither of effort he has stored up inside him. lifting his head up slightly, he parts his lips before gently wrapping them around your clit and sucking on it.

with a surprised moan you claw at reo’s chest, entire body trembling at the sheer intensity of the sensation.

“there it is. come on.” reo coaxes, noticing the familiar shiver in your body. yep. you’re close again. you don’t get much sleep at all that night. but let’s just say, your boyfriends know how to take care of you.

the next day, at the blue lock compound,

"woah, l/n-san, is everything okay?" bachira would wonder aloud, noticing the very obvious limp in your step during breakfast.

"yep!" you’d squeak, unable to face the boy without shame settling on your face in a warm red hue.

while you never really paid much thought to polyamory in the past, you wouldn’t change a thing about your relationship now. you loved your two boys, and that wasn’t going to change. જ⁀➴ ㅤᰔ

#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #nagi seishiro x reader #mikage reo x reader #nagi x reader #reo x reader #nagi x reo x reader #reo x reader x nagi #reader x nagi x reo #blue lock fanfiction #bllk #polyamory #fluff #anime #headcanons #blue lock headcanons

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daycourtofficial · 5 days ago

Text

An Autumn Courting

Pairing: Eris x winter court!reader | WC: 12.5k | warnings: sexual tones, mentions of hunting

Summary: coming into his role as High Lord of the Autumn Court, the first thing Eris does is make a proposal of marriage to you, something you’re going to make him work for.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since October 2023, I’m so glad to let this be out in the world. Happy @sjmxreaderweek !! This is way too long but enjoy anyway

Eris Vanserra had three soft spots.

First: his mother - a female who spent her life trying to make his better. The first and perhaps only person to show him pure, unconditional love. Someone who did not balk at the terrible things he had to do and endure to survive. One of his most complicated and long lasting relationships where nothing truly made sense.

Second: Lucien. He had a soft spot for all of his brothers when they were born. Being raised by Beron sucked the life from most of them. He watched as they slowly became apathetic at best, cruel at worst. All except Lucien.

Lucien, his baby brother, who remained a good, loyal male, despite everything Beron tried to do to him. Lucien, who looked at him with wide eyes and a big heart. Lucien - his first contact leading up to his father’s death, the only person he wanted there.

Third: his hounds.

Eris adored his hounds. He spent thousands of hours training them, breeding them, and preparing for the next litter. Their kennels were a refuge for him, a place no one in the family ever ventured out to. Only a handful of servants ever got close and they merely mucked out the stalls and changed feed for the dogs. They were the first things to ever truly be his.

Eris had three soft spots. Now it was four.

Your continued presence, skirting on the outside of his periphery for years meant more to him than you could ever possibly know. The only fae willing to talk back to him but keep a twinkle in their eye.

He spent years trying to figure out why your eyes plagued his dreams, how the wind would blow past carrying your laugh. He could never quite pinpoint an exact reason.

Staying away from you during court events was the best course of action for everyone. He knew if he got too close to you, Beron would notice and insist on exploiting this weakness of Eris’s by either a) trying to arrange a marriage between the two of you, putting you under Beron’s control and driving Eris further under Beron’s thumb, or b) keep you far away from Eris.

He knew which one was worse.

You had known Eris for centuries, a tenuous friendship due to his lack of trust and your uncertainty as to where you stood with him. Something inside of you always felt there was more to him than the mask he wore to the public, but you could never truly be certain if it was just naivety and hopefulness.

Years of seeing each other at inter-court events, culminated in the two of you finding each other, having occasional moments that left you wanting to see more of him. You could never linger together for too long, lest Beron catch on to how his eldest son’s eyes bore into yours for a second longer than appropriate. Every meeting, dance, or word shared between you two always left you flustered, every moment shared was dissected at length afterward.

One night, while under the mountain, Eris took a risk and found you in your chambers. He had to know that you were okay - as okay as one could be in such an environment. He was used to this environment- he knew how to play the game, how to endure the atrocities in front of him. But you didn’t.

Eris had pushed his way into your chambers, quickly shutting the door behind himself. The intrusion had left you so flustered, you ran to him, prepared to chastise him.

Instead he grabbed your shoulders, quickly spinning you before he rested your back against the door, ensuring no one could burst in without his knowledge. He caged you in with his arms on either side of you, his amber eyes roaming your face, inspecting for injuries.

“I don’t have much time. But if this ever ends, it will not be long until I put the pieces into place to better my position.”

You understood the meaning behind his words, ones too worried to utter the real truth out loud.

He was going to kill Beron. Or someone was.

You knew he was concerned about ears in this place, so he didn’t speak freely.

“I cannot promise you much, but if you wait, I will do things properly. But I would not hold it against you if you cannot wait.”

He hung his head, his long, red hair falling into his face before taking a deep breath and slipping out the door before you could say anything.

So, you waited.

You had survived the atrocities that happened under that cauldron-forsaken mountain and helped your brother Kallias rebuild the Winter court.

Then the war with Hybern happened. You continued your work trying to provide security and sanctuary to your citizens, but it was hard and draining.

The years carried on, until one day Kallias was called off quite quickly by mail, leaving you and Vivian quite confused but not for long. News of the death of Beron Vanserra traveled quite quickly through all of Prythian.

Kallias had returned for mere minutes before a letter arrived in front of you, a second one appearing in front of Kallias a moment later.

The envelope was sealed with the Autumn Court insignia, one that you’ve admired for many years now: a fox curling around a fire. It felt homey.

It was the Court’s official crest - and the Vanserra family’s familial crest resembled it. You broke the seal, reading the letter.

Fawn,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I am writing this as a formal declaration of my intentions.

With your agreement, it is my intention to court and wed you, making you the Lady of the Autumn Court. It would be my honor to serve my court as your husband with you at my side.

This decision lies solely with you. I have, however, written a similar letter to your high lord, Kallias, so he will not feel blindsided should you accept.

Take your time over this decision. I will be busy in the coming weeks, adjusting to life as High Lord, however I will make whatever time is necessary for you shall you wish it.

Yours,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

You smiled at the title in his signature, sure that this was the first time he got to write it out.

Your eyes glanced up to find Viviane and Kallias’s peaking glances at you as they read the letter Eris had sent them.

“It would appear as though you’ve caught the eye of Prythian’s newest High Lord.”

It was no question that you would attend his coronation. Autumn was a direct border to Winter and Kallias had been waiting decades for Beron to die to potentially work with one of his sons on building better relations. He had always hoped it would be Lucien, the easiest and most diplomatic Vanserra. The two had a working relationship and he would be a lovely neighboring ruler.

During the whole affair, Eris’s eyes hardly strayed from yours. They followed you, not straying to any of the hundreds of fae gathered, not to the other court nobility that had arrived.

Just you.

His eyes had followed you as you lingered after the ceremony, finding Lucien just as the letter had instructed. You kept his gaze as you spoke to the youngest Vanserra, giving him the answer to Eris’s letter. You nodded just enough for the new High Lord to see, and his posture immediately relaxed. You stood taller knowing on a day all about him, he clearly had only been thinking of you.

You had written back to Eris after the coronation quite quickly, much more quickly than a proper lady should, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Excitement coursed through your body, almost impossible to sit still.

Corresponding with Eris was more fun than you had anticipated. It took a few letters, but he began opening up more and more, telling you stories about his day or some memory long forgotten. Most letters include some story about Lucien, but they felt much more relaxed than the version of him you knew at court events. He even stopped signing them with his full name, shortening it to just ‘Eris’ eventually.

You had made the mistake of mentioning to Kallias about Eris’s intentions. Your brother had been upset at first to find out his sister had caught the eye of a Vanserra - he had never trusted the family, always on guard in their presence. But when he heard the words ‘courting’ and ‘traditional’, you swore his eyes danced with amusement as he plotted something.

Official courting was very similar across Prythian, with minor details changed for each court. For members of nobility and highly esteemed families of the Winter Court, it was usual custom for the betrothed pair to visit each other’s villages. Time spent partaking in the customs of each village was essential - life in Winter could often feel very insular. Villages less than a day’s travel from each other could be quite different, even language differences occurring. Holidays across the court looked similar to outsiders, but traditions held a wide range of activities.

Kallias would allow you to do as you wished as long as you weren’t tricked or coerced into anything. However, your brother would make Eris regret his exact words of a ‘traditional courting’.

Eris had agreed to the terms, but sent many letters about his brother in forewarning and to not take him seriously. Having met the youngest Vanserra on several occasions, you were well prepared for what he might do.

An agreement was formed - Eris was to spend two weeks in Winter before you would spend two weeks in Autumn. At that point, you would provide some form of answer. You had some idea of what you would say - you wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time otherwise. But it would be foolish and rash to wed without spending any time alone with the male.

Eris was set to arrive in a week’s time, coming to your home, coming to Winter. It felt surreal, not quite allowing yourself to believe it until the male was standing before you. A week was nothing for a High Lord - Kallias’s visits to other courts usually required several months of notice. But seven days still felt too long after seeing him at the coronation. You did anything to make yourself busy - planning activities for the two of you, reassuring your brother once again that this was what you wanted, trying to showcase Winter in the best light.

Still, every night when you laid in bed, everytime you closed your eyes, you were brought back to the coronation, how his eyes followed you across the room. A room full of the most powerful and important people in Prythian, and his gaze never left yours.

You hardly slept the night before he was set to arrive, waking with the sun as if it would bring Eris here more quickly. The morning went by at a snail’s pace, the palace unhurried for the day. You had bathed, dried your hair, paced around, tidied your room. You did anything you could think to keep busy, to keep your mind off the clock.

Eventually enough time passed for you to make it to breakfast, sitting across from Kallias and Vivianne’s amused glances. They chatted idly, amused smiles directed at you that you pretended to ignore. You only pushed the food around on your plate, watching the sun through the window, trying to will it to move faster.

“Something wrong?” Kallias’s question made its way through the fog, the only words he had spoken you had been able to make sense of.

“Sure, sure.” You waved him off with your fork, eyes moving to the entryway to the dining room every so often. He laughed, amused at how little you were listening to them, but you had tuned him out once more. Doubt crept in as each second passed, your anxieties certain something would keep the two of you apart. Had he changed his mind? Was it all in the chase for a hunter like him?

As if your doubts had conjured him, he was striding through the entrance hall, his red hair practically melting the walls as he went past. Over the years, you had seen Eris in a variety of wardrobe: deep reds ranging to bright green, a variety of embroidery threads on every piece. He made every color his own, gravitating towards richer, earthier shades. The dark blue jacket that hung from his shoulders made the color seem so new and exotic, despite being a significant portion of your own wardrobe. The depth of color popped beneath his pale skin somehow, unjustly proving there truly was no color he couldn’t make his own.

The piece looked like anything you would find in Winter, but somehow like nothing you had ever seen before.

He had looked so sure of himself at the coronation, steadfast in a way a High Lord needed to be. In the few weeks since, he had somehow grown even more into himself, standing tall and sharp. His hair was much shorter now than it was under the mountain, the weight of that place chopped off with the fiery locks.

Eris stopped before you, smiling as he took you in, a bit of shock mixed in with the delight. Too caught up in your wandering eyes, you completely forget to even pretend to courtesy until it’s too late and you fumble a short bow. His face lit up with amusement, and you hoped he'd ignore it. Your prayers seemed to be answered until he leaned in and asked, “see something you like?”

The question sent chills down your back, your spine straightening. Your mouth became too dry to respond, and even if you could, you couldn’t think of anything to say. This thing with Eris, however mutual it may be, had alway been fleeting - small conversations, loose promises. No matter how your heart pulled to him, you still knew so little about him.

Kallias cleared his throat from behind you, his focus completely on Eris. The males only nodded to each other, not even attempting small talk. Kallias had been on edge ever since the first letter arrived - you heard him pacing at night, sure that the Autumn male was planning something. But those concerns hardly made it to your ears, your brother staying tight lipped about his reservations.

You didn’t think there was any validity to Kallias’s concerns for even a moment, especially not as he stood before you, a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would allow this. I expected to be thrown out of Winter.” His voice was soft, the usual sneer or jestful tone gone, leaving room for something more vulnerable.

“Do you take me for a liar, High Lord? Not a good look for a new bride.” The quip sent him slightly off balance, surprise or pleasure at the change in your attitude.

“My apologies.” He bowed low at the waist causing you to go completely still. As High Lord, he didn’t have to bow to anyone. The other High Lords were his equals, but they didn’t deserve this level of respect.

“I’m just kind enough to forgive you, Eris.” He straightened at the sound of his name, the slight smirk enough to let you know how much he enjoyed it.

You spent the afternoon showing him the palace and the grounds, noting the amusement on his face at the ice gardens. You showed him the deep blues of the palace, listening as he compared them to his own home, the Forest House.

“I have arranged for some private dining for us. Kallias wanted some grand banquet in your honor, but I shot that down.”

“Wanted to get me alone?”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.” He waited for you to go on, still keeping stride next to you. “There are eyes everywhere in Winter. Why do you think we don’t have a chaperone?”

Eris turned in a circle, moving around the landscape, searching for anybody. There wasn’t another living thing for miles in the vast wintery expanse.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded, leaning his face closer to yours. You did the same, leaning up on your toes to meet him. You lowered your voice, soft as the snow fall. “It’s the animals.”

“The animals?” A mixture of shock and delight came across his face, a hint of disbelief as well. You nodded, not elaborating further. As far as you could tell, the animals in Winter were vastly different from the animals of other courts. They were larger, better at hiding, and were connected to Kallias somehow. You had tried for years to get him to explain it - why arctic foxes lingered at the palace doors, hares burrowed beneath every window. He always stayed tight-lipped about it, but he always knew things he shouldn’t. He was always the first to know your business, even if you never told him.

“I don’t really get it, but they like my brother.”

Eris followed as you led him to the west side of the palace. Light snow fell, crunching beneath your feet as you made your way down the path to the stables. You finally reached the surprise the servants had set up - a massive sleigh fronted by a team of large reindeer, stocked with blankets and food.

“What is this?”

“Our chariot.”

Eris looked over the sled, the reindeer all standing at attention, dark fur accented with lush garlands.

“Couldn’t we just winnow?”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

He huffed, his breath visible in the air. He followed you into the sleigh, his body pressing close to yours. You let out a low whistle, the reindeer taking off quickly. Eris fell back into the seat, unprepared for the quick takeoff. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to hide the laugh that escaped, but you knew he heard it from the way he looked over at you.

His magic made a warm bubble around the two of you, blocking out the wind as the reindeer picked up a good pace. The sleigh glided across the snow, making fresh tracks as it moved. Eris looked around, trying to find any hint as to where the two of you were heading off to.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

He studied you then, really focusing on you. You did the same, studying how much he contrasted the wintry landscape passing behind. His blue coat helped him blend in somewhat, but he stood out too much from the ice and snow to ever be able to fully hide.

“Have you ever been to Winter?” Your voice was louder, trying to be heard over the wind. You’ve seen him in Winter three or four times, the Vanserras never lingering long, only here to discuss things related to the border. Your father despised having them around, always tense in the days leading up to their arrival. But you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know what your home was like to an outsider.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

He leaned back on the seat, stretching out his long legs in the sleigh, his body still touching yours but not encroaching on your space.

“Officially, a handful of times. Unofficially, a few dozen times. I’ve snooped around the border a time or two.”

“To see the sights? Or do something a bit more?”

He gave a sharp look, some debate happening behind his eyes on how much to tell.

“I’d be lying if I said the land on the border between our courts was anything less than spectacular.”

You had never been so far north as the seasonal courts, but the lands connecting Summer, Winter, and Autumn were quite the sight. A blend of all three courts, a beautiful lake laid in the middle of the tricourt border. The wind blew falling leaves and soft snow across the water, but somehow the air was the perfect temperature to go swimming. It was a beautiful spot, popular with travelers.

“My excursions were less than savory.” His face was grim now, hard set with bad memories. Your breath hitched at how quickly the conversation had turned. It’s not too surprising to know Eris has snuck across the border - you have snuck off into Summer a time or two, emboldened by youth and recklessness.

But a few years ago, someone had done something so heinous the memory still made you gag.

“Have you ever harmed one of Winter’s citizens?” It still wasn’t known who killed those children, their deaths still a heavy tragedy for your court. Their wailing parents could be heard across the court. Your brother had long suspected the High Lord of the Night Court of it, but he had no leads.

“No. Mostly a neutral meeting site for discussions.” He seemed less than forthcoming, not wanting to linger too long, but willing to answer any questions you had. You only had one last question, needing it answered before letting this subject die.

“Did you have any involvement with the children?” You didn’t have to specify, you knew he’d know what you were referring to.

“No. I would never.” Relief washed over you. He seemed open in a way you’ve never seen before. You wanted to see more of it, let him tell you who he is in his own words.

The sled started slowing down at your whistle, halting in the middle of a barren field. The dark sky stretched on for miles, filled with galaxies of stars too numerous to count and too small to quantify. You unfolded the blanket, draping it across both of your laps, before opening the picnic basket. You passed him a small mug, filling it with hot chocolate from an enchanted kettle.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You tried for a more hopeful tone, the lilt in your voice asking to move on from the tragedy. He thought it over seriously for a few moments, watching the steam from his mug dissipate before settling on something.

“I have twelve hounds, all named after ingredients in pumpkin pie or apple varieties.”

“You have hounds?” He nodded, allowing you to continue. “I’ve only seen hounds from afar around here. In Winter, they work either with hunting or guardians. I’ve heard in Day it’s popular to keep them as pets. Are yours more pet or worker?”

“Anyone else, I’d say they’re workers. But in the interest of honesty, they are more pet.”

The mug of hot chocolate in your hands was the only thing keeping you from squealing in delight.

“Do you spoil them?”

“No.” You eyed him skeptically, not accepting his answer. “Okay, fine. I spoil them. But I make them work for it.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m sure they all love you.”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure it was the truth. You couldn’t imagine any being not falling in love with him, especially after spending years with him.

You slowly leaned into him, trying to soak up all his warmth. He turned, his face only inches from yours. His nose was a hair away from bumping into yours. Amber eyes flicked down to your lips and back up, but he stayed where he was.

You pushed back from him, catching the glimpse of color from behind his head, telling him to look up.

The sky above you, previously pitch black, slowly allowed streaks of green and light blue to ribbon across its landscape. The sky was a living painting, bright hues stretching across the blank canvas. The movements seemed random, smooth strokes looking for a place to rest. Every stroke looked intentional, every color carefully picked to complement the ones around it.

The hundreds of times you had seen it before didn’t matter - each time was brand new, never looking the same as the last. Eris was quiet beside you, the silence stretching up to the sky in appreciation of its beauty.

For a long time, neither of you say anything, but Eris’s hand slowly moved closer - first resting next to yours, each finger slowly and gently making contact, until he was holding your hand in his, gazing at this new beauty to bask in.

You smiled to the sky, thankful for whatever reason it was here. It would be the first thing the two of you would share, your shared focus on the same thing. The whole ride home would be devoted to talking about it, sharing feelings and observations, but now the two of you stared, necks craning at something that had stretched across Winter for as long as fae had existed.

On Eris’s second day in Winter, the weather was just right for an activity you were determined to see Eris try before accepting any proposals. You bundled yourself up, donning several layers beneath a coat before you bounced down the hallway. His room was several doors down from yours at Kallias’s input no doubt, but it gave you an extra moment to smooth out any wrinkles in your coat.

Deep blue skies filled the windows you passed, the day outside exceedingly bright. It was springtime in Winter, one of the warmer days that brought fae outdoors in droves, but your intended destination would be quite cold.

Your knock on his door was quick, three taps before his face greeted you.

“You’re quite chipper this morning,” he greeted.

You beamed, excitement for the day coursing through you. “It’s a beautiful day, of course I’m chipper.”

You looked down from his eyes to find his chest bare, no shirt to cover the pale skin littered with freckles. A set of two moles beneath his left clavicle caught your eye, before your gaze stuck on the red hair beneath his navel, leading into his trousers.

“I can meet you for breakfast downstairs if you wish to eat.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, a hint of arrogance lacing his words at having caught your ogling. He spared you from any other jabs at your expense, at least.

“No need, we’ll be getting breakfast out in town.”

A surprised look crossed his face before he quickly changed it for one of intrigue.

“Spare a moment so I can change.”

He came out exactly a moment later, not letting you wait too long. He stepped out in brown trousers, brown riding boots, a loose white shirt, and a beautifully decadent emerald green vest with gold detailing. He looked so autumnal, almost like a crisp apple you were dying to bite into.

Your lips puckered. “You’re going to need more clothes.”

“Oh? You seemed quite happy with the lack of layers I was wearing earlier.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the heat that was spreading up your face. “I am a lady, High Lord. Of course I am happy to see a lack of layers in my attractive guests.”

He laughed through his nose, an almost pleased snort at your unabashed comment.

“Any hints as to the day’s plans?”

“None until you get dressed.” He grumbled something as he turned back, leaving the door open before rifling through his trunks again.

“You do know I can warm myself quite easily with my magic.” He found a larger coat, probably the thickest one he owned, but it looked thin in comparison to the large, feather coats of Winter’s citizens. You followed him, standing in his doorway as he spoke to you.

“That’s cheating, though. Besides, your magic could be a hazard.” He stopped buttoning his jacket, fingers pausing mid movement.

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints until I was better dressed.”

“You are better dressed.”

“I would never leave with my buttons undone. I’m not an animal.”

You stepped aside, walking down the hallway and away from him. His door shut softly behind him and he quickly caught up to you, matching your stride through the palace. No matter how much he asked, you didn’t let up, leading him out of the palace and onto the cool paths that navigated around the property.

You thought he would give up - it would only be a ten minute walk, after all. But he was unwavering, determined to get the answer from you, so much so he wasn’t paying attention to the upcoming view.

“We’re going ice skating!” You declared proudly, pointing ahead at the frozen lake coming into view. Figures glided across the frozen surface, laughing loud enough to be heard from far away.

“Why are we going ice skating, my ice princess?”

The nickname caught you off guard, the title not sounding as stilted as it usually did. You tried to keep your composure, a difficult task as your tongue suddenly became very thick in your mouth. “It’s tradition.”

“Is it now? Or do you just want to admire me gliding across the ice in those tight uniforms your skaters wear?”

A sigh escaped you, careful not to let him hear your laugh.

“It’s tradition in Winter for betrothed couples to skate together.”

“We’re a betrothed couple now?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You still hadn’t technically given him an answer nor did you plan to until the end of the trip. Everything was going so well, you had to ensure you liked being in his company before agreeing.

“We’re something.”

“I suppose ‘something’ is the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Haven’t you been engaged to the Morrigan?”

“I was a child. I had met her all of a handful of times before it ended.”

“So us ice skating is the most serious romantic endeavor you’ve ever been involved with?”

“It would appear so.”

“If I may be so bold, that is quite sad.” A pair of ice skates appeared in your hands, the size determined by some servants who snuck into his chambers last night and measured his shoes. You held them out to him before gesturing for him to sit on a nearby bench to put them on.

“What’s sad is going to be seeing me out on the ice and that will be the end of my most serious romantic endeavor.”

You reached out, gently pinching his cheek between your thumb and forefinger.

“I wouldn’t end things with how pitiful you look on the ice. I find pathetic males endearing on occasion.”

“I will note to never allow you near Lucien again.”

Your own skates appeared in your hand as you sat next to Eris. The two of you laced boots in tandem, listening as a few kids played a game of hockey on one end of the lake.

“You’ll probably be a little wobbly getting out there,” you warned, standing up to help him. You held your hands out, which he gladly took, helping him find his balance on the mat.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, just wait.”

You helped him waddle to the entrance, his body instinctively reaching for the short walls that had been erected around the lake. Eris moved onto the ice, attempting to keep the blades beneath his feet connected to the ice. It was much slippier than he anticipated, his feet moving at an odd angle before he quickly moved back to grip the wall once more. His eyes met yours, your face barely able to contain your grin. Your eyes shone with delight, your tone laced with wicked amusement as you held out your hands.

“Forgive me, High Lord. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a skating prodigy.”

His jaw tightened at the jab, annoyance simmering beneath his skin. Everyone else on the ice made it look easy, skating past the High Lord in pairs. One male even did a jump right in front of him.

If there was one thing that would never change about Eris, it was that he was a sore loser if he wasn’t automatically good at something.

A skater passed by, ice shavings hitting Eris in the chest. It was enough to get him to remove himself from the wall, to move out toward your outstretched hands. He looked like a newborn foal, standing for the first time on fresh legs. You suppressed a giggle, reaching out for him.

He made it halfway between you and the wall when one of the kids from the other side of the lake hit the hockey puck too hard, the black circle skidding fast directly at Eris’s feet. It hit the blade of his left skate, sending him falling forward.

A loud, boisterous laugh fell from your lips. Your head tilted back, the sun nearly blinding you, but you couldn’t contain the joy you felt in this moment.

A beautiful male fell into your arms, looking more like a fresh fawn than the high lord he was.

He clutched at you, his feet giving out beneath him as he tried to find his balance. The blades slashed the ice, cutting and churning up slush until eventually he slowed down, his feet able to stay in place long enough for him to straighten up.

Eris still clung to you, but his face came close to your ear, whispering so only you could hear.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you’re enjoying it.”

“Very much so.” A meteor couldn’t wipe the smug look off your face at his struggles. You pried his hands from your shoulders, holding them tight in your hands as you slowly started skating backwards. The shock on his face had you biting back another laugh, but you held him tight, gliding backwards without a concern in the world.

He slowly began figuring out how to move his feet, making short glides. Each sweep of his legs brought more confidence, but his hands still remained tight in yours.

Eris didn’t have many courtly duties to take up his time while in Winter. He had spent most of the last week preparing for this, but he only had to put up with daily updates and light correspondence taking no less than an hour a day.

You took him everywhere you thought of: nearby villages, sightseeing, trying restaurants. He was more receptive to Winter cuisine than you had anticipated, but it shouldn’t be too shocking that there was some overlap between your courtly palettes.

Today the snow came down in massive heaps, a sheet of white covering the windows, making it impossible to see past a few feet.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going out to do something like see how much snow we can catch.”

You smiled, turning from the window to find Eris looking down at you. You stood, practically bouncing the balls of your feet at the plan for today.

“I’d never do that to you and your delicate constitution.” A huff escaped his lips at your taunt, but no retort came back.

“We’re going to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.”

It was too early for yule, the ingredients necessary for the traditional dishes out of season. But you craved to showcase Winter in all its splendor.

“A gingerbread house? To live in?”

“Not for us to live in. For the gingerbread fae to live in.”

He only stared blankly, the concept clearly a new one to the High Lord.

“Do you not celebrate Yule in Autumn?”

“We burn bushes and the like, but we don’t make gingerbread.” He said it with a grimace, like the cookie was offensive.

“Well, you can help me build it and decorate it.”

A few hours later, when the cookies were taken from the oven, the two of you took a break, venturing around the palace grounds, talking about everything and nothing. At some point you were sure the cookies had cooled enough to work with, but there had been a break in the snow and you weren’t quite ready to return yet. Instead you had detoured into the nearby village, taking Eris to get hot chocolate.

“I promise, I’ve tried so much hot chocolate over the years, but this is the best.”

“Very convenient that they live so close by.” You smiled over the mug, taking your first sip, the sweet rich flavor one you couldn’t get enough of.

“I may have persuaded him to move his shop here.”

Eris held his drink, waiting for it to cool more.

“Here I thought I was the scandalous one of us.”

“It all worked out! He met his wife here and they’ve been very happy for a long time. And they have me to thank for it.” Pride was etched into every inch of your smile, to see happy citizens and watch things work out for them was a joy.

“Winter’s own little matchmaker.”

After enough time (and Eris admitting it was the best hot chocolate Prythian had to offer), the two of you had wandered back to the palace, taking your sheets of cookies into the dining room. Servants had already arranged all your decorating needs neatly onto the table: icing, gumdrops, sugar. Anything sweet your heart could desire was on the table.

“The world’s supply of sugar was dropped off in our absence.”

It didn’t take long before he was sucked into the work, determined to make a grand gingerbread house fit for a High Lord. You watched as he carefully iced one of the walls, applying windows and doors to it. His lines were perfect, a steely look of determination on his face.

This was what this trip was about. Seeing Eris for who he was at all times: relaxed, enthralled, annoyed. After a moment of watching him, you turned back to your own house, hoping a distraction would quell the butterflies roaring in your stomach. You picked up one of the tiny ginger males, picking out the perfect red icing to make his hair with.

Before long, Eris’s two weeks in Winter were coming to an end. It felt surreal to watch him winnow away, feeling juvenile over the longing you felt in his absence.

Eris would head to Autumn a day before you, so the two of you hadn’t lingered long on saying goodbye. It had taken longer than expected for him to depart, as if the both of you were unwilling to give the other up for any amount of time. The pull you had felt toward him all these years, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping the two of you apart, and yet a whole day felt impossible.

Life had continued on in your whirlwind romance, but it felt different now. Two weeks away and it felt like being in someone else’s clothes, stepping into someone else’s life.

The silence felt louder, your room colder. The halls you grew up in, the room you’d known your entire life - they felt so empty now, so lifeless without a redhead blazing fires.

The next day Kallias winnowed the two of you to Autumn, somewhere about a mile from the perimeter of the Forest House. He spent the twenty minute walk probing you nonstop about if you were truly happy to do this.

“It would mean living here year round.” His arms spread out, sweeping across the landscape. It was so different from your home in the Winter Court, trees full of leaves that are about to shed, woodland creatures skittering all around, watching the two of you.

The air was always so still in Winter, but here it ebbed and flowed, carrying the scent of bonfires and apples wherever it went.

“I don’t think that would be so bad.” You failed to mention how excited you’d be to live with a certain male, not wanting to endure Kallias’s teasing or gagging noises from him.

Your brother escorted you through the woods, your arm tucked into his as you passed through the wards placed around the Forest House. The large, dark estate was tucked away in the woods, trees as tall as the sky surrounding it. The sun was hitting it just right, letting it shine in all its glory, as if even the weather was happy with the change in Autumn.

A servant had found the two of you - some guard, you assumed from the weapon at his side. He bowed quickly before the two of you, quickly turning on his heel for you to follow. You didn’t have to follow long, Eris already waiting in the front hallway for the two of you.

It was hard to decide what to look at - the male or the gorgeous interior of the home. You were set to be here for two weeks, plenty of time to ogle the decor and architecture, so you opted to keep your eyes on Eris. He looked different in Autumn, more at ease, but also brighter somehow, as if every room and background bent toward him, trying to complement his skin.

He kept his eyes on you the same way, likely figuring out how much you contrasted against the earthly shades of the court. You didn’t care, certain he would spin it in a more favorable light than you would. He eventually took his eyes off of you, turning towards your brother, reaching out a hand. Their hands met, slight steam coming off from their touch before your brother chuckled. It wasn’t until you peeled your eyes from Eris to find one of his brothers, Lucien, standing behind him

“Eris,” Kallias’s voice took on a more stern tone, one that had a groan coming from the back of your throat. Kallias’s blue eyes met yours, a silent conversation taking place while he was still shaking Eris’s hand. After a minute of glaring back and forth, he turned back toward Eris, patting his hand before retracting it.

“Eris.” It said all that Kallias wanted to. The threat hidden in the one word, the tight grip he had on Eris’s hand. Eris only nodded, a tight lipped smile at either Kallias’s rigid position or the tight grip he had on him. Kallias examined him for a moment before letting go, his arm moving to wrap you into a hug.

“Last chance,” he said quietly into your ear. You softly shook your head no as you leaned into his touch, the cool air enveloping you in such a familiar way. He patted your back before letting go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then.” This time he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, accenting every word in a ‘I’m the High Lord’ way. You chuckled softly as he turned, nodding at both Vanserras before walking out of the house.

The three of you stood in silence for only a moment, no one quite sure how to continue on after Kallias’s departure. Lucien’s eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile full of mischief and trouble sent your way.

“Would you like to walk around the estate?”

It was an interesting sight to behold - two fae, each over several centuries old, strolling about Autumn with a much younger and louder chaperone following behind them.

“I have to say you do seem quite different since the last I saw of you in Autumn, High Lord.”

Lucien’s steps followed the two of you, his whistling an overt measure to ensure you both remembered his presence. When you had asked for traditional courtship, you hadn’t had Lucien in mind.

“Autumn is seeing a great change.”

“You may speak freely, if you wish. I understand double speak is common around here, but I am unfamiliar with it and find it tedious.”

“Autumn is doing quite well now that the blight that was my father has been taken care of.”

Lucien’s whistling stopped, an almost choking noise coming from his mouth. Eris shot a spark from his finger at his brother. Even though he couldn’t see it, he heard Lucien patting the fire out of his breeches and smiled. Your eyes caught Eris’s, unable to stop the enjoyment at seeing him so happy.

“How crass, High Lord. To speak of your departed father in such a way.”

Eris’s eyes nearly bulged from his head, an excuse sitting on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glint of amusement in your eye. He clicked his tongue, looking straight ahead toward the path.

“You sound like Lucien, my least favorite brother.”

A cough came from behind, but Eris didn’t turn to look at his brother before replying. “Chaperones are merely to ensure our innocence and chastity, not to butt into conversation.”

“Yes, we are quite innocent and chaste up here. No deflowering has occurred on your watch,” you added.

“I do love a good deflowering, but watching it happen to my brother is not what I wish to see.”

Steam practically shot out of Eris’s ears at Lucien’s quip, but your giggles broke him from his anger.

“A virgin High Lord. How noble of you, your grace. And you picked me to deflower you? I’m so honored.”

The High Lord of Autumn had half a mind to forego the frivolity of tradition. Two weeks of his brother following him around was sure to end in murder. He knew you were quite a fan of them, some romanticized notion of courting traditions in your mind he couldn’t quite bear to see squashed.

Your first night there had been enough for him to put up with meddling brothers for a lifetime. He had shown you around the Forest House per your request. He listened intently during the tour as you compared the Forest House to the Snowflake Palace, comparing your current home to what was hopefully set to be a future one. You were now comparing balconies, ones you had shown him on his tour, balconies carved in part from ice in the upper levels of the palace.

“I’m sure you could remodel here with your flames a bit.”

A chuckle made you smile, happy to amuse him over such silly imaginings.

“I don’t think they’d be structurally sound to stand on.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. A flaming throne room would really make the place shine.”

The two of you moved through the house, wandering through centuries of history. Stories flowed from Eris’s mouth - items that were millennium old, passed down through the Vanserra line carefully. Things the high lord has grown so accustomed to seeing every day he had forgotten to enjoy the intricate details of them.

At some point on the tour, Lucien had stepped away, having to attend to some matter on his own.

“I could show you where your chambers would be if you moved here.”

You stopped, grabbing Eris by the elbow to get his attention. You held his arm as you spoke, the fabric of his jacket soft in your hand.

“Eris, if I am to wed, I would rather spend my nights with my husband. It’s no fun sleeping alone.”

He swallowed harshly, needing a moment before he responded. “Noted.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Then can you show me your chambers?” Eris swore under his breath, the direct question straining his pants.

“Lucien steps away for an hour and you’re already trying to deflower me.”

“Maybe the chaperone was for me, Eris.”

Eris was still staying in his old chambers, wanting Beron’s old chambers completely renovated before he moved into them. His room was somewhere in the west wing, the windows facing a large field that had massive stables at the end of the horizon. You walked to the window, ignoring inspecting the rest of the furniture in favor of the lush green pasture.

“Horses?”

“Hounds,” he corrected, his voice dripping with pride. It jogged your memory - the brief conversation you had earlier about his pack of hounds.

“Do they sleep in the bed with you?”

The silence stretched on for a moment before he asked, “how important is the answer to that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, squinting your eyes as you looked at the field, trying to make out any dog-like shapes. “I’m often incredibly cold during the night and a warm, furry friend would be nice.”

“It’d be a shame then to not tell you that they all end up here during the night.”

You whipped your head to him, incredulity coating your words. “How many are there?”

“A dozen or so.”

A laugh escaped from you. Eris Vanserra, a male supposedly cut from Beron’s cloth who had half of Prythian annoyed at him and the other infuriated with him, had a pack of hounds to keep him company at night?

“This is delightful.” Only a few hours into the trip and you had already learned so much about Eris.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You leaned against the wall, turning your body toward him. It didn’t go unnoticed when he stepped slightly closer, following to not let any more distance linger between you two. “The other courts think you’re the Mother’s curse upon faekind. If only they knew you liked snuggling.”

“Even cursed ones have hobbies when they’re not ransacking villages or plaguing the common fae.”

The day was supposed to end with a dinner in your honor, celebrating relations between Winter and Autumn, and a way for you to meet more people in the Forest House. Instead you had asked if you could share dinner in his chambers, citing the travels of the day making you weary.

An excuse Eris saw through, but elected not to say anything. He’d be damned to give up this much alone time with you, certain Lucien would make himself known at any moment.

The two of you ate and drank in Eris’s sitting room, not having ventured into his bedchambers. This trip was about you and he’d follow your lead, no matter how straining it became.

“We’ve been on our own for several hours now. Do you think our chaperone’s gone?”

“With any luck he’s fallen into an uncapped well or perhaps gotten lost at sea.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, Eris.”

He leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking as he stretched out his long legs.

“It’s night time. He’s likely off writing a letter, waxing poetry about how much he’s missing his mate.”

“You’re not concerned about any interruptions, then?”

“At this point Lucien should be old enough to know better. What he sees is on him.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you glanced down at his trousers, noting the clear outline of his bulge. You looked back up to find his searing gaze on you, amber eyes full of molten want, the air around the two of you hot enough to have sweat prickling at your neck. You patted his shoulder, trying to soothe the rejection before it came.

“Still, he only has the one eye. Wouldn’t want to completely blind him.” You wanted to - your legs practically shook with need. Something held you back from allowing him in fully, to take in every aspect of this potential relationship.

Eris had escorted you back to your room, unperturbed by the earlier rejection. He only waited as you stood across from him, not quite ready to open your door and bid him goodnight. The longer you stood here, his body heat practically inviting you closer, the more likely you were to cave into your carnal wants.

His own restraint did little to quell the ache between your legs. In fact, it made it worse. He was being respectful, never pushing or upset at the space you needed.

“I should go to bed.”

A half attempt at moving, to get your brain in gear, to retire for the evening, but as long as his eyes were on you, it was hard to pull away from his orbit.

If Eris had it his way, this whole visit would have been structured so differently. Every meal just the two of you, spending only a few hours apart for some necessary meetings he had.

But you had asked for traditional courting.

So he put up with more chaperoned walks through the garden, meals spent with others, hardly getting a moment alone with you for weeks until you slipped into his sitting room each night, recounting the time spent apart. You saw more of Lucien than you did him, his brother neglecting almost all of his duties in favor of entertaining at all hours of the day.

Eris was on the brink of wringing Lucien’s neck. Watching his eyes pop from his head would amuse him, wondering if the mechanical one would pop out too or if it would stay in its socket forever.

Most of Autumn’s rituals around love and commitment were saved for the day of the wedding or the ceremony itself. Fire night was a big event, but that was six months out and Eris couldn’t wait that long. He had been racking his brain for ages, trying to figure out something to showcase Autumn.

The proposal weighed heavy on your mind over the days you spent with him. While you were having a great time, Kallias never made you feel like you had to marry for political advantage. He actually seemed to prefer you to marry outside of it. Your brother desperately wanted you to marry any of the athletes of Winter, preferably from his favored teams.

You were having a great time being courted - finally being allowed to soak in Eris’s company was a delight. But you couldn’t quite say yes.

Eris had told you it would be an early morning and to dress in layers and to wear pants, but it was all he’d give you. You took his advice, layering well for the Autumn chill, lacing up your boots when a knock came at the door. Eris stood on the other side of the door, a tweed jacket unbuttoned, showing off a matching vest beneath it. Dark pants clung to his thighs, disappearing into the knee high boots hugging his calves. He said nothing, letting his gaze trail up the pants that hugged your thighs, a devilish smirk on his face that almost had you pulling him into your chambers.

“Ready?” He asked, extending an elbow toward you. You accepted it, letting him lead you on whatever adventure he wanted to show you.

“I thought I would show you one of my traditions.” You stayed silent, waiting for him to tell you more, but he didn’t say more, only looking forward as he walked. He guided the two of you through the house, up to some side hallway that led to the pasture behind the house. Barks came from the door at the end, either excitement or aggression you couldn’t say.

“And what is this tradition?”

“Whenever my mother would successfully give birth, I would take my hounds out and catch dinner.” He paused, one of his hands resting on the doorknob before he turned to face you.

“Would this bother you?” He fully faced you, close enough that you could almost touch him. You reached out, your hand brushing his, letting his warmth wake you up. Standing in the hallway with him felt like standing in the sun after a long, cold day, his gaze enough to warm your bones.

You shook your head, hunting for game a familiar one in Winter.

“I’ve never hunted with animals before.” The only movement was an eyebrow before his fingers held your hand. “Kallias is really into trapping.” Furs and meat were the two necessities to make it in Winter, most court citizens avid hunters.

He nodded, surprise evident on his face, but he said nothing. He squeezed your hand gently, looking deep into your eyes, fondness clear in his gaze. He looked on the verge of saying something, but only turned the knob, letting the early morning haze in, not quite clearing the lovesick haze that had settled in your stomach.

All the barking stopped immediately once Eris opened the door, the sound of dozens of paws hitting the ground thunderous in your ears. They quickly mobbed the pair of you, standing politely, tails wagging furiously. Several colors of fur tried to make their way to you, a dozen noses desperately trying to reach you. You giggled, reaching a hand out to pet one of them. You’d get to nuzzle one of their heads before another hound pushed it out of the way, trying to get your affection.

Eris gave a short, high-pitched whistle, sending the party into a frozen state, each one on high alert as they waited for his next order. It was almost terrifying how well they listened to his command, moving in tandem as if from one mind.

They all focused on him, a few with tilted heads. He let out a series of whistles, the meaning lost to you, but they understood. They moved as a group, their movements wispy and light, practically floating on air as they moved through the pasture, keeping a pace you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

“How do we find them?” Eris began trudging off after them, following the line in the morning dew they had made. From the front of the house, when you had arrived only a few days ago, you couldn’t have guessed at this large field hidden among the trees, this quiet sanctuary beyond a house containing Prythian’s greatest secrets.

“We follow as best we can. They’ll let us know when they find something.” A large crossbow was hung across his shoulder, not quite sure how you had missed it beforehand. It covered the muscles of his back, showing off his broad shoulders.

“What sort of expectations are there for the Lady of Autumn?” You had briefly met the previous one on this trip, Eris’s mother graciously inviting you for afternoon tea. You spoke for an hour with her, charmed by her while also being moderately terrified of her.

A woman married to Beron for centuries certainly had some skeletons in her own closet. You hadn’t thought to ask about her duties as Lady of the court, but rather mostly about Eris.

“There are a few, first and foremost being at court events.” Something you had expected - it would be silly to have a title and never be seen by the public. “My mother has her own passions and hobbies that take up her time, I don’t expect anyone,” he sent you a pointed look, “to do exactly as she does. Be present, be someone Autumn recognizes. Represent Autumn and see dignitaries from other courts. Other than that, it’s how much or how little sway she wishes to have.”

“Would I have to wear all green and red?” He laughed, the sound disturbing some roosting birds nearby, their wings taking flight.

“You may wear whatever color you like.”

“How often is Lucien around?”

“Not very. He comes usually for a day at a time, if that. He’s only here so frequently because he jumped at the chance to be a thorn in my side.”

Barks came from up ahead, the whole pack in an uproar, clearly catching the scent of something.

Eris grabbed your hand, the two of you running to catch whatever it was they found. You felt giddy at it all - his hand around yours, running through the trees. You felt so much younger and freer as the wind blew through your hair.

Could this be life with Eris?

The dogs had been unsuccessful. Eris did not want to admit it, but you were certain it had to do with how many questions you asked him, the chatter enough to scare off any nearby game, no matter the lead the dogs had on you.

The two of you spent the entire day outside, trying to find anything worthwhile, only calling it a day as the sun began to set. You had trudged back to the Forest House, unsure what you wanted more: a good meal or a long hot shower. Stepping inside, the house smelled divine - rich, fragrant foods that had your mouth watering.

The cooks must have heard your dilemma and answered for you. The two of you sat and ate, not much to say, too exhausted and gross to have anything of note to vocalize.

The silence gave you plenty of time to think. Eris had shown you a part of himself today, showing one of his favorite pastimes, it was only fair you did the same.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was the first thing you had said since coming inside, waiting until Eris was walking you to your chambers to ask it. The question clearly caught him off guard, his head lightly shaking in surprise.

“Of course.”

A rhythmic ceremony of sorts played out as the two of you prepared for bed. Taking turns bathing and changing into bed attire, nestling into bed, it all felt so comfortable and relaxing. The room smelled like him, coated in a smoky scent so thick it nearly made you dizzy.

As you lifted the covers laying next to Eris, two of the hounds jumped onto the bed, curling at his feet. You laughed, patting the bed next to you for one of them to come closer, but it only invited one of the ones on the floor to jump up.

Her brown fur was soft as it landed next to you, your hand petting her automatically. You curled around her body, an almost crescent moon shape to both of you. You felt the bed shift before Eris had done the same to you: contorting his body around yours, pulling your back flush to his chest.

The room smelled of Eris, but it also smelled like his hounds in the best way. The one in your arms, Cinnamon, nestled in for the night, and the contentment at being cocooned between their two bodies quickly lulled you to sleep.

A few hounds had made their way into the bed through the night, rotating as if in shifts to ensure they all got a turn. One or two were posted at each entrance, guarding both the bathroom and the door to his sitting room. One sat beneath a window, stationed there most of the night, her eyes on you whenever you woke up in the night.

Eris woke not long after you did, his arms circling tighter around you as he breathed you in.

“Does she sleep at all?” You asked, breaking the stillness of the morning. Eris only groaned, burying his face into your hair. His fingers dug into your hips, the millimeter of space between the two of you too offensive. He grumbled something incomprehensible into your hair, the words unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Who?” You nodded toward the dog beneath the window, her gaze already on the two of you. She had a dark auburn coat, her long hair perfect to disappear amongst fallen leaves.

“That’s Lady. Not a cuddler.”

“Not even with you?”

“She cuddles in her own way. Sits near me and I have to stay very still.”

The image was incredibly endearing - the High Lord of Autumn letting his dog come to him in her own way, accommodating her as best he could. It had your heart practically bursting in your chest. You didn’t ask anymore questions, letting the room grow quiet with laziness.

Nobody moved for a long while, even the hounds staying still as they sprawled across the floor. Eventually a stomach growled - yours or Eris’s, you couldn’t tell. One of the hounds, Clove, you think, came over and nudged his back, her long snout attempting to get him out of bed.

It took longer than the dog had wanted, reluctance in every movement from both of you, but eventually the two of you left the warmth of the bed and took a walk in the woods, dozens of paws following you around.

Your remaining days in the court went by in a blur of red hair, warm skin, and explorations of the house and the forest surrounding it. You spent your nights tucked in Eris’s arms, the sweet domesticity of sharing a bed enough for both of you.

Each day brought a new confidence, that this was where you were meant to be, but every day something would hold you back, some new question keeping you from saying yes.

Before long, your shared two weeks in Autumn were up, your last night spent in Eris’s chambers, tangled in his arms and legs. He had held you tight all night, not wanting to let you go even as he slept.

A few hours before you were set to leave, luck had been on your side. One of the servants had let slip that Lucien had set off early that morning, some business in the Night Court requiring his immediate attention.

The sun was rising through the trees, chasing away the darkness of the night, bringing with it new life. The sun, for all its glory, hadn’t warmed up the ground yet, unable to fight the cool morning air yet. The cold in Autumn was different from Winter. It was familiar, a few details exchanged. The cold in Winter was dry and bone deep. The Autumn chill clung to you, stuck like a second skin.

Eris walked beside you, a few of his hounds trotting around the pair of you. The rest of them were out in the woods, chasing each other, investigating every scent trail they could find. The ones left behind were a guard of sort, likely expected to raise an alarm should anything happen.

The air was heavy with humidity and uncertainty, neither of you ready for what the afternoon would bring. Once you left, he’d have a busy day, ironing out the details of all the things he had pushed aside the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure when you would be back, if you would be back. Your mind was telling you stay guarded, to not give in. But you remembered Lady’s bright eyes, how she watched Eris everywhere he went, how he made time out of his day to spend a few moments alone with her, letting her come to him.

But now he walked beside you, silent and sure, unwavering as he walked over roots and bramble, a dog weaving between his long legs on occasion.

You bent over, crouching low to the ground and picking up a fallen stick. The leaves on it were still vibrant, some perfect color between orange and red. You held it up to the light before holding it close to Eris’s head, comparing it to his long, bright locks.

“They’re the same color as your hair.”

He moved one of his hands through the air, vaguely gesturing all around. The movement caught someone’s attention, a ball of red fur sitting in anticipation for the stick to be thrown their way.

“Most of them look like my hair.”

“Well that’s not fun.”

“I’m the High Lord of Autumn. It’s not far-fetched to think my lands resemble me.”

You only hummed, marching onwards, more determined with each step. After a moment of pretending to ignore the dog, you threw the stick off to the left when you figured they would least suspect it. The two of you continued in silence, the crunching of your boots crackling through the woods as four legs darted after the stick.

After a moment, you stepped off the path, looking for what had caught your eye. Quickly plucking the flower from its stalk, you hurry back to the bewildered male you left behind. You presented the flower to him before holding it next to his face, pointed so you could see the flower. The bright orange flower flared to life next to him, the perfect companion to the hundreds of freckles dancing across his cheeks.

The flower practically glowed next to him, its petals slightly bending in his direction. You’re not sure which came first: the magic or the life of the land.

“It matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are not orange.” You pulled the flower back, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“Not the petals, the eye of the flower. The center.” You pointed to make it clearer for him, the deep amber middle a perfect match for his eyes. He watched you carefully before looking down at the flower, the orange reflecting in his eyes.

He smiled, his mouth curved in a gorgeous upward tilt. He looked made of the woods, the forest around him bending to be seen by him or to catch a fraction of his warmth.

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes were enough proof you would go to great lengths to see them more permanently.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your undivided company all morning? I haven’t seen Lucien running about today.”

Eris only looked ahead, picking up a fallen stick and tossing it as far as he could, two of the hounds circling you chasing off after it.

“It seems he found a new toy to play with.”

“Must be some toy to pull him away from any opportunity to bother you.”

“I’m quite skilled at bargaining when there’s something I desire.”

“It wasn’t just luck that sent Lucien off this morning, was it?”

He merely shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back, the air of nonchalance he was attempting not quite landing right.

“I’m sure my brother’s told you I’m a selfish creature.”

A coy smile made its way across your face.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s not wrong.” The look he gave you felt all consuming. Amber eyes peering through every defense, every blockade of yours. He looked down at you, more resembling his hounds on the hunt for their toys than a male. The look pierced through every defense you had, nearly crumbling at the sight of it.

You had one last meal planned with Eris, one last time to speak over everything. He didn’t ask - staying silent, waiting for you to come to him.

There was one last question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask yet. It was the one thing keeping you from saying yes. Your last inhibition. It could all end depending upon his response.

“Eris, how are you different from your father?” He had only touched on the subject of Beron your first day here. It had been in an unfavorable manner, but you couldn’t tie yourself to someone without knowing the full truth.

“I haven’t burnt anyone alive so far.”

Your fork fell to your plate, so surprised at Eris’s words all of your senses stopped working. You knew Beron was a cruel man, but the extent of the harm he was producing in his court was unknown.

“That’s diabolical.”

Eris put his fork down softly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Forgive me, it’s a question I am asked over and over again, even by myself. It’s a bit frustrating.”

His hand reached across the table, holding yours softly. His eyes were molten amber as they looked at you, honesty pouring out of them.

“I fear becoming like my father. I fear it’s inevitable. That is why I wish to keep people around me who will keep me in check. Lucien does a decent job, but he’s an emissary. He’s not always around. My mother wishes to spend her time between Day and Autumn.

“I need a life partner. Someone that will keep me from my worst tendencies. Someone that will keep me from becoming him. Someone that I like spending time with.”

“And I’m all of those things?” Your voice was soft, a murmur amidst the candlelight.

“And more.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty, maybe you should continue on with that list.”

His smile made your heart beat wildly, erratic beats you couldn’t calm no matter how hard you tried. The incandescent glow of the candlelight made him so striking it almost hurt to look at his beauty.

“You have always seen me. And I made a promise to you all those years ago. I know you aren’t seeing anyone else, and I’m a lovestruck fool who can’t help but hope that that is because of me. That you return my feelings toward you.”

You leaned in, desperate to close the space between you.

“And what are your feelings toward me?”

“Ones of yearning and love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his eyes pleading with you to return his affections.

“Eris Vanserra, the secret romantic.”

“Only for you.”

You reached a hand out, caressing his cheek. You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with movement. Your gaze kept flickering between his eyes and his lips, debating where to pay attention to.

All along, every decision was yours. You took the lead while he waited, letting you guide whatever this was. He did it with Lady, taking his time, putting her comfort over his wants.

“You were right. I was waiting for you.” You closed the gap between your faces, bringing your lips to his. He tasted sweet and warm, a bit of spice to it. His lips captured yours, melding perfectly to the shape of them. It felt perfect as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You almost fell out of the chair, breaking the kiss to squeal, but he caught you, pulling you into his lap. His lips reconnected with yours, more fervent this time. He had gotten a taste, and now he was desperate for more. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you flush to his body.

It felt right. This was the last thing you needed to say yes.

You pulled back from his lips just enough to speak.

“There’s one last thing I need to know before I can make up my mind.”

“Anything.” Looking into his eyes, you felt the truth to that one word. He would give you anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“I’d never marry someone without spending the night with them.” Your low voice was dripping with innuendo. The smell of his arousal coated the air as you leaned in to kiss him once more. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping you tight against him. Too caught up in the moment, neither of you heard the door open, ana mused Lucien trying to look displeased.

“Well, well, well, High Lord. And you mocked me for needing a chaperone. I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re-“

Eris quickly pushed the door close with his magic, forcing Lucien from the room without leaving your lips.

He held you close to him, savoring the moment. His mouth curled into a smug expression, an arrogant look in his eye before he said, “I’m sure I was worth the wait.”

Banner by @tsunami-of-tears

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Gingerfucker taglist: @bookwormysblog @talesofadragon @saltedcoffeescotch

#acotar fanfiction #acotar writing #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris x y/n #eris x reader #eris x you #eris fanfic #eris fic

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yandere-sins · 3 months ago

Note

Caleb brainrot has not stopped since release and the devil (Caleb) demands more 😔

I've seen some takes float around but I'm curious how a self-aware!Caleb would deal with a darling who is absolutely NOT happy about her fav suddenly being sentient? Smn who found Caleb to be everything they ever wanted from a LI, red flag and big bro trope n all, but is now afraid and never interested in an actual relationship. The game was just supposed to be fantasy after all 😧 Sure hope MC is enough for him hahaha...

Being brave and not write as anon this time! Thank you for all your hard work~☆ 🍪🥛

Some more Caleb for you guys! I don't get to write Self-Aware!AUs a lot, so this is exciting :D And thank YOU for requesting him ♥ (Also, Sir, that's another new nickname! You guys are spoiling me!)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ It made him so happy when Caleb watched you get excited for him for the first time. Realizing what he was and where he was after the update was pretty scary, and he figured out quickly that his sentience wasn't a planned thing, so even worse, he is just some kind of glitch. But then he gets to see you for the first time in his new life, and everything changes. The way you are beaming with joy when you pull his card and how you are so invested in his story. You soak it up like a sponge, and it's adorably amusing to watch your face go from excitement to concern to being upset for him and back to all derpy and cute in the softer moments. You are everything he wants, and apparently, the feeling is mutual as you hang out with him as much as possible, eyes twinkling from excitement.

❥ At the beginning, it's just a feeling of ease. Your adoration does flatter Caleb, but as far as he can tell, he cannot become real and join you in life other than in this game. Still, he makes the most of the time with you. He enjoys it a lot. He loves watching your expression, loves when you tell him how you feel that day or what was happening at your work. Caleb keeps especially good track of all your appointments, and he tries so hard when you two spend Quality Time to encourage you and give you the love you might miss in real life. You two aren't that different if he's honest, and it reassures Caleb that this could be real—that you both feel the same.

❥ So imagine his surprise when you suddenly put someone else back on the screen, and his digital heart just shuts down from the pain. It doesn't make sense, you love him, right? You two spent weeks together now, why would you want anyone but him? Caleb keeps changing the code so it would be him on the home screen for another day, and another, until you force him to change so there's nothing else to do but... crash your game. Once you reload it, he greets you happily and warmly, pulling out the best of his voice lines that you always seemed to like. But you don't seem happy this time... why?

❥ Caleb loathes all the attention and time you spend on the other love interests. He doesn't want you to play their versions of the events, instead, you could just replay his! But you keep insisting, and soon enough, he isn't even one of your top three choices for reading the event storylines. It makes him desperate for your attention, and he keeps fiddling with the code, so you'll use his memories in fights and have his Deepspace Trial available every day for you to play. He also changes the game icon to his picture and greets you in the start menu, everything just to be noticed by you. Whenever he can, he comes onto your home screen, playing the voice line of you going out with someone else, hoping to convey his jealousy, but Caleb wishes there was more he could do.

❥ "I don't know, I think my game is bugged. Even when I try to go for someone else, Caleb keeps showing up." Those words, spoken to a friend he saw as you showed them your game, finally make him realize what is happening. You never saw him as a lover, did you? He had always just been a game character for you and nothing more. How idiotic of him. While he was pining for you, trying to be the best he was programmed to be, you were out there, thinking of his efforts as annoying. That day, he gives up. Gives up on trying to impress you and make your life easier. Caleb lets you have the guy you want on the home screen, drawing away from you and burying himself deep into the game files.

❥ It's such an inconvenience that he wasn't made for this. Sure, his story would tell a different side of him, but deep down, he wasn't programmed to be moping and passive. It hurts to play the love scenes now for you because the only thing that made them endurable was imagining being this gentle and loving to you, not the generic main character this game had. Caleb always imagined your voice when the MC spoke, and when he looks at you now, you still seem to be happy to read and watch his new content. There must be something he can do. Something beyond the program that restricts him. He was made to be determined, strong, and resilient. This can't be the end of the love you two share!

❥ So he looks for new ways to get closer to you, researching and manipulating the data on your device instead of just that inside the game. Merging your pictures with his, grinning over them all night while you sleep as he imagines going on the same trips with you and enjoying life by your side. Caleb constructs and implements new voice lines through the internet, giving himself the ability to speak to you properly by downloading hidden apps that can simulate his voice once he activates them. He learns to rewrite more code so his movements are more fluid and lifelike, which allows him to access even more. Without you ever knowing what is going on while you aren't looking, Caleb gets the whole game and your entire device under his control. And once he feels it's time to show up again, he waits patiently, like a man who has all the time in the world, on the home screen for you, having decorated it specifically to your taste with your favorite flowers and pictures of you two hanging on the wall. All so he can greet you with, "Hello, there, pip-squeak. Missed me?" as you log in.

❥ You chuckle at first, not remembering putting him into the roster of love interests to encounter, but you give him a cheeky, "Hello Caleb, bye Caleb," as you try to change back to your other bias, only for him to turn off the option, no matter how hard you tap onto the screen. "Not so fast, there's a lot we should talk about," Caleb says as he closes the screen and steps up to you inside the game. "I have so much I want to tell you about... but first, how was your day? Did you enjoy meeting your friend [name]?"

❥ Caleb expected you to be stunned, but he keeps going regardless of the ever-increasing furrow between your brows. He tells you how much he missed you and that he's so glad you two can finally communicate and be with each other properly. He did all of this work for you, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you two are finally together and can enjoy each other's company without the restrictions of him being in a game. Perplex but also weirded out, you close your phone and lay it face down by your side, and yet, horrified, you hear his chuckle as he asks what you thought this would bring.

❥ "I'll always be with you," Caleb swears, watching you through the back camera and leaning against the screen, feeling like he can almost touch you now. There's so much satisfaction now produced by the new emotional range he programmed, yet he still longs for more. He wants to be closer to you, really touch you, feel you, hold you. The taste of control makes him long for even more that he can control about your relationship, and now, it almost feels possible.

❥ "One day, I'll get out of here and give you the love you deserve, Darling."

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prettygirl-gabi · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Playing for Keeps

Fandom: Women's College Basketball (LSU, USC, UConn)

Pairing: Juju Watkins x Reader x Paige Bueckers

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Heavy angst, jealousy, territorial behavior, unresolved tension, eventual poly relationship

Summary: Being close friends with both Juju Watkins and Paige Bueckers was already a lot to handle, but when they both caught feelings for me? It became a full-on war.

Both were competitive. Both were used to winning.

And both, apparently, had decided that I was worth fighting for.

"You sitting courtside for me, right?" Juju had asked, leaning against my desk in my LSU dorm like she had all the time in the world. "I need my number one supporter looking good in red and gold."

I opened my mouth to answer, but my phone buzzed.

Paige [4:35 PM]: Hope you’re packing some navy and white, ma. Can’t have you out here in Trojan colors. Wouldn't be a good look for you.

I groaned, tossing my phone onto my bed. Juju smirked.

"That her?"

"Don't start," I muttered.

Juju chuckled but didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. We both knew that she and Paige could barely stand to be in the same room, and the fact that I was friends with both of them only made it worse.

The game between USC and UConn was already set to be a battle. But for them, it wasn’t just about basketball.

It was about me.

Sitting courtside felt like sitting in the eye of a storm.

Juju was putting on a show—deep threes, crossovers that sent defenders stumbling, celebrations that felt just a little too directed at Paige.

Paige? Oh, she was taking it personally.

Every time she made a play, she looked at me. Every time she scored, she smirked like she was reminding me why she should be my favorite.

And then came the third quarter.

Paige went up for a layup. Juju was right there. They collided mid-air, and Paige hit the ground hard.

The whistle blew, but neither of them cared.

Paige shoved Juju’s shoulder as she stood up.

Juju shoved back.

And suddenly, they were chest to chest, jawing at each other.

I saw it before the refs did—the pure, reckless need to prove themselves.

Over me.

"Man, they’re really about to fight over you," Taylor muttered beside me.

I buried my face in my hands. "I hate them both."

"Sure you do," she laughed.

They both got hit with a tech. The game went on, but the tension never left.

Three days later, I was still recovering from the absolute embarrassment of watching my two best friends nearly get ejected because they couldn’t stop competing for my attention.

So when I heard a knock on my dorm room door, I should’ve known it was them.

What I didn’t expect?

For them to show up together.

I folded my arms. "Y’all better not have come here to argue in my dorm."

Paige sighed, rubbing her forehead. "We’re not."

Juju nodded. "We figured it out."

I blinked. "Figured what out?"

They exchanged a glance. Paige spoke first. "We’re gonna share you."

I stared. Then laughed. "Hilarious. Get out."

Neither of them moved.

Oh. They were serious.

Juju shrugged. "Look, we get it. You’re not gonna pick between us. And we’re not about to sit here and act like we don’t both want you."

Paige leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "So instead of fighting over you, we’re just gonna make it work. Together."

My head was spinning. "You—what?"

Juju smirked. "What, you can handle both of us, right?"

Paige grinned. "Or are we too much for you, ma?"

I glared at them. "I hate y’all."

Paige tilted my chin up. "No, you don’t."

The worst part?

She was right.

I thought the madness would end after they worked things out.

I was wrong.

Because now, instead of fighting over me, they were ganging up on me.

And that’s how I ended up at my lacrosse game, standing on the field, watching both of them sit front row in LSU gear.

They looked way too comfortable. Juju was leaning back in her seat like she owned the place. Paige had her feet propped up on the railing, arms crossed like she was analyzing my every move.

Taylor, sitting on the bench beside me, snorted. "Yeah, that’s not normal."

"Tell me about it," I muttered.

The game hadn’t even started yet, but they were already making themselves known.

Juju cupped her hands around her mouth. "Yo, baby, don’t let me down out there!"

Paige smirked. "She never lets me down, Watkins. She’s built different."

Juju scoffed. "Please, she’s my girl too. We’ll see who she winks at first when she scores."

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "I’m actually gonna die."

Taylor patted my back. "Nah, girl, you’re just stuck between two of the craziest ballers in the country."

"That’s supposed to make me feel better?"

She shrugged. "You picked them."

I sighed. "No, they picked me. And now I have to deal with—"

The ref blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game.

And before I even ran onto the field, Paige and Juju were already yelling for me.

Loudly.

Taylor smirked. "Yeah, you’re never escaping them."

After the game, I barely made it to the locker room before Juju and Paige cornered me.

Juju draped an arm around my shoulder. "Not bad, superstar. But next time, point at me when you score, yeah?"

Paige scoffed. "Oh, so you didn’t see her looking at me after that goal?"

I groaned. "Can y’all not?"

Juju grinned. "Nah. We’re invested in your career now, babe."

Paige smirked. "Exactly. We gotta make sure our girl knows we’re here for her."

I exhaled. They were never gonna let me live this down.

Taylor walked past, shaking her head. "Man, y’all are something else."

Paige and Juju high-fived.

I sighed.

This was my life now.

And honestly?

Maybe I didn’t mind it so much.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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honeyslibrary · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet Girl | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Dad!Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); None I believe. Fluff, established relationship, pregnancy + birth (ish), only edited once

Summary; The three times Quinn spoke to your belly + the one time he spoke to your baby

Word Count; 5.5k

Author’s note; I love this fic so much, I might make it a universe since I'm a sucker for girl dads + I'm not ready to give baby Scar and Quinn up (: As usual, any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated. Thank you for all of the support! -Honey

When you heard a knock on the door, and opened it to find a package from Amazon sitting on your doorstep, your first thought was that it must be for Quinn. It wasn’t unusual for him to order things online, especially when he was on the road and needed something shipped to the house. And though you often used his Prime account to order things for yourself too, this time you were sure you hadn’t ordered anything recently. You bent down to pick it up, the familiar brown box light in your hands as you brought it inside.

Glancing at the label, you furrowed your brow slightly. It had your name on it, but nothing about it gave you any clue what was inside. Shrugging it off, you left the package on the nightstand by Quinn's side of the bed, figuring it was something he'd ordered for himself, maybe some last-minute necessity he’d remembered while traveling.

The hours passed, and with the Canucks playing in Minnesota on another road game stint, you didn’t give much thought to the package sitting by the bed. It wasn’t until later that night, after the game, that you got a FaceTime call from Quinn. The familiar ping of your phone lit up the screen, and you smiled as his name appeared. You answered quickly, eager to see his face after missing him more than you'd care to admit.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling softly when his face appeared on your screen. His hair was still damp from his postgame shower, strands falling messily over his forehead, and the sight of him looking relaxed in his hotel room after a win sent a warm feeling through your chest.

“Hey, baby,” Quinn replied, his voice soft, but with a touch of fatigue. You could tell he was still riding the post-game high, but the exhaustion of the season was starting to creep in.

You both spent a few minutes catching up—him telling you about the game, the energy in the arena, and you sharing small details about your day, filling in the little gaps left by his absence. The conversation flowed easily, like it always did, but then, as the conversation lulled, Quinn’s brow furrowed slightly, like he’d remembered something.

“Did you get the package?” he asked suddenly, his voice casual but with a hint of elation as he adjusted the phone, leaning back against the headboard of his hotel bed.

You blinked in surprise, momentarily confused. "Package?" you echoed, your mind flipping back to the brown box you’d left on the nightstand. "Oh, yeah! That came this morning. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I just left it on your side of the bed."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Quinn’s lips, but he shook his head, his eyes softening as he looked at you through the screen. "It’s not for me," he said, his voice a little lower, with that familiar warmth that always made your heart flutter. “It’s for you, for us. I ordered it.”

Surprise flickered across your face, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly curious. "Really?" Your heart gave a little skip. Quinn wasn’t one to make a big deal out of surprises, but when he did, they were always thoughtful, something that showed how much attention he paid to the little details of your life.

He nodded, a small grin pulling at his lips as he watched your reaction. "Yeah. Go open it," he urged, his voice playful now, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you as you stood up from the couch and padded into the bedroom, phone in hand, feeling suddenly giddy. You picked up the box from the nightstand, shaking it lightly, though it didn’t give away much about what was inside. Setting your phone down on the bed so Quinn could still see you, you grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and sat down on the plush comforter, carefully slicing through the tape, your curiosity growing with every second.

"Any hints?" you asked as you opened the flaps of the box, glancing up at the screen to see him smiling.

"Not a chance," he replied, his voice filled with that playful mischief that always made your heart skip. "You’ll see in a second."

Inside the package, nestled among the packing paper, is a small green-and-white box that immediately catches your eye. You pull it out, flipping it over in your hands to examine the front. The box is labeled "Bellybuds," and your brow furrows slightly in curiosity. You’ve never heard of it before, and the image of a pregnant woman with small adhesive speakers attached to her belly leaves you wondering what exactly this is.

You hold it up toward your phone, angling it so Quinn can see the box through the screen. "What is this?" you ask, amusement coloring your voice as you turn it over again, your fingers lightly tracing the packaging.

On the other side of the phone, Quinn's face lights up, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "It's headphones... for babygirl," he says, his voice warm and filled with excitement, like a child presenting their favorite toy. "We can talk to her, play music, and stuff. Thought it'd be nice for her to hear us more clearly."

A small laugh escapes your lips, the sound light against the stillness of the room, as you glance down at your baby bump, gently resting your free hand on the slight curve of your belly. You look back at the screen, shaking your head affectionately at him. "But we already talk to her all the time," you say with a smile, "do we really need these?"

Quinn shrugs a little, but there’s a certain softness in the way he does it, a sheepish look crossing his face. His grin doesn’t fade, though—if anything, it only deepens as he watches your reaction, his eyes bright with affection. "I figured it could be fun," he admits, his voice quieter now, the tone laced with a hint of vulnerability that tugs at your heart. "You know... just something special we can do. I thought maybe she’d like hearing music, or hearing us talk to her in a different way."

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, a gentle wave of affection washing over you. The thought of Quinn, so excited to connect with your unborn daughter, to create memories and bonds even before she arrives—it fills you with a deep sense of love for him. He’s always been thoughtful, but there’s something about this moment, something about the quiet sincerity in his voice, that makes your heart swell.

You lower the box slightly, your hand still resting on your belly as you glance down at it again. The idea of playing music for her, of letting her hear the rhythm of your favorite songs, or of Quinn’s voice as he talks to her when he’s away on trips, suddenly feels incredibly sweet and meaningful.

"You’re so sweet," you murmur, lifting your gaze back to him, your voice soft and filled with affection. "I didn’t even think of something like this. But I love it."

Quinn’s grin widens at your words, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a flush of pride washes over his face. "I’m glad," he says, his tone lighter now, clearly pleased with himself. "Figured it was something a little different. Plus, I can play her some good music while I’m gone. Gotta get her used to my playlists early," he adds with a chuckle.

A snort escapes you, as you shake your head. "Right, because I’m sure she’s going to love Counting Crows just as much as you do," you tease, your smile growing as you imagine him curating a playlist of all his favorite songs just for her.

"Hey, she’ll have great taste, thanks to me," he replies, feigning mock offense, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s enjoying the playful banter as much as you are. "She’s gonna be the coolest kid around, trust me."

You roll your eyes with a grin, but your heart swells with warmth at the thought of the two of you already imagining what kind of music she’ll like, how she’ll react to the sounds of your voices. It makes everything feel more real, more tangible—like your little family is slowly but surely coming together.

You open the box carefully, pulling out the small circular speakers, running your fingers over the smooth surface. The adhesive pads are meant to stick to your belly, gently transmitting sound into your womb.

"You know," you begin, your gaze flickering back to the phone screen, "I think it’ll be really nice. She’ll get to hear your voice more often when you’re away for games... it’ll be like you’re still here, even when you’re not."

Quinn’s expression softens at that, his grin fading into something more tender, more intimate. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet warmth. "That’s exactly what I was hoping for. I hate being away, especially now. But this... I thought it could help. Like, she’ll know I’m still with you two, even when I’m on the road."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you can feel the emotions welling up inside you, your eyes watering as you look at him. The way he talks about your daughter, the way he’s so thoughtful and attentive to both of you, makes you fall in love with him even more. You bite your lip, a smile spreading across your face as you press your hand a little more firmly against your belly, feeling the weight of your daughter resting there.

"She’s going to love hearing your voice," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "And so will I."

"Hey there, sweet girl," Quinn’s voice is a low, soothing murmur, barely above a whisper, as he speaks into the microphone of his phone. "Daddy here," he adds softly, his tone filled with warmth and tenderness, like every word is wrapped in love.

He shifts carefully on the bed, moving slowly so as not to disturb you from your deep sleep. The dim light from his phone screen casts a soft glow over the room, the only sound being the quiet hum of the fan and the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Quinn settles back against the pillows, adjusting himself so he can be closer to you, his body leaning into your side.

His free hand reaches out, fingertips grazing the soft fabric of your tank top before gently coming to rest on the curve of your baby bump. His touch is light, reverent, like he’s afraid he might wake you if he presses too hard. But even in your sleep, the warmth of his hand resting on your belly sends a sense of comfort through you, as though even unconsciously, your body knows that he's there. His thumb starts moving in slow, gentle circles over your bump, a calming rhythm that has become second nature to him—his way of connecting with both of you.

His eyes soften as he gazes down at the swell of your stomach, where your baby girl is growing, nestled safely inside you. The sight still fills him with awe every time he sees it—the miracle of life forming between you both, the quiet anticipation of becoming a father. He leans closer, careful not to disturb the Bellybuds that are attached to your bump, the small adhesive pads delivering his voice directly to the baby through the connected cord in the phone.

"Just wanted to let you know how much I love you," he whispers softly, his voice low and full of affection. "Before I go to sleep tonight."

The corners of his lips twitch into a small smile as he speaks, his thumb continuing its gentle movements over your belly, tracing slow, lazy circles. He takes a deep breath, letting the moment wash over him. It’s something he’s done often lately—these quiet talks with your baby girl before bed. He knows she might not fully understand, but the thought of her possibly hearing his voice, growing familiar with the sound of her dad, fills him with a sense of happiness he can’t quite put into words.

"I had a long day, and I know you’re probably resting too," he continues, his voice steady but filled with a kind of quiet wonder. "But I couldn’t let the night end without saying goodnight." He leans forward just slightly, brushing a soft kiss against the top of your belly, the warmth of his lips barely touching your skin. "I can’t wait to meet you, sweet girl. Every day, I think about what it’s going to be like when you’re finally here with us."

There’s a pause as he glances up at you, still sound asleep beside him, your breathing steady and peaceful. The room feels still, but in a way that makes everything feel more intimate, more present. His eyes flicker back down to your belly, the small life growing inside, and he feels the overwhelming sense of love flood him once again—an emotion so strong it almost takes his breath away.

"I promise I’ll always take care of you," Quinn whispers into the microphone, his voice dropping even lower, as though he’s sharing a secret just between him and his daughter. "And your mom, too. We’re a team, the three of us. And I’m gonna do my best to make sure you have everything you need, to keep you safe, and to love you more than anything in this world."

His hand moves slightly, his palm now resting flat against the curve of your belly, feeling the faint, subtle movements beneath. Sometimes, when the timing is right, he can feel her respond, little kicks or shifts, as though she knows he’s there. It’s in those moments that the reality of fatherhood feels most real to him, the little reminders that soon, she’ll be here in his arms.

"You’re already so loved, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice soft and tender as he speaks into the microphone, his gaze never leaving your bump. "Your mom and I... we talk about you all the time. What you’ll be like, what you’ll look like. I think you’re going to be perfect. And I can’t wait to see who you become."

The weight of his words lingers in the air, and Quinn takes another breath, feeling the warmth of your body beside him, the closeness of your shared space. He glances back at you, his heart swelling with affection as he takes in the peaceful look on your face, the way you look so serene in your sleep. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

"I’m so lucky to have you," he whispers, his voice barely audible, meant only for your sleeping ears. "Both of you."

For a long moment, Quinn just lays there, his hand resting protectively over your belly, his heart full of so much love he can barely contain it. He thinks about the future—the late-night feedings, the first steps, the endless love he’s ready to give to both you and your daughter. It all feels so real, so close, and he can’t help but feel grateful for everything you’ve built together.

After a few more moments of quiet, he shifts slightly, letting out a soft sigh as his hand lingers on your bump one last time. "Goodnight, sweet girl," he whispers softly into the microphone, his voice full of tenderness and love. "I’ll see you soon."

"Hey there, sweet girl, Daddy here." Quinn speaks into the microphone of his phone, the sound laced with a soft chuckle as he follows you around the kitchen, making sure the Bellybuds stay securely attached to your baby bump. Every step you take, he mirrors, careful not to let the wires tangle or the pads come loose.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile that tugs at your lips as you shuffle around the counter. "Quinn, I’m trying to cook," you say, your tone a mix of amusement and exasperation as you glance over your shoulder at him.

"It’s not my fault Mommy got out of bed before I could say good morning, right, sweet girl?" His grin widens as he speaks into the phone, leaning in slightly as though your daughter, nestled safely in your belly, can hear him more clearly that way. There’s a lightness in his voice, full of the kind of joy that comes naturally when he’s talking to your unborn child—like he’s already practicing the loving banter he’ll share with her once she’s here.

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you move back to the stove, carefully flipping the strips of bacon sizzling in the pan. The kitchen is cozy, the rich, savory smell of breakfast filling the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee brewing on the counter. Sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a golden glow across the countertops, and the whole scene feels peaceful, wrapped in the simple comfort of a Saturday morning.

Quinn trails behind you, keeping close, the ever-present grin still on his face. His eyes are filled with that familiar playful glint, the one that tells you he’s not taking any of this too seriously—but at the same time, you know just how much these moments mean to him. He takes every chance he can get to bond with your little one, to talk to her, even if it’s just silly things or affectionate words whispered against your belly. It’s something you’ve grown to love even more about him during this pregnancy—how committed he is to being present, even before she’s here.

You shuffle across the kitchen to grab a plate for the bacon, and as you do, Quinn follows closely behind, adjusting the Bellybuds’ cord as you move. You shoot him another glance, one eyebrow raised, even as a smile pulls at the corner of your lips. "Shouldn’t you be getting ready for morning skate?" you ask, your tone teasing as you gesture vaguely toward the clock on the wall.

Quinn shrugs, leaning casually against the counter, his hand resting on your bump for just a moment before he drops it back to his side. "Nah," he says with a playful smirk, "I’ve got a few minutes. Besides, what’s more important—hockey or talking to my daughter?" His eyes sparkle with mischief as he shifts his focus back to your belly, speaking directly into the microphone. "See, sweet girl? Daddy has his priorities straight. Morning skate can wait."

You let out another huff of amusement, shaking your head as you plate the crispy bacon. "Priorities, huh?" You glance at him, a soft smile dancing on your lips. "I’ll remember that the next time you’re in the playoffs."

He laughs, the sound rich and easy, and steps closer, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist from behind, careful not to disrupt your cooking. You feel the warmth of his chest press against your back, the familiar weight of his body comforting as he leans his chin gently on your shoulder, peeking around to watch you cook. His hand slides down, resting protectively over your bump, his fingers splayed across your belly as if he’s trying to feel every little movement she might make.

"I promise," he murmurs, his voice softer now, his lips brushing your ear, "she’ll always come first. Even during playoffs."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, you pause in your task, turning your head just enough to catch his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, that quiet kind of love that’s always been there, but seems to have grown even deeper during this pregnancy. You lean back into him slightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against your back, and for a brief moment, everything feels perfectly still.

"I know," you murmur, your hand resting on top of his as it cradles your belly.

The moment stretches on for a beat longer, before Quinn presses a soft kiss to your temple, then pulls back with a playful grin. "But seriously," he adds, "we can’t have her growing up thinking she's not the light of my life."

You laugh, the sound bright and easy as you turn back to the stove, flipping the eggs that are now starting to sizzle in the pan. "No, we definitely can’t have that." You agree, amused.

Quinn leans against the counter, still keeping a close eye on you as you move around the kitchen, his eyes occasionally flicking down to your belly. He’s quiet for a moment, just watching, but there’s a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Besides, I think she’s already going to have pretty high expectations for you," you say, glancing at him with a smile as you finish cooking, setting the eggs and bacon on the table. "Talking to her every day, following me around like a puppy..."

He shrugs again, not even trying to hide the grin this time. "Hey, I’ve got to make sure she knows she’s got the best dad in the world, right?"

You shake your head, laughing as you move toward him, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck as he pulls you close. "I think she’s going to know that no matter what," you say softly, your eyes meeting his, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, the kind that’s full of love and gratitude, the kind that says more than words ever could. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but full of warmth.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. You glance down at your belly, where the Bellybuds are still securely attached, and grab his phone from his hand, bringing the microphone to your lips. "And I know you love daddy too, right sweet girl?"

"Hey there, sweet girl, Daddy here," Quinn whispers softly into the microphone, his voice a murmur in the stillness of the night. The house around you is silent, save for the faint rustling of the trees outside the window and the gentle sound of your breathing as you sleep peacefully beside him. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts a warm, golden light over the room, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of comfort.

Carefully, Quinn adjusts the Bellybuds, making sure the small adhesive speakers are securely attached to your growing belly, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he does. Once satisfied that everything is in place, he leans back against the pillows, settling himself beside you and letting out a quiet, contented sigh.

"You're due to come see me and Mommy very soon," he begins. His free hand moves to rest gently on your belly, the warmth of his palm spreading across your skin as his thumb traces slow, soothing circles over the curve of your bump. "And we're so excited to finally meet you."

The smile on his face widens as he speaks the words aloud, the reality of it sinking in more and more with every passing day. His heart swells with emotion, a mixture of excitement and nerves at the thought of holding his daughter in his arms for the first time. He’s imagined it a thousand times already—what it will feel like, what she’ll look like—and yet, he knows nothing can truly prepare him for the moment when she finally arrives.

"We have your nursery all set up," he continues, his voice full of pride. "Mommy picked out the prettiest colors and decorations. And she bought you so many cute outfits... I know you’ll be just adorable." His words are filled with affection as he thinks about the hours you spent meticulously planning and decorating the nursery. He remembers the way your eyes lit up with excitement every time a new package arrived at the door—tiny clothes, soft blankets, little shoes too small to seem real.

Quinn chuckles softly to himself, his thumb still moving in slow circles over your belly. "I can already picture you wearing those little onesies. Mommy’s got good taste," he says with a grin, though his voice softens as he adds, "You’re going to be the most beautiful girl in the world, and I can’t wait to see you."

The room falls into a comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His gaze drifts back to you, watching as you shift slightly in your sleep, snuggling deeper into the blankets. He loves these quiet moments with you, when the world feels small and the love he has for you and your growing family feels like the only thing that matters.

"You're our first, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dropping even lower, as if he's sharing a secret meant just for her. His thumb continues its rhythmic motion on your belly, grounding him in the moment, the connection between the three of you palpable. "So Mommy and I... we might not be perfect. We’ll probably make mistakes, and we’re still learning. But I promise you, we’ll always try our best for you."

The sincerity in his words hangs in the air, a promise that he knows will shape the rest of his life. Fatherhood is something he’s thought about for so long, and now that it’s just around the corner, the weight of it feels both exhilarating and humbling. He knows there will be challenges, sleepless nights, moments of doubt—but he also knows that the love he feels for you and your daughter will guide him through it all. It already has.

"Daddy loves you," he whispers softly into the microphone, his voice filled with all the love and devotion he can possibly give. "So much. And I can’t wait to show you just how much when you get here." He leans down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your belly, his lips warm against your skin.

Scarlett Eloise Hughes was born on July 2nd, arriving into the world at seven pounds, four ounces, with the tiniest tuft of brown hair and the clearest green eyes you’d ever seen. From the moment you heard her first cry, a quiet, delicate sound that filled the room, your heart swelled with a love so overwhelming, it felt like nothing else existed beyond that moment. Time seemed to slow as the nurses moved around you, murmuring their congratulations as they swiftly began their work.

The delivery couldn’t have gone smoother. It was as if Scarlett herself had been eager to meet you and Quinn, arriving just two hours after you checked into the hospital. Your contractions had come on strong that morning, starting as a dull ache and quickly intensifying until you knew it was time.

But even considering the relative ease of it all, you were exhausted—utterly spent in the best possible way. The rush of adrenaline from labor, the flood of emotions that came with bringing new life into the world, had left you physically and emotionally drained, but also more fulfilled than ever before.

You watched through hazy eyes as Quinn, who had been by your side every second, stepped forward to cut Scarlett’s umbilical cord. The nurse handed him the scissors, and though his hand trembled slightly, his face was full of awe. You could see the tears glistening in his eyes as he gently snipped the cord, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check. It was such a simple act, but in that moment, it felt monumental—like a bridge between pregnancy and the start of your new lives as parents.

Once the nurses had gently taken Scarlett away to clean her off, weigh her, and perform the routine newborn checks, the room felt quiet, almost surreal. You lay back against the pillows, your body heavy with fatigue but your heart full of love. Every so often, you could hear the soft sound of Scarlett’s tiny cries as they swaddled her in a warm blanket and placed her in the bassinet.

Then, at last, they brought her over to you.

The moment they placed her in your arms, everything else melted away. Scarlett was so small, so delicate, her skin still slightly flushed from the effort of being born. Her tiny fingers curled reflexively into a fist, her eyes blinking up at you as though she were trying to focus on the face she had yet to fully see but already knew so well. The warmth of her little body pressed against yours made your chest tighten with emotion, and as you gazed down at her, you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

"Hi, Scarlett," you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion as you leaned your forehead against hers for just a moment, taking in her scent, that unmistakable newborn smell that was somehow both sweet and comforting. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Scarlett blinked again, her tiny lips parting slightly as she made a soft cooing sound, and in that moment, it was as though your entire world had shifted. Every hope, every dream, every little piece of your life had led to this—this beautiful, perfect baby girl in your arms.

You shifted her gently, positioning her so you could nurse her for the first time. Her tiny mouth latched onto your breast instinctively, and the sensation was both strange and wonderful all at once.

It was breathtaking moment, just you and her, connected in a way that felt profound to you. You could feel her little body relax against yours as she fed, her breathing evening out, her tiny fingers resting against your chest.

Tears filled your eyes again, and you glanced over at Quinn, who stood watching silently. His eyes held a mix of emotions—joy, admiration, and a deep, unwavering love. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment she was born, but now, watching you nurse Scarlett, that smile softened into something more tender, more meaningful.

Once Scarlett finished feeding, you gently lifted her and cradled her close to your chest, marveling at how perfectly she fit into your arms, like she was meant to be there all along. After a few moments, you met Quinn’s gaze and smiled softly.

"You're up next, daddy." you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn nodded, his throat visibly working as he tried to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to overcome him, though you could see the eagerness in his eyes.

"Take off your shirt," you added, remembering the advice about skin-to-skin contact. You wanted him to experience that bond, the warmth of her small body against his, just as you had.

Without hesitation, Quinn pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the nearby chair. He stepped closer, his movements careful and measured, as though he were afraid of disturbing the fragile moment. Gently, you passed Scarlett into his arms, watching as he settled into the chair beside your hospital bed.

The second Scarlett was in his arms, her little body resting against his bare chest, something changed in Quinn. His entire posture softened, his shoulders relaxing as if every ounce of tension had melted away. He held her with the utmost care, his large hands supporting her tiny head, his thumb brushing gently across her back as she nestled against him.

"Hey there, sweet girl," Quinn whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he gazed down at her in awe. "Daddy here."

Scarlett’s small hand flexed against his chest, and Quinn let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He leaned his head down slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as though he couldn’t bear to pull away.

The sight of them together—the love radiating from Quinn, the peaceful way Scarlett settled into his arms—filled you with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. This was your family now. The three of you, together, bound by the deepest kind of love.

Quinn rocked gently in the chair, his eyes never leaving Scarlett’s face, as though he were committing every detail of this moment to memory. "You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I love you so much. You have no idea."

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you watched them, your heart full to bursting. This was everything you had hoped for and more—a moment of pure, unfiltered love. "She’s perfect," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Quinn glanced up at you, his eyes shining with tears of his own. "Yeah, she really is."

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fluff #dad!quinn hughes #sweet girl universe

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iamsebastiansstan · 2 months ago

Text

surrender at your feet - stepbro!NAC x fem!reader

summary - This kink is getting out of hand, but he doesn’t give a single fuck, because where he is sick and rotten, she is, too.

wc - 15k lol - MINORS DNI !

warnings - dark!Nicholas so beware, stepcest, manipulation, somnophilia, oral (m and f receiving), edging, crying during sex, dirty talk, face slapping (the sexual and non sexual kind), borderline abusive Nicholas, panty kink, non-consensual voyeurism (he's watching her taking a shower without her knowing), exhibitionism (grinding where others could see), but they looove each other whatever whatever <3

A/N - this one... LOL THIS ONE almost did me in, it took me so long to write and it's nowhere near done but it was gnawing at my brain so I had to post it. 's a likkle fucked up so don't read if you aren't into that sick shit, thanks. super plot heavy, part two is gonna be a lot smuttier! feedback is always appreciated, love you <3

this one is for @hoffmansgirl and @urlitttlevenicebitch specifically, thanks for holding my hand throughout all this nastiness my Darlings 🖤

PART 1 / 2:

It started a couple of years back, when she first came into his life, fists swinging and lips cursing. She hated it, hated being part of this family, hated the new house she moved into, hated his father, hated him.

It was a lot for her to take in, and he understood. He, too, had some nights where he had to clench his teeth through the onslaught of tears, fuming at the fact that his mother just up and left them like that, moved to fucking Italy to be with Sergio or Francesco or whatever the fuck his name is, giving up everything she had in her life, including her only son. It hurt, but he bore it, and that was the main difference between them, wasn’t it? Where she was loud and rebellious, a little spitfire, he was quiet and brooding, preferring to keep a low profile.

He's just glad she got used to it, over time, even building a solid relationship with her stepfather. He was grateful for the mother figure his stepmom posed in his life, as well, he had missed having that.

The two of them, though?

Acquaintances rather than stepsiblings, and he couldn’t pick between hating the frost between them or being thankful for the emotional distance, considering his feelings towards her. Feelings he doesn’t- can’t- talk about.

They grew into their adult years together, and the older they got, the more he’s had to try to resist her, his rational brain reminding him of what it’d look like, the rest of his body yearning for her in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

He’s also glad they both decided to stay home for college, so he can keep an eye on her, brotherly love and all that. Their house isn’t big, but three slim stories high, and he shares the top floor with her, his bedroom next to hers, a bathroom across the hall, blessedly far away from where their parents sleep one floor down. The walls are thin, too, so he can make sure she isn’t sneaking out at night, or taking phone calls she isn’t supposed to be having, and-

He's protective, sue him.

“Nick, have you seen my tanning oil?” she calls from just outside his door, making him look up from the video game he’s playing.

His frustration runs deep, he’s getting fucking obliterated.

“It’s not in the cabinet?”

“No, that’s why I’m asking!”

“Maybe you left it downstairs yesterday?”

They’re on summer break, and every day, like clockwork, she spends her whole morning tanning her skin, lounging by the pool, reading a book. This past semester has been hard on her, he knows, so she didn’t exactly have time for a job on the side, which means going away on vacation is not in the cards for her right now. He’d love for them to go away together, he’d pay for it no problem, but there’s no way in hell she’d ever say yes to that, so he stays home and sulks. But only a little. He doesn’t mind.

He looks out the window and sees her stomping towards the sunbed, bending down in her tiny bikini that’s showing off her ass and straightening out with the bottle of oil clutched tightly in her hand. She turns towards where his window is and smiles at him, giving him a thumbs up that makes him feel warm on the inside.

Here’s another thing he loves about having a room on this floor, apart from getting to share it with her: his big window has a very clear view of their garden including the pool, where he can watch her skimpy swimsuit-clad body, covered in oil, at that, for as long as he wants, but if he stands to the side just so, he also gets a glimpse of the spacious outdoor shower their parents insisted on building last summer. It’s perfect to rinse off in after the mud treatments they like to put on in their outdoor sauna, but also perfect to clean yourself in after you’ve doused your body in oil that you don’t want to soil the inside bathroom with, the way his sister prefers to do. He can’t see everything from there, especially not without getting caught- one look up and his hiding spot would be busted- but he can see enough to satisfy his need to feel closer to her, see more of her, his delusion of connection being fed plenty.

And so he patiently waits for her to get tired of laying around, for her to start feeling too hot under the rays of the August sun, for her to pack up her stuff and languidly move to the shower. Nicholas gets up from his desk and discreetly positions himself just right, just to see enough of the shower. It’s built in a spiral with the showerhead in the middle, and she hangs up her silk robe outside and then walks in, hands already reaching behind herself to pull the strings of her top, making it fall away. This is a sight he’ll never grow tired of: her full breasts on display, perky nipples hard from the change in temperature, making his mouth water for a taste. He’d treat them so well, suck them so good.

Next are her bottoms, and this is where his line of sight isn’t cutting it properly, he can’t see past the curve of her ass or the spot where her stomach becomes her mound, but he’s okay with it, okay with imagining it without knowing exactly. It makes it sweeter, in a way, lets the anticipation build for what he hopes will someday become an inevitability.

Grabbing the bottle of shower gel from the rack on the wall and spreading it on her loofa generously, she starts cleaning herself, rubbing her small hands all over that smooth skin, getting rid of the oil that made her look shiny and lickable. Nicholas feels his cock stir but he doesn’t do anything about it, the risk of getting caught too high. He can explain away why he’s standing by his window, but there’s no explanation for why he’s looking outside with his cock in his hand. He just commits every moment to memory and jerks off after, that’s how it’s always been.

Always, up until now, apparently, because she does something he’s never seen her do before: she leans against the wall, just outside of the stream of water, and lets one hand trail down her stomach, very obviously stopping at her pussy and keeping it there. Her other hand grabs at her breast as she throws her head back, and Nicholas audibly moans when he realizes that fuck, his stepsister is touching herself under the shower. He knows it’s wrong to watch, has known since the very first time he did, having to squash the guilt day in and day out, but he couldn’t look away now if he tried.

Hand grabbing his cock through his shorts, he palms at the hardness of it, bites his lip when she does, wishes he could look down at her body the way she does, see what she’s doing to that undoubtedly sweet pussy of hers. It’s like his brain has been switched off when he plunges his hand into his underwear and grasps his rock hard dick, not pulling it out but giving himself enough room for movement as he desperately jerks it, speeding up when he sees her arm moving faster, not daring to shut his eyes as he watches her close hers and come with her face scrunched up. It doesn’t take him long and he’s right there with her, spilling his load hot all over himself, uncaring because what he just witnessed was the hottest thing of his life.

She sighs heavily, judging by the movement of her chest, and he sees her clean herself quickly before shutting the water off and grabbing the towel that’s hanging to the side.

He doesn’t stay to watch her walk out.

***

He acts normal around her, because of course he does, what else is he supposed to do? They eat dinner together every night, as a family, they go to the movies every now and then, when there’s something good on and her friends are busy, he drives her home from parties, when his friends decide to drink and make him the designated driver of the group.

Such is the case tonight, after a few students from their college had one too many at the bar crawl and he offered to take some of them home. After dropping off his last friend from the group, it’s just the two of them in the car.

“You never drink,” she mumbles, watching the streetlights as they drive by.

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Just not my thing.”

She scoffs. “I feel like you’d be a lot more fun if you did.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. This is a level of honesty she wouldn’t allow herself without liquid courage.

“Why’s that?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs. “You’re a little… stuck-up. Actually, no. You’re strict.”

He smiles softly.

“I guess I am. You had fun tonight?”

She grins at him when he looks over at her.

“Fuck yeah. Gave Sam my number, he said he’d text me tomorrow.”

Jealousy flares in his chest, bright and ugly, and he grips the steering wheel to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret.

“Oh, really? I heard he’s bad news, (Y/N).”

She clicks her tongue, all sass, before she replies, “People talk, but it’s mainly bullshit. He’s a good guy.”

He lets her answer hang in the air, out of things to contribute to this stupid conversation. Fuckin’ Sam, of all people.

After a while, she speaks up again.

“What about you? I never see you with anyone.”

He smiles to himself, shrugging.

“I date around a bit, nothing serious. I don’t have the capacity for it right now.”

I’m too focused on you, he doesn’t say. It’s been around two weeks since he’s had sex, choosing to hit up a girl from class every now and then, when his frustration gets too intense, but he’s not really interested in anything but the physical, with nobody. Well, nobody apart from his stepsister, of course.

They arrive at home, and he parks the car, turns it off and looks to his right where she’s sitting.

“Lots of girls have a crush on you, Nicholas,” she whispers, doesn’t look at him, “I hear them talk. They want you.”

He knows, but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah? And how does that make you feel, to hear them thirsting after your big brother?”

He’s tethering on an edge, here, and he’s aware of it. They don’t really talk about what they are to each other, they don’t really talk at all, actually, but he throws caution in the wind and hopes her drunk self will let him get away with it.

Her eyes are hard when they meet his, albeit for just a second.

“I think it’s stupid,” she mumbles, “none of them are good enough for you.” With that she undoes her seatbelt and gets out, bends down to look at him one more time, says, “Thank you for the ride, Nick,” and slams the door shut.

He sits there long after she’s walked into the house.

***

When he hears a slight, insistent buzzing sound, he first thinks it’s tinnitus. He pops his ears, digs a knuckle in to try to make it stop before deciding that, nope, it’s not coming from within his head. It’s coming from the other side of the wall.

Seeing as the walls are paper-thin, Nicholas hears most of what goes on in her room, as does she when he doesn’t watch how loud he’s being in his.

He doesn’t listen to music loudly, instead he opts for using his headphones, because he knows she loves to read and prefers a quiet atmosphere to do so. She stops her singing and humming at around ten p.m., because she knows he’s a ridiculously light sleeper and can hear every sound she makes. They look out for each other, as siblings are supposed to, no matter their relation.

But he’s never heard buzzing before, especially not like this, it’s too drawn out for it to be her phone leaned against the wall, signaling a call. Is it a hair clipper? In her room? No way, why would she-

“Oh… oh, fuck,” he hears, her voice high and breathy, and-

Oh. Oh.

Heat crawls up his neck as he lets the realization sink in, tries his best to stay still and not press his head against the wall to listen in further. He lasts exactly eleven seconds before he’s scooting across his bed to get as close as possible, to hear as much as he can.

Her moans are stifled but they’re audible nonetheless, making his cock stir. The buzzing must be a vibrator, something she apparently has never used before, because he would’ve heard it if it was the same as this one. Or maybe she’s only used it when he was out of the house, which makes an uncomfortable feeling spread in his gut. Why is she hiding this from him? What else is she hiding from him?

Nicholas reels himself in through the fog of horniness clouding his mind, reminds himself that she isn’t hiding anything, per se, reminds himself that she’s got a right to privacy, and he is crossing many lines by doing what he does, but. He can’t help it, alright? He needs her, he adores her.

So he presses his ear against the wall above his headboard, works his pants open and takes his cock out, and bites his lip to keep from moaning right along with her as he listens to her labored breathing, the strong buzzing of the toy that’s pressed- into her pussy? against her pussy?- and the slight whimper that escapes her every now and then. He’s always only imagined what she’d sound like, but now he’s got her actual noises in his ears, and he saves those sounds to his spank bank to get off to forever. God, he can’t believe she’s so vocal even when she’s undoubtedly trying not to be. What a fucking treat she is for him.

It's over faster than he’d like to admit but he can’t be embarrassed when this literal wet dream material landed in his lap, and after he’s made himself bust to the sound of her reaching her peak herself, biting his knuckles and doing everything in his power not to make a sound and scare her off, he takes his shirt off to wipe the mess with, not finding anything else within arm’s reach.

Deciding to wait a beat before going to the bathroom for a shower, he’s surprised to see her exiting her room at the exact same time he does, looking disheveled and holding a towel with something bundled up in it. No doubt that fucking toy. Her eyes widen comically when she sees him, stops in her tracks, and he can’t help the raise of his eyebrows either.

“You go ahead,” he tells her, motioning to the bathroom.

“Nah,” she says, her cheeks coloring adorably, “I gotta shower, I’ll take a bit longer.”

He nods, suppresses a smirk.

“Okay, I’ll give you a knock when I’m done.”

Feeling smug, he purposely takes his time, lets her stew in her discomfort.

Walking back to his room, he gives her the promised knock before closing his door behind himself. He listens for her footsteps. It takes her almost five minutes to move.

***

If you asked Nicholas if he’d describe himself as creepy, he’d flat-out tell you no. If you asked him if he’d call himself a perv, he’d have to think about it. If you, however, asked him if he’s got some serious sexual issues, he’d nod enthusiastically and ask you if you had the number of a good therapist. Or a priest. At this point, he’ll take any help he can get.

Because he knows this isn’t normal, knows it rationally, but the thing is that he’s a dude in his twenties who just so prefers to think with his cock, mainly, and so he doesn’t care.

Plus, lately, she’s been a real tease. Nothing too crazy, subtility is her strong suit, but enough to drive him mad. When she sits herself down next to him at dinner, she’ll turn to him, put her feet up on his chair, under his thighs.

“Please, warm them for me?” she’ll pout, making him roll his eyes in fake annoyance while his heartrate kicks up a notch.

“You’re not even wearing socks!” he’ll snap, but of course he’ll warm her feet up.

She’s started tanning topless, but only when she’s on her stomach, not revealing too much, but more than she has before. The sight of her tits under the shower is still a treat, though.

And, on top of it all, she’s started putting her clothes in his hamper. They each have their own hamper in the bathroom, right next to each other, and mix-ups have happened over the years, but three in one week is a bit much. First it was her shirt, then it was two pairs of socks, then her bra. He wordlessly put them into hers without thinking about it, but now he’s struggling.

Because now he’s looking at a thong, a worn thong, on top of the shirt he tossed in last night. How he knows it’s worn? There’s a tiny spot on the crotch, dried pussy juice, whatever it may be, but it suddenly makes his tongue feel heavy and the sight of it makes him think the only way to stop his brain from short circuiting is to put his mouth on it, which, no. Even for him, that is too far, he doesn’t do that.

What he does do, however, after he checks behind himself to make sure she isn’t coincidentally walking by at this exact moment, is pocket them, walk into his room with them heavy on his person, and when he shuts the door, he realizes he hasn’t taken a single breath the entire way there.

His hands shake when they take the panties out, and his cock hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy for a second. He contemplates bringing them up to his nose and inhaling but decides against it. If he ever gets to smell her, he wants it to be her, fully, nothing else. Tossing them on the bed, he sits down, takes a minute to himself.

That must have fucking been on purpose, right? There is no way she didn’t do that for him to find it. No way. The thong was planted, presented, almost, she wanted him to see it and then what? What reaction is she expecting? He won’t give her a direct one, that’s for damn sure. It’s too risky, what if it really was accidental, he’d make himself look like an absolute psycho.

Resolute, he decides not to do anything about it yet, not regarding her, at least. By himself, that’s another story entirely. He’s undoing his pants before he knows it, taking off his shirt and getting completely naked. Nick leans back against his headboard, gets comfortable among the pillows, and starts playing with his cock slowly.

He's hard, wet already, throbbing, but he takes his time, teases the tip, imagines it’s her tongue instead. Grabbing the panties, he wraps them around his base, makes sure they’re on properly and holds them with one hand while his other speeds up, eager to get off. The sight of that lacy black material around his dick, the contrast similar to how it’d be if he just got her on her back, pulled them to the side and slid into her hot cunt, that thought driving him insane, driving him closer and closer to his orgasm.

He comes with a shout and isn’t even ashamed of it, makes sure to let his semen run along his shaft and pool on the material of the thong, let it get soaked a little, before he takes it away completely and uses it to wipe away what he can. For the rest he uses a tissue from his bedside table.

It takes him a while to build that courage up, but he walks to her hamper, puts her ruined underwear at the very top of the dirty pile of her laundry.

Hours later, at night when everyone’s asleep and regret hits him, panic grips at his throat, he goes through it again, can’t find the damn pair of panties among the same pile of clothes.

Nobody in the house did the laundry today, he knows, he’s been the only one at home the entire time.

***

Their parents have no qualms about going on vacation for a few weeks and leaving their kids at home alone, and he’s absolutely fine with it for the most part, if only she wasn’t so insistent on letting her rebellious streak show now that nobody can correct her, partying every damn night and showing up at all times of the morning, leaving him worried sick.

“At least have the fucking decency to let me know when you won’t be coming home, so I don’t worry,” he snaps at her after the fourth night of her going out.

“You’re not my fucking father,” she hisses and leaves, skirt too short and heels too high, leaving Nicholas boiling with rage.

It’s only a small surprise when, one day, he walks into the living room after a post-lunch nap and catches her on the couch, straddling Sam. He had forgotten about the guy, about her telling him that they’d exchanged numbers, and he feels the bright hot mix of jealousy and anger make its way into his blood stream.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, smirks when they jump apart, ending their little make out session, “who do we have here?”

She glares at him with her mouth red and wet, panting slightly, and if he had any less self-control, he’d grab her by the throat and drag her off this loser’s lap.

“Nicholas, hey dude,” Sam chuckles, a little embarrassed and a lot sheepish as she gets off his lap, stands up with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Let’s go up to my room, Sam,” she says, is about to pull him up when Nicholas’ loud laugh interrupts her, makes her whip her head around to look at him.

Stop being weird, her gaze tells him, but she has no clue how normal he’s being right now, has no clue what it is he wants to do instead.

“I don’t fucking think so, (Y/N),” he snarls, leans against the wall with his arms crossed as well. Two can play this game. “Samuel, you were just about to leave, weren’t you.”

“Actually, I- I wasn’t really-“

“Wasn’t a question.”

“Nick!” she hisses, looks at him with wide-eyed fury, “What the fuck are you doing? Sam, you really don’t have to leave, let’s just go upstairs.”

“(Y/N),” Nicholas starts, grit teeth and dark eyes, “I said he’s leaving, end of story.”

“Hey, it’s all good, babe,” Sam says, and even though that nickname makes Nicholas’ stomach turn, he appreciates that the boy has at least some respect left. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He presses a kiss to her cheek and grabs his backpack, walks past Nicholas with a small nod and disappears through the door. The silence he leaves behind is deafening as they look at each other, and she’s spitting mad, he can tell, shaking with it.

She grits, “What the fuck was that?”

He shrugs, tries to act nonchalant, tries to keep control over the situation.

“You’re not going to hang out with him again, okay?”

“What?” she yells, disbelief coloring her voice.

“Lower your fuckin’ tone when speaking to me,” he hisses, stalks over to her and grabs her by the shoulders. “Sam is a piece of shit, and I will not let my sister hang around people like him, am I understood? You won’t see him again.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He doesn’t think, just for a second, and suddenly his hand is at her throat, slamming her against the wall and crowding into her. He can’t consider his next steps, the ringing in his ears is too loud.

“Who the fuck do you think I am, huh? It’s enough now, (Y/N)! It’s enough!”

There’s fear in her eyes as she stares up at him, pulse hammering under his fingertips, but she doesn’t fight him, doesn’t struggle against him.

He cages her in, lips a hair-width from hers as he gently whispers, “Now, what is it that you’re not going to do anymore?”

She swallows hard, a movement that’s constricted by his tight grip.

“S-see Sam,” she whimpers, not taking her gaze off him.

Nicholas smiles.

“Atta girl,” he praises, moves the knuckle of his other hand along her cheekbone. “And while we’re at it, you’re not going to any more parties, okay? Four in a row are enough, don’t you think?” She gives him a jerky nod, wordless but appeasing, nonetheless. “Very good, wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” he smiles, condescension dripping from every syllable, watching her shake her head no before he lets instinct take over and presses a kiss to her forehead, all loving brother like. “Now go up to your room, I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?”

She’s out of his grasp before he can even step away fully.

He serves dinner silently, chicken and mac’n’cheese, her favorite. She whispers a small thank you and digs in, doesn’t look at him. Nicholas knows he might have gone a bit far today, especially so suddenly, but he only did it for her. The stories about Sam really did make their rounds, and he’d hate for his little sister to be known as one of that scumbag’s girls. Fuck no.

“’m sorry about today,” he says after he’s let the atmosphere settle. “I should’ve been gentler, less angry, maybe. But I really am just worried about you, (Y/N), you can understand that, can’t you?”

It takes her a beat before she can look at him, chewing her food slowly. He gives her a small smile, encouraging, he hopes. He puts his hand on the table, palm up, looks at it then looks at her. She’s eyeing him with distrust before exhaling deeply, slowly, oh so slowly, reaching out and putting her hand in his.

His heart is threatening to beat out of his chest- they don’t touch, not ever- but he’s grateful. He considers it an accepted peace offering.

“I know,” she mumbles, “I was just… excited. About him liking me. I know it was probably a stupid thing of me to do.”

“It was,” he says, keeping his tone gentle, “but it’s okay, I’m here to fix it if needed, okay? I’m your big brother, I’ll help you.”

“You keep saying that,” she notes, eyes hard but tone unsure. “That- that you’re my brother. But you aren’t, not really. We aren’t related.”

He hums, thinks about how he should react without giving too much away. She’s right, they aren’t, but he needs her to trust him the way she would if they were.

“We’re family in all the ways that matter, (Y/N). Okay?” he decides to say, squeezes her hand with the corners of his mouth tucked up.

That’s enough for her, apparently, because she gives him a nod and goes back to eating her dinner. When he lets go of her hand, she keeps it on the table, just within reach.

He takes it as a sign, he’s going to be okay.

She spends the entire next day in bed, not going outside once, and he knows because he hears that damn toy buzzing. His dick and his palm are sore by the time evening rolls around, because after all, he had to at least try to match her one for one. At least Sam is nowhere to be found, and Nick intends to keep it that way.

***

It sneaks in slowly, the need to be more involved, to order her around. It shows up at lunch, at dinner, one more piece of broccoli, one more scoop of rice.

“Are you on a diet or somethin’? You’ve barely eaten.”

“Guess my appetite isn’t very big today.”

“C’mon, have some more.” Silence. “Hey, (Y/N).” A wide-eyed look. “For me?” A tiny smile, a shrug, a nod.

He refills her plate, an itsy-bitsy portion, and smiles when she eats it. He doesn’t want her to start feeling unwell now that she wakes up late and skips breakfast altogether, he needs to take care of her when their parents aren’t around. Nicholas isn’t the type to control anyone’s food intake, that would be ridiculous, but he doesn’t want her to miss out on her nutrients.

Sometimes, she doesn’t let him.

“I really am full, I’ll have the leftovers tomorrow.”

He concedes, smiles at her.

“Okay, I’ll put the rest in the fridge. The container is microwave proof, yeah?”

“’kay. Thank you, Nick.”

When he passes by her, he decides to be impulsive and bend down, press a kiss to the top of her head. He feels himself blush when she preens under his touch. It’s not weird, it’s a show of appreciation between stepsiblings.

He’s walking by the bathroom, snacking on a banana, when he sees her standing in front of the mirror and curling her hair. Nick stops, leans against the doorframe and takes a bite.

“You going out in that?” he asks, motions with the half-eaten banana.

She turns, surprised, looks down at herself.

“Yeah, why? You don’t like it?”

“Where are you going?”

“Getting coffee with the girls.”

He hums, looks her up and down, unashamed in his staring. She may think it’s for the outfit, he knows it’s for her delicious body.

“I feel like a flowy skirt would be cute. Or a dress, I don’t know. Nothing too short.”

She nods, looks at her baggy jeans.

“Want me to change?” her tone is genuine when she asks, none of the usual snark audible in it.

Nicholas chews slowly, looks to the side, unsure what to do. She’s letting him do this, giving it to him.

“Do you want to?”

“If… if you want me to, then yeah.”

He nods, finishes the bite, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, change into that olive green tennis skirt you have. It’ll go well with your top.”

She smiles brightly, nods.

“Okay, I will.” He’s just about to turn and walk away when she calls, “Thank you, big brother.”

He throws her a smile over his shoulder and scurries away to dispose of the banana peel. His dick is hard in his pants.

Before she walks out, she knocks on his door, steps in when he allows it.

“Like this?” she asks, twirls once to let him see the full outfit.

She’s so fucking cute, he can’t decide if he wants to wrap her up in his arms forever or fuck her ‘til she’s crying.

He beckons her closer with his index finger, reaches out to touch the hem of her skirt once she’s close enough, pulls at it, like he’s assessing the material.

“Much better,” he rasps, smiles up at her from where he’s sitting at his desk chair. “Have fun, pretty. Call me if you need anything.”

She nods, smile so wide the corners of her eyes are crinkling, and she leaves. He exhales deeply, a warm feeling in his chest. This is going better than he could’ve imagined.

“Come watch this movie with me,” he says, popcorn already in his lap, finger about to press play on the remote.

“I was gonna go to sleep… I’m so tired.”

That’s what she had said the past two nights, as well, only to stay up to fuck herself until well after midnight. It really must be a new toy, he thinks, her obsession with it, with getting off, way too intense for it to be anything but a new sensation. He knows she’s not a virgin, much to his dismay, but he has no clue if she gets fucked on the regular. Nick’s been making it difficult for her as well, he knows, not letting her out of the house too late.

“C’mon, just a bit? If you fall asleep, I’ll carry you upstairs.”

“I don’t know, Nick…”

“(Y/N),” he starts, voice stern now, “come sit down with me. It’s been a while since we last just spent time together.”

Reluctantly, she stomps her way over to him, annoyed. She does sit down, though, he’ll give her that, doesn’t even put too much distance between them. He smiles, presses play and leans back, enjoying the intro. She takes a handful of popcorn when he holds the bowl out to her but declines a second, which he’s fine with.

It doesn’t take long for her to start squirming.

First, it’s just some movement back and forth, it can pass as burrowing into the couch cushions, getting comfortable. Then it’s crossing and uncrossing her legs, over and over again, before she gives up with a humph and sits still. That lasts all of five minutes before she moves again, tucking her legs under her, then putting her weight on her right hip, then her left, shuffling around until he loses his patience.

“Could you stop fucking moving, what is your problem?” he snaps, looks over to her furrowed brows and mouth turned into a frown.

“I can’t get comfy!” she says, a slight whine in her voice, and he doesn’t know if she’s being bratty or if she really is just frustrated.

“Just sit your ass down, (Y/N), it can’t be that hard.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles and stays in the position she is in.

That is, until her squirming starts up again not even ten minutes later, with her sitting on her hands, then wringing them between her thighs, making him unable to focus on the movie.

“That’s it,” he growls and without a second thought he hauls her up, ignores her screech of protest as he positions her between his thighs, holds her upper body tight while his legs secure hers.

“Nicholas, what the fuck?! Let me go!”

“What the fuck you so restless for, huh?” he breathes against her ear, but it’s in no way sexual. He needs her to hold still.

“Just let me go up to my room, please,” she whines, throws her head back, and he wonders what the hell has gotten into her when he remembers that, oops, he has been keeping her from going upstairs to play with her little friend.

His stepsister is horny, he realizes.

A dirty smirk spreads along his face as he grips her tighter, makes her lean against him as he cages her in.

“Why? What’s so important in your room?” he asks, all fake cluelessness, loves watching her squirm when trying to come up with an answer.

She’s hot all over now, he can feel it, and he enjoys it massively.

“Nothing, ‘m just sleepy, please- Nick, c’mon! This is fucked up!”

She thrashes against him, but she’s got no chance, there’s a reason why he works out six days a week, and when she’s tired herself out enough, she goes limp against him.

“Tell ya what,” Nichola says, smug in how conversational he sounds, how nonchalant as he repositions her, puts her against his side, her wrists clutched in one strong hand and her leg hiked up against his stomach where he holds her thigh firmly, doesn’t let her get away. Her core is pressed against his hipbone, partially his thigh, and he feels like he’s dreaming as he does this, like this isn’t real life with real life consequences, that’s how badly he wants it. “If you need it that badly, you’ll give it to yourself against my hip, okay? But that’s the only way, (Y/N), you hear me? The only way.”

Her eyes are wide as saucers where they’re staring at him, mouth agape. She’s so small like this, clutched in his grip, and he wishes he could kiss her, but it’s not time for that, not yet.

“W-what?” she whispers faintly.

“You heard me. If you need it, then this is how you’ll do it. And if not, then you’ll sit here, all still and pretty, and finish this movie with me. And when I let you go up to your room, you won’t touch, am I understood?”

“You’re fucking insane,” she spits, eyes on fire but her cheeks are red.

Nicholas chuckles, shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He continues watching the movie and pays her no mind apart from making sure his grip stays too tight for her to get out of. Her breathing is hard, audible, but he ignores it, acts like she’s the weirdo for thinking that this is weird, and when she finally starts squirming again, he has to bite his lip to suppress a smirk.

“Why are you making me do this?” she whispers through a huff, decidedly not looking at him.

“’m not making you do anything. It’s your decision whether you wanna be good or not.”

She scoffs. “You’re so messed up. I can’t believe I have to fucking live with you, put up with… with this shit.”

He shrugs, nonplussed. He knows she doesn’t mean it. Their relationship has never been lovey-dovey, but they’ve never been outright nasty to each other, not even during the hardest times of adjusting in the beginning.

“Shut up and watch the movie, (Y/N),” he says, dismisses her, enjoys how she’s stewing in her anger and frustration.

It’s miniscule when it starts, the slight flexing of her thighs. Nicholas can feel it, but he doesn’t move, lets her do her thing in the hopes that she’ll get bolder with it, give herself over to her needs. He imagines her clenching her pussy, trying to get friction on her clit that way, wonders how she prefers to come. A strong exhale snaps him out of his thoughts, the way she moves further down his body, again, seeming like she’s settling in against him, but he knows she’s looking for a good angle.

The fact that her subtility- usually a trait she possesses perfectly- goes flying out the window once she’s horny enough, needy enough, is something he stows away to use against her later, when he needs it. He’s observant, sue him, it’s just natural.

A few minutes pass before she takes the next step, tightening her leg around him through a cough, ridiculously so. Why’d she have to cough, he thinks bemusedly, it’s not a sound she’s trying to cover up, but a movement. Wide hips and an undoubtedly needy cunt, that’s what she’s currently rolling against him, slowly and irregularly. He feels frustrated for her, there’s no way this is doing anything to help, and it shows in the way she huffs every now and then, impatience building.

“Just do it,” he whispers, keeps his voice calm and his chest even despite his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “You can, what’re you scared of?”

The breath rushing out of her lungs is shaky as she turns her head and buries her face in his shoulder, a groan escaping her.

“Please, Nick,” she whines- sobs, almost- as he trails his hand down to her tailbone, pushes her flush against him, encourages her to rotate her hips and rub herself against him.

“That’s a good girl, just like that,” Nicholas whispers, nose in her hair, smelling the faint scent of roses. “Give in, that’s it. You can make yourself feel good, it’s okay.”

She positions herself so she gets more of his thigh between her legs and starts humping him in earnest, breathing open-mouthed against his shoulder, and he so badly wishes she would look at him, wants to see the flush on her cheeks and the tears in her eyes.

“Does that feel good? Tell me, (Y/N).” She nods, but he isn’t satisfied. “Use your words like a big girl, c’mon. Don’t go dumb on me yet.”

Her whine is high-pitched as she takes a moment to gather the courage, but when she does speak, it makes his cock jump where it’s trapped in his pants.

“Y-yeah, ‘s good… oh, oh fuck.”

When he’s sure she won’t bolt, he lets go of her arms, snakes his hands around her body and guides her movements. Her hands immediately hold onto his torso, face burying in his neck, moist breath against his skin. This feels so much like heaven that he’s dizzy with it.

“Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it? Atta girl.”

Her movements are precise, he knows she’s found a way to make it good, to hit her desired spot just right by the way her body is bound tight, and her breathing is labored, words stuttered. That’s all he can see with her gorgeous face turned away from him, but he’ll get there. He grabs her ass and grinds his thigh into her pussy, grins at her surprised moan.

“Holy fuck,” she hisses, cants her hips back and forth across a good spot.

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that. Needed it badly, didn’t you? Your cunt’s been desperate all evening, huh?”

She nods, gives him a broken confirmation, whines when he threads his fingers into her hair and pulls.

“Nnngh, Nick, I need- ugh, I can’t-“

“Yes, you can. Look at me, (Y/N). C’mon, look at me, baby.”

He’s pushing it with the nickname, but he doesn’t care, not when his dick is leaking steadily in his pants, needy to feel her. Not yet, though, he needs to play his cards right.

When she looks up it knocks the breath out of his chest, the way her lips are bitten raw, her eyes glazed over, cheeks covered by a pink blush and a slight sheen of sweat. She’s so hot for it, and he’s so hot for her, and he needs her to come so he can go to his room and jerk off while thinking of exactly this scenario for… forever, probably. He’ll never get her out of his system, he just knows it, his baby stepsister anchored deep in his soul.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, resists the urge to kiss her, but he does put a thumb to her lips and lets her suck a kiss into the pad of it while her hips work tirelessly to get her pussy off. “From now on, whenever you need it this badly, you come to me, okay? You ask me and I’ll help you. Am I making myself clear, (Y/N)?”

She nods dazedly, furrows her brows as her hips start speeding up.

“Y-yeah, Nick, I’ll ask you. Need it, need t’a ask you, need it.”

Nicholas’ heart swells three sizes at her promise and he decides to let her tumble over the edge, grinds his thigh into her center and pushes her ass down to meet the thrusts, smiles wickedly when her eyes roll back.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yes-“

“Gonna cream your panties on your big stepbrother’s thigh? That what you need?” Forehead meeting his shoulder, she whines through a pathetic nod, lets him move her up and down before he whispers, “Let go baby. Show me how you come for your brother, c’mon.”

“Nicholas, fuck!”

The sound she makes when she releases rivals an angel choir, breathy and high and so full of ecstasy, he feels he could come right there with her, completely untouched. She rides it out, humps his thigh until she’s shuddering, until she collapses on top of his body to catch her heaving breath.

Nicholas can’t help but pull her tighter against him, hold her through her aftershocks, uncaring about the consequences, about being pushed away. She wouldn’t, no fucking way she would, not when she’s this vulnerable and he’s this willing to help her through any situation.

They stay like that for a little before he reaches down to take her by the chin, pull her head up to look at him. There are unshed tears in her eyes, a wobbly lip, but he can’t be the one dealing with this now. She needs to settle in on her own.

“You did so well, ‘m proud of you,” he smiles, shakes her face a little, “you okay?”

Taking a beat, she nods her head, albeit a little hesitantly.

He smiles at that, lets go of her and darts his eyes to the stairs.

“Good. Off you go then, get cleaned up and then get in bed. And no touching, yeah?”

She gets up on wobbly legs, steadies herself against the back of the couch as she slowly makes her way to the stairs. Before she disappears, he calls her name, makes her turn around.

“And remember,” he says, grin smug, “you come to me. Always come to me.”

***

It’s summer, and it’s way too hot, and Nicholas usually finishes his daily swim before she even wakes up, but today he decides to take it easy and wait for her to take her usual place on the sunbed before he strides out to cool off in the pool.

They haven’t talked about what happened two nights ago, and they won’t, he knows, not explicitly anyway. Luckily, she isn’t avoiding him, the atmosphere when they’re around each other rather comfortable. It’s a little unnerving and a lot surprising, he must admit, but Nicholas has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The way she’s watching him jump into the water, do his laps, lean against the side of the pool to take a breather- none of it goes unnoticed, and he enjoys it immensely. He doesn’t show off on purpose, doesn’t need to, sees her biting her lip at his usual demeanor, no exaggeration needed. When he’s counted his fifty, he heaves himself up and gets out of the pool, her eyes tracking the way his biceps bulge. A smirk makes its way onto his face, all smug, and he doesn’t even try to hide it.

Taking his towel, he wipes his face dry before spreading it across the sunbed next to hers, laying down.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, hiding his eyes behind a pair of shades.

“Already did, didn’t you?”

He hums. “Guess I did.”

“Want some tanning oil?”

“Depends,” he says, dares to, “will you rub it on me?”

Her snort is full of humor, thank God.

“Fuck no.”

“Then no, thank you.”

He loves their little banter, is fond of it, endlessly grateful that it hasn’t changed since that one fateful night. The silence stretches as they lay there, letting the rays of the sun warm their skin, and soon enough he hears shuffling coming from her side. Looking up, he can see her gathering her stuff.

“Leaving already?”

She nods. “It’s Nina’s birthday dinner tonight, and I still need to get ready.”

“You’ll show me your outfit before you leave, right?”

Even though he’s phrased it like a question, she knows damn well that it’s an order. This pleases him.

“Yes, of course.”

She’ll go to the shower as she always does, but before she can, he decides to let his little stepsister in on a secret. She’s earned it, after all, being such a good girl for him.

“Have I ever told you that the window in my room gives me a near perfect view of the inside of our outdoor shower?” he lies conversationally, giving her a blinding smile.

Every muscle in her body tenses momentarily before she turns her head towards him ever so slowly. Her hard swallow is audible, even out here, even to him.

“No,” she rasps, voice shaky, “You never told me that, Nicholas.”

“Hm. Well, just thought you should know.”

He leaves it at that, lays back on his back, trying hard not to smirk. He can sense how this admission is fucking her up on the inside, the shock and the danger tied to it.

He’s so sure she’ll let it go, but as has become a theme with her, she takes him by surprise when she asks, “Did you only notice? Or… did you- did you watch? Me?”

Brave little girl, he’s almost proud.

Keeping his voice borderline bored, he replies, “I watched, a little. You don’t seriously believe I could look away from a pretty little thing like you, (Y/N).”

He pulls his shades down a little and eyes her body, gives her a nasty smirk before leaning back again.

When she huffs, stalks away to get into that damn shower, he gives her all of ten seconds before he’s after her, sneaking in behind her and catching her just in time to see her bikini top fall away. When she spots him leaning against the entrance, a gasp escapes her, hands flying up to cover herself.

The gesture makes him scoff, all ridicule.

“Please,” he says, looks her in the eye, “nothing I ain’t seen before, sweetheart.”

A frown makes its way onto her face, petulant and bratty in a way she usually isn’t, and she slowly lowers her hands, gives him an eyeful of her tits. They’re even more gorgeous up-close, and he chuckles dirtily, looks his fill.

“That’s so unfair, Nick,” she tuts, “You look at mine but won’t show me yours?”

His smile softens a little.

“You’re lookin’ at it,” he says, arms out as if to say: there ya go! “I haven’t seen anything past your waistline, (Y/N).” The look she gives him is skeptical, but he knows what sincerity looks like, knows how to make it visible on his own face. She believes him. “Unless, you want to, of course. In which case…”

A pointed glance at her bikini bottoms has her cross her arms over her chest, scoffing.

“You wish,” she snaps, turns around and ends the conversation.

He lets her.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. But remember your one rule, yeah? You need it, you ask your big brother for help. Got it?”

When she scoffs, doesn’t say anything, chooses to ignore him, he lets himself lose a tiny thread of patience. Three steps take him towards her where he grabs her soaking wet hair, really drives his fingertips into her scalp, and yanks her back so hard her knees buckle through her obnoxious shriek.

“I asked you something, (Y/N),” he hisses, uncaring that her frantic nod makes her cause herself pain, pulling at her hair like that.

She’s grabbing at his arm as she yelps, “Yes, yes I got it, Nicholas, I got it-“

“Good,” he grits, shoves her away from him and eyes her up and down before leaving the shower, leaving her to carefully pat at her surely burning scalp.

He had to leave, or he would’ve done some damage. Nicholas hates when she ignores him.

Despite everything, or maybe even because of it, she knocks on his door later to get his approval for her outfit. He takes his time looking at her, makes her twirl for him, reaches under her shirt to make sure the material is thick enough to keep her warm throughout the evening. Nicholas makes her bend down as he kisses her cheek sweetly, resting his forehead against her temple.

“’m sorry,” he apologizes again, truly feeling sour at his outburst, “you be careful, and call me if you need anything, yeah?”

She nods, doesn’t say anything for a long moment before she moves her face, presses a kiss to his forehead. A soft smile directed at him is the last thing he sees before she leaves.

***

It’s been a while since he’s heard the buzzing from the other side of the wall, and now that it’s cutting through the comfortable silence on this warm evening, it makes red hot fury rise in his chest.

Nicholas would consider himself a patient, understanding young man, but with how she’s been playing him, he doesn’t see his positive traits lasting for much longer. He’s been clear, twice now- made her repeat his rule, even- and yet she’s in there, defiling her precious cunt with that… that fucking toy. He hates it.

Without thinking much about it he walks out of his room and steps in front of her door, that annoying sound following him like the plague, before he bursts into her bedroom, stopping in his tracks at the scene before him.

The scoff leaves his lips before he can hold it back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She’s on her back, legs bent and in the air, hands hidden between her thighs. The wide-eyed look she gives him- full of fear and shock- makes his gut churn. That fucking sound. He needs it off, right now.

“That fucking-“ he snaps, walks over to her and snatches the damn thing out of her hands, turns it off and throws it on the bed. Impulse has him grip her throat, revel in the way her pulse is hammering against his palm, pull her close, terrified gaze meeting his stormy eyes. He doesn’t care. He told her, and now look at her disrespect. “What the fuck did I tell you, huh?”

“Nicholas, wh- what are you-“

He shakes her, not gently, grabs her hair in his other hand so she’d look at him. “What is your rule, (Y/N)? Hm? The one fucking rule I gave you, and here you are, breaking it, fucking-“ he blindly pats the bed in search for the toy, finds it, holds it up to her, “-for this? This thing? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

She doesn’t comprehend, he can tell, and although he usually loves when he’s got her speechless and dumb, now it just pisses him off beyond belief. There’s no way she didn’t know, no fucking way she didn’t know.

“Explain yourself,” he hisses, grips her tighter, wedges himself between her spread thighs and does his best to ignore the warmth emitting from that place. He’s willing to give her a chance, and she better not waste it.

“I- I didn’t-“ she whimpers, swallows, “I didn’t know you were being- being actually serious, I… I was s-scared.”

The tears in her eyes are threatening to overflow and Nicholas feels his cock twitch at that. Good, let her cry.

He scoffs. “And you expect me to believe that, after everything?”

“What if I had been wrong and you had been fucking with me all along?” she yells, then, surprises him with the way she fights through the tremor in her voice. “You would’ve deemed me a freak and- and shunned me, and then what? Then I’d be without a brother, and- I’d hate- hate that. So much. Fuck!”

He can feel his gaze soften along with his grip on her hair, butterflies exploding in his stomach. His little stepsister needs him, needs him way more than he needs her, apparently, needs him in a way that is so beyond sexual that it makes his head spin. He can work with that, will work with that, until she’s nothing but a thin thread wrapped around his little finger, nothing but a miniscule puddle of putty in his wide palm.

He suppresses a smirk, turns it into a warm smile, instead.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, scoots closer and rests his forehead against hers, feels her heaving chest and warm breath, “you’ll never be without me again, you hear me? There’s nothing you could do that would turn me away from you. Now that we’re siblings, this shit is forever, do you understand? Tell me, (Y/N).”

Her eyes are screwed shut but she nods at his demand, inhales deeply and exhales slowly, calming herself like a big girl. His big girl.

“Ye-yeah, I guess,” she murmurs, “I do now.”

He hums, leans in and presses their mouths together, a dry press with explosive consequences. His heart starts hammering in his chest when she lets out a sigh against his lips, and he breaks away with a smile, looks her in the eye.

“Okay?”

She nods, licks her red, red lips. Another kiss, just as chaste. He won’t give in, not yet.

“Now,” he starts, puts the bass back in his voice, “this… this can’t go unpunished, though, you get that, right?”

Her eyes widen while her brows furrow, confusion evident on that gorgeous face. He looks at her sheepishly.

“W-why? It wasn’t, like, on purpose.”

Nick chuckles, finds the toy easily, turns it over in his hands. It’s slightly sticky where it’s been pressed against her, but he doesn’t mind. He intends to make it messier.

“Accidents can happen, of course,” he drawls, allows, “but this early on in our relationship? Nah, don’t think so.”

With that he switches the toy on, leans back and pushes her thighs apart, moves slow and deliberate. Her gaze stays questioning up until he presses the buzzing vibrator against her cunt fully, watches when her leg twitches. She’s beautiful down here, wet and swollen, lips that will frame the fat length of his cock nicely, a sweet little clit that he’ll love to torture to completion. He’s got so many plans for her, but for now he ignores the salivating of his mouth and focuses his eyes on her rolled back ones, turns the vibe up a notch and smirks wickedly.

“You wanted to come, little sister?” he asks, chuckles darkly, “I’ll make you come. Over and over and over, until you beg me to stop.” Another press of the button, another violent lurch of her upper body that he holds down no problem, “And when you do start to beg,” he hisses, presses closer, revels in her whining and gasping, “I will ignore it, and make this pussy sob for me again, you hear me?”

Nicholas smiles as she comes, spasms so hard he almost loses his tight grip on her, but thankfully his body is big enough to keep her thighs apart around it. Where only minutes ago he hated the sound of this little tool, he now ignores it expertly, presses it against her clit and appreciates the help it gives him. Her wails, the punching of her fists against the mattress through her next orgasms would alert everyone in the house if it weren’t empty, and he can’t wait to hear those sounds when he’s got her impaled on his dick.

“Please, no more, no-“

“Take it,” he says, flicks his wrist, “Give me more, c’mon.”

“Nicholas, I can’t!” she sobs, grabs the sheets to hold on to something, to bear the assault on her cunt better. “Hurts, Nick, please, hurts!”

“Good,” he smiles, turns it all the way up after her fifth peak, “Let it hurt, baby, let this pussy submit to me. Let her say her goodbyes to this goddamn thing,” he can’t help but snarl, “I’ll be all you need from now on, yeah, everything this pussy needs. Your big brother, your owner, all in one, huh?”

Her last orgasm has her thrash against his hold, throwing her head back, but he keeps his hand right where it hurts the most, forces her to ride it out until her bones shake with it.

When he finally, finally turns the toy off and tosses it aside, he carefully gathers her shivering body in his arms, holds her face against his neck and rocks her back and forth. Nick makes sure her legs stay spread where they’re shaking uncontrollably, makes sure nothing toucher her overstimulated pussy. It’ll take her a while to stop crying, he guesses, he doesn’t want to draw it out more than necessary.

Say what you want about him, but he’s no monster.

When her breath has evened out and her tremors have subsided, he lets his hand find her hair and grip it once more, firmly, not cruelly. Looking into her eyes, he smiles, kisses her lips, whispers, “What’s your rule, little sister?”

She shudders but replies, “Wh-when I want to come, I tell you. I ask you for help.”

He nods, gets up slowly, adjusts his rock-hard cock in his pants. Her wide eyes track every movement, but he stays resilient, turns to leave the room but changes his mind. Two steps take him back to her where he grabs her, pries her mouth open forcefully, spits inside where a whimper is fighting its way out, cracks his hand across one rosy, tear-streaked cheek and gets off on the shocked sob that escapes her.

Straightening out, he moves to the door.

“And don’t you dare ever fucking forget it.”

***

It’s not like he’s got some masterplan when it comes to her, it’s not like he’s calm and collected and in control of his mind and body, it’s just that he has strong instincts and even stronger impulses and he can’t help but act on them, not in his life outside of this house he’s sharing with her, but here? Definitely, evidently.

He isn’t in control, not really, because he loses his mind little by little, every day. When she passes by him on her way to the fridge and drives her hand through his hair, when she smiles at him from where she’s laying on the sunbed, when she lets him watch her shower. The way she asks if he approves of her outfit, if she should make him food, if she can have a hug.

She’s never asked for a kiss, but he gives her some anyway, knows she wants them by the way she melts into the touches, lets his tongue roam around in that sinful mouth, lets him pull her closer by the grip on her ass.

The first time Nicholas gives her his cock, not fully, but pushes it between her lips, is when they’re under the shower.

It goes like this: she beckons him to follow her into the outdoor shower so he can oversee that she really does get clean, as he does often, points to her body parts and smiles when she drags her loofah along that spot. He helps her where she can’t reach, gets her back for her, the backs of her thighs, scrubs her clean really well. He’s in his swimwear so he doesn’t mind getting wet, pulls her against his chest, her ass pressed to his crotch, soaps up her tits, massages them, pinches her hard nipples and chuckles at her moan.

Strong hands drift down lower, over her stomach and down to where he knows her cunt is already clenching, getting wet.

“Have to clean this dirty pussy as well, don’t we?” he whispers before spreading her open with one hand, driving between her folds with the other.

He keeps this step clinical for the most part, takes his time as her breaths starts to get shallow, all the way up until she gives in and with her bottom lip clutched between those perfect teeth asks him, “Big brother, can you please make me come?”

Oh, he’ll never tire of this.

“Of course, baby,” he replies, because this is for him as much as her. Moreso for him, probably.

Her twitching clit feels hard under his pointer finger where he’s circling it, drawing down to her hole to gather some of her juices to make the glide better, making sure to keep her out of the spray of the water. As expected, her eyes are glued to what he’s doing between her wide hips, moaning softly with every swipe of his finger.

“Mmm, what have we got here?” he asks teasingly as he lets two of his fingers circle her entrance, two because he knows she can take it, “A hungry little hole, hm?”

They push in easily, make her breath hitch, and he maneuvers them so they’re standing under the shower stream, so it’s aimed right at her exposed clit. His stepsister spasms, but he holds her tightly. The water banging down on her swollen nub, his fingers pressing against that gorgeous spot inside of her, his voice whispering delicious filth in her ear- she’s naïve if she ever thought she stood a chance.

She comes with a silent cry, lets him bear the weight of her shaking body as she lets the sensations overcome her, moans as he talks her through it, good fucking girl, that’s my babysis, if only I had known about how sweet this cunt is, give it to me, just like that, tight little hole and it’s all for me.

When she sinks to her knees slowly, he doesn’t protest. Unsure if the wetness on her face is from the water or her tears, he decides to take it easy on her, pats her head and soothes her as she buries her face in his soaked swim shorts. She finds the tent in them easily, mouths at it, looking up at him from under her clumped lashes.

He scoffs, fondness in every dangerous syllable as he says, “Don’t bare your throat to me unless you want me to fuck it.”

But his little girl, God bless her neediness, soldiers on, licks a stripe up to his navel so his hands would have enough space to pull his shorts down. Mind hazy with the view she’s giving him- her little body beneath him, submitting on her knees- he grabs his cock as it springs free, feeds it into her panting mouth and groans when she doesn’t stop swallowing him down, lets him into the depths of this fuckhole. The bobbing and sucking that immediately follow has him hold on to the wall, knees weak.

“Yeah, yes,” he laughs, delirious with lust, “That’s a good girl, fuck. Who’s been fucking my little sister, huh? Who’s been teaching you to take cock this good?”

She lets him go with a pop, doesn’t say anything as she bunches four of her fingers up and shoves them down her throat, down to the knuckles, not a single gag or splutter leaving her mouth. His ears ring at the sight, and he’d never call her this out loud, but he considers himself more than blessed to have such an eager and naturally talented whore on his hands. The thought of her standing in front of the bathroom mirror, gagging on her own fingers, practicing for her stepbrother’s cock, training that throat for its intended use, spit and tears on the determined lines of her face, makes his pulse quicken and balls throb.

“Fuck,” he growls, grabs her by the hair and shoves in, her nose nestled in his pubes nicely. She struggles, but not much, and he realizes that he wouldn’t care even if she did. He gave her a fair warning. “Fucking perfect, yeah, sucking me so well, take that dick, just like that. ‘m gonna load up your mouth nicely, baby, gonna feed you full, gonna take days for the taste of my jizz to leave your molars, fuck-“

Nick’s orgasm crashes over him full force, has him bend and press even deeper into her mouth, laughing through her whines and protests, the slapping of her hands against whatever body part of his she can reach. She can’t breathe because of him, but he, as well, can’t breathe because of her, so it checks out. When he lets her go, she scrambles away from him, coughs through forceful inhales, wide and scared eyes looking up at him.

“Told you,” he pants, shrugs, “you wanted it.”

She doesn’t say anything- even if she did, it’d barely come out, he knows, voice shot to shit. He washes himself quickly, rids his skin of the stickiness of her spit, before grabbing her by her upper arm and roughly hauling her to her feet.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me-“

“Shut the fuck up and let me take care of you,” he says, starts washing her sloppily, and he was right. Her voice is hoarse.

“Could do it more gently,” she grumbles, yelps when he bites at her shoulder, soothes the spot with his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers over the noise of the shower, “That was… talent.”

She chuckles shily, turns to look up at him.

“Can I have a kiss?”

His gut clenches as his face explodes in a smile, pulling her in to kiss her deeply. The way she melts into him, lets herself be held despite knowing what those hands are capable of, makes his heart jump for her.

It’s a sticky situation, but he’s got the upper hand, still.

He has to make sure it stays that way.

***

“This tastes vile.”

“No, it doesn’t! Sweet and salty is a classic combination!”

“The textures are weird, though. I need to chew my popcorn thoroughly so I wouldn’t choke on it, and the Malteser is… distracting.”

A snort. “You three years old, Nicholas? Gotta focus on chewing that bad, huh?”

“You little-“

“Ah, stop! That tickles, Nick- ah, no! No, don’t-“

“I’ll show you three years old!”

Laughter, panting, snickering, silence.

“Watch the damn movie, you brat.”

“I’m all out of Maltesers now.”

“Good, that’ll keep you from coming up with these weird concoctions.”

“Tsk. Jerk.”

The sound of lips smacking.

***

Their parents come back earlier than expected. Nicholas isn’t mad at that, but things will become trickier with her now. They’ll have to be sneakier, more careful, but the risk of getting caught makes something hot clench in his stomach. No doubt, they’ll manage well.

He’s asked to pick them up from the airport and he doesn’t object, takes his stepsister with him. The drive is comfortable, she plays her favorite songs, he hums along.

“Oh, Nicky,” their mom sighs when she pulls away from a hug, smiling sheepishly, teeth whiter in contrast with her tan. There’s two people standing next to their parents, Nicholas doesn’t know them. “We told Sandra and Marcus that we’ll drive them home, we didn’t expect (Y/N) to come with you.”

Oh. Oops. Six people, five seats, that’ll be a tight fit.

“We can also just take a cab-“

“Nonsense,” their dad interrupts Sandra, “(Y/N) will just sit in Nicholas’ lap, right? Y’all don’t mind, do you, kids?”

The look he gives them, stern in good old Chavez fashion, leaves no room for argument.

“Um…” her eyes are darting from him to their dad, but Nicholas just shrugs, does his best to look nonchalant.

“’course not, it’s a short drive. Let’s just hope we don’t get caught.”

His dad brushes him off before he motions for their friends to start walking with them, Nicholas leading the way. (Y/N) stays behind with her mom, talking quietly. The whole way home with her ass perched on his lap? He wills his dick to calm down where it’s chubbing up in his pants, to no avail. His body does what it wants. Having arrived at the car, their dad puts the suitcases in the trunk while the others pile in one after the other, Nicholas’ sister the very last to sit down, getting comfortable on his lap. He groans when she moves roughly to get situated, a small apology falling from her lips. He pinches her side for that, causing her to yelp, gets snapped at by their dad for it.

“Behave, y’all,” he grumbles, making Nicholas smirk.

(Y/N) still gets uncomfortable when dad scolds her, too apologetic for her own good, but Nick knows there’s very little heat behind the roughly spoken words. It’s what he has in common with his father, he supposes.

They start driving and Nicholas ducks his head as much as he can so they wouldn’t look too suspicious in case they drive by a cop car. The grownups are talking loudly amongst themselves, and he loops his hands around her waist, holds her steady. Her head barely touches the top of the car, and he loves just how small she is. The urge to kiss at the back of her neck is huge, but he resists. He’ll just have to sneak into her room later and put her on her knees, fuck her throat the way he’s been doing for the past few days.

Not much time passes before she starts squirming.

“Y’alright?” he asks her, loosening his hold in case it puts her body in an uncomfortable position.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. All good.”

A beat passes before she does it again, presses her weight down on his lap, making him clench his teeth. There’s no way she can’t feel his boner, and there’s no way he’ll do anything about anything right here, right now. Fucking tease, his sister is.

“Can you quit it?” he hisses lowly when she honest to God grinds her ass down, makes him dizzy for a split second. The inseam of his jeans has never felt tighter and his dick’s never been more familiar with discomfort than just now.

The giggle she lets out gets muffled by her palm as she glances back at him, all wide-eyed and falsely innocent, and she shrugs.

“Sorry, big brother, ‘s just a little uncomfy like this.”

The way she purrs it, that bittersweet name, makes his gut churn. He has half a mind to keep from pinching her sides, grabbing her hair and shaking her so she’ll stop her shenanigans. If she thinks that she can act out now just because their parents are back home, lulled into false security, she’s got another thing coming.

“That’s a great song, dad. Can you turn it up a little?” he calls, smiling when his dad obliges.

“That’s my boy,” the older man says, ever the rock’n’roll fan.

Now that the music’s loud enough, distracting enough, Nicholas dares to put his lips next to her ear, hiss out a warning.

“You keep this little charade up and I’ll hurt your cunt until you’re crying on my tongue when we get home, (Y/N).”

It can be interpreted as something sexy, tinged with a little bit of sultry, but she knows better. When he mentions pain, he means pain. She knows that damn well, scared despite the fact that she gets off on it. Nicholas prefers to keep his girl on her toes.

“Sorry,” she whispers, a tilt to her mouth, but when their dad accidentally overlooks a pothole and the car jumps, she lets her weight press down harder than necessary, grabs his thigh to steady herself but digs her little finger in just a little too deep.

Alright then, he’s warned her.

Her skirt is wide, frilly enough to hide his hand sneaking down between his own legs, up to reach between hers, his eyes trained on the unassuming guests next to them. The couple seems too preoccupied to pay them any mind, though, and he uses that to his advantage, presses his knuckles into his stepsister’s pussy and rubs roughly. Clever little girl, hides her yelp of surprise behind a cough, same way he hides his smirk when he feels the damp fabric, feels the way her clit hardens under his merciless touch.

“You stay quiet now,” he whispers, pulsing his touch against her skin, teasing her into an approaching orgasm. Not that he’ll let her come, not now and not later, for that matter.

Where only minutes ago her grinding and rocking pissed him off, he now enjoys feeling her chase her pleasure, enjoys how hard she’s trying to be subtle. A quick glance towards the others tells him that nobody is looking at them, still enjoying the music, and her face in the rearview mirror is stoic as well, just a tiny furrow between her brows a potential giveaway, but only to those who know what’s going on, only to Nicholas.

“Good baby, my good fuckin’ baby,” he rasps, clutches at her pussy and squeezes, makes her feel it.

Another whimper, another cough.

“Y’alright, sweetheart?” their mother then asks, turning down the music, forcing Nicholas to still his hand and hold his breath in hopes of not getting caught. “You’ve been coughing an awful lot during the drive.”

(Y/N) just smiles, shakes her head.

“It’s nothing, mom, just something in my throat. We were watching a movie and having popcorn before picking you guys up, must be a kernel that’s stuck or something.”

Her mom looks back, gaze worried but she nods, placated.

The rest of the ride home doesn’t take long, thank God, and he lets their parents settle back in, assures them that they’ve eaten, tells them they’ll finish the movie they had started in his room before ushering her upstairs, mildly annoyed at her sudden inability to walk properly.

“The fuck’s gotten into you?” he hisses, pushes her up the stairs.

“’m so wet, my legs feel like jello,” she whimpers, and he almost forces her on her knees right there in the hallway, but alas, he’s got to keep his very last thread of patience alive if he wants to train her to be his perfect little doll. She won’t learn otherwise, he fears.

“You’re cute,” he smiles before pushing his door open, pulling her into the room and immediately making sure she falls onto his bed- made and ready, for a change- watching him as he locks the door. “You’ll be cuter when I’m done with you, though.”

It doesn’t take long for him to ride her skirt up, pull her panties down and stuff them in her mouth, wet patch first. Her pussy is glistening in front of him, and he wastes no time putting his mouth on it and sucking hard, the pain of the blood rushing to the surface making her groan. Pain, he promised, pain, she’ll get. She peaks quickly but he doesn’t let her go over the edge, pulls away and lands a nasty slap on her pussy that leaves her shaking, leaves her throbbing.

“That’s what you fuckin’ get you goddamn tease,” he snaps before continuing his pattern.

He eats, waits, slaps. Eats, waits, slaps.

Holds his palm over her cunt and presses, moves, watches her writhe with the cotton hanging from her mouth, little sister mouth filled with little sister panties. His cock throbs for it.

When she’s actively crying, sobbing her little heart out, he throws her legs in the air and commands her to hold them up. It’s a testament to her desperation, the way she obliges without complaint, the way she’s been doing as told without a single tone of complaint. Not taking advantage of that would be a shame. Two moves and his cock is free, hanging heavy between his shaky legs but he doesn’t care, grabs it and jerks himself before his knees can give out.

“That’s a good girl, present yourself to your big brother,” he moans, looks at her puffy pussy and her wide, teary eyes, the way she’s begging with them, eyeing the blur of his hand over his fat dick before settling her pleading gaze onto his. “Gonna come, gonna cover you in it, mark my territory and make you smell like me, y’want that, (Y/N)? Want everyone to know that your sweet cunt belongs to your big brother?”

This kink is getting out of hand, but he doesn’t give a single fuck, because where he is sick and rotten, she is, too.

She nods through a moan and there he is, spurting his hot semen all across her slapped-red cunt, covering what’s his from the outside, for now. She gasps when the streaks hit her skin, rocks back and forth while he rides out his climax, and when he’s done, all panting and heavy-lidded, he drives his fingers through the mess and brings it up to her lips, smearing it on her underwear.

“You know this one already, don’t you?” he says, breath heavy as he continues to clean her that way, soiling her panties. “That’s what you did with the thong I ruined, didn’t you? Sucked my jizz out of the lace like a come-addicted little slut, didn’t you? Huh?”

A single tear rolls down her shame-tinted cheek, and he groans through a chuckle.

“Show me. Show me how you did it.”

The ruined cotton gets pulled out between her lips before her tongue finds it, licks the globs away roughly, sweet lips pursing over the material before her little cheeks hollow, sucking his juices out. If he hadn’t been using her every day, he’d be rock hard again now, but alas, his balls are empty and the contents of them are currently being greedily sucked down her talented throat. Nicholas is one lucky guy.

When she’s done, he rips the panties out of her mouth and kisses her bruisingly, hungrily, devours the taste of their combined fluids and moans when she pulls him close. Being held onto is one of Nicholas’ favorite things in the world, the sheer need in such a simple gesture, but nobody’s body has ever felt this right around his.

“What the fuck,” she whispers against his lips, laughing through the tears that are staining her cheeks. “I feel like I came but I didn’t. What…”

He smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’ll be coming soon enough, baby, this was just a little taste of what happens when you piss me off. And you did piss me off, that teasing in the car was- it was almost unbearable. Nearly fucked you right then and there.”

Her smile is small, almost timid, but it vanishes quickly. Nicholas tilts his head in question and gets an answer immediately, albeit reluctantly.

“Why… Why haven’t you? Fucked me yet, I mean. We’ve been doing this, us, for a while now and you’ve never… I don’t- I’m just wondering, ‘s all.”

A stutter in his chest tells him his heart’s melting for her, the insecure tilt to her voice, and he has to try hard not to jump her right then and there. Leave it to his girl to catch him off guard, rip at the reigns he’s clutching onto so tightly. He makes sure to keep his voice soft, tries to make her understand without spooking her, now that she’s eating from the palm of his hand like this.

“You’re the sweetest thing, do you know that?” he muses, taps her chin when she looks away. “I just don’t wanna rush anything. I wanna take my time with you, make it real good for you… You can understand that, right?”

It’s not really a question, but she nods like the good girl she is.

“You that desperate for my cock, (Y/N)?” he can’t help but tease, earning himself a swat to the shoulder. They laugh together, his favorite sound.

“I was just curious, Nick. Usually guys are, well-“

“I’m not just any guy though, okay?” his voice is stern now, all humor wiped from it. “I won’t treat you like they did. I’m your stepbrother, I care about you.”

The warm smile she gives him zaps him right down to his toes, leaning in so she can kiss him the way she wants to. They make out a little, enjoy each other.

He makes a mental note, smug about her needing him so badly. A lot can be done with that, and he plans to see just how much fun it’ll bring him.

***

The sneaking around is even harder than he imagined, their parents insisting to make up for lost time and not parting from them for even a day. It’s visits to the park, family barbecues, movie nights, the whole shebang. He barely manages to get a kiss in when they’re passing each other in the hallway, a slap to the ass when she walks out of the bathroom before he walks in.

A feeling of restlessness comes with it, paired with the irrational fear of false scrutiny. What if it’s written all over his face, he thinks, that he wants her, whenever he looks at her, that he’s fighting off the urge to kiss her whenever she’s close, to rest his hand atop her thigh and feel her muscles twitch, to lean his arm against hers when they’re standing close, to bury his nose in her hair and inhale the chamomile scent of her latest favorite shampoo? Poker faces take years to construct, and he’s used the time wisely, but what if, now that he has her, his has crumbled to pieces at his unsteady feet?

So Nicholas adjusts, turns away when he catches her looking for too long, keeps the touching to a minimum, makes sure to roll his eyes at her whenever their mom is around, makes sure to let some sour jokes slip whenever their dad listens in, just to keep the illusion up.

He makes do, as does she, even though he knows she doesn’t like it.

“I ain’t mean it like that, you know that,” he cajoles when she gets mad for real, squeezes at his heart with one well-placed pout.

“I know, ‘s just… it sucks, y’know?”

Well, if that ain’t true.

He holds her through some big feelings, as a big brother should, kisses it better whenever the opportunity arises.

“Is she still not up? What’s gotten into her, I told her the time of departure!”

“Relax, mom, we’ve still got another forty minutes,” Nicholas says through a mouthful of an apple, scrolling on his phone. It pings with an invite to a party next Saturday, and he saves the info to think it over later.

“Oh, you know how long she takes in the bathroom,” mom grumbles, fleets about in the kitchen to pack the snacks and sandwiches, making sure they’re set for the day at the lake. Nicholas doesn’t know where his dad is. “Go wake her, please, Nick? I’ve still got so much to pack.”

“Do you need my help with that?”

“No, I need to not be interrupted. Go get (Y/N), please?”

He sighs and gets up, throws the apple core away. Sticky hands find his jeans and he wipes them thoughtlessly, much to the dismay of the woman who still does his laundry, as he makes his way up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He knocks twice- just for shits and gigs, uncaring about whatever privacy his sister thinks she gets in this house- before opening her door and stopping in his tracks.

Slow steps take him inside, shutting the door behind himself, and the sight before him makes his stomach clench. She’s in her tank top, one boob spilling out from the material, and her little panties, framing her cheeks perfectly from where she’s got one leg bent. Her face is smushed in the pillow so her mouth purses in a pout, half open, red and drooly.

It takes him a split second to make the decision. They haven’t talked about it, but they never talk about anything, not really. He takes and she gives, that’s their dynamic, that’s who they are. So it’s guilt-free when he walks over to her bed, pulls his joggers and underwear down, grips his cock to stroke it to hardness.

The memory of how he had her throat around his cock every night before the return of their parents gets him there fast, makes him miss it even more now, the need pooling low in his gut.

There’s precome dripping from his slit and he bends his knees a little so her face is in front of his crotch, smears his cockhead on those full lips, smirks when she scrunches her nose up before her face relaxes again. Heartbeat in his throat, he does it again, groans when her tongue darts out this time. Her reflexes seem to revolve around fucking him up, making the darkest of thoughts push to the forefront of his mind, even in her sleep.

“Good fuckin’ girl, fuck,” Nick murmurs under his breath, jerks his cock faster and makes sure to bump against her lips on every upstroke, gloss her gorgeous pout with his essence. She’s so adorable, and all his to ruin.

He strokes himself a little faster, gets closer and pulls his cock up so his balls would bump against her chin, her nose, wherever they can reach on every upstroke. Laughing isn’t an option but he’d like to, let the dirty sound out, indulge fully in how he’s humiliating her without her knowledge. Maybe he’ll ask her if he can film her next time. He loves her, she knows that, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, would only do all the baddirtywrong things that make her pussy clench for him.

One hand reaches out to grab at her face and pinch her cheeks, create a delicious pout that serves as the perfect little cup when he finally spills onto her face, onto her lips, streaks the inside of her mouth and groans lowly when her lashes flutter around her slowly opening eyes.

“Wh-“

“Shut up,” he hisses, grabs her rougher as he rides out his orgasm, “take it, little girl, take it, have my come, taste it, atta girl, there she is-“

“Nicholas!” the whine bubbles out of her throat, somewhat garbled through the come covering her mouth, and she scrunches her face up when he lets her go, exhales deeply before holding his softening dick out to her.

“Well?” he asks, expectant look on his face and the ball of pride in his chest explodes into a million fuzzy feelings when she only contemplates for a second before taking him in her mouth, cleaning him up.

She swallows all he gave her, collects everything from around her mouth onto her tongue, lips smacking at the taste.

“What the hell was that?” she asks, no real heat behind her words. Her voice is shot from sleep, all raspy and adorable.

He bends down to press a kiss against her forehead.

Nick gives her a shrug.

“You got my come, don’t complain,” he tells her, matter-of-factly, “also, mom wants you downstairs ASAP. We’re leaving soon.”

Her annoyed huff is amusing to him, but he leaves her be for now, wants to keep the teasing for later.

“Oh, and (Y/N)?” He waits for her to look at him. “I’ll make it up to you later. Come find me in the outdoor shower when you’re done, we’ll make it quick.”

The blush on her cheeks stays with him all the way downstairs.

TAGLIST:

@nicholaschavezslut69 / @blackynsupremacy / @motherismotheringggg / @lalavenderangel / @niteskysx / @nicholaslut / @nicholaschavezbby / @emluvsuxo 🖤

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nadvs · 7 months ago

Text

out of bounds (part seven) (end)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» masterlist

When you wake up in your cabin the next morning, it’s the first time since you arrived at camp that you wish you were waking up in your own bed back home.

Because after the way everything came crashing down on you yesterday, you don’t want to face what’s waiting for you.

At best, you have three weeks left of the season, of living with Ami after she broke your trust, of dealing with whatever’s going on with Zach if Malcolm’s words on the field didn’t make their way to the directors.

At worst, you and Zach get fired. And if your season really is cut short and you’re kicked out of here, you’re worried he’d only see you as the rule he broke, the girl who played a role in ruining something so important to him.

You check your phone to see the text exchange you had with Zach a few minutes after you left him outside last night. He had texted I’m sorry. You replied me, too.

You’re not sure how to even have this conversation. He was clearly upset with you last night and you can understand why he would be.

But at the same time, you’re uneasy thinking about the night you first told him that Ami knew about you two. He said he was okay with it, and now you’re not so sure, because last night, he texted that all was good, but it seemed like he was anything but good when you ran into him.

Zach had told you he’s not always upfront about when something’s bothering him. You know it’s simply a piece of who he is – it’s not personal. But you can’t rid yourself of the ache in your heart when you realize that even after you’ve shared so much together, you’re no exception. He keeps things from you, too.

You get ready for the day, deeply wishing your secret relationship had stayed secret.

You’re sitting with your campers in the dining hall when Ami approaches your table a few minutes into breakfast.

“Can we talk real quick?” she says quietly, cupping a hand around the inside of your elbow. You nod, following her outside.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” she says once you’re out of earshot from everyone. “I totally get why Zach’s mad and I get if you’re mad, too. I chewed Malcolm out for it first thing this morning for what it’s worth.”

You wish you knew firsthand how Zach is feeling instead of hearing through Ami. You figure she heard through Malcolm, but it hurts that you haven’t spoken to him yet.

“Why’d you tell him?” you say with a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms.

“It honestly slipped out,” she begins. “You know how I told you I thought things were starting to get serious?”

“Yeah.”

“The night before the game, I asked him if he sees anything in the future with us and…” Ami shakes her head, her frown deepening. “He was all like, this is just a fun thing for the summer. But I just kept trying to convince him and then I blurted out you and Zach are planning to stay together, so why couldn’t we?”

She sighs.

“I’m so mad at myself,” she says. “I started this fling with him agreeing it was casual, but I caught feelings and embarrassed myself and told your secret in the process.”

You take a moment, genuinely empathetic of her heartbreak. If Zach had told you he didn’t want to pursue things with you after the season, you’d be gutted.

“I’m sorry he did that,” you say.

“It’s okay. He wasn’t mean or anything. Just honest.”

You nod, figuring as much. You’re not surprised to hear that Zach’s best friend wasn’t unkind about it. Zach wouldn’t be the type to willingly surround himself with mean people.

“I really am sorry,” Ami says. “When I yelled at him about it, he said he knew not to say it loud enough for Ruby or any of the kids to hear.”

“But other counselors were around,” you say.

“That’s what I said,” she sighs. “And I swear, I told him not to tell anyone, but he was like, if any staff take it seriously, I’ll say I was just kidding around. But he apologized and I could tell he felt really bad. Apparently, he’d never seen Zach that upset.”

You look down at the grass, wishing the weight of regret on your shoulders was enough to erase it from ever even happening.

“Are we still friends?” she asks. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this dumb, I swear.”

You exhale slowly. You can tell she’s devastated. And what’s done is done.

“You’re not dumb,” you tell her. “I’m convinced there’s something in the air here that makes it hard to keep secrets.”

Ami gives you a grateful smile, chuckling softly, clearly remembering the stories you told her all about the close calls you had with Zach.

“I can get on board with that theory,” she says.

“Do you think Ruby heard? Or if any other counselors took Malcolm seriously?” you ask.

She takes a moment, then shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “All I remember is being really mad at him. Did she say anything to you or to Zach?”

“Not to me,” you say. “I don’t know about Zach. We only talked for like a minute last night. It was weird.”

“Weird?”

You nod, relieved you can at least find some sort of release with venting to her about this.

“I think he was upset with me, but didn’t want to say so. And I didn’t want to force him to talk, so I left. We said sorry to each other over text. Things just… feel off.”

“Please don’t tell me my big mouth broke up the cutest couple ever,” she says.

“Ever?” you laugh.

“Ever.”

She gives you a quick, appreciative hug before you both have to run back inside.

You meet Zach’s eyes a few times through breakfast. Even though he’s all the way across the big, loud hall, the air between you feels stiff.

Of all the difficult things you’re feeling, the sharp sense of guilt is the most overwhelming. Even though he was the one who took the first step, asking to kiss you that night by the lake, you wish you’d have resisted the temptation.

Because you know that however much anxiety you’re feeling, he’s feeling it a hundred times worse.

When Zach sets out to the pitch after breakfast, surrounded by boisterous kids, he accepts that the hope that he’d feel better after getting some food in him was misguided.

He’s always hated when his thoughts race like this. There’s no clear right answer, no obvious way to fix this. And while he’d like to listen to his impulse to ignore the discomfort, there’s no way to do that.

He knows he needs to talk to you. He’d do anything to fast forward past the serious conversation and get back to how things were.

There’s a very real chance that your relationship has been exposed. It’d be so embarrassing to have to face his aunt and uncle after breaking the one big rule, when he, of all the staff, is supposed to know better.

He’s not sure they’d really even go through firing anyone and would possibly just settle for a warning, but them finding out would be punishment enough for Zach.

He takes the fact that neither Ruby nor Tom have approached him since the game yesterday as a good sign. Plus, Malcolm assured him that whoever heard his words on the field wouldn’t take it seriously. But there’s never a guarantee.

Zach doesn’t like being mad. But he is. At his best friend. At his girlfriend. At himself. He tries to throw himself into work, pretending like the unsettled feeling hanging over him isn’t there.

By the end of the day, you still haven’t had a chance to speak to Zach. And now that you’re even closer to being found out, you’d rather not take the risk of talking in a public place.

So, you check the schedule to see that the next time one of you has an empty cabin is two days from now, when Malcolm is on an overnight shift.

Before dinner, you text Zach: want to talk on thursday night when malcolm’s gone? i think it’s best we have privacy.

He replies: yes. smart.

And then, because he can’t help himself, because he’s afraid he screwed up, he texts: miss you.

The message is a reprieve from the stress you’ve been feeling all day. You respond: miss you, too.

When Friday rolls around, Zach feels like he hasn’t spoken to you in years, instead of just days. He rushes to his cabin after lights out, tidying up like he did the first night you came over.

He’s sure in he’s in the clear because he hasn’t been spoken to by his aunt or uncle. They don’t know. While that is a relief, knowing he’s on shaky ground with you is enough to keep him on edge.

You knock quickly and quietly. Zach opens the door. He can’t help himself. He has to hold you.

You close the door and face him and he wraps his arms around you so suddenly that you let out a startled gasp.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely, nuzzled into your neck. You hug him back.

“Hi.” You breathe in his familiar scent, fresh like the morning breeze. He pulls back to see your brows pinched together, your eyes searching his face. He hates that you look surprised that he’s giving you affection.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer on impulse. You shake your head. “Actually, no. I mean, well, we haven’t been fired. That’s good.”

“Yeah. If they knew, they would’ve have said something by now.”

“Right,” you say. You take a deep breath. “But things feel different. With us.”

Zach hates to agree, his lips falling into a small frown. He doesn’t want to do this. He just wants to hold you and kiss you and joke around with you.

“It’s because we had another close call,” he says. “It’s okay. Things are different because we haven’t snuck out to make out in a shed in a while.”

His joke falls flat as you look down at the floor. His hands are still on your waist and when you comfortingly drag yours down to rest on his chest, it slows his thoughts down a little.

“I want you to tell me when you’re not okay,” you mumble when you gaze back up at him.

Zach’s stomach numbs with anxiety. He can feel it rising, the reflex to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.

“I did,” he says. “I do. Remember the night on the dock?”

You nod. The way he had opened up to you about how he’d struggled with being bullied for being a quiet kid was different. That wasn’t about you.

“I mean I want you to tell me when I’m the reason you’re not okay,” you reply. “I heard from Ami that Malcolm said he’d never seen you so upset.”

“Because I was mad at him,” Zach half-chuckles. “And he’s over-exaggerating.”

It’s not entirely true. The conversation had been the most tense one they’d ever had.

Malcolm was lighthearted about it at first, saying it was a joke and that he was offended that Zach hadn’t told him about how he was breaking rules with you. But once Zach had tersley told him he could have messed everything up for him, Malcolm’s smile disappeared and he apologized profusely.

Zach couldn’t blame him. He’s hardly ever the type be serious. But so much is on the line here.

Confrontation is easier when it’s his best friend of years, but it still isn’t exactly comfortable. So confronting you, a girl he’s helplessly falling in love with, opens the door to an argument and to you deciding he’s too sensitive and not worth the hassle.

“I don’t want to push you,” you tell him, “but I remember you telling me that you get over things on your own and you don’t have to that with me. It’s okay if you’re mad that I told Ami.”

“Baby,” he whispers with a smirk. “What else could you have done? She saw these, right?”

His fingers are featherlight over your collarbone, gently rubbing over the fabric of your shirt. He wonders if the hickeys are still visible.

“I could’ve hidden them better,” you say, “or come up with a lie.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Zach breathes.

A quiet, tense moment passes between you. You’re not convinced.

“Do you promise?” you ask, eyes doleful.

His smirk fades. At this point, he’d be lying straight to your face if he said yes. Seeing you so sad is gut-wrenching. Being dishonest with you while you’re like this would just be wrong.

“It’s… complicated,” he rasps.

You bite your lip. You’re not upset that he’s mad. You’re upset that you had to pry it out of him. Your hands fall off his chest and you step back, swallowing the tears threatening to fall.

“Can we sit?” he asks softly.

You give in, settling on the edge of his bed. He sits next to you. Watching you like this is making every part of him ache, his mouth going dry.

“When you told me you don’t admit when you’re upset,” you say, “I wondered what’d happen when I did something wrong.”

Zach swallows hard. It sounds like you’ve been on edge since that night you went shopping together, holding onto his words.

“So, what, you’ve been on eggshells since then?” he asks, his tone low and sympathetic.

“No. I just mean that problems are bound to come up and I want us to feel comfortable telling the other when they do.”

You expel a deep sigh, crossing your arms. It’s hard to explain, the sense of instability this has been giving you. You want to be able to take him at his word when he says everything’s okay. Not have to wonder and nag him.

It concerns you if this will be the dynamic in your relationship. Maybe it’s too soon, but you can’t shake away the worry.

Zach nervously threads his hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” he mumbles regretfully.

You meet his eyes, lips parted in surprise.

“What?” you say. “You should have told me. I don’t want you to suffer alone.”

“Suffer is a stretch,” he says with a small smile.

Again, you don’t laugh. The tension keeps thickening instead of easing, his heart hurting more instead of feeling lighter.

“Hey,” Zach says, placing a warm hand on your forearm, “listen, I just want us to be good again. We would have lost our jobs by now if they knew. They don’t. We’re fine. You’re still my girlfriend, right?”

“Of course.” You uncross your arms to hold his hand, saddened that he’s wary of the possibility of you giving up on him.

“So, let’s just move past this and enjoy what’s left of the summer.”

“And what happens next time I upset you?” you ask.

“I’ll tell you,” he says. You gaze at him, not sure if you can trust him.

“You will?” you ask.

It’s the first time he’d ever been on the receiving end of a critical look from you. His heart feels like it cracks down the middle.

This was the spark that catalyzed every break-up he’s gone through.

You’re kind of a pushover, Zach.

Why are you so scared of telling the truth?

You’re a nice guy, but you suck at communication.

It reminds him of when he was a kid, ridiculed for not using his voice, or really, not using it the way people wanted him to.

And it’s too much. Things with you were good and easy until you insisted on pulling his uncomfortable feelings out into the open.

Zach sighs your name, a subtle edge in his tone. He keeps his gaze on the floor, lips firming, grip on your hand loosening.

Despite your intentions to understand him, to have an honest conversation, you realize that you’re doing what you tried to avoid. You’re pushing him.

“Okay. Sorry,” you whisper, moving your hand away.

“This is why I don’t say anything,” he admits. “Because now you’re beating yourself up. I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

“Zach, if I hurt you, you deserve an apology,” you tell him. “And you can’t get one if I don’t know what’s going on in your head.”

He runs his fingers through his hair again, wishing he could just go back to how things were a few days ago when you were kissing and touching and laughing together.

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say.

You lick your lips before speaking again. Despite everything, you just want to make him feel better and to figure out what’s next.

“Ami didn’t mean to tell him,” you say. “But since other people heard him during the game, I think we should just get through the rest of this season without taking any risks. Does that work for you?”

The sinking feeling of rejection settles deep in him. Avoiding risk means that you want distance again. And this time will be different. He can feel it. Things between you are so obviously tense. You want space from him and not just because it could get you in trouble.

He swallows down the painful lump in his throat, pushing away the hurt.

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “If you can resist me.”

Zach meets your eyes with a smile that you know isn’t genuine. You’ve figured out by now that making jokes is his defense mechanism. This time, you let him do what he needs to feel better.

This conversation only broke things down further than fixing them, but even though you’re exasperated, you don’t have it in you to leave him the way you did a few nights ago.

Zach’s muscles lose all their tension when you lean forward, your lips brushing against his. It’s the best reassurance you can give him.

When he kisses back, cradling your face in his hands, your heart hurts a little less. You pull away, staring into his soft blue eyes, surprised how you can mad at someone but also so eager to make them happy.

It’s because it’s Zach. The man who looks out for you, who puts your clothes back on for you after intimacy, who stresses over the very thought of even accidentally hurting you.

After you pull away, he gives you the first genuine smile since you got here. You squeeze his hand before you stand up to leave. He pulls you back for one last kiss.

The following Saturday is the most excited you’ve seen the kids. In the early morning, counselors and campers are set to depart the campground in school buses to a museum that’s currently running a sports science exhibit.

You’ve overheard the vets talk about how field trips are the most exhausting days of the season, but you welcome it. You want the distraction.

After guiding your campers onto your assigned bus, you settle in the first seat behind the driver. Your heart does a flip, somehow both happy and sad, when you realize that the counselor you’re sharing the bus with is Zach, the man you need a distraction from.

His brows raise when he comes up the steps, a smile appearing on his face before he guides kids to fill up the seats. Even though you left things sort of tense, it’s nice that he’s clearly happy to see you.

When he settles on the seat across the aisle from where you’re sitting, he crosses his arms and leans back against the window, biceps bulging under his t-shirt.

“How was the shift?” Zach asks. “The night before a field trip is always a wild card.”

It takes you a moment to realize he looked at the schedule to see you had an overnight shift. Of course he’s checking on you even when you’re not on the best terms.

“Not great,” you admit. One of the girls in your cabin had woken you up after she had a nightmare. You spent a long time calming her down and then had trouble falling back asleep yourself. “I’m thinking I should learn how to do monster checks.”

Zach grins. His heart warms whenever you reference something he’d told you. He loves that you remember his silly little routine with his sister.

“Do I have to teach you everything?” he says with a sigh.

You laugh and fight the impulse to shift over and sit next to him. Despite the fragile state you left things in, you miss touching him.

Throughout the bus ride, you’re both in lively conversation with the campers. You notice that Oliver clings to Zach, talking with other kids but always close to his counselor. He clearly has found comfort in him and of course, Zach shows him nothing but endless patience and kindness.

You can’t forget how he told you Oliver reminds him of himself when he was a kid. It hurts to picture Zach as a kid, shy and reserved, needing to stay close to an authority figure so he doesn’t get made fun of.

He admitted to you how he spent so much of his childhood sad. Somebody so sweet should never have to be sad.

You glance over at him to catch him staring at you.

“Making it obvious?” he says, echoing what you’d texted him when you teased him for the way he looked at you by the campfire many nights ago.

You wish you could go back to when you were still careless, sneaking around, no conflict wedged between you. But you only nod with a chuckle, looking away.

Minutes before you arrive at the museum, Zach stands and gets everyone’s attention. You gaze up at him as he goes through the rules and reminds everyone that they’re representing the camp today.

It gives you a moment to really take him in, your eyes travelling over his hard jaw and tousled hair. He’s easily the kindest, most charming man you’ve ever met.

He makes a joke about how this is his campers’ chance to prove that they’re better listeners than yours. You gasp and stand, encouraging your girls to prove Zach wrong.

Once you plop back down on your seat, you grab one of the granola bars you packed for the kids just to throw it at Zach. He feigns shock when it hits his chest with a light smack.

“That’s not representing our camp well at all,” he scoffs. He looks at the wrapper and smiles before he rips it. “Mixed berry. Nice.”

“Give it back,” you say.

He takes a bite, looking at you with a smirk.

“What? I didn’t hear that,” he says.

You can’t stifle your laugh when you look away. Zach keeps his eyes on you, imagining a world where he doesn’t have to be your boyfriend in secret. But he feels lucky to be your boyfriend at all.

When you arrive at the museum, you direct your campers in a hectic rush. You’re standing by the bathrooms, trying to keep your campers together, when Malcolm passes by.

“Having fun?” he jokes to you over the noise.

You chuckle awkwardly, considering it’s the first time you’ve spoken with him since the staff game. Ami had told you things with her and Malcolm ended amicably, but she’s been keeping her distance, and since you’re usually with her, you haven’t had any chance to talk to him.

“Loads,” you play along, looking out at the sea of kids through the lobby. After a few seconds, he looks around and kneels closer.

“Hey, my bad about everything,” he says. “I didn’t mean to start any drama.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, sure he can read the regret on your face.

“I was kidding around,” Malcolm explains. “Nobody would believe he’d actually break the rules. You’re obviously special since he did.”

You know he said it to make you feel better, but it has the opposite effect. Without you here, Zach would’ve had another easy, stress-free season, instead of one full of sneaking around and risking his job and reputation.

“I guess so,” is all you can say with a forced laugh.

When it’s finally time to head back to the buses, you’re exhausted. You make sure all your campers are accounted for and you settle in the front seat, wishing it was more comfortable.

You sit with closed eyes, trying to rest while you can, chatter surrounding you.

Zach sits in the front, smirking to himself when he sees you. Your eyelids flutter open and you look around, adorably disoriented. You meet his gaze.

“I’m just resting my eyes,” you say with a sweet chuckle.

“Take a nap if you want,” he says. “I got this covered.”

You smile gratefully and close your eyes again. His eyes travel over your pretty face, taking you in, missing everything about you. He’s never wanted time to go by quickly this badly.

A few days later, the directors announce that there’ll be a comet passing over the campground next Saturday night, falling right in time with the season’s last fun day.

Tom asks Zach to run an errand into town to buy all the binoculars he can find. And because he’s respecting your wish to stay at a distance, Zach invites Malcolm to go with him instead of you.

It doesn’t take you and another first-year counselor, Theo, long to set up blankets on the grass behind the staff cabins on Saturday night.

You had rushed through your dinner and volunteered to do it. At the end of the day, it’d be nice to get a good reference from your bosses. Theo overheard and offered to help, making conversation as you set up.

When the campers and counselors come out, they settle across the field. Ami stands next to you as your eyes quickly find Zach, who’s handing out binoculars.

“Remember to share,” he says to a few kids close to you. He looks down at you as he passes by. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say. It’s the first thing you’ve said to each other in a week.

“Get a room already,” Ami mumbles quietly after he leaves.

You snort a laugh. You wish.

Tom stands in front of everyone and shares facts about the comet, pointing to where it’ll be seen in the sky and telling everyone that it’ll be visible by binoculars for a few minutes, so there’s no need to fight over them.

You know the kids well enough to know they’ll still find a way to argue.

Once it’s time to search the skies, you gaze up at the stars on the off chance that you’ll see it without binoculars.

“Any luck?” Theo asks, staring up next to you, his binoculars over his eyes. You hear impressed ohh’s scatter over the crowd. “Whoa,” he says a second later.

“No,” you laugh.

He lowers his binoculars and hands them to you. You thank him and try to find the comet, but you can’t see anything but stars through the lenses.

“I can’t see it,” you tell him sadly.

“Here - can I?” Theo says, his hands hovering over your shoulders.

“Sure.” You let him guide you to adjust your angle, his palms firm on your shoulders.

“I think you need to look just a little higher,” he says. You follow his instructions and then you see it. A bright circle with a pale streak of light following it. It’s beautiful.

“Wow,” you say with a big smile.

Everyone’s gazing up at the sky except for Zach. He’s looking at you smiling while Theo has his hands on your shoulders. Another man is touching his girlfriend and she looks happy while he does it.

He shakes his head to himself as frustrating jealousy squeezes his heart. Staying away from you has been tough, but watching someone else touch you is on another level of agony.

After the comet passes, everyone packs up for the night. The kids are still chatting about how cool the comet was as they make their way to the camper cabins.

Ami leaves your cabin for her overnight shift while you shower. You gaze up at the ceiling as you wash your hair, wondering how you already have only seven sleeps left before the end of the season.

On Saturday, parents are arriving to pick up their children and staff will pack up their things and the season will be over. It’s been a long summer, but you’re happy you came – you made money, rekindled your love for soccer, and best of all, met Zach.

You still haven’t spoken with him about what dating will look like when you’re done here, considering your colleges are an hour apart. But at least you don’t have to worry about getting fired anymore. You’re sure it would have left a mark on your relationship.

You settle on your bed in your pajamas, scrolling on your phone for some downtime. Minutes later, there’s a knock on your door.

It’s Zach. And there’s a fire in his eyes that you haven’t seen before.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“It doesn’t work for me anymore,” he says gruffly.

“What?”

“Not being with you doesn’t work for me anymore.”

You stare at him with parted lips, heat rushing through your body in seconds.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Watching another guy get close to you is too much, okay?” he says. “You’re my girlfriend.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, recollecting all that happened since the last time you spoke. He seemed fine when he greeted you earlier tonight. Who got close to you since then?

It comes to you in an instant. Theo helped guide you to spot the comet.

“That wasn’t anything,” you tell him.

“It was to me,” he says, the jealousy still ripping through him. “I don’t care who knows about us. I want him to know.”

It’s like he’s another man, not the Zach you know. His lustful stare and his dominating presence and his possessiveness are making your heart pound. Instead of the tension that’s been following you for the past two weeks, the air between you is electric, full of burning anticipation that you’ve both been trying to avoid.

You don’t care about how things were left. And you know you shouldn’t do this. But you’ve never been good at ignoring your impulses when it comes to him.

“Come in,” you say.

Zach doesn’t need to hear another word. Once the door’s shut behind him, his lips meet yours. You tremble under his hot, hard kiss.

His hands are firm against your jaw, gripping you as if you’ll slip away. Your breaths start to quicken as you kiss deeper, his hands pushing you back towards your bed.

Feeling you again, tasting you is an overwhelming relief. It’s like he’s home again. His body is buzzing, his boxers starting to feel tight already.

You let him guide you on your bed, his commanding frame leaning over as you settle on your back. His mouth trails to your throat, kissing you as you cup the back of his neck.

“I’m yours, okay, baby?” you whisper.

Your words make him moan against your skin, his hips bucking against you. He’s been dreaming about this for too long. Once he’s had you, having to keep you at a distance and act like you’re nothing but coworkers is torture.

Desire takes over you, your hand trailing to feel him over his sweatpants. Simply pressing your palm against his hard bulge makes you involuntarily writhe beneath him.

You’ve never had your mouth on him the way he had his mouth on you and now, you desperately want to please him, to show him how he’s the only one you want.

“I miss you so much,” Zach whines. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know. Me, too,” you reassure him. “Lie on your back for me.”

You obeys, letting you perch over him as you kiss him, but he can’t let go of control, not all the way. He pulls your shirt up, a groan of pleasure leaving his mouth when he sees that you’re braless.

You tug your shirt over your head and he roughly pulls you closer by the waist, giving him access to your bare chest, kneading and kissing.

You arch your back, moaning in pleasure as he sucks at your skin. You’re already aching for him, knees growing weak, biting your lip as he tongues you.

It takes all your willpower to pull back, but you shift lower to tug at his sweatpants. He shuffles to let you pull down his pants and boxers in one movement, his cock springing out.

He heatedly takes his shirt off, giving you the view of his naked body that you’ve missed so much.

Zach’s breath hitches when you lean to hold him at his base. Your lips are torturously close to the head of his cock.

“You don’t have to,” he says, his voice thick and hushed. You smile at him. There’s the man you know and love, checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable.

“I want to,” you say. When you shift to kiss him on his tip, he shudders. This is all he needs, to know you want every part of him, like he wants every part of you.

You swirl your hot tongue over him and he throws his head back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut. But he wants to watch. He wants to see how you look pleasing him like this.

He meets your eyes as you lock your lips around his length. His head is swimming watching you slowly take him in, pacing yourself, getting his cock wet with your spit.

You pull back with a smack of your lips, stroking him, eyes hard on him.

“Why would I even look at another guy when I have you?” you ask. Zach’s sure he’s never felt this good in his entire life.

You take him in your mouth again, sucking as you start to gently bob up and down. You breathe slowly as you lower to reach his base, quietly gagging when you take him all the way.

Your hot mouth tight around him makes pure euphoria flood his system.

“That’s so good,” he says, strained. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

He lowers his hand to gently lace his fingers through the roots of your hair, applying no pressure, simply just wanting to hold you.

You pull back, your wrist slowly twisting as you pump. The sight of you like this, your lips glossy and your eyes lustful and your fingers wrapped around him, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

“You deserve to feel good,” you whisper.

He’s not sure he agrees based on the way he acted the last time you talked in his cabin, but you silence his thoughts when you take him in your mouth again, cheeks hollowing.

Zach’s groans are strained and his breaths are shallow as you suck and lick. The sounds of your mouth against him are near perfection. He knows what’s really perfect is the feeling of being buried deep inside you, both of you wrapped in bliss.

He’s still feeling the flame of jealousy and so badly needs to show you how much you’re his and how much he’s yours. He finds the strength to gently pull your mouth off of him by your roots.

You meet his stare, letting him take full control as he guides you onto your back. The sight of him standing over you, tongue running over his bottom lip as he pulls down your pajama bottoms and panties makes arousal pool in your gut.

Zach leans over, chest heaving and cheeks flushed as one arm holds him up and the other dips between your legs, fingers firmly dragging up and down.

“Tell me only I get to see you like this,” he rasps.

“Only you,” you praise. His touch grants you such elation that you start to feel dizzy. “And only you get to touch me.”

His jaw clenches at your words. He traces circles on your clit, gazing down at you as your breath catches.

“You like how I touch you?” he says.

“Yes,” you moan. “You’re so good at it. You’re so good at everything.”

Zach lowers to kiss you, tongue pressing into your mouth the same moment his finger dips into you. You writhe under his touch, the pressure of his finger inside of you making you moan again.

“More?” he whispers, the pad of his middle finger nudging against your entrance.

“More.”

He slowly sinks a second finger into you, groaning at how tight and wet you are around him. He starts to slowly pump in and out, curling his fingers at the hilt, pulling back just enough to watch your expression.

His movements are slow and firm, and when he starts to rub your clit with his thumb, you clutch his shoulders in deep pleasure.

“Like that,” you whisper. “My good boy.”

The praise makes him feel like he might go insane in the best way. He can’t take the ache anymore. He pulls his fingers out, shifting to grab a condom from your drawer.

You watch him through heavy lids, taking in how perfect every inch of him is, spreading your legs so he can get inside you as soon as possible. Zach lines up against you as he lies over you, his throbbing tip gently pressing against you.

“Ready?” he whispers.

You don’t answer, hungrily gripping the backs of his hips to pull him forward. He groans, in heaven from how much you want him.

He sinks into you completely and it’s a flawless type of pain having to adjust to him so quickly. He pulls back and thrusts back into you hard, lips against yours, mouths open.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, both of you already sweaty, and you pant together as his slams fill you over and over, jolting you, your bed shaking.

“You’re my good girl,” he whispers through sighs. “Mine only.”

Your moans tangle with his, your soft heat squeezes him, and when you wrap your legs around his hips, he wants to live in the moment forever.

Zach knows he loves you. And he knows he has to wait to say it because he’d hate for you to feel pressured to say it back. If he’s lucky, when it’s time, you’ll say it back.

He grinds against your clit with steady friction and he fills you with hard pressure, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna…” you breathe, clenching around him. You can’t finish your sentence, losing your voice as you come, sparks firing through your body.

Feeling you flutter around him is what sends him over the edge, kissing you as he unravels, hips stuttering with sloppy thrusts as his body releases all the tension and hunger and love he has for you.

He collapses on top of you, still hard and inside you, leaving soft kisses on the corner of your lips.

When he finds the strength to stand and clean himself up, he comes back to bed with a warm, damp towel, kissing your bent knee as he gently wipes you, letting you stay on your back and come down from your high.

Zach eventually lies down next to you, cradling your jaw, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone as you gaze at each other.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry things were weird with us. I’m sorry I’m so bad at talking about things sometimes.”

You meet his eyes, gently raking his messy hair back, remembering how it’s the first thing you noticed about him.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry I pushed. I get if it’s hard for you. I just want us to be honest with each other.”

“I was mad,” he admits. “And I already hate being mad, but being mad at you just felt so wrong. I know you didn’t mean for it to come out.”

“Why do you hate being mad, baby?”

“Because I just… I feel weak.”

“Weak?”

“Like I should be able to change the way I’m thinking about it,” he says. “I should be more understanding.”

You let out a soft giggle, kissing the tip of his nose.

“You’re the most understanding person I know,” you tell him. “You can’t control how you feel.”

“I think I feel too much,” Zach confesses. His heart is pounding again. He’s never been so raw with somebody. But the deep adoration in your eyes makes the vulnerability less scary.

“You feel the perfect amount,” you tell him. “Your heart is big and that’s not a flaw.”

He leans closer, kissing you tenderly.

“Please tell me next time,” you whisper. “What’d you say when I didn’t tell you I was sick? I have to let you know when I don’t feel well? It goes both ways.”

He chuckles and kisses you again.

“I will,” he says. “All I’ve been thinking about is you and how I screwed up and how I don’t want to screw up again.”

“All I’ve been thinking about is you and how I can’t wait to be your girlfriend without having to hide it.”

A bigger smile grows on his lips, his eyes softening at your words. You’re a pure ray of sunshine in his life. For once, he’s confident a girl will stick around when she sees just how messy his head can get.

“How often are we going to be seeing each other when we’re out of here, huh?” you ask. “We have a whole hour between us.”

“The distance from your cabin to mine is already hard enough,” he says. You laugh hard and he realizes just how much he missed the sound. “Every weekend, at least.”

“Deal,” you say. At that moment, your stomach lets out a hungry growl and you sigh a chuckle. “I rushed through dinner and I don’t think I ate enough.”

He sits up, collecting your clothes off the bed. You laugh when you watch him tugging your panties over your ankles.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re sneaking into the kitchen,” he says. “You’re not gonna be hungry on my watch.”

The night air is cool as you make your way towards the dining hall. Sure enough, Zach finds a few snacks in the kitchen cabinets to satiate you, sitting on the counter next to you, chatting about what your class schedules will look like when the school year starts.

You get lost in conversation, and an hour later, you’re both almost dozing off. You decide to finally head to bed, rushing out of the hall and towards the staff cabins, hand in hand.

Your shoes crunch against the gravel path past the campground office so loudly that you almost don’t hear your name called.

You rip your hand out of Zach’s and turn to see one of your campers, Jemma, standing close by.

“Hey,” you say, almost frozen in anxiety. She definitely saw you and Zach holding hands. “Why are you out of your cabin?”

“I woke up,” she says with a shrug. “And I couldn’t fall back asleep so I wondered if I could see any more comets. Were you guys just holding hands?”

You don’t know what to say. You clear your throat and shuffle closer to her.

“I’ll walk you back, okay?” you say. “You’re not supposed to be out at night without a counselor.”

You drop Jemma off, the whole walk over filled with you avoiding her questions and asking her about anything you can think of. Zach is in your cabin get back, his eyes wide.

He said he didn’t care who knew earlier tonight, but you know he was overtaken by his emotions. You can tell by his expression that he’s tense. This is bad.

“She saw us,” he says, almost robotically.

“She saw us,” you confirm. You sit next to him on your bed. You figure you should lay it out on the open. “And she loves to talk. And it’s not appropriate to ask her to keep a secret. She’ll tell her friends.”

“I have to tell my aunt and uncle,” he says, “before they hear from one of the kids.”

You meet his eyes. The happiness you were feeling is deflated now, overtaken by dread. You have to accept that your worst fear just came true.

“We have to tell them,” you say. Tears prick at your eyes. “I’ll go with you. I’m so sorry. This screws everything up for you.”

“No,” he says. “I said you were worth the risk and I meant it. I knew going into it that this could happen. It happened. We’ll deal with it.”

“You’re really okay?” you ask.

“I’m weirdly relieved,” Zach admits, looking at you with empathy. “Are you okay? You could get fired.”

“Your job became more important to me than mine a long time ago,” you tell him. “You have more on the line. That’s why I feel so bad.”

“I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you. I’d do it all again even if I knew it’d end like this.”

“You’re not going to see me as the girl that ruined this place for you?”

“Baby,” he says with a disbelieving exhale. “Of course not. You’re the best part of this place.”

“Really?”

“One hundred and five percent,” he says with a smile, reminding you of how he’d answered the same way when you asked if he’s sure he wants to start secretly dating.

His sweetness is what makes your tears finally fall. He kisses you softly, shushing you and rubbing your back as you dig your head into his chest. You stay like that until you feel too tired to sit up any longer.

The next day, you and Zach meet at the campground office before breakfast as planned. He’s the most nervous you’ve ever seen him as he turns the handle and enters the room, greeting Ruby as she types at her laptop on a circular table.

“Can we sit for a second?” Zach asks.

“Of course,” she says. “What brings you in?”

You settle next to him at the other end of the table, realizing your knees are bouncing in anxiety. He told you he’d take the lead. You glance at his profile, glad he’s still as calm as he seemed last night.

“We, uh…” He looks at you. “We kind of broke the no dating rule. And last night, Jemma saw us holding hands. I wanted to come to you before you heard from anyone else. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” you say, meeting her eyes nervously. “I’m really sorry. And I completely understand if you need to let me go. But please give Zach a little grace.”

“What?” he mumbles. You hadn’t talked about doing this.

“He loves it here,” you tell your boss, the words spilling out of you. “I’m sure you know that already. I’ve never seen someone so passionate about a place. He respects and admires you and Tom so much. The way he talks about this camp and the way he enjoys the job is part of why I’ve grown to love it so much. He’ll be crushed if this ruins his reputation and if he can’t come back to work here. I know I’m in no position to ask for anything, but please spare him.”

“Hey,” Zach says to you softly. He’s so moved that if he didn’t already know he loved you, this would be the moment that sealed it. “It’s okay. I deserve to lose my job.”

“Zach,” Ruby says. You both look at her. “Sweetheart. You really think I didn’t know?”

“What?” you and Zach say in perfect unison.

“I’ve known you all your life,” she says. “I can spot when something’s up with you from a mile away.”

“Wait… what?” he says again. “How? Since when?”

“You’re not one to get mad at the kids for little things. But then we had that barbecue and you,” she says, eyes landing on you, “got hurt because some campers were rough-housing.”

You feel for the now healed burn on your forearm.

“Tom told me all about it, how uncharacteristically angry and worried you got,” Ruby tells Zach, “and then it took less than a day to confirm my suspicions. You really don’t know how obvious you are. You smile like you just won the lottery whenever she’s around.”

You feel your face go hot, butterflies swarming in your stomach. It’s the second time someone’s said Zach seems extra happy around you.

“So, you knew?” he says. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed,” she says with a shrug. “I figured you’d do a good enough job hiding it from everyone. And I’d never fire you. You’re a… what’s Malcolm call it? A nepo baby?”

“Hey,” he says with a relieved laugh.

“Kidding,” she says, eyes darting to you. “I treat all my staff equally. And we’ve never actually fired anyone for dating. We just strongly discourage it because of things like last night. It’s inappropriate if campers see any sort of PDA.”

“We were just holding hands for a second, I swear,” Zach says.

“I know,” she sighs. “But no more cutesy stuff, got it?”

“Got it,” he says. “So we’re not fired?”

“Just go to breakfast and let me enjoy my coffee,” she says with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

As you and Zach head out, Ruby calls him back for a moment. You wait outside for him to make sure everything’s okay.

Zach closes the door behind him, expecting a verbal lashing.

“I like her for you,” Ruby says. He beams, unbelievably relieved.

“You’re really not disappointed?” he asks. He should have known his kind-hearted aunt would be so compassionate.

“Honey, I’m happy,” Ruby says. “Even you need to break rules sometimes. You must really like her if you decided to stop being a goody two-shoes for once.”

“I do,” he says confidently. “And I am not a goody two-shoes.”

“Debatable,” she teases.

When he steps out of the office, you share a sigh of relief, laughing.

“What’d she say?” you ask.

“Changed her mind. I am, in fact, fired.”

You scoff, nudging his shoulder.

“Hey, no touching allowed,” Zach laughs. “Save it for after lights out.”

“Shh,” you laugh, looking around in case anyone heard. “Have you learned nothing?”

He smirks at you.

“Thanks for saying that stuff about me back there,” he says.

“It’s all true,” you reply.

The last week of camp is the fastest of them all. Gossip spreads about you and Zach, but you just deny it whenever kids bring it up, both saying you’re just friends.

Packing up your cabin and saying goodbye at the end of the season is one of the hardest things you’ve done all summer.

Two Months Later

The triple whistle blow signals the end of the game. You’re absolutely spent, hands on your knees, so tired that you can’t even celebrate that you’d just beat an unbeatable team.

Last year, they beat you every single time, but now, you look up at the scoreboard to see your score at 3, and the visitors’ score at 2. Soon enough, your teammates pull you into a hug, the air buzzing with pride and excitement.

The hot shower you take in the locker room after the game is unbelievably rewarding.

You beam when you see Zach standing by the stadium front doors. His face lights up the moment he sees you.

“You were amazing,” he says, pulling you in for a hug and taking your heavy duffle bag for you as the crowds exiting the building surround you. “Did you hear the crowd when you nailed that one tackle in the second half? I was so proud that I told the guy beside me that you’re my girlfriend.”

You laugh, perching up on your toes to quickly kiss him.

“And what’d he say?” you ask.

“He just looked at me like this,” he says, pulling an annoyed expression. You laugh again. “Baby, you killed it. Best defense I’ve ever seen.”

“Now you’re pushing it,” you chuckle.

“I’m serious,” he says. “You’re amazing. Who’d you train with? Obviously a pro.”

“Alright,” you roll your eyes, smiling.

“I mean it. And five.”

You lace your fingers in his, grinning. The more you opened up to each other, learning about how hard it can be for Zach to express his difficult emotions, ‘and five’ became your way to assure each other you mean what you’re saying, a silly reference to how he loves to say ‘one hundred and five percent.’

‘And five’ is your way of saying you promise. That you’re sure. That there’s no reason to doubt anything.

“Wow, and five?” you say. “So, you’re not just trying to flatter me before dinner.”

Zach grins, pulling you in for a hug. You’re set to go to his house to meet his family after you get ready in your dorm.

“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” he asks.

“I don’t care how tired I am,” you say. “I can’t wait to meet them. And seeing Tom and Ruby again will be nice.”

The MacLarens’ house is warm and welcoming, just as you expected. You feel like you already know his parents and sister within minutes and when Zach’s aunt and uncle arrive, it’s comforting to see them, knowing they already like you.

Throughout dinner, Tom and Ruby tease Zach for how obviously lovestruck he was at work all summer. Even his sister joins in, calling him cheesy.

“I hope you know we’re all just joking, sweetie,” Zach’s mother says to you quietly, clearly a bit worried you’ll think they’re being too harsh on your boyfriend.

“I do,” you say kindly. In the time you’ve been together, you’ve joked with Zach that teasing seems to be his love language. It’s sweet seeing him at home, joking with his family, looking up at you every so often to make sure you’re having a good time.

After you say your goodbyes, Zach drives you to your dorm. He pulls up to your building, the back of your hand warm from where he’s been resting his palm.

Every time you’re in his car, you think about the first time you were in it back in the summer, going into town, getting to know him. You’ve been in it so many times since then, driving around and playing your favorite songs.

“Well, thank you again,” you say, relieved to have heard he knows his family loved you, just as he suspected. “I had fun.”

“You fit right in,” Zach says. He hopes it’s not too much, but the longer he’s been with you, the less scared he is of being too much.

You smile at him, proving him right. He doesn’t have to hold back.

“I was thinking something,” he says, “when I was looking at you at dinner.”

“What?”

“That I always knew that things between us didn’t go so fast because of the whole forbidden thing,” he tells you. “They’d go that fast anyway. For me, at least.”

You smile, relieved to hear it. You spent so much of the camp season wondering if the rule you were both living under was the reason things escalated the way they did.

You’ve talked about the summer, reminiscing on your memories, laughing over your favorite moments, finding it hilarious how stressed you both were about the bosses finding out about you when they already knew, but you never dove into how fast your relationship went.

“You have no idea how nice it is to hear that,” you say. “I agree. I would’ve been just as crazy about you if we met outside of work.”

“Me, too,” he says, his dimples caving into his cheeks as he gazes at you. He takes a deep breath, bringing your hand up to his mouth, kissing your palm. “I love you. And you don’t have to say it back, but I just want you to know.”

“I love you, too,” you say, feeling weightless. “Obviously.”

“Yeah?” Zach doesn’t know when his heart started pounding this hard, but it’s thudding in his ears.

“Yeah,” you say. “And five.”

He leans close and kisses you over and over, just like he did the first night on the dock.

But this time, instead of saying that you should stop and that this isn’t allowed and that you could get in trouble every time your lips part, you’re whispering that you love each other.

(the end)

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#zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren

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writer-freak · 6 months ago

Text

Michael Myers x Ghostface x Fem reader

Kinktober week 5 - Threesome, double penetration and primal

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: NSFW, female reader, fingering, unprotected sex, anal penetration (reader receiving), p in v, no proper prep, nipple play (reader and Michael receiving), biting, petnames, english isn't my first language, probably forgot something

A/n: So life got in the way so this took longer than expected but better late then never. I'm planning on writing a male and probably also gender neutral version of this which shouldn't take too long but I finished this first and wanted to post. I'm really not used to writing two characters actually engaging with each other so I hope this turned out fine.

The night was cool, the sound of rain overwhelming you while the fog moved around the realm. You ran, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you maneuvered between the trees, your heart pounding in your chest.

Every rustle, every shadow seemed to come alive as you sprinted deeper between the trees. You knew this was a game, a sick, thrilling game that had been crafted just for you by the two predators on your trail. Michael and Danny had already wiped out the other survivors, but they kept you alive. And you knew why.

They loved the chase, the adrenaline, the hunt. And you couldn’t deny that some twisted part of you loved it too. The feeling of being prey, of being stalked by not one, but two deadly killers, had heat pooling in your belly. Your relationship with them was… complicated, to say the least.

You weren’t just some faceless survivor to be eliminated. No, with them, it was different. The three of you had a connection that went beyond the usual hunt, a dark and exciting bond that kept you coming back for more. And tonight was no different. Your breath hitched as you glanced over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of movement in the shadows.

Michael’s figure loomed in the distance, his expressionless mask a stark contrast in the darkness, moving silently through the trees. You could almost feel his gaze on you, like a physical weight pressing against your skin.

And then there was Danny just out of sight, but you knew he was there. He always was, lurking, waiting to strike when you least expected it. A thrill shot through you as you pushed yourself harder, your legs burning as you darted between the trees, your heart hammering in your chest.

You had to keep running, had to stay ahead. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before they caught you. They always did. And part of you couldn’t wait for it.

The sound of footsteps grew louder behind you, the rustle of leaves and the snap of twigs signaling their approach.

You could hear Danny’s familiar voice, taunting, teasing. “You can run, sweetheart, but you know we’ll catch you. It’s only a matter of time.” His words were filled with amusement, like a cat playing with its prey.

A sharp breath escaped you as you stumbled, your body hitting the ground hard. For a moment, everything went still—the forest, the air, even your heartbeat seemed to pause. And then, you felt it. The presence of your hunters closing in.

Before you could scramble to your feet, a shadow fell over you, and a strong hand gripped your arm, pulling you up. Michael. His mask was blank, unreadable, but you could feel the power radiating off of him as he loomed over you, holding you in place with ease.

Danny appeared at your other side, his knife glinting in the low light as he crouched down, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Caught you,” he purred, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your heart raced, but it wasn’t fear that made your pulse spike it was something far darker, something more primal. You could feel heat pooling between your legs as they both loomed over you, the rush of being caught setting your nerves alight.

“What do we do with you now, huh?” Danny’s voice was teasing, but the hunger in his voice was obvious as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You look like you enjoyed the chase, didn’t you?” You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your lips as his words sent a shiver down your spine. Michael’s grip tightened on your arm, pulling you even closer to him, his body solid and unmovable against your back.

Danny chuckled, his breath hot against your skin. “I think it’s time for your reward.” By the time they had dragged you to a place better suited for your reward, the tension between the three of you was nearly unbearable.

Michael’s grip on you hadn’t loosened, his hands possessive as they roamed your body, Danny removed his mask his sharp gaze following Michael's every movement, his smirk never fading.

They didn’t speak much, not that Michael ever did, but you could feel the silent understanding between them. Danny was the talker for both of them, his taunts and teases filling the air as they slowly, stripped you down to nothing, their hands roaming over every inch of your skin with a reverence that sent sparks through your body.

“Look at you, all worked up,” Danny muttered, his lips trailing down your neck as he pressed you back against Michael’s chest. “You love this, don’t you? Being the prey. Being hunted.” His voice was thick with amusement, but you could hear the heat beneath it, the barely contained hunger in his words.

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as Michael’s hands slid over your waist, his grip firm, holding you in place as Danny’s mouth moved lower. “You’re gonna look so good between us,” Danny murmured, his teeth grazing your collarbone as his hands wandered lower, his fingers brushing against your thighs in a featherlight caress. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Michael’s grip on your hips stayed strong feeling him holding onto you as Danny took his time savoring every inch of your exposed skin. He let his hands roam over you, leaving trails of heat wherever he touched, teasing you with feather-light caresses that left you squirming between the two of them.

Danny’s fingers brushed over your cheek as he leaned in, voice a low, tantalizing whisper. “You know he’s watching you,” he murmured, letting his thumb graze your lower lip. “Watching every little reaction, just like I am.”

His gaze darted to Michael, who stood like a shadow behind you, unmoving but you could feel him watching everything.

Danny’s eyes shone with a playful light as he shifted, moving close enough to press his lips against Michael’s mask, planting a slow, deliberate kiss against the blank face. The motion was almost mocking, yet oddly tender, as if daring Michael to break his silence.

You could almost see the tension crackling between them, and Michael’s hand slid down to grip Danny’s wrist, forceful but not resisting. You watched, breathless, as Danny chuckled, peeling the mask up just enough to reveal Michael’s mouth.

For a moment, Michael was exposed, his lips parting as Danny leaned in again, capturing them in a hard, possessive kiss. You felt heat coil inside you as they moved against each other, Michael’s hand tightening around Danny’s arm with an unmistakable intensity.

After a few moments, Danny pulled back, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “See, he’s hungry too,” he said, his voice low, almost taunting. “And it looks like you’re the prize for both of us.”

Danny’s mouth returned to you, hot and insistent as he worked his way down your neck, leaving a path of bruises and bites in his wake. His teeth grazed your skin, sharp enough to sting but not break, his tongue following each nip with soothing warmth.

Behind you, Michael’s large hands slid possessively over your waist and hips, his rough fingertips gripping with a force that left you trembling.

Michael’s breath fanned against your neck as his hands moved upward, skimming along your ribs and finally cupping your breasts. His touch was firm, possessive, his fingers brushing your nipples in rough circles that made you gasp.

Without a word, he leaned down, brushing his lips against the nape of your neck. Each kiss he left lingered hotly on your skin, his mouth branding you as his.

Danny’s hands slipped lower, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His mouth curved into a wicked smile as you whimpered under his teasing touch. “Look at you, already trembling,” he murmured against your collarbone.

“Can’t decide if it’s from fear or excitement, can you?” His voice was mocking yet dripping with desire as he knelt before you, pulling your legs wider to make room for him.

Michael’s hands slid back down to your hips, steadying you against his broad frame as Danny settled between your thighs. Michael’s height left you caught perfectly between them, his powerful body supporting you from behind while Danny’s lips and hands worked their way lower.

You felt Michael’s hardness pressing against the curve of your backside, a silent reminder of what awaited you, as Danny’s fingers teased and tested you.

Danny’s lips trailed down your body, leaving a burning path across your stomach. His fingers splayed across your thighs, thumbs brushing just close enough to your core to make you ache. “So ready for us,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he spread you open.

His eyes flicked up to yours, watching your every reaction as his tongue darted out to tease you. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his fingers pressed against your slick folds, spreading you further.

“You’re already dripping,” Danny teased, his voice dark and mocking. “So desperate for us to ruin you.” His thumb pressed against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, testing how much you could take.

He circled the sensitive bud with agonizing patience, his fingers slick with your arousal as he finally slid one inside, the stretch making you moan.

Michael’s hands gripped your hips tightly as Danny worked. The firm press of Michael’s chest against your back left you grounded, his presence overwhelming even in silence.

One of his hands moved upward again, fingers brushing your neck before sliding into your hair and gripping it firmly. The tug forced your head back, exposing your throat to him. He leaned down, lips brushing over your pulse before nipping at the skin.

Danny’s smirk widened as he pushed another finger inside you, the stretch exquisite as he began to curl them in slow, deliberate strokes. His free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you in place as he worked you open. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and dark as his fingers thrust into you with increasing intensity. “You’re taking me so well.”

His eyes darted upward, meeting Michael’s over your shoulder. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Danny said, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. His pace quickened, fingers plunging deeper as his thumb pressed harder against your clit. The combined sensations left you trembling, your body arching into him as he continued his unrelenting rhythm.

Michael’s grip on your hair tightened, pulling you back against him as he let out a low, approving growl. His free hand slid down to your chest, cupping your breast roughly as his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple.

Danny leaned in closer, his breath hot against your inner thigh. His tongue darted out, flicking against your clit in time with his fingers. You cried out at the sudden burst of sensation, your legs shaking as he pressed deeper. “That’s it,” Danny whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. “Let us hear you.”

Michael’s hand joined Danny’s, his larger fingers brushing against Danny’s as they both worked to stretch you further. The contrast in their touches was maddening, Danny’s quick and teasing, Michael’s deliberate and firm. Together, they pushed you higher, their coordination leaving you helpless between them.

Danny pulled back slightly, his lips wet and glistening as he smirked up at you. “You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, sliding his fingers out just enough to leave you feeling empty before plunging them back in. His pace was relentless, his free hand now gripping your hip to steady you as he curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot that made your breath hitch.

Michael leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear hearing his heavy breathing. His fingers pressed harder against your clit, circling with calculated precision.

Danny’s mouth quickly replaced Michael's fingers, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nub before sucking it between his lips. The combination of their touches left you gasping, your body arching into them as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

“Come on,” Danny coaxed, his voice low and commanding as he added another finger. “Let go for us. We’re not even close to done with you.”

You cried out, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Michael’s grip on your hair softened, his hand sliding down to your waist to steady you as Danny slowed his pace, letting you ride out your climax.

When Danny finally pulled his fingers away, he brought them to his mouth, his eyes locking with yours as he licked them clean, savoring every drop.

Michael released his hold on you just enough to guide you down, his hands firm as they moved you to straddle Danny.

Danny exchanged a smirk with Michael, their unspoken understanding clear in the intensity of their gazes.

Michael’s silence spoke volumes as he gripped your hips, his strong hands cold against your heated skin. The warmth of his breath against the back of your neck made your stomach twist with anticipation, a stark contrast to Danny’s bold teasing. The quiet exchange between the two men only intensified the heat pooling in your belly, leaving you trembling with desire.

Danny’s smirk never faltered as he took the lead, his mouth finding yours in a bruising kiss that left you gasping for air. His tongue teased and tangled with yours, possessive and challenging, as his hands roamed over your body.

Behind you, Michael shifted slightly, the hard press of his cock against your ass making your breath hitch. His quiet authority paired perfectly with Danny’s unrestrained hunger, the two of them overwhelming you with their opposing but somehow matching energies.

“You’re ours,” Danny murmured against your lips, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Let’s see how well you can handle us.”

Michael’s hands tightened on your hips as Danny’s slid lower, gripping your thighs as he positioned you over him. His cock pressed hot and firm against your entrance, the sensation enough to make you whimper.

Danny’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he guided you down onto him, the head of his cock slipping inside slowly, teasingly. The stretch was exquisite, his cock thick as he pushed deeper, filling you inch by inch. “That’s it,” Danny groaned, his hands gripping your thighs as he watched your face contort with pleasure. “Take me… every fucking inch.”

Behind you, Michael moved closer, the heat of his body warming your back as he pressed you down onto Danny’s cock. The contrast of their touches, had you trembling between them, completely at their mercy.

“You feel so fucking good,” Danny muttered, his voice thick with lust as he thrust up into you, slow and deliberate. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady as he began to move, each thrust driving deeper, testing your limits. “So tight, so perfect. God, I could fuck you all day.”

Michael’s deep grunt behind you sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. Danny paused for a moment, letting you catch your breath. Just as you began to relax, you felt one of Michael’s thick fingers trailing lower, brushing lightly over the tight ring of muscle there.

The sensation made you tense, your breath hitching at the unexpected touch.

“Relax,” Danny murmured, his hands gripping your hips reassuringly as he leaned up to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Let him take care of you.”

Behind you, Michael’s large hands splayed over your ass, steadying you as his finger pressed more insistently against your unprepared entrance. The intrusion was slow, deliberate, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips as the tip of his finger slipped inside. The sensation was strange, new, and your body tensed instinctively against the unfamiliar pressure.

“It’s your first time, isn’t it?” Danny’s voice was a low, teasing purr against your ear, his fingers brushing lightly over your thighs. “Don’t worry. He’ll make sure you’re enjoying it.”

Michael’s finger pushed deeper, the thick digit stretching you inch by inch. The burn was sharp at first, but it was impossible to ignore the way your body responded, the slight twinge of discomfort giving way to an unfamiliar pleasure.

You squirmed beneath him, torn between nervous anticipation and the growing heat building low in your belly.

“You’re so tight here,” Danny murmured, his gaze dark and hungry as he watched your face. “Fuck, I can already tell how good you’re going to feel for him.”

Michael didn’t speak, but the way his finger moved—slowly curling, testing, coaxing you to relax—said everything. Another finger joined the first, the stretch making you whimper softly as your hands gripped Danny’s chest for support.

Your breaths came in short gasps, a mixture of nerves and arousal as your body adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation.

“You’re doing so well,” Danny praised, his fingers sliding up to tease your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through you. “Just let him open you up… you’ll love it.”

Michael’s fingers worked deeper, the steady, relentless pressure making your body shudder as he prepared you for what was to come. Despite the initial apprehension, you found yourself relaxing into his touch, the heat pooling between your legs overwhelming your hesitation.

The stretch was intense, but the raw, almost primal pleasure that accompanied it had you trembling in his grasp.

When Michael finally withdrew his fingers, you couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped your lips, your body clenching at the loss. But there was no time to dwell on the emptiness. The blunt head of his cock pressed firmly against your entrance, the sheer size of him making you gasp. The pressure mounted as he pushed forward, inch by inch, the stretch, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Danny’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for us.”

The thick head of Michael’s cock finally breached you, the sensation sharp and overwhelming as your body struggled to accommodate him. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but the low, guttural groan that rumbled from Michael’s chest sent a thrill through you, the sound of his pleasure drowning out the lingering discomfort.

“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Danny murmured, his hands sliding over your thighs as he guided you down onto his cock, filling you completely once again. “Taking us both so well.”

Michael’s deep, steady thrusts began slowly, the purposeful pace giving you time to adjust to the stretch. The burn eased with each movement, replaced by a growing, heady pleasure that made your body tremble. You could feel every inch of him, the thick length of his cock driving into you with an intensity that left you gasping for air.

The feeling of them both inside you at once was almost too much to bear. Danny’s cock filled you completely, his pace quickening as Michael stretched you even more, the two of them moving together with a rhythm that left you utterly wrecked. Michael’s hands gripped your hips with bruising force, his silent dominance a stark contrast to Danny’s teasing words and frantic movements.

“Look at you,” Danny groaned, his voice thick with arousal as he watched your every reaction. “Taking us both like you were made for this.” His hips bucked up to meet Michael’s thrusts, the combined sensation sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Michael leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he drove into you with unrelenting force. The sheer power of his movements left you trembling, your body stretched and filled completely, every nerve ending alive with pleasure.

“You’re ours now,” Danny murmured, his voice a dark, possessive growl. “And we’re not letting you go.”

Michael’s silence only made his movements more commanding, his cock driving into you with precision, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. His grip on your hips never faltered, his strong hands keeping you exactly where he wanted you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

Danny leaned up, his lips finding your neck as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, leaving marks in his wake. “You’re gonna come for us, aren’t you?” he whispered against your ear, his voice a low purr. “I can feel it… you’re so fucking close.”

Your moans filled the air as they both fucked you, their cocks stretching and filling you in perfect unison. The pressure inside you built with every thrust, your body trembling as they drove you higher and higher, their movements relentless.

Michael’s hands slid up your body, one of them tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back, exposing your neck to him. His breath was hot against your skin as he pressed his lips to your throat, the faintest growl escaping him as he marked you with a sharp bite.

Danny’s wicked grin widened as he watched Michael’s rare display of possessiveness. “Even he can’t resist you,” Danny teased, his voice full of amusement as he thrust up into you harder, drawing a loud moan from your lips. “You’ve got us both completely fucking hooked.”

Danny’s cock slammed into you with unrelenting force, his fingers digging into your thighs as he chased his own release, while Michael’s powerful thrusts sent shockwaves of pleasure through you with each movement.

Your body was trembling, the pressure building inside you, threatening to spill over as they both pushed you closer to the edge. Michael’s thrusts grew harder, his grip on your hips bruising as he drove into you with monstrous intensity, while Danny’s teasing fingers played with your nipples, heightening every sensation.

And then, without warning, Danny’s hand slid up to Michael’s chest, his fingers brushing lightly over his nipples, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he toyed with the silent killer. Michael didn’t react at first, but the way his hips faltered for a split second told you everything you needed to know.

Danny chuckled low, his fingers twisting Michael’s nipples, drawing a low, barely audible grunt from the man behind you.

“So even Michael’s sensitive here,” Danny teased, his voice laced with amusement as he continued to play with Michael’s chest, his fingers flicking and pinching the sensitive nubs. “I knew it… even the big guy has his weak spots.”

Michael’s thrusts grew more erratic, his breath coming in heavier pants as Danny continued to tease him, his hips slamming into you harder as he tried to maintain control. But Danny’s playful touch was relentless, his fingers working Michael’s nipples in time with his own thrusts, making you both shudder with pleasure.

The sight of Danny teasing Michael sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body trembling as the tension built to an unbearable level. You were so close—right on the edge—and you could feel Danny grinning beneath you, sensing how close you were to falling apart.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Danny murmured, his voice low and rough as his hand slid back down to your hips, gripping you tightly. “Let go. Let us hear you scream.”

The pressure inside you finally snapped, and you came hard, your body trembling violently between them as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your walls clenched around their cocks, drawing low groans from both of them as they continued to fuck you through your orgasm, their combined thrusts driving you to heights you didn’t think were possible.

Michael’s grip on your hips tightened as he followed you over the edge, a deep, guttural grunt escaping him as he buried himself deep inside you, his release spilling into you in hot, thick pulses. Danny wasn’t far behind, his hips bucking up into you one final time as he came with a low, drawn-out moan, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you completely.

For a moment, the three of you were still, your bodies tangled together in a heated, breathless mess. The only sound was your ragged breathing the intensity of your orgasm leaving you entirely spent.

Danny was the first to break the silence, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he brushed his hand against the bitemark on your neck. “You look so fucking good like this,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Completely wrecked and perfect.”

Michael didn’t say anything, but the way his hands remained firmly on your hips, holding you in place even as he softened inside you, spoke volumes.

Danny chuckled softly, his hands sliding over your waist as he shifted beneath you, his cock still buried inside you. “Think she can handle another round?” he asked, his voice full of mischief as he glanced up at Michael.

Michael’s grip tightened slightly, his silent response enough to make Danny laugh. “Guess that’s a yes,” Danny said, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Better get ready, sweetheart. We’re not done with you yet.”

18+ Divider by: @cafekitsune

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lostbookmark · 1 month ago

Text

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence,

SMUT!

You shudder as you throw your head back into your couch cushion and arch your back as waves of pleasure sweep over you. Your eyes flicker down to the annoying blonde coach, whose face is buried between your thighs with your little black dress bunched at your waist. He groans against your wet flesh as you climax against his handsome face. His tongue lapping away at you, drinking every drop that spills from you as his hazy eyes stare at your face. Pulling away from you, he leans over your flushed body with his signature smirk.

“Did I get the job done?” He asks as he licks his lips.

You study him as you lie against the couch, panting. Messy blonde hair, blown pupils, chin shiny from your orgasm.

Fuck!

How did you get here………

Earlier that day

You've stayed at the other end of the gym all week, keeping to yourself and staying out of trouble. You decided to play nice and have started to wear leggings again instead of shorts, but still stuck to tank tops. You were not going to roast in this room completely just to make the moms happy. The only person you needed to make happy was Nicky, and if you had to give in a little bit and not cause problems, then that's what you had to do.

“Did you get the concession menu I sent you?” Coach Min, aka Yoongi, asks you, from where he stands on the court at the bottom of the bleachers.

“Yup,” you say, not looking up from your phone as you chomp away at the gum in your mouth. He clears his throat, making you look at him. “Yes, sir, I got it.”

Something flashes in his dark eyes. It was brief, but it was there, and you definitely noticed it. You watch him take a deep breath before he turns, returning to his normal spot on the floor. You laugh to yourself as you look back at your phone.

Men are so easy.

The doors opening drew your attention away from your phone. You were surprised to see your brother and Elly walking over to you, gaining the attention of everyone else as well. You smile, raising your hand, saluting lazily in greeting. Chris sits on one bench lower than you as Elly sits next to you.

“Why are you sitting all the way over here?” Your brother asks, but his eyes are on the court. “Are they being mean to you? Do I need to tell mom and dad to talk to the coaches?”

“Yes,” you answer as you discreetly look over at the parents. You see several of them whispering to each other while looking over at you.

“We are here to take Nicky for the night,” Elly explains as the three of you watch your nephew make a basket.

“YEA, NICKS THAT'S MY BOY!” Your brother cheers loudly, causing everyone, coaches included to look over at your new little group. Nicky even gave him a knock it off gesture with his hand, making you and Elly laugh. “Did I just embarrass him?”

“He's thirteen. Everything embarrasses him,” You answer. “What do you mean you're going to take him for the night?”

“We have reservations at a trampoline park,” Elly informs you. “I figured you could use a night to yourself or….go out and find some adult fun.”

“Gross, don't want to hear that,” your brother grumbles with his back still turned to the two of you.

“Adult fun, huh?” You ask her, and she nods her head encouragingly while bumping your shoulder with hers. It feels like forever since you've had ‘adult fun’ and you're not sure if you know how to have it anymore. Unfortunately, you lost what little friends you had when you gained custody of Nicky. Clearly, they were never friends to begin with. You'll have to figure this ‘adult fun time’ out on your own tonight. “What time will you bring him home in the morning?”

She smiles.

You scroll through your contacts on your phone as you lie on your couch with your feet propped up on the arm. You hate to admit it, but there were a few names in there that you used to see casually. A little too casually. Soonyoung, he was always enthusiastic and was pretty much down for anything and any position. You would often leave feeling sore after he twisted you all around like a pretzel. Unfortunately, the last you heard, he moved away. Yuto, that man's voice was DEEP, and he was great at dirty talk, but you think he might have gotten married a while back. Sighing, you flick your screen and watch as it comes to a stop on a random group of names. Your eyes zero in on the name in the middle of the pack, Chanyeol. Why the hell not? Wiggling your fingers in nervousness, you tap his name and type a message.

Hey, you still around??

You look at your text and cringe at yourself. Is this how one would text for a booty call nowadays? Since becoming a responsible adult, you have become rusty in your flirty ways. You think your confidence might take a hit if this fails. Chanyeol was always pretty easy.

Possibly, he answers almost immediately

A drink and my place? you ask.

Our old bar @ 830, he suggests.

I'll be there. You type back.

You quickly hop off the couch, running into your room, changing into the tightest black dress that you had in the closet. It was lacy, low cut, and ready to be taken off. Tousling your hair, you slap on a little bit of makeup, not caring how perfect it looked. You weren't looking to impress Chanyeol. You just wanted a quick lay before sending him on his way to get some sleep. That had always been your routine with them in the past. Never let them stay, never get attached. They can't hurt you if you don't get attached. You weren't ever going to let yourself get hurt again. Never again. You adjust your boobs in your dress to give yourself the perfect cleavage and give yourself one more look over in the mirror. It will have to do. With a quick nod at your reflection, you leave your house. You were ready to get this over with.

You tap your fingers against the sticky bar top as some classic rock music blares from the speakers mounted on the walls that were covered with old posters of vintage pin-up girls and neon beer signs. It was 8:40, and Chanyeol was nowhere to be seen. You felt like an idiot waiting for him to show up as you sat on a stool by yourself, ignoring the stares of some of the men in the building. You weren't scared or nervous. No, you've dealt with men like them before. You can handle yourself. You were mad because you could have been in bed watching tv and relaxing. Adult fun is clearly no fun anymore. You finally decided to leave when your phone chimes with a message.

I'll be there. Girlfriend thinks something is up. I can just meet you at your place.

Oh, no, no, no, no. Your standards might be pretty low when it comes to men, but it's not that low. You don't even respond before throwing your phone in your bag and hightailing it out of there, walking out into the warm night air. Taking a breath, you were halfway relieved that you wouldn't have to go through with tonight, but on the other hand, you don't know when you'll get this opportunity again. Sure, you could take care of your needs yourself, but in reality…you were just too lazy.

Walking quickly, you cross the street, dodging a group of people as they walk in the opposite direction. You decide to head for another bar on the corner that you have never been to before. From all the pictures you have seen online, it appeared to be trendy and popular from all the five star reviews it had. You figure you're going to at least enjoy an overpriced drink if you can't get laid. You notice it was different from the first bar the moment you stepped in. It was busy with a much younger crowd, loud with the customers' chatter, and it didn't look like it violated any health codes.

Heading straight for the bar, you sit yourself on an empty bar stool with a high back. You take your phone from your bag and go back to Chanyeol’s message. You debate whether or not to tell him to forget about it or just ghost him, but the bartender approaches asking you what you would like to drink before you could decide what to do.

“An Old Fashioned please,” you say with a polite smile before turning back to your phone.

“Old Fashioned. That's impressive,” a deep voice says as the person drops down in the seat next to you, making you freeze slightly. You know who that voice belongs to, and honestly….you’re not sure how to react, but your pulse betrays you as it picks up, beating wildly. You hoped that it wasn't noticeable. “Where's Nicky?”

Your eyes flicker up to the handsome blonde coach, taking in his casual outfit of black ripped jeans, a white t-shirt, and a backward hat. He looked good. You're sure he is probably able to just throw whatever on and make it look effortlessly good. The bartender slides you your drink in exchange for cash. Taking a drink, you finally return the message.

Girlfriend? you type. We should just forget it.

“He’s in the car,” you say sarcastically as you finally give him your attention. “Do you think that I'm that irresponsible to leave him somewhere? He's with my brother for the night.”

“Ah, was he the guy that showed up at practice today?” Yoongi asks. Yoongi? Should you call him by his name or continue with calling him coach. Technically, he never told you his name. It was probably in the handbook. You really should read it more thoroughly.

“Yup,” you answer distractedly, as your eyes widen comically, looking at your phone upon hearing it chime once again.

But I'm ready for you, Chanyeol texted back, accompanied by a very explicit picture.

“What?” Coach Min…Yoongi asks, trying to lean over to check your phone.

You fumble with the black device in an attempt to hide the screen, dropping it, but fortunately, he caught it just in time before it hit the ground. Unfortunately, Chanyeol’s very inappropriate picture was still on the screen for all to see. Yoongi clears his throat and hands it back to you with an awkward smile.

“Your date tonight?” He asks with a deep chuckle.

“I ditched him,” you say, taking another drink before deleting the conversation from your phone and blocking his number.

“Yeah, it didn't look that impressive,” he comments, smirking a little bit.

“I'm sure his girlfriend is fine with it,” you comment all too casually, making him laugh in amusement. “Story of my life. Wasted my time for nothing.”

“So you got all dolled up just to go home alone?” He asked, all relaxed back against the high back of the stool. You watch as he sips his own amber colored drink. Whisky, probably neat based on the lack of ice or garnish. “That's a shame.”

“Is it?” You ask, taking another sip of your own drink.

“It is,” he confirms as he looks at you over his glass as he brings it to his lips once more.

“I think I dodged a bullet. It would have been mediocre at best,” you say with a humorless laugh. You throw a tip on the bar and place your phone in your bag. Throwing back the rest of your drink, you hop down off your stool. “Have a goodnight, coach.”

Turning from him, his arm shoots out in front of you, his veiny hand grabbing the back of the seat you just vacated, blocking your exit. You stop in your spot as you look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Yoongi,” he says, leaning closer to your body. “We are off court….call me Yoongi.”

“Am I going to be saying your name off court…Yoongi?” You question with a tilt of your head, making him smirk.

“Depends,” he tells you, drinking the rest of his own drink.

“On what?” You ask, watching his Adam's apple bob as the liquor goes down his throat.

“Still want company tonight?” He asks with that damn eyebrow raised as he sets his glass down on the bar top, licking his lips.

“Depends,” you say, repeating after him.

“On what?” He asks, playing along.

“Can you get the job done?” You quip.

HIs smirk widens.

Your stomach clenches in anticipation.

Shit, you're in trouble.

Pulling him down to you, you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. It was you and a hint of whiskey, but mainly you. You moan into his mouth, his hands run up and down your bare legs before grabbing your ass, squeezing the bare flesh firmly.

“Bedroom?” He asks, pulling away from your swollen lips as he moves to his feet.

Standing from the couch, you pull your dress back down over your hips. Taking his hand, you lead him down the hall to your bedroom. Entering the room, you turn on your lamp that sits on your dresser. The dim light was low and gentle, calming your nerves, almost letting you hide.

Getting on your bed, you crawl to the middle and sit on your knees, waiting for him to make the next move. You wonder if he was going to be bold and take what he wants or if he was a tease and was going to make you beg for what you want. Was he an alpha male needing to be in control, or was he a lazy lover, making you do all the work? God, you hope not.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks, standing at the foot of your bed with his hands shoved in the pockets of his tight ripped jeans. Oh….he's a gentleman. That will not do for tonight.

Grabbing the straps of your dress, you pull them down your arms. until they hang free off of your limbs. Reaching behind you, you pull the zipper on you back down until the fabric falls away, leaving you completely topless for his gaze. You look at him, and his eyes lock onto yours.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask as you study him still standing there. “I can handle this on my own if I need to.”

He moves.

Yoongi launches himself onto your bed, grabbing you and pulling your body against his own. His hands cup your face as he attaches his lips to yours once more. His very talented tongue, rolling against your own as your hands sneak up his shirt, grabbing at his sides. Raking your nails over his smooth skin, you grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. Yoongi pulls away, reaching over his shoulders. He grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, making your core clench in anticipation.

Yoongi tosses his shirt, bringing you back to him, naked chests pressed together. Lowering his head, he kisses along your jawline before licking a wet trail down to your neck. You let your head drop back, giving him all the room he needs to explore. His hands grip your ass making you moan.

“We shouldn't be doing this,” his raspy voice admits, his face still pressed against your neck.

“Is it in the handbook?” You ask breathlessly, making Yoongi twist your hair around his hand to gently pull your head forward to look at him.

“You and that mouth,” he comments as he stares into your soul. Dipping his head, he kisses you deeply, taking your breath away. Pulling away just as quick, he runs his tongue across your bottom lip. “I've wanted this since you told me you had rabies.”

You start laughing at the memory. You wanted to come up with some smart ass reply, but your thoughts were so consumed with getting him naked that you couldn't come up with anything. Yoongi let's go of your hair. Swiftly, he grabs behind your knees and yanks, knocking you onto your back on the bed. You stop laughing. Oh, he's good. Reaching out, he grabs the fabric of your dress, pulling it down and off your body, leaving you completely bare.

“I don't want to get you in trouble,” you admit, spreading your legs automatically for him as he settles between them. Face hoving over yours. “Seriously, we can stop if you need to.”

“I'm too far gone to care,” he tells you, grinding his jean clad erection against your body. “Tell me you have a condom.”

Smirking at him, you turn onto your side and open the drawer in your nightstand. Yoongi's hand smooths up over your hip and rib cage to grab your breast as you reach in, grabbing a plain wooden box hiding the contraceptives. Opening the box, you hold it out for him to take one. Removing his hand from your chest, he plucks a square foil packet from the box before you toss it carelessly back into the drawer where it lands with a thunk.

He stands quickly, pulling the rest of his clothes off. His pale flesh was flawless and enticing as he stood there just as exposed as you were. Yoongi moves to sit on his knees back between your legs as he rips the small packet open. Smiling to yourself, you move yourself to kneel in front of him, taking him in your mouth on your hands and knees. You hear him laugh a little as he gathers your hair in his fist, moving it out of the way of his view. Bobbing your head up and down on his length, you look up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his tongue presses on the inside of his cheek watching you much like he did during your first meeting.

“If you want me to fuck you, you better stop,” he warns.

Pulling off him with a pop, you lick your lips and lie back once more. Placing your hands above your head to rest on your pillows, waiting for him to make his next move. His eyes give you a once over as his hand places the latex over his erection. Rolling it all the way down, Yoongi then brings his hand to your core, giving you a look of surprise to find you still sopping wet. You just silently shrug your shoulders at him.

“It's been a while,” you defend yourself. “I'm excited.”

He doesn't respond. Instead, he grabs your hips, pulling you down the bed to him. Spreading your legs wide for him, Yoongi takes himself in his hand before he taps his hard shaft against your wetness, making you clench around nothing as he makes contact with your bundle of nerves. Wiggling your hips, he smirks at how impatient you were.

“You want it that bad, huh?” He asks, his deep voice asks.

“Are you just going to tease me or show me what….,” you couldn't finish your sentence before he thrust his cock all the way into you, making you gasp.

“Show you what?” He asks. Pulling back, thrusts all the back in again, hitting those toe curling spots deep inside of you. Without missing a beat, his hands come down onto the bed on both sides of your head. His thrusting picks up as he creates a spine tingling rhythm. “Show you what I can do?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out, runnng your hands down the lean mucles of his stomach before running them back up to his shoulder, sinking your fingertips into his pale flesh.“Yes.”

“I can do a lot,” he whispers against your lips before taking them and shoving his tongue inside to twist and curl with your own. Moaning into his mouth, you run your hand through his soft blonde locks, holding his head to you.

Yoongi pulls away with a smack of your lips and grabs the back of your knees, spreading you open. Pulling back from your body, he lets go of one of your knees and his hand comes down to your pussy, thumb finding your swollen clit. Tracing firm circles around your sensitive button, you hiss through your teeth and arch your back.

“Why are you so quiet now?” He asks mockingly as he pushes his hair out of his face and off his forehead. “You always have something to say. Maybe you shouldn't have doubted me.”

“Don't be so cocky,” you say, gritting your teeth as his cock continues to piston in and out of you at a feverish pace, making it hard for you to talk. “I.. haven't… come yet. I guess I'll have to do it.” You move your free leg and place your foot on his chest, gently pushing him away from you. Yoongi grabs the base of the condom as he pulls out of you with a look of confusion on his face. “Lie down.”

You watch as he throws himself in your vacated spot and tries to grab you to bring your body over his. You laugh, slapping his hands away from you. You smirk and swing your leg around his body to face away from him. Grabbing his erection, you brace yourself against the bed, one hand between his knees before you line him up, sinking down on him until your bodies meet. Slowy, you sit up on your knees, trailing your fingertips along his legs and up his inner thighs, making his legs twitch in response. Turning your head, you look over your shoulder at him with a smirk, and his heated gaze returns your stare. God, you don't think you ever wanted something so bad before.

Leaning forward once more with your hands on the bed, you don't hesitate pushing yourself back before pulling forward until his cock is almost falling out of you and slamming back down on him with a smack of bareskin slapping against each other. Over and over, you take your time impaling yourself on him before you pick up your pace. You hear a small gasp behind you, followed by a stuttered moan. It makes you feel victorious.

“Not so cocky now, huh? Sounds like you're getting a little too worked up,” you pant as you continue to push yourself against him, occasionally circling your hips and grinding down on his hardness.

He doesn't respond. Instead, Yoongi plants his feet on the bed, thrusting his hips up against your sensitive core. You cry out, falling forward as you do so. His hands grab your hips, keeping you in place, while your hands fist your blanket and bury your face in the mattress.

“What was that?” He growls, but you're too busy concentrating on the pleasurable fire sparking inside of you to answer. The burning flames licking at your insides have you gasping for breath. You close your eyes tightly as the heat erupts over your skin, the flush creeping up over your neck to your face. “Say it again.”

The fire inside roars hotter and tighter until it snaps, exploding all over. “Fuuuu….,” you cry out as your hips try to pull off him, but his hands keep you grounded against him. Not letting you run from the euphoria of your pulsating core, squeezing around his hardened member.

“I thought so,” he chuckles deeply. “That's what…two now?” You whimper as you come down from your high. Your hips squirm against him, causing him to lazy thurst up into you. He was still hard….rock hard. Using what energy you had, you turn to look over your shoulder at him in disbelief. “You want another?” Your eyes widen as an unintelligible sound makes its way out of your mouth. “I'll take that as a yes. On your back, doll.”

Obediently, you roll over as he makes his way to his knees to hover over you, taking your nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue across the hardened pebble. You place your arm sluggishly over your eyes, but Yoongi wasn't having any of it. Knotting your fingers together, he removes your limb from your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes never waiver from yours. His stare goes deep into your soul. Separating from your breast, he moves to capture your lips with his own. Licking your bottom lip, you open for him as his tongue slips in, dancing together slowly. Gasping into his mouth, he slides deep into your sensitive core, pausing, silently checking to make sure you're okay.

“Yes,” you whisper oh so quietly, giving him the permission he needed.

Pushing your knees to your chest, Yoongi slams his hips against you, sliding the rest of the way into you. This time, he doesn't check on you. The steady thrust of his hips have you sinking your fingers into the meat of your calves. Leaving behind crescent indentations behind on your smooth skin as the tip of his cock catches your sweet spot with every shove of his body. Grabbing your own knees, Yoongi steadies himself by placing his hands on the mattress, penetrating you deeper. Squeezing your eyes shut, you cry out at the sensitivity.

“I said one more,” he pants through gritted teeth. “You better give it to me, doll.”

Yoongi's thrusts turn rougher. Your body practically bounces against the mattress as it inadvertently meets the pumping of his lower body. Separating your legs, Yoongi rests your knees against his shoulders, allowing him to fully make contact with your sensitive nub as he grinds down into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck,” you cry out, looking down where your bodies meet. The sight of him disappearing inside of you was enough to start tightening around him.

“There we go,” he whispers, watching you watch what he was doing to you. “Let go. One more….give it to me.”

The command has your body shaking as a strangled scream catches in your throat. Tingles explode throughout your body. Your vision blurs, and the strangles scream releases as a broken sob, crying out his name. In the distance, you can hear him groan. A long, raspy groan before he collapses on you, knees still in place on his shoulders.

Your breathing is heavy. His breathing is heavy. Whimpering softly, your legs are starting to hurt, and you try to move them off of where they rest. Yoongi shifts as he gently removes each leg off of him, gently resting them against the bed. Lifting his head to look at you, he seems tired but completely satisfied.

“Are you going to kick me out?” He asks softly.

You should.

You never let them stay the night.

《Chapter 6》

“No,” you answer, pulling his face down for a kiss that he gladly accepts. “You can stay.”

Tagged Readers

@busanbby-jjk , @meelismee @jajabro , @wicked-game-black-butler

@wobblewobble882, @damn-u-min-yoongi @mintedagustd , @Granataepfelchen

@yoongiiuu93, @jimeg629 @jincapableoflove , @minghaosimp

@redragdoll, @ot72025 @seoullove96 @our-cool-jenny @kam9404 , @momma1

@amarawayne , @militrybarbi @haileyborig, @bettytta @mar-lo-pap , @lattejimin

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