#he’s always been this way and I know it
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Ancient Instinct
Sylus x Reader
-:-breeding kink -:- Sylus loses control -:- consent king -:- primal, carnal, frenzied -:-
Present timeline mirror to A Dragon in Rut
INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI.
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“Hey…there’s something wrong with the boss.” Kieran’s voice was filled with concern, enough that you knew it wasn’t some weird ploy by Sylus to get you to visit. Plus, Luke was usually the one that called if Sylus wanted to casually bully you into visiting.
Your phone dinged and you quickly pulled it from your ear to view the message. It was a photo from Luke, showing the destruction of the front room of the base. Furniture was smashed, paintings torn from the wall, and other various decorations thrown about. The brandy decanter that’d been on a side table laid shattered on the ground, along with the two glasses that typically accompanied it.
“Kieran, what the fuck happened?” Worry sank into you as your eyes darted over the photo, hoping you wouldn’t find blood. There weren't really any signs of a struggle, just aimless chaos.
“We don’t know, we thought you might. He came home last night in a scary good mood and then halfway through the night, he just started wrecking the place.”
“We just had dinner and took a walk around the park, there wasn’t anything unusual about anything.” You tried thinking over the night and still couldn’t come up with an answer. “Where is he now?”
“He’s holed up in his room now, but we’re leaving. Before this temper tantrum, he asked us to go pick something up so there won't be anyone here.” There was a hint of uncertainty in Kieran’s voice, as though the twins were reluctant to leave Sylus in the state he was in.
“Okay, that’s fine,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “I just got home from work, so I’ll be there in a bit to see if I can talk some sense into him.”
The call disconnected and you hastily packed a bag for an overnight stay in the N109 Zone. You were out the door and on your motorbike in a matter of minutes, speeding through the darkening streets to get to him as quickly as you could.
When you arrived, the house was eerily quiet. There was almost always something from Sylus’s collection of vinyls playing, the sound filtering through the halls from deep within the façade, but not tonight. It was dark, too. Not a single fireplace or lamp was lit. For all intents and purposes, the house was empty. But still you cautiously pressed onward.
“Sylus?” Your voice echoed in the house as you stepped gingerly over the debris, the light of your phone guiding your way. You made your way to his bedroom, knocking on the door.
“Sylus?” You called again when you cracked the door open. A single dim lamp let you see that the room was in similar disarray to the rest of the house. Still, there was no response, and you thought that maybe he’d left.
A feral-sounding growl emanated from the room. It didn’t sound human at all, and you wished you’d brought your weapon. Was all of the destruction the result of a wanderer? Your watch didn’t detect anything but-
“Leave.” Sylus’s voice was strained and…off. Instead of the usual gravel, there was a hint of something more, something beastly. You had heard stories of people turning into wanderers…was it possible that Sylus was a victim to this anomaly?
“Sy, is everything okay?” You dropped into his nickname out of habit, hoping that whatever had taken over his mind would recognize it.
“If you know what’s best for you, Kitten, you will leave right now.” His words echoed in your head, something familiar about them and this situation. You had brief flashes of tapestries and a cave before your mind returned to the present.
“Sy, are you hurt? The twins called me,” you said calmly, stepping further. You still couldn’t see him, but you could hear his ragged breathing coming from deeper in the room.
You had just cleared the archway that separated the sittig area from the sleeping space when you were pushed roughly against the wall. The side table holding the lamp teetered violently before falling over and taking the lamp with it, shattering the bulb. In the brief seconds the light was on him, you could see that Sylus’s pupils were blown wide and his face was flush. In the newfound darkness, his hot breath fanned across your neck in a series of shaky pants.
“Sylus, please. Tell me what’s wrong, you’re worrying me,” you say, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He made a sound like a barely restrained groan as he turned his face into your touch, inhaling deeply. He pressed his lips against your fingers, your palm, your wrist. You were certain that if he’d had a tail, it would be lashing about in agitation.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled. “I don’t think I can be very accommodating or gentle right now, Kitten.”
His warning rolled off him, and yet he still pressed further into you. He buried his nose into your neck, inhaling sharply and his lips trailed your pulse.
“S-Sy,” you gasped as his teeth scraped against your skin, in a spot that held an echo of an ache that no longer existed. Worry was very quickly being replaced with something else, something that pooled deep in your core.
“Mmh,” he purred, nuzzling his face against your neck again. “Your scent…steamy and sweet, like cherry wine. It’s been driving me insane all day.”
“Sylus, what-“ your question was cut off when he slanted his mouth across yours. All thoughts escaped you as he consumed you, plunging his tongue into your mouth the moment you opened for him. Worry and doubt fled from you and every sense was filled with him. You’d even forgotten why you arrived at the base in the first place as he hoisted you up against the wall. Your legs hitched up to wrap around his waist and your arms folded around his broad shoulders. He growled in approval, still devouring you as he pressed impossibly close. You could feel him standing at attention, hard and ready, and you wondered how long he’d been in that condition.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice a breathless whisper against your lips.
“Well, I am here. What’s going on with you, you’re worrying me.” You had to tug at his hair to get him to back off just the slightest bit. Even with your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, his face was too far cast in shadows. He was definitely still Sylus, though- you didn’t see any signs of him transforming into a monster. Just the raging hardon that was pressed against your core.
“Kitten,” he whined, dropping his head against your shoulder. His breathing was ragged, sharp inhales let go as shaky exhales. “This need I feel…it’s like I crave you on some primal level.”
He groaned when you tugged at his hair again, just a gentle pull to guide his mouth back to yours. His chest rumbled in what felt like a purr, the vibrations rolling through you to gather at your already wanting core. You gave your silent consent to him by pulling him closer, devouring his mouth in equal fervor. You gently caught his bottom lip between your teeth and his entire body shuddered.
“You should-” lips found your leaping pulse.
“Run away-“ his teeth scraped the slope of your neck.
“While you still can-“ he latched onto your collarbone, sucking at the spot with a hard draw to create a mark there. You gasped and squirmed as best you could while crushed against the wall by his bulk. The action ground your core against his length and he groaned when he released you from his mouth.
“Take me,” you breathed into him. “Use me. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
He groaned again and hauled you against him, pulling away from the wall to stumble blindly to his bed. There he dropped you onto the mattress, bathing you in the pale lights of the city filtering in from the window. His eyes were still cast in shadow, but you could still see the desire that darkened his expression. He was silent, save for the sound of his heavy breaths, as his hand stroked from calf to hip. Heat blazed from his touch, sinking through the fabric of the leggings you wore.
“Last chance, Kitten,” he growled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. Hands rested at your hip, teasing the waistband in silent question. Though you had already given explicit consent, he waited.
Rather than voicing your answer, and rather than giving in to what he so very clearly wanted, your hands found the collar of his shirt. With slow precision, you unbuttoned his shirt while keeping your eyes locked on his. His breath came in shuddering bursts, his body trembling as you teased him. It was a cruel test of his control, even knowing how close he was to snapping. But you couldn’t help yourself. There was something about seeing carnal desire written in every feature, in every motion, that made you want to take advantage of it.
A sharp inhale, followed by a shuddered exhale when your hand trailed down his newly exposed chest in a tantalizing sweep. He caught your hand before it could trail too far down his abdomen, bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across your knuckles, and another at your wrist.
And then his lips found yours in a searing kiss to seal your agreement. There was nothing short of passion in the way he devoured you, the way he coaxed you open to tangle his tongue with yours. The heat of his mouth trailed along your jaw, down your neck, searing into any exposed skin he could access until he was stopped my the lapel of the button down shirt you wore. Without warning, he grasped the overlapped edges at the front and ripped your shirt wide open. Buttons flew in every direction and all you could do was muffle your moan with a gasp. Because damn, that show of strength was not one you expected to be so hot. You didn’t even care about the loss of the shirt, you wanted him to do it again.
With the obstruction out of his way, Sylus continued the forge a blazing trail of kisses down your body. The bandeau you wore as a bra was shoved down so that he could swirl his tongue around one nipple and then the other. Soft bites to the undersides of your breasts as he continued downward elicited a sharp inhaled gasp from you. His fingers slipped into the waistband of your leggings at each hip and then tugged, removing them and your underwear in one swift motion. Shyness coursed through you when you were finally fully bared to him, but you didn’t fight him when he held your legs in place, spread for him, so he could rake his eyes up and down you.
His lips found the inside of your knee, teeth finding your thigh, and then his face was dangerously close to your core. You swore you could see his eye flash a quick glow, but the next moments pushed all thoughts and reason from your head.
“I’ll start with your warmest spot…” he murmured against your skin. And then he dipped his head further, his breath fanning against your slick folds. “And until I’m finished, you’re not allowed to stop me.”
And then he descended, overwhelming your cunt with precise strokes of his tongue. You tried to twist away from him, crying out in pleasure, but he held you fast. His gaze bored into you, even as your hands sunk into the silky strands of his hair. He worked you until you were right on the precipice, but then pulled away with a devilish grin before you could crash over the other side. You whined at his unfair treatment until he set about removing his own clothing. Your own gaze devoured him the more he exposed of himself, and fuck he was perfect in every way.
He crawled languidly up your body and settled over you, reclaiming your mouth in a hard, punishing kiss. His knee wedged between yours, pushing and coaxing until you had enough thinking power to wrap yourself around him. This put the head of his cock right at your entrance, and you strained your hips towards him in a desperate bid for penetration. A dark chuckle escaped him when he realized what you were attempting.
“All mine,” he growled. Your knee was hooked over his elbow, one at first and then both as the kiss progressed to a carnal need. You were open fully to him now, and all that was left was for him to take that plunge.
And fuck, did he ever.
His hips snapped forward without hesitation, not even affording you the time to adjust to his girth and length. Not that it was necessary, not when he glided into you easily on the slickness of your arousal. He slammed against you, sinking into you to the hilt, and you couldn’t help the pleasured sound that escaped you. You folded your arms around his shoulders, nails biting into his skin when he tried to pull back. He didn’t get far before his hips jerked forward again, almost off their own accord.
It was as though there was some primal instinct that drove him into you so impossibly deep. You couldn’t understand where it came from, but fuck it felt good. The sensations of his cock slamming into you paired with the guttural moans erupting from him brought you back to that precipice rapidly. So rapidly that you barely had a moment's notice before you came apart around him. Pleasure zipped up your spine, turning your mind blank. All you could do was arch beneath him, crying out his name even as he continued to plunder your body.
He so easily folded you in half and set a pace that was bordering on punishing. What little control he could claim to have had in this moment was gone as he rutted into you. The sounds of your bodies colliding over and over rose to join your pleasured cries and his own grunting moans. You were glad the base had emptied due to his tantrum, because it would be very obvious what was happening should anyone step on the floor landing. Hell, even floors below could probably hear your loud, frenzied mating.
Feeling bold, maybe even mischievous, you lifted your mouth to the jumping pulse at his neck and scraped your teeth against it. Sylus let out a shaky, breathy moan and tilted his head away to grant you more access. With a grin, you bit down on that corded muscle that made up the slope of his neck.
His head fell against your chest with a deep moan, slamming his hips into you hard. Your bite turned into sucking on his neck, raising a mark to show your claim on him to anyone who would dare to look. And he also latched his mouth to your skin, drawing out the same kind of mark.
With a growl, he released your neck to observe the purpling mark he made. His gaze darted to yours, locking eyes with you as his thrusts increased to a breakneck pace. Pleasured expressions flitted across your face and you were almost certain that’s what he was looking for. And then you were arching into him again, crying out his name as your walls pulsed around him. The edge he had been chasing came and went, and he spilled into you with a guttural cry of his own. His hips jerked and slammed into you, his cock twitching as you milked him for everything he had.
He kissed you feverishly, and even as you came down from the high of release, he was still impossibly hard inside you. He rocked into you with small thrusts and you could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch.
“Fuck, how do you feel this damn good,” he whimpered against your lips. His body crashed against yours when you whimpered his name in response, over and over as he chased another release. It came to him with a sharp snap of his hips against yours, a shudder that swept through his entire body, and then more hot ropes of cum were flooding your cunt again.
And he still somehow wasn’t done with you.
A brief respite was all that was granted before he was thrusting deep into you again. At this point, you weren't even sure where you ended and he began. You were beginning to wonder if you would be leaking his cum for days after this encounter, even moreso when he slammed into you again with a guttural, primal cry of ecstasy. This one brought you over the edge with him, the feel of his cock pulsing and twitching inside you drawing release from you without warning.
Finally, after one more orgasm ripped through both of you, Sylus slumped against you. He nuzzled into your neck, soft kisses peppering your skin as you both attempted to regain your breath. He released your legs from his pressing hold and you ran your thighs down both sides of his body, delighting in the way he shuddered again.
You were both a sweaty mess, and you were certain the sheets needed to be changed once he slipped from your body. But he took his sweet time with you, giving gentle kisses that were a stark contrast to the primal possession he just exhibited. The weight and heat of him pressing you into the mattress felt like heaven, and you made a mental note to request this kind of skinship again in the future. Maybe with a little less mess. Or maybe with more, who knows.
You complained when he removed himself from the bed, grudgingly allowing yourself to be carried by him to the bathroom. You were exhausted and couldn’t work up the energy to feel embarrassed as he cleaned you up in the shower, but you were delighted in the way his hands massaged your scalp as he washed your hair. You nearly fell asleep when he blow dried your hair, making him have to carry you back to bed. He slipped you between fresh silk sheets and climbed in behind you, trailing kisses along the back of your neck and shoulders as he wrapped himself around you.
Safe and cozy, you fell into the deepest sleep you’d ever experienced.
And when you awoke to Sylus being gone, you couldn’t help but pout. Until he pushed through the door with a tray in hand, wrapped in his favourite brocade robe. He wordlessly set the tray down in front of you, and you saw it was filled with various crackers, cheeses, and fruits.
“Consider this my apology,” he said with a chuckle as you eagerly dug into the tray. He sat next to you in bed, allowing you to feed him. He was content enough to watch you enjoy the tray, but couldn’t say no when you turned to offer him bites.
“What was that all about anyway?” You ask finally, after working up the courage to not be shy. Sylus’s brows drew down in thought.
“I’m not entirely sure, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like that before. I came home to being surrounded by your essence, your scent, and it's like a switch flipped in my head. Like I was possessed. Like some sort of primal instinct that wouldn’t leave until I had you flat on your back with my cock driving into you.”
You blushed furiously at his casual words, occupying your hands and face with more food, so that you wouldn’t put those hands and your mouth all over him in some sort of retaliation. He chuckled darkly and leaned close, inhaling deeply at your neck.
“Mmh. I think I like my scent being intertwined with yours,” he growled into your ear.
Neither of you left his bed for a while following that, and you were grateful it was your weekend.
#lads sylus#love and deepspace sylus#lnds sylus#love and deepspace#sylus#l&ds sylus#sylus qin#sylus smut#sylus x you#sylus x reader#lads fic#lads smut#lads x reader#l&ds x you#l&ds smut#l&ds x reader#love and deepspace fic
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♡ it’s that time of year again, and kook!sweetheart!reader is here and ready to kiss for charity in her annual kissing booth! however, rafe is first in line.. and a peck on the cheek is not the only thing he’s interested in..
warnings: s1!rafe, flirty banter, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgasms
a/n: now presenting… ‘KISSING BOOTH’ 🤍 i was so obsessed with this idea, i had came up with it last year but decided i should wait for valentine’s day to write it, so to say it’s been a long time coming is an understatement! i’m so excited for this valentine’s day celebration, i hope you all will love it <3
link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི。- ˕ -。꒱ྀི১
wc: 1.5k
“wow, it looks like cupid threw up in here.” you smiled at the familiar voice, your best friend rolling her eyes when she saw the way your cheeks heated at rafe’s teasing words. while she thought rafe was annoying and insufferable, you absolutely adored him, always laughing at his lame jokes and letting him hold you close at parties as if to let everyone know that you were off limits. “you don’t like the way i decorated the booth?” you pouted up at him as he leaned over the front counter, a smug grin gracing his features. “yeah, it’s cute..” he trailed off, “but are you really gonna kiss some random assholes for a fuckin’ dollar?”
you sighed, pointing towards the tip jar. “it’s for charity, rafe.. and i’m not really ‘kissing’ anyone, i’m barely grazing their cheek!” rafe scoffed before studying you for a moment. you were such a pretty thing, the idea of some losers waiting in line to get something as little as a peck from you made his blood boil. “how much money do you have to make today?” he was fishing in his pocket for his wallet before you even answered. “i would like to make at least three hundred dollars.” you watched him curiously as he managed to get some crisp bills out of the expensive leather.
“i’ll do you one better, and give you five hundred dollars to ditch this joint right now.” you blinked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “are you serious?” he dropped the money in the jar that you decorated with pink heart-shaped stickers and red rhinestones. “yeah, but i don’t just want a kiss..” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “i’d rather see those pretty, sparkly lips wrapped around my cock instead, yeah?” you felt butterflies flutter in your tummy, your needy gaze meeting his own. “come on, baby.” he took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing into your skin.
swallowing thickly, you glanced over at your bestie. “i can’t leave her to do this all by herself..” just as you were going to apologize and tell him maybe another time, she took the money out of the jar and placed it into an envelope. “i’m gonna go turn this money in to the charity organizers and close up shop, ‘looks like the boys of kildare will have to be kissed by someone else today.” you giggled, motioning for rafe to come inside once your friend left. he wasted no time, locking the wooden door shut as you closed the window, moving the silky red curtain over the glass.
rafe’s hands were palming the soft flesh of your ass in an instant, his large hands shamelessly flipping up your skirt to get a better grip on your skin. despite the small amount of pain he drew from squeezing you so hard, you still moaned blissfully when he took you in a sloppy kiss, his tongue wetting your bottom lip in the process. “you’re so sweet, y’know that? letting me have my way with you like this.” without warning, rafe took ahold of your thighs before hiking you up onto the counter. “i’ve been wanting to know how you taste for so long..” he groaned, both of you moaning as he rubbed you through your panties.
moving your hands to run down his chest, you and rafe shared a look before he slowly peeled back the pink lace. “all i gotta do is chat you up, and you’re already soaked like this?” he laughed incredulously, “fuck, you’re just dying for it.” you couldn’t help but whimper when he gathered the pool of slick between your folds, circling your clit slow and hard before popping his digits into his mouth. “rafe!” you’re shocked but so turned on at the same time, the look of pure disbelief on your face making him smile in amusement. “as much as i’d love to eat this sweet pussy, i need to feel you wrapped around me even more.”
fingertips hooking in the waistband of your panties, rafe slid the material down your legs before placing them in his pocket. “i’m keeping these for later, ‘that alright?” you nodded frantically, spreading your thighs open for him before he stroked your glossy slit. “m’gonna stretch you out just right..” you gasped, your eyebrows knitting together as he slowly inserted his middle finger. “shit, you’re so tight.” he smiled down at you, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “if you think this is a stretch, just wait til’ i have my cock inside of you.”
rafe was knuckle deep at this point, your pretty moans giving him all the encouragement he needed to insert another finger. “oh, god!” your heel clad feet began shaking when his palm met your swollen clit, the pressure making you keen. rafe fisted your ponytail, pulling your head down so you could watch him curl his digits in order to hit that soft, gummy spot inside of you. your top was out of place, your tits threatening to spill out of your bra as rafe used his free hand to keep your chin pointed down. the closer you got to your orgasm, the more you tried to pull away from him, the intensity of your climax already coiling tight in your tummy.
rafe let go of your hair and pinned you down by your hip as he pushed you over the edge, the band in your stomach finally snapping as you came undone. you cried out, your nails raking down his forearm as he hissed at the stinging sensation. “you’re doing so fucking good, holy shit!” he cursed, the sound of your slick juices making your cheeks heat. you shook and writhed beneath him, your heart beating in your ears as you felt the pure unadulterated pleasure wrack through your system. surely, it couldn’t get better than this.. right?
wrong.
rafe wasn’t lying when he said the stretch from his fingers was nothing compared to the stretch of his cock, the tip of his length now kissing your poor cervix with each thrust. “t-too much! rafe, slow down!” he ignored your pleas, instead taking your arms and pinning them to your back so you couldn’t push against his abs anymore. you swore if it wasn’t for him holding your leg up, you would’ve fallen to the ground already. “ah, nah you got it, pretty girl.” he leaned down, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “this is all you, sweetheart, you’re sucking me in like a fucking vice.” he panted.
rafe was close, but he meant what he said earlier— he needed to see you on your knees for him, he needed to see those swollen lips wrapped around his cock just like how he’s imagined for so long. just when rafe felt like he was going to fill up your cunt, he pulled out, quickly pushing you to the floor so he could use your throat instead. you’ve given him complete control, and the power to throw you around as he got you on your knees, kicking your thighs apart so he could see the mess you made between your legs. rafe nearly came when he saw you open your mouth so willingly for him, almost like it was your instinct to take him whole.
taking the hem of his shirt between his teeth, rafe kept the cotton material out of the way as he slid between your lips with ease. you were so warm and so wet, and just so, so, so pretty with your mouth full, he took a breath before tugging at the roots of your hair. “make me fuckin’ cum,” your eyes widened slightly when he whimpered, the sound making you take him even further until your nose was nudging at his base, “oh, what the fuck, what the fuck—” he was done for as soon as you swallowed around him, your eyes watering with tears as you felt the warm ropes of his seed paint your throat.
rafe kept your head in place, his jaw slack as he emptied himself inside of you. it wasn’t until you tapped on his leg that he pulled you off, a strangled gasp leaving your lips as you finally sucked in a breath. he felt dazed, just the same way you did. “damn, sweetheart, should i bribe you more often?” you laughed, accepting the hand he held out for you. standing up on shaky legs, rafe got his shorts on, helping you readjust your clothing shortly after. “you don’t have to bribe me..” despite just doing the most filthiest things you’ve ever done, you still couldn’t help but feel shy underneath the intensity of his stare.
rafe kissed you, taking your hand in his before placing another kiss to your knuckles. “come on,” he poked his head out of the booth to make sure no one was around, “let’s get you back to my place, i need to get my head between those thighs like asap.”
#❤︎₊ ⊹ works#₊˚⊹♡ rafe#₊˚⊹♡ kook!sweetheart!reader#outer banks#outer banks smut#outer banks imagine#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks rafe#obx#rafe obx#obx smut#obx imagine#obx fanfiction#obx x reader#obx x you#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#rafe fluff#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine
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ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜ
ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ꜱᴀɴ
pairing: frat boy! san x fem! reader feat. yungi
genre: frat au, smut
summary: san and his boys are more than grateful when you help them with their newest ‘feature film.’
w.c: 3k
warnings: they’re making porn okay, nasty mean dom! san, subby aloof! reader, san knowingly takes advantage of reader’s romantic feelings for him…. (bro’s the king of douchebags), manipulation/corruption, brief implied mxm bc i love fruity frat boys <3, praise/false praise, name calling/degradation, major voyeurism/exhibitionism kink, mind break ig?, double penetration in one hole, oral (giving), brief hair pulling, throat-fucking, tit fucking, facial, rough sex, bulge kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia, gang bang !!, it’s all unprotected btw, multiple orgasms, creampies <33
a/n: this is so fucking insane you guys….like idk why frat aus have me in such a chokehold but here we are🧍🏻♀️also this is totally random (and essential) info but san’s signature frat party look would be a ‘don’t hate me it turns me on’ shirt and a backwards red cap hwjhw anyways happy reading~ and please lemme know if you liked it uwu
p.s: we’re at 6.5k followers HELLO???? that’s insane 🫣 thank you so very much!!!
song rec: i like the way you kiss me - artemas (✨ male manipulation: the song ✨)
ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ
“Smile for the camera, pretty girl,” San, the frat boy you’ve been in love with for ages, encouraged you from behind the lens of the camcorder he was holding, his smooth baritone voice like saccharine, artificial, yet sweet enough to keep you coming back for another taste. It was when you offered him a small, shy smile through the camera lense, despite the shamelessness of your current position, that he knew he had struck gold.
San was filming one of the first of many future encounters you would be having on the expansive black leather couch inside their crowded frat den. You were stuffed to the absolute brim by two of his closest colleagues, Yunho and Mingi, who always refused to participate unless they were working together as a duo.
“Stop looking at me like that, dude,” Mingi huffed up at Yunho from below the both of you, his shoulders and back routinely getting stuck to the couch with sweat.
“Like what?” Yunho scoffed back, leaning further down onto your body to get closer to Mingi, essentially folding you in half, his hands closing around your ankles.
“Like you wanna kiss me. You’re gonna make me soft.” Mingi grimaced, pushing Yunho’s hands out of the way to hold onto your ankles instead, driving himself into you like a well oiled machine. He was throbbing nonstop, but there was absolutely no proof that it was because of his friend’s heavy cock rubbing along his inside the cunt they were sharing.
You could feel Yunho’s breath hit your shoulder when he laughed. “Skill issue,” Yunho simply replied, delighted when Mingi bucked up into you even harder, encouraging him to do the same.
Clearly, there was something vaguely homoerotic going on there, but it wasn’t San’s business, and he definitely had better things to focus on — you, his newest pupil. He watched you with dollar signs in his bright brown eyes and the taste of cheap vodka on his tongue, unable to keep himself from licking repeatedly at his chapped lips, especially now that the innocent classmate he had recently taken a liking to had no problem taking two cocks at once inside her puffy, used cunt, while he, his bros, and his trusty camcorder had a front row seat to her mutually beneficial destruction.
“Look at you, so flexible…Are you sure you haven’t done this before, Y/N?” San teased, lowering the camera down until his sharp feline eyes were visible.
“N-no, I swear!” you squeaked out, the growing embarrassment you felt only spurring all of this newfound pleasure you were drunk on. “Just wanna, nnngh–be good for you…”
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me. You’re being a very good girl right now, baby, Don’t worry.” San couldn’t help but smile at the way you seemed to melt in front of him. It was just too easy. He glanced down at the camera, zooming in and capturing the moment his friends filled you up with their hot loads, the bliss evident on your fucked-out face. “That’s it, baby. Are you happy you stuck around here with us instead of going back to your dorm to do homework? Taking cock is much more fun, isn’t it, beautiful?”
“So much more fun,” you sighed out, your pupils blown out just from looking at his devastatingly handsome face. It was then that you pouted. You were only here because you were in love with San, and yet, it wasn’t even his dick inside you. It wasn’t fair. “But, I’d have even more fun with you, Sannie~”
“Is that so…?” San offered a brief shit-eating smirk to one of his boys nearby, reaching down to grab at himself through his sweatpants, like he was weighing it. “It’s right here, baby. Why don’t you show us what that pretty mouth can do?”
Both Mingi and Yunho slowed down their thrusts, but didn’t completely pull out, choosing to leisurely fuck their cum back into you, as they fought to catch their breath.
“What a loser, cumming first like that,” Mingi insulted Yunho, licking at the saliva left on his lips.
“Your mom doesn’t have a problem with it,” Yunho chided back, reaching down past your body to smack his hand into the side of Mingi’s ass.
“Goddamn it, you guys, I’m gonna have to edit that gay shit out.” San brought a hand up to scratch at his head in frustration. “You know what, both of you, get out of my shot and sword fight somewhere else. I’m not doing this right now,” San grumbled, shooing the two panting men away from the couch they had just made a mess on.
“Bro acts like we don’t know about his late night tutoring sessions with Wooyoung,” Yunho whispered to Mingi, trying to stifle his laughter.
Mingi almost choked on his breath. “Don’t forget, Yeosang. San doesn’t even take physics anymore, either. Yet, he still visits that nerd every Friday like clockwork.”
“Dude, aren’t they roommates?” Yunho cupped his hand around the side of his mouth, still using a hushed tone, “Do you think they run a train on–”
“Hey! Don’t make me haze the two of you again just for fun…” San warned from the center of the room, glaring daggers at the two men who went quiet almost immediately. His annoyance abruptly melted away once you gingerly reached up to pull his sweatpants down until the frat emblem that was stitched into the thigh pocket was no longer visible. It was when San smacked his heavy length down onto your face, that you let out a pornstar worthy moan. Cha-ching. “Oh, you like that? Hm? Want my cock?”
“Mm-hmm…” San’s cock slapped down onto your face a second time. You quickly squeezed your thighs together to keep yourself from cumming right then and there, biting back a moan all the while. You wondered if it was obvious how truly desperate you were for the man standing above. Fuck it. You were already here, so you might as well get what you came for. “Please, give it to me, Sannie, f-fuck my mouth.”
San could not believe his luck. His loyal fanbase would absolutely have a field day with this as soon as he uploaded it. He could already see the cash flowing in, and it made him rock hard. He sighed happily to himself, running his fingers through your hair, carefully tucking a few strands behind your ear. “It’s really true what they say…the shy ones are always the most slutty.”
*“I’m not a slut, I just–” you cut yourself off, not wanting to confess to San right before you were about to suck him off in front of his fraternity and whichever degenerate that would be watching it back later on. You pouted again, looking up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “I want to be useful to you, like a doll~”
“Did you hear that, everyone? Y/N here is a real life doll. Let’s treat her as such,” San reminded his friends and housemates who couldn’t help but hover around the couch, a few of them sharing knowing smiles with one another.
Your heart began to thump away inside your chest, unable to believe that your long-time crush was giving you so much of his attention and affection. It was like a dream come true. As soon as your lips parted to take in a shaky breath, San tightened his grip around your hair, yanking you forward and stuffing your mouth full of cock. “Mmnnf…!”
Clutching the camera with one hand and the makeshift ponytail he created near the back of your head, San began thrusting sloppily into your open mouth, groaning at the slick sensation of your throat routinely closing around his moving cockhead. “Come on, doll, let me in, yeah? So Sannie can fuck your throat raw.”
San wasn’t lying. With each wet, rough thrust, he got closer and closer to doing what he promised you. “Mmmn…nnn…” You couldn’t tell if the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes were the result of San’s dizzying performance or the burning arousal you felt stirring inside your core simply from being watched by a room full of men you didn’t know.
“Aww, crying already, princess? I’ll give you something to really cry about when I’m breeding that pretty cunt of yours,” San chuckled darkly, his strong hips snapping relentlessly, his pace only beginning to falter once he saw escaping drool mixed with his pre-cum dripping down past your chin and down in between your tits. You were becoming a mess. It was going to make the frat leader bust any second. The borderline obsessive look you had inside your teary eyes didn’t help either. “Fuck, oh god– Somebody take the goddamn camera!”
The youngest of the group fumbled to grab the camera, using his jacket sleeve to rub the fingerprints off of the lens, before lifting it up, capturing the exact moment San pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and slid his cock along in between your glistening tits.
San turned to face the camera for a second, dimples flashing, squishing your tits in between his thick fingers as he fucked them. “See, you guys? This is how you use a doll to her maximum potential,” he explained as though he were a professor on campus. “Just look at her face. She loves it.”
Instead of trying to focus on the camera, you gazed directly up at him, your cheeks warm to the touch, still love-struck, even when San’s load landed all over your face. You simply licked away what had landed on your lips, sucking the rest off the frat leader’s fingers once he so lovingly fed it to you.
San nodded his head in approval, patting yours in an effort to reward you for your hard work. “That’s a good girl…” He tilted his head to the side. “Let’s see what else our pretty doll can do. Sound good?”
“Really good,” you chimed, licking at your swollen lips, savoring San’s essence.
Wedding bells were ringing in the distance. You would do anything for San, and that meant letting him treat you like a sex doll and fuck you in any position he saw fit for the next hour. By the time your knees gave out from cumming for the nth time, San had you in a full nelson in the middle of the couch, positioned behind you with his arms locked around your upper half, making sure your used, feverish body was on complete display.
“Sannie…gonna…cum…again,” you breathed out in between a few heavy moans, your head feeling so heavy that you just let it hang for a second.
San repositioned himself so that he could clutch your chin, tilting it upwards. His free hand snaked around your waist, laying his palm flat on your tummy, suddenly driving his cock up into you so hard, you couldn’t even speak if you wanted to. “Hey, be a good slut and let them see what you look like when you’re cumming your brains out.”
You simply looked up at the blurry camera past your teary lashes, letting out a choked gasp once you barreled over the edge of ecstasy. You didn’t have a chance to recover from the overwhelming pleasure, especially not when San pressed his hand down firmly onto the bulge his cock was routinely making inside your stomach. “P-please..! Sannie..!”
You want another load? Fuck, baby.” Groaning, San took a second to lick one of the tears that was rolling along your cheek before it dropped, his hips slamming against yours so quick, you were already developing bruises, ones that would accompany the bright red love bites scattered across your slick skin. He pressed his lips directly to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “You know, seeing you in class and on campus, I never would’ve pegged you as a cumslut, but everyone enjoys a good surprise every now and then…don’t they?”
“Yes–yes, yes, yes,” you chanted back, too cockdrunk to even fully process what San was saying, just focused on how full you felt, and how you needed more.
“Good, because I got a surprise for you too.” Grunting loudly, San lowered his hips and slammed them up into you one last time, holding your trembling body still, painting your pulsing walls white. “Now, say ‘thank you, Sannie.’”
“Thank you, Sannie.” You leaned your head back to nuzzle the side of his cheek, placing your hands over his, feeling him rubbing your lower stomach in small circles, his cock still fully sheathed inside you.
“Anytime, sugar.” San gave your hair a few strokes as a reward, before pulling out and climbing off of the couch. He took the camera back from the new guy and snapped his fingers at a few of the bricked up housemates standing nearby, pointing in your direction. “Now, show me what you’re really made of.” San gave you a charming, dimpled smile. “Make me proud, okay?”
As a few half naked strangers surrounded you on all sides of the couch, some of them reaching out to grope your warm body, you returned San’s smile, your heart skipping a beat or two. “I’ll give it my best just for you~”
Throughout the night, San, alongside his fraternity, conditioned you with care, meticulously molded you into a star, one they eagerly passed around, easily making your tape one of the longest in their exclusive film collection. It wasn’t difficult, by any means. You were, of course, the perfect specimen: passive, pliant, and poisoned by the oxytocin that turned your brain into mush.
Even when you were being used by more men than you could count, you couldn’t keep your attention off of Sannie, his handsome face only growing blurry when someone would make you gag on their cock, as you didn’t have the most experience with men of their size. You wanted San to yourself again, desperately wishing you could reach out for him instead of another stranger’s twitching erection — but you endured it all, falling further into the rabbit hole of pleasure for the sake of your whirlwind infatuation.
Everyone in the frat house deeply appreciated your dedication to their amateur film, especially San, who, by the end of it, secured the perfect spot to capture the finality of your desecration. Two of his older friends had just finished inside you, their spent cocks slipping out of your used hole and revealing the beautiful mess they left.
Crouched down in front of the couch, San reached out past the camcorder to spread your puffy lips apart, each and every load you took over the past hour now slowly spilling out onto his veined hand. “Look at this pretty cunt, you guys…so full of cum, it won’t stop coming out…” He panned up to your face with the camera, giving you a wicked smile from behind it. “You’ll be pregnant in no time, won’t you, doll? With whose baby, I wonder…”
After all that, you somehow managed to act shy, covering your flushed face, giving San heart eyes past your trembling fingers. “Hopefully yours…”
“Oh, princess.” San gently rubbed his fingers over your reddened cunt and clit, cum still dribbling out of you all the while. “I don’t think you realize how cute you’re being right now~ Almost like you didn’t just slut yourself out for everyone to see, huh? Mm, do you feel cute, Y/N?” San asked in a babying tone, as he slowly stood up and towered over you.
“You make me feel cute…” You nuzzled your cheek into the palm of San’s warm hand once he offered it to you, hoping you secured a spot inside his heart after all the hard work you put in. “I would keep going for you if I could still feel my legs.”
“Aww, there’s always next time, isn’t there?” he suggested slyly, rubbing away some leftover cum from your cheek before caressing the side of your face. “Do you have anything to say to our loyal fanbase, baby?”
“I love cock, especially yours, Sannie,” you slurred lovingly up at San, through the camera lens, licking your lips, mouth watering at the thought of being invited again to film another movie. “So give me a call, okay?”
“Oh, I will, believe me.” A smug laugh erupted from San’s puffed-out chest, as he aimed the camera at his pretty boy face for a second to announce, “We’ve officially turned another good girl into a filthy cumslut. If you’d like to watch the transformation happen in real time, feel free to stop by our frat. For extra, we’ll let you have a go.” And with that, he shut the camcorder off and pushed it into the youngest member’s chest, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck it, we might even give you a turn.”
The freshman choked on his spit. “R-really?”
“I’m feeling nice today.” San sighed, running his fingers through his gelled up hair to fix it. When the young man just stood there drooling, the frat leader grimaced. “Upload this to all our sites ASAP, and don’t forget about our twitter page this time,” he demanded, rolling his eyes when he saw the cum stains the embarrassed student left behind on his pants. “And, for fuck’s sake, will you take care of that?”
As another member brought a can of beer over to San, the frat leader took it and cracked it open. “Can you believe that guy? He’s been here for, what, a month now? And he’s still creaming his pants like a virgin? Unbelievable.”
As you gingerly put your clothes back on, you watched San move around the frat to dab up his friends and clink their beer cans together in celebration of another successful shoot. You couldn’t help but let out a long, lovesick sigh. He would be yours one day. Until then, you would take what you could get, and of course, become a star.
fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @crazyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity
© kitten4sannie, 2024.
#ateez#ateez smut#choi san#san smut#ateez x reader#san x reader#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez imagines#kpop smut
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Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!
_____________________
“I hate it,” Orion sighs.
“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”
“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”
“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”
Orion twitches.
Part 1.
The fic under the cut⤵️
Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.
“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”
Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.
“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”
Orion rubs the bridge of his nose
“It's a massacre.”
Prowl twitches his wing.
“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”
Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.
Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.
“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”
Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.
“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”
“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”
Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.
“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”
Orion nods.
He looks oddly pensive.
“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”
Prowl frowns
“He should have stopped.”
“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”
“But...”
Orion looks at him angrily.
“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”
Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.
“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”
“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”
Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.
Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”
Prowl is silent for a moment.
Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.
“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”
What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.
In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.
Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.
But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.
He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.
“I'd get rid of the monsters.”
“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”
Prowl twitches his wings
“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”
“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”
“I believe it would.”
“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”
Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.
“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”
“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”
“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”
“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”
As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?
Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.
“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”
“Perfectly clear.”
“Good.”
-----------------
Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.
He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.
The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.
Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.
The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.
Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.
Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.
The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.
Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.
It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.
Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.
If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.
But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.
Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.
When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.
This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."
Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.
“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”
Ratchet shifts his gaze to him
“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”
Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely
“Knowing things is my job.”
Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.
“How does Orion deal with it...”
“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”
“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”
Prowl tilts his head
“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”
Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.
His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.
A willingness to act dictated by desperation.
The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.
Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.
Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.
He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.
He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.
The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.
Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“
And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.
Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.
He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.
Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.
Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.
————————————
Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.
“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”
“I did not.
“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”
“Congratulations.”
“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”
Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.
“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”
Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.
“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”
“You know how I feel about killing.”
“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”
Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.
“You killed them.”
“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”
Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.
“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”
Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.
Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.
“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”
Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.
It feels strange. Uncomfortable.
He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.
Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.
“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”
“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”
“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”
Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.
The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.
Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.
Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.
He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.
But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.
Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.
“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”
“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.
“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”
“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”
Orion falls silent.
He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.
A golem janitor hurries past them.
“I hate it,” Orion sighs.
“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”
“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”
“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”
Orion twitches.
Shockwave falls.
Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.
The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.
They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.
They say. He stood in front of the gates.
With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.
Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.
“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”
Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness
“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”
Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.
“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”
“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.
Orion looks pained
“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”
Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.
“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”
Orion continues to walk in circles
“You think so?”
“There is a good chance.”
Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.
But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.
And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.
This is all wrong. It's all--
“What happened at the trial?”
Orion sounds. Startled.
“There was no Trial.”
“What?”
Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.
“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.
He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”
An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.
"And?”
Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.
“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”
Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.
“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”
Orion nods shakily
“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....
He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”
That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...
What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.
Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him
“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”
Now that's a really reasonable question.
Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.
Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.
Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.
He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.
“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”
“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”
Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.
“What should I do....”
“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.
He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?
He doesn't know where to put himself.
Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.
He feels lost.
——————————
Orion stops cold.
“What...”
Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.
They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.
And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.
They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.
Orion looks... distraught.
Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.
“Orion Pax.”
There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.
When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.
“What...what are you doing here...?”
The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.
“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”
Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.
“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."
"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."
At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.
He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.
He just.
Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.
Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.
And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.
Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.
The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.
" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"
Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.
"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."
"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."
Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.
"This is crazy..."
Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head
"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."
Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.
"It is..."
"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."
"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."
Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly
"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."
He sighs helplessly
"I'm not even sure if that even matters."
"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."
Orion twitches
"What?"
"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"
Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.
"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."
"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."
They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.
"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."
"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.
Orion frowns
"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."
Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.
Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.
If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?
Orion's finials twitch slowly
"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."
Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.
Prowl tilts his head
"You're scared."
Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.
Discolored.
" I am."
Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.
He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."
"But..."
"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"
Prowl nods silently.
Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.
Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.
And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.
Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.
He continues to stand by the closed door.
A thought runs obsessively through his mind.
If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.
But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.
Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.
Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.
The idea comes naturally.
Then God must be wrong.
He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.
They are peace and contentment.
They are a clear and simple goal.
Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.
And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....
But Primus can't stop him, can he?
Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.
He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.
He turns around and walks away.
#maccadam#transformers#tf mimics au#prowl#Prowl’s beef with God#Orion pax#shockwave#senator shockwave#Ratchet#Skids#Oh no Prowler#Orion doesn’t want you around right now#go find someone else 👁#I’m done with Prowl’s backstory. Now you know how he thinks so#when you see him being weird later you will know exactly what is wrong with him haha#also eheheh. the great hunt lore#the reason there was almost no foxes in Ratchets part of the story#I have a lot of thoughts about religion and all the ways it fucks people up
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hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘
Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H
summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want
masterlist
pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader
warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself
wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)
a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!
Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.
You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.
Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.
He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.
What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.
But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).
The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.
Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.
It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.
His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.
The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.
He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.
He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.
You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart? There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.
You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.
You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.
You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.
Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:
He's absolutely a boob man.
You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.
Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.
His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.
But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.
"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"
His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.
Almost.
Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.
But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."
You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.
You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.
Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.
You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.
You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.
Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.
"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.
Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."
"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."
His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.
"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."
You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"
"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"
"I don't know. Is that an option?"
Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.
"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."
You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.
"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"
Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."
You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"
His answer is immediate. Too immediate.
"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."
"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.
You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."
A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.
You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.
His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.
"Sit still."
"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.
"Sweetheart."
You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."
Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.
You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.
His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.
His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.
"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.
You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.
You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.
"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"
His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.
"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."
Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."
"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."
You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.
The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.
"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.
He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"
You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.
"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."
His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.
"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."
Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.
His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.
"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."
Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.
His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.
"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"
The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.
"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."
Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.
"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."
Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.
The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.
"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."
"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."
His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."
And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.
"Do you feel that?"
"Yes."
"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."
Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.
The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.
And then he finds you.
His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.
"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."
Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.
His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.
"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.
"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."
"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.
"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.
His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.
Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.
You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.
You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.
And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.
"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.
But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.
He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.
The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?
It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.
"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."
"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.
His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.
The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.
"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"
You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.
"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"
"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"
Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.
"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.
"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"
You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.
"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"
His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.
He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.
"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."
It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.
He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.
He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.
You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.
"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."
His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.
"Don’t move yet."
Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.
"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—
"I want to make sure it sticks."
You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.
Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him.
"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"
You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.
"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."
You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.
He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.
"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.
"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."
His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.
"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."
Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.
"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.
It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are.
You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.
When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.
"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.
"Wow?"
"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."
A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.
And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.
"You said something earlier."
You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.
Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it.
"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"
You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.
"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"
"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.
His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back.
"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."
His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."
Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.
He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.
You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.
"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."
"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."
"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."
His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."
Your brows furrow. "It does?"
"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."
"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."
"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."
Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.
His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.
"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."
Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.
"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.
You blink. "Uh... sleep?"
He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."
Your face warms. "That's just—,"
"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."
"I—,"
"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"
You swallow.
"No."
"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."
"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."
Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.
"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"
Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.
You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.
Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."
You shake your head quickly, sniffling.
"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.
He smirks. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."
"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"
Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.
"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."
His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"
You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."
Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."
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taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(
#aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner#hotchner#hotch#criminal minds smut
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Made With Love
♡ masterlist - request - emoji anons
♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader
♡ summary - while visiting your boyfriend working, why not bring a little surprise sign you made for him?
♡ warnings - blushy and in love max, drivers and fans teasing max, fluffffff
♡ w/c & a/n - 1.08k | IM BACK 🫶🏻 hehe sorry yall this isn't too great but I gotta get back into the groove so pls send in thoughts or requests bc my minds a blank canvas
Race weekends were always chaotic, but the energy in the paddock today was on another level. Fans packed the grandstands, waving flags, banners, and signs - some are more simple, some are memes of the drivers, yet they were all made with the same excitement for the race ahead.
And somewhere in that sea of people, standing right at the front, was you. Normally, you’d be in with Red Bull but you went over to the fans to join them for the time being. Some had given you bracelets and asked for pictures, which you happily agreed to.
So here you stand, clutching a sign you had spent way too much time making the night before.
It wasn’t your fault, really. You had been up late, watching Max’s past races for “inspiration” (which was really just an excuse to admire him), when an idea popped into mind. With a few markers, a ridiculously pathetic and cheesy pun, glittery heart stickers, and maybe a questionable drawing of you two, you created what could only be described as likely the most embarrassing thing he would ever see before a race.
“DRIVE FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST, I HAVE PLANS FOR YOU LATER ;)”
You could already imagine his reaction - probably an exasperated sigh, followed by that little smirk he always gave you when he pretended to be unimpressed but was actually very much an attempted cover up of how he falls deeper in love with you.
The drivers started their walk to the grid, and your raced just a little bit when you spotted him looking impossibly handsome. Max looked calm - focused, sharp, already in his zone - but you knew him well enough to see the tiny traces of nerves beneath the surface.
As they passed by, you lifted the sign above your head and glanced at some of the fans around you who giggled when they read it.
It took him a second, but then he stopped.
He just… stood there, staring at the sign like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or melt into the asphalt. His mouth was parting and closing again, unsure of how to react, but you just gave him your perfect smile and it made his heart flutter. His ears went pink first, then the blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.
“Oh, for f-” Max muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple, but the amused smile on his face betrayed him.
And that’s when the teasing began.
Lando cackled loud enough for the entire grid to hear. “Oh, this is GOLD!”
Before Max could escape, Lando slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the championship. “So, what’re these ‘plans’ about, mate? Anything we should be worried about? Should we clear the podium early?”
“Do we need to tell Christian?” Charles chimed in, barely holding back his laughter. “You know, just in case he needs to schedule some extra… recovery time for you.”
A chorus of laughter followed. Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the pink on his cheeks only deepened. “You’re all the worst,” he grumbles.
Meanwhile, the nearby fans had caught on fast.
“Oh my god, he’s BLUSHING,” one girl gasped, tugging her friend’s arm.
“He’s practically making heart eyes, how adorable,” another comments, phone already in hand and recording the scene.
Max, looking positively doomed, glanced at you - a mix of betrayal, affection, and desperate pleading. But you? You just continued to smile sweetly with a tilted head.
“You like it.”
“I hate it.”
“You’re literally blushing.”
“I’m warm.”
“Mhm,” you roll your eyes and chuckle.
The teasing didn’t stop as he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of your masterpiece, grumbling something about “evidence to haunt me later.” But before he walked away, he pointed at you, eyes narrowed.
“You’re lucky I love you.”
Your heart did a little flip and you grinned. “Oh, I know.”
And just like that, he was gone, back into the pre-race frenzy - but not before stealing one last loving glance at you over his shoulder.
Later on, the celebration was loud and chaotic. Max had finished on the podium - not a win, but a damn good race - and when he finally found you in the paddock, you barely had time to react before he crashed into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice still breathless with adrenaline.
“Loved it. Thought you might’ve forgotten about my sign, though.”
“Oh, trust me,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Hard to forget when the im being tagged in posts of it nonstop.”
Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He sighed dramatically before pulling out his phone. Everywhere, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, was flooded with clips from earlier.
Fan tweets scrolled across the screen:
“THE WAY HE STOPPEDDDD LOOK AT HIM. HE’S A GONER”
“If my future man doesn’t hold up a sign like this for me, I don’t want him”
“This man is so down baddd LOOK AT THE BLUSH”
“MAX VERSTAPPEN ‘I’M WARM’ CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE)”
You bit your lip, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “I mean… they’re not wrong,” you poke his cheek.
Max groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never making a sign again,” he says, although you both know he doesn’t mean it.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slightly. “Oh, baby, you know that’s a lie.”
Before he could argue, you kissed him, soft at first, teasing. But then he tilted his head, deepening it, fingers pressing into your waist like he didn’t care that people were watching.
Somewhere in the background, some group of fans started shouting.
“Oh my goshh, he’s in love!.”
“Life is so unfair! Where’s my Max?”
When you finally pulled away, breathless, he was grinning like a lovestruck idiot.
“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your cheek.
“And you love it.”
His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That I do.”
Later, when you made it back to his driver’s room, you caught him slipping the sign into his bag, folding it carefully like it was something worth keeping.
“… You’re keeping that?” you asked, amused.
He shot you a look. “Shut up.” You didn’t push it. But you did smile. He bites his lip, placing it into his pocket, knowing that no matter how many trophies he collects, this - you - might just be his favorite thing he’d ever won.
#max verstappen#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen oneshot#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x female reader#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#red bull racing#formula one#f1 one shot#max vertsappen fic#max verstappen x fem!reader
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Okay okay, but Jason and Roy do one hell of a good cop bad cop routine. Mean!Jason all the way, Roy is a sucker and can't resist her puppy dog eyes. Especially during sex when Jason is hell bent on edging her the whole night, Roy will push him aside to make her cum and put her out of her misery. He'll cuddle her while she sobs and shakes, glaring at Jason for "being mean". I love this kind of combo, Jason sluts her out while Roy make sweet love
MDNI 18+
“m-mph need to come!” you whined as jason gripped your hips tightly as he fucked your cunt from behind, having you bent over the edge of the mattress.
you tried to move to match his thrusts to get some sort of release, but he shoved you back down on the mattress with his hand on the back of your head. “don’t even dare, you’ll come when i let ya,” he grunted as he fucked you like a toy.
jason has been edging you for the past few minutes, denying you of your orgasm, watching as your swollen folds take him in and beg for a release.
“let the poor girl come jay, you’ve done enough,” roy’s low voice cuts in as he sat on the edge of the bed, next to you as he fisted his cock.
“nah, she’s been bratty and demanding she’ll learn her fucking lesson,” jason grumbled as his thrusts picked up, your whines increasing as you sobbed onto the mattress.
“ it’s my turn, you’ve taken double already,” roy speaks as he shifted his position. jason groaned, the two would usually take turns, being polar opposites as jason would edge you until you broke whilst roy would kiss your tears away.
jason pulled out, watching the way your puffy folds clenched around nothing. he sat back on the edge of the bed where roy was and began fisting his cock, watching roy slide into your pussy.
“n-ngh so sore,” you mumbled as drool dribbled down your chin.
“i know baby, i know, ill take care of you yeah?” roy reassured softly as he gently brushed the hair covering your face before thrusting into you.
“uh-h,” you moaned as he hits all of your soft spots, the mattress creaking.
his thrusts weren’t harsh and punishing like jason but more determined to make you come after being edged.
“m-mph!” you whined as your hands gripped the sheets tugging it. “i’m gonna cum roy,” you mumbled as your body went limp on the mattress, roy’s thrusts getting harder.
“come sweetheart,” he whispered softly, gently squeezing your lower stomach coaxing your release. in a matter of seconds you came hard, coating his cock with your slick.
he pulled out, coming onto his hands as he pumped himself. “i’ll go clean you up yeah?” he gently tapped your ass as you laid bent over the mattress like before.
roy returned back to the room with a towel, gently wiping you down before throwing the towel away. “hey you there?” he whispered softly as he gently nudged to you coax you out of whatever headspace you were in.
“tried roy,” you mumbled as snuggled deeper into the mattress burying your face.
“i know, just let me carry you to bed properly ok? you’ll get sore bent like this.”
slowly, roy carried you in his arms before placing you down on the mattress cuddling you in his strong arms. you were a mess to say the least. the way you were shaking with tears welling up in your eyes displayed how overstimulated you were.
whilst you snuggled in his arms as he rubbed comforting circles on your back as you cried he glared at jason. roy was always softer, treating you like a princess in bed whilst jason was the total opposite.
#jason todd#ch: jason#jason todd x fem!reader#jason todd smut#dc smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#red hood smut#red hood x you#red hood x reader#red hood#dc jason todd smut#dc jason todd#dc roy harper#dc universe#dc characters#roy harper#roy harper smut
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F1 GRID | proposals
୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : he surprises you... with a ring.
୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive themes ୨ৎ : word count : 4586
୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ
ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a plead for more fluff, your prayer has been answered!
ʚ・max verstappen
“is it just me, or has max been acting weird lately?” you asked your friend as you absently fiddled with the hem of your jacket in the paddock. max was preparing for qualifying, and despite your effort to focus on the hum of activity around you, your thoughts kept circling back to him.
your friend shot you a curious look. “weird how? do you think he’s hiding something?”
you shrugged, letting out a small laugh to downplay your growing suspicion. “i don’t know… it’s not like he’s being distant or anything. he’s just been—antsy. like he’s waiting for something. it’s weird.”
your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your overthinking. “maybe he is hiding something,” they teased. “or maybe you’re just overanalyzing.”
you huffed out a laugh, but the thought lingered.
later that evening, you met max for dinner at a cozy restaurant tucked away from the usual chaos of race weekends. the two of you had managed to carve out this little slice of normalcy amidst the whirlwind of his career, and you always treasured it.
but tonight, something felt different.
max was his usual self—sweet, attentive, and playful—but there was an edge to him, like he was holding his breath. you’d caught him glancing at you more than usual, his leg bouncing slightly under the table.
you set your glass down and decided to just ask. “alright, max, what’s going on? you’ve been acting—”
before you could finish, the lights in the restaurant suddenly dimmed.
“what the—?” you muttered, looking around in confusion as candles flickered to life on the table.
and then, from the shadows, a few familiar faces emerged—your closest friends, your family, all smiling warmly at you.
your breath caught. “what is happening?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned back to max.
but when your eyes met his, he was no longer sitting. he was kneeling.
“max…” you started, your heart pounding as he smiled up at you, his blue eyes shimmering with emotion.
“let me talk before you say anything,” he said with a soft laugh, his voice slightly shaky but full of warmth. “i know i’ve been weird lately—sorry about that. i’ve just been planning this day over and over in my head. i wanted it to be perfect because…”
he took a deep breath, and you saw the slightest tremor in his hands as he held out a small velvet box. “because i love you more than i can put into words. you’ve changed my life in ways i never thought possible, and i can’t imagine spending another moment without you by my side. so…”
he opened the box to reveal a stunning ring, and your eyes blurred with tears. “will you marry me?”
for a moment, all you could do was stare, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to process everything. and then, in true fashion, you couldn’t help but joke through the overwhelming emotion.
“max, get up. you’re embarrassing me!” you said, laughing through your tears.
he laughed too, his cheeks flushing. “let me finish my speech, will you?”
you nodded, still grinning as he continued.
“i’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. you’re my everything. my partner, my best friend, my world. i don’t care if this is embarrassing because i’d embarrass myself a thousand times over if it meant i could call you mine forever.”
his words hit you right in the heart, and by the time he asked again, “so, will you marry me?” you could barely get the words out through your tears.
“yes,” you whispered, then louder, “yes! of course!”
the room erupted into cheers as max stood, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. he kissed you, softly at first, then with all the love and relief he’d been holding back.
as your friends and family gathered around to congratulate you, max leaned close to whisper in your ear, “i told you i wasn’t being weird for no reason.”
you laughed, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re still a little weird, but i love you anyway.”
and from the way he smiled at you, you knew this was just the beginning of forever.
ʚ・lewis hamilton
“let me take you to italy early,” lewis said, his warm brown eyes fixed on you as he tried to convince you. “we can explore the city together before i have to make my debut with ferrari. just us.”
you hesitated, glancing out the window at the familiar, cozy gray skies of home. “but my home is here, baby,” you murmured, your voice soft. “here in the uk.”
lewis reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “i know,” he said, giving you that boyish smile that always made your heart melt. “but this’ll be different. just one week, before the madness starts again. come on, let me steal you away.”
you sighed, knowing full well that he’d already won you over. “alright,” you relented, a small smile tugging at your lips. “but only because it’s you.”
the trip was nothing short of magical.
lewis took you through the heart of italy, weaving through cobblestone streets and picturesque piazzas, his excitement contagious. he made you try every local delicacy, promising it was “for the full experience,” and insisted on taking candid photos of you when you weren’t looking.
midweek, he brought you to the ferrari factory. his face lit up as he showed you around, the glint in his eyes a mix of pride and anticipation. watching him interact with the team, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration for him, knowing how much this new chapter meant to him.
and then came the last night.
lewis had insisted you get your nails done that morning, though he was unusually cryptic about why. “just trust me,” he said with a wink before leaving you to pamper yourself. when you got back to the hotel, you found a stunning dress laid out on the bed, a handwritten note from him resting on top.
“wear this tonight. no questions. xx lewis”
dressed and ready, you stepped into the car he’d arranged, and after a short drive, you arrived at the most breathtaking spot. the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over a lush hillside. string lights twinkled softly above a blanket spread out on the grass, surrounded by candles. a picnic was perfectly arranged, and standing in the middle of it all was lewis, holding your favorite flowers.
“you look stunning,” he said, his voice low and full of admiration as you approached. he kissed your cheek before leading you to sit.
the evening was perfect—good food, laughter, and stories shared as the world seemed to fade away around you. but as the night settled into a quiet calm, lewis stood and gently pulled you to your feet.
your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but before you could say anything, he was already lowering himself onto one knee.
“lewis…” you whispered, your hand flying to your mouth as he pulled a small box from his pocket.
“i’ve been thinking about how to say this for weeks,” he began, his voice steady but full of emotion. “you’ve been my rock, my partner, my everything. through all the highs and lows, you’ve been there, and i don’t know how i ever got this lucky.
“joining ferrari, starting this new chapter—it’s exciting, but none of it matters without you by my side. you make me better in every way, and all i want is to spend the rest of my life with you, sharing every moment, every adventure, every quiet night.”
tears welled in your eyes as he opened the box, revealing a stunning ring that caught the flicker of the candlelight.
“so,” he said, his smile soft and nervous all at once, “will you marry me?”
for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, overwhelmed with love and disbelief. finally, you managed to nod, a tear slipping down your cheek.
“yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking before you said it again, louder this time. “yes, lewis. of course.”
he slipped the ring onto your finger, standing to pull you into his arms as you laughed through your tears. “i love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
and as you looked out over the beautiful italian countryside, wrapped in his arms, you knew this was the start of something even more incredible than you could’ve ever imagined.
ʚ・george russell
“you know,” you said, laughing as you took another bite of your lunch, “my friends keep saying the craziest thing lately.”
george glanced up from his plate, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. “oh? what have they been saying?”
“they keep telling me you’re going to propose to me,” you said, laughing even harder at the thought. “isn’t that wild?”
the laughter caught in your throat when george, mid-bite, choked on his food. his eyes widened slightly as he reached for his water, and you watched him with a raised brow.
“are you okay?” you asked, stifling a laugh.
once he recovered, he looked at you, a little too intently. “i mean… if i were going to propose, would you be mad?”
you tilted your head, smiling softly. “of course not, my love. but you’ve been so busy lately. i know you wouldn’t be planning something like that right now.”
george nodded, his expression unreadable. “right… of course.”
but something in his tone made you pause.
over the next few days, the idea seemed to follow you everywhere. your friends weren’t letting up, either.
“why would he ask you to get your nails done?” one of them asked pointedly.
“and your hair,” another chimed in. “he’s definitely planning something.”
you shook your head, laughing off their theories, though you couldn’t deny the tiniest flicker of curiosity. still, george had been acting a little… shady. subtle, but shady. you chalked it up to his usual busy schedule, brushing off the idea of anything more.
at least, until a few days later.
the beach was stunning, a secluded stretch of soft sand meeting endless waves that shimmered under the setting sun. you’d been surprised when george suggested a quiet getaway, just the two of you. he said it was to relax before the season picked up again, but something about the way he kept fidgeting had your nerves on edge.
as you walked along the shore, the golden light casting an ethereal glow, george suddenly stopped.
“wait,” he said, reaching for your hand.
you turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “what’s up?”
he smiled, a nervous but endearing smile, and before you could ask again, he was down on one knee.
your heart stopped.
“george,” you breathed, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.
“alright,” he began, grinning up at you. “first off, i have to say, i cannot believe you didn’t catch on. you’re usually much more observant, love.”
your jaw dropped, half in shock and half in amusement. “you’re making fun of me now?”
he laughed, but his expression quickly softened. “i’m serious, though. i’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. you’re my everything—my partner, my best friend, the person i want to spend every moment with. i love you more than i can put into words, and i can’t imagine life without you.”
tears welled in your eyes as he pulled out a small velvet box, revealing a sparkling ring.
“so,” he said, his voice steady and full of emotion, “will you marry me?”
for a moment, you just stared at him, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. finally, you nodded, tears streaming down your face. “yes, george. of course, yes!”
he slipped the ring onto your finger before standing and wrapping you in his arms. you laughed, still in disbelief, as he pressed his lips to yours.
“i can’t believe you,” you said between laughs, your head resting against his chest. “you really planned all of this?”
“i did,” he said, smiling down at you. “and i’d do it a hundred times over just to see that look on your face.”
ʚ・carlos sainz
“hermosa, would you like to go out for dinner on friday?” carlos asked, his voice soft as you stood by the mirror, finishing up your nightly routine.
“dinner? on friday?” you repeated, slipping into bed beside him, a smile tugging at your lips. “i’d love to, amor.”
carlos leaned over, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. “perfecto. the season starts soon, and i want to spend as much time as i can with you before it all gets busy again.”
you smiled, feeling your heart melt a little more—like it always did with him.
the days passed quickly, and soon friday arrived.
carlos, as always, had everything meticulously planned. he’d picked out your outfit—a stunning dress in your favorite color—and, true to his usual thoughtful self, made sure his suit coordinated perfectly. if you wore a red dress, carlos would find a way to incorporate red into his look, whether it was his tie, pocket square, or even the lining of his jacket. it was one of those little things that made him so uniquely him.
“you look breathtaking,” he said as he helped you into the car, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration.
“and you match,” you teased, running your hand along his lapel. “as always.”
he grinned, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “siempre,” he murmured.
dinner was perfect—an intimate table for two at a beautiful restaurant with warm candlelight and soft music in the background. carlos, ever the gentleman, kept his focus entirely on you, listening intently as you talked and making you laugh with his playful jokes.
but as the evening came to an end, something about his energy shifted. he seemed more nervous than usual, though he tried to play it off.
“let’s take a walk,” he suggested as you both stepped outside.
the air was cool, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the cobblestone street. you didn’t think much of it until carlos suddenly stopped in front of the restaurant, turning to face you.
“carlos?” you asked, confused as he reached for your hands.
his dark eyes met yours, filled with an emotion so raw it took your breath away. “hermosa,” he started, his voice a little unsteady. “there’s something i’ve been wanting to say for a long time now.”
before you could process what was happening, he was down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.
gasps and murmurs rose from the small crowd of onlookers nearby, but all you could focus on was him.
“i love you,” carlos said, his voice stronger now, filled with certainty. “i love everything about you—your laugh, your quirks, the way you care so deeply for the people around you. i love how you notice the little things, how you make every day feel special just by being in it. and i want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me.”
tears welled in your eyes as he opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled even in the dim light.
“will you marry me?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours.
for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. and then, with a tearful laugh, you nodded.
“yes, carlos,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “of course, yes!”
cheers erupted around you as he slid the ring onto your finger and stood, pulling you into his arms. he kissed you deeply, his smile pressed against your lips.
“you had one choice,” he teased quietly, a playful glint in his eyes.
“and it was the right one,” you replied, grinning through your tears.
as he held you close, you couldn’t help but think about how every little detail he cared about, every thoughtful gesture, every look, and every word all came together to make this moment so perfectly, beautifully carlos.
ʚ・charles leclerc
“ma chérie, you look beautiful,” charles said with a soft smile as he grabbed your hand and spun you gently, making your dress twirl. he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear before planting a playful kiss on your neck. “but you’d look better with it off,” he teased, his voice low and flirtatious.
your jaw dropped in mock offense as you lightly smacked his chest. “charles!” you laughed, shaking your head. “keep it in your pants, baby.”
he laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled you into his arms. “are you ready to be on the yacht for the first time since we’ve been back in monaco?”
you nodded eagerly, your smile wide. “of course i am. there’s nothing better than being with you on the sea.”
charles smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “je t’aime.”
“i love you too, amore,” you replied softly, leaning into him.
the two of you headed to the yacht, the sun casting a golden glow over the sparkling water. when you arrived, the crew greeted you warmly, and the yacht began to drift away from the dock, leaving monaco’s skyline behind.
charles took your hand, leading you up to the second level. as you stepped onto the deck, you gasped. a beautifully set candlelit table awaited, complete with a chilled bottle of wine and a server standing by. the soft glow of the candles reflected off the water, creating a magical ambiance.
“charles,” you breathed, looking around in awe. “what is this?”
he smiled, his gaze full of adoration. “i thought you deserved to be spoiled, ma chérie. it’s been too long since we’ve had time like this together.”
he pulled out your chair, helping you settle in before taking his own seat across from you.
“charles, this is really beautiful,” you said, your voice full of gratitude.
“anything for you, cherie,” he replied, his accent making the words sound even sweeter.
dinner was perfect, the two of you sharing laughs, stories, and heartfelt conversation. charles seemed especially thoughtful, his gaze lingering on you more than usual.
after the last course, he shifted in his chair, his demeanor becoming more serious yet still soft. “you know,” he began, his tone quieter, “being with you has been the best part of my life. i know i’ve been busy, and sometimes i’m not always there as much as i should be.”
you tilted your head, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “charles, what’s going on?”
he stood up slowly, reaching into his pocket. your heart began to race as he pulled out a small velvet box, his fingers trembling slightly.
“mon amour,” he said, dropping to one knee in front of you.
your hand flew to your mouth as tears welled in your eyes.
“i’ve thought about this moment every day,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “i love everything about you—your quirks, the little things you do when you think no one is watching, the way you make me feel like the luckiest man alive just by being by my side. i love your flaws, your strengths, all of it. it’s everything i’ve ever wanted in my life, forever.”
your tears spilled over as he opened the box, revealing a dazzling diamond ring that sparkled even in the candlelight.
“i want to spend the rest of my life with you, cherie. will you marry me?”
for a moment, you were too overwhelmed to speak, your emotions taking over. finally, you nodded, laughing through your tears. “yes, charles. yes, of course!”
the smile that broke across his face was brighter than the stars above as he slipped the ring onto your finger. he stood, pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply, your tears mixing with his own.
“i love you,” he whispered, holding you close as the yacht gently swayed with the waves.
“i love you too,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.
and as you stood there together, the sea stretching endlessly around you, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be—with charles, forever.
ʚ・lando norris
“lando, you’re being so distant. like, what is your issue?” you asked, crossing your arms as you sat in the passenger seat, watching him grip the wheel a little tighter than usual.
“it’s nothing, i promise,” he replied quickly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled. “are you cheating on me?” you blurted out, your voice sharp and accusing.
lando slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over abruptly. he turned to you, his wide eyes filled with disbelief. “cheating on you? are you serious right now?”
“well, then why are you acting so weird!” you fired back, feeling frustration bubble over.
“i’m not cheating on you,” he said firmly. “and stop saying such irrational things before i crash the car!”
you huffed, crossing your arms tighter as he merged back onto the road. the tension hung thick in the air, but there was something about his tone that made you pause—he wasn’t just annoyed; he seemed… nervous.
after a few more silent minutes, the car pulled up to a secluded garden bathed in golden afternoon light. you frowned, glancing around.
“where are we?” you asked, the irritation in your voice softening as you took in the beauty of the place.
lando parked and stepped out, rushing around to open your door. he offered you his hand, and though you hesitated, you took it.
as you stepped into the garden, the feeling in your chest shifted. it was just the two of you—no other people, no distractions. the air was fragrant with blooming flowers, and butterflies flitted lazily in the sunlight.
your stomach fluttered as you glanced at lando, who was unusually quiet. he scratched the back of his neck, his signature nervous tell. that’s when it hit you—this wasn’t just a random outing.
“lando…” you started, your voice softer now.
but before you could finish, he turned to you, his cheeks flushed. “look, i know i’ve been acting weird,” he admitted, running a hand through his messy hair. “and i’m sorry. it’s just… i’ve been planning this for weeks, and i was so nervous i’d mess it up.”
you blinked, your heart pounding as he dropped to one knee, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket.
your hand flew to your mouth as your suspicions were confirmed, and a wave of emotions hit you all at once.
“i love you,” lando began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “more than anything. you’ve been with me through everything—the ups, the downs, the crazy schedules, the late-night arguments about absolutely nothing.” he let out a nervous laugh, and you felt tears well up in your eyes.
“you’ve seen the best and the worst of me, and somehow, you still choose to love me. i don’t want to imagine my life without you in it. so, here i am, asking you to make it official.”
he opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.
“will you marry me?” he asked, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.
you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling as you nodded. “yes, of course, yes!”
lando let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, slipping the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into a tight hug.
“i can’t believe you thought i was cheating on you,” he teased, his playful smirk returning as he kissed your temple.
“well, you were acting suspicious!” you shot back, laughing through your tears.
he chuckled, holding you close. “yeah, because i was scared out of my mind. do you know how hard it is to hide something this big from you? you’re nosy.”
you swatted at him lightly, grinning. “i’m observant.”
“sure you are,” he teased, leaning down to kiss you again.
and in that quiet, magical garden, with the sunlight casting a golden glow around you, everything felt absolutely perfect.
ʚ・oscar piastri
the great barrier reef had always been a dream of yours—a place you’d talked about endlessly. and, being the proud australian that he was, oscar had promised to take you the moment the season ended. true to his word, here you were, surrounded by vibrant coral and schools of colorful fish, the water shimmering like a painting brought to life.
oscar had gone all out, arranging a private guide and setting up everything to ensure the trip was perfect for just the two of you. it felt special, even more magical than you’d imagined.
after a long snorkeling session with the guide, you emerged from the water, still adjusting your snorkel mask as droplets streamed down your face. you caught sight of oscar standing on the sand, waiting for you.
but something was different.
your heart skipped a beat as you noticed him—barefoot, dressed in a loose white button-up and tailored shorts that made him look effortlessly handsome, his usual chill vibe intact. the sun cast a golden glow over the scene, and your breath caught when you realized he wasn’t just standing there.
he was on one knee.
your hands instinctively went to your snorkel mask as if to tear it off, realizing you were standing there in a dripping swimsuit, goggles pushed awkwardly onto your forehead, and hair probably a complete mess.
“wait… what are you doing?” you stammered, feeling your cheeks burn despite the cool ocean breeze.
oscar grinned, his calm demeanor never faltering. “what does it look like i’m doing?” he teased lightly. “just wait—don’t touch the mask. you look perfect.”
“perfect?” you let out a half-hysterical laugh, glancing down at yourself. “oscar, i look ridiculous!”
but he shook his head, his eyes soft and full of adoration. “no, you don’t. you look like you. authentic. beautiful.” he took a deep breath, his fingers curling tightly around a small box in his hand.
“being with you has made my life so much better,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “you’ve made even the craziest, busiest days feel worth it. and i knew this was where i wanted to do this because it’s so… us. a little chaotic, but amazing.”
tears stung your eyes as the reality of the moment hit you.
“i want to spend my life with you,” oscar continued, his usual calm exterior cracking just enough for you to see the emotion behind his words. “snorkel masks, messy hair, and all. so… will you marry me?”
you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears, nodding fervently. “yes! of course, yes!”
oscar slipped the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as you tried to process the whirlwind of emotions.
“you know,” you sniffled, “i can’t believe you proposed to me when i looked like this.”
oscar chuckled, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “i wanted it to be real. and let’s be honest, you’d never let me live it down if i’d done something boring or predictable.”
“well, you’re right about that,” you teased, your grin wide as you leaned in to kiss him.
“besides,” he added, his tone playful now, “even with a snorkel mask on, you’re still the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.”
you rolled your eyes, laughing, but you couldn’t deny that this moment, messy and perfectly imperfect, was so perfectly you two.
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#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#f1 instagram au#fanfiction#carlos sainz x reader#f1 fic#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#formula one#f1 smau#f1 fluff#carlos sainz fluff#crack texts#f1#max verstappen#lewis hamilton#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#lando norris#oscar piastri#george russell#charles leclerc x reader#oscar piastri x reader#max verstappen fluff#smau#𐐪♡︎₊˚ ― jungwnies#jungwnies
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[6.1k] most of the league welcome a bye week as all-stars hits the season calendar. with both brothers picked and the rest of the boys on the team flying out somewhere warm for the break, luke has a decision to make. and that decision ends up being a staycation in new jersey with you—not that anyone else in his life really understand why. (smut)
series masterlist
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“Whoever is in charge of this schedule sounds like a sadist.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” You repeated with a small huff, staring down at your phone screen where—he presumed—you were looking at the Devils’ game schedule. “Surely there’s a better way than playing, like, three back to backs in such a short time span.”
“It’s hockey,” Luke shrugged, like that somehow explained everything. “It’s just how it is. How it’s always been, to be honest.”
“This makes no sense,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowed in distaste. “You literally played four games last week! Four! In the space of six days!”
Luke snorted. “Yeah, Cherry, I’m fully aware. I was at the games. Playing.”
You shot him a look before letting your brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.”
“The schedule?” Luke asked.
“No, the hockey player sex god stereotype,” you retorted. “How the hell do they find the time to even have sex? How the hell do they have the energy to even have sex?”
Luke tried—and mostly failed—to bite back his grin. “That’s your big question about hockey players?”
“Yes,” you deadpanned. “I know you are professionals and all but surely this is a bit ridiculous.”
“Hockey is hockey,” Luke answered, shrugging once again. “It’s just always how it’s been.”
“So, hockey players are sex gods and sadists,” you muttered to yourself, your focus back on your phone screen. “Good to know.”
Luke only laughed in response.
“I don’t get why they don’t just move some of the games to the first week in February,” you pointed out. “You have nothing on then.”
“Because that’s when All-Stars is,” Luke answered. “They send a bunch of guys from different teams to compete in these challenges and stuff.”
“Like the Hunger Games?”
“I—” Luke’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, but less death and violence. People usually stay nice for it.”
“Have you been reaped?” You questioned, grinning a little.
Luke rolled his eyes. “No, I have not. They choose the best.”
You frowned. “You are the best. You’re the best hockey player I know.”
Luke shot you a look. “I’m the only hockey player you know.”
“Semantics,” you waved him off. “My point still stands.”
“No, I get something better,” he stated. “I get a week off.”
You grinned. “Big plans?”
Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I was just looking forward to a week without Jack banging on my door for morning skate.”
“So you’re going to spend the week hibernating,” you teased, lightly nudging his thigh with your foot. But before you could pull your foot back, Luke had grabbed your ankle and easily maneuvered your feet onto his lap. “God, I’ll need to find someone else to cook for me for a week then.”
And the thing is that Luke knew you were just teasing. For all his claims of being a great cook (which he was, just in the few meals he actually knew how to cook), he had grown into a comfortable habit with you. He enjoyed spending time at your place. He enjoyed unwinding after bad games or grueling practices. He just enjoyed being around you, both before and after his recent realisation of his feelings.
But now he was staring at you from across the couch, watching the way you were lounging in one of his old Michigan sweatshirts and just felt that overwhelming urge to say something stupid.
Instead, he settled on, “you should come over.”
You paused, raising your brows. “Come over where?”
“To my place,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Jack will be gone and I’ll have the place to myself. We can just—” He paused, his brain going blank at the sight of your amused expression. “Chill.”
“Chill?” You repeated, grinning.
“Chill,” he nodded, squeezing your ankle. “Just…I feel like…I’m always imposing in your space, you know? You can impose in my space too.”
“You are a weird guy, Hughes,” you commented, though Luke liked to think you sounded fond when you spoke.
“Is that a no?” He asked before he could help himself.
You beamed in response. “It’s not a no.”
He felt something quite like hope spark in his chest. “So, it’s a yes?”
“Depends,” your eyes glinted. “Are you still Team Stefan? Because if the answer is yes, I will have to decline.”
Luke groaned. “I said that after we watched, like, three episodes! Stop holding that over my head!”
…
“This sucks!”
“Yes, it sucks so much being acknowledged for your skills,” Dawson deadpanned, watching the way Jack wandered around the locker room after practice, whining and complaining about everyone else making their Bye Week plans.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack huffed, narrowing his eyes at the boy before shifting his attention to Nico, eyes wide and hopeful. “Take me with you? I want to go somewhere warm. I want to go somewhere where the chances of freezing my balls off are lower than zero.”
“Dude,” Nate scrunched his nose, laughing. “We play ice hockey for a living, you can handle a bit of cold.”
“Suck it up, superstar,” Curtis called out with a huge grin. “Gotta pay up for having the Hughes name on the back of your jersey.”
“Moose lucked out,” Jack sighed. “I have Quinn and the bajillion Canucks players that are also going. I swear he rigged the thing.”
“Bajillion?” Nico repeated with a disgustingly fond expression.
“Bajillion,” Jack nodded. “There’s too many of them. No one needs that many Canucks in one place. It’s an infestation.”
“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Nate snorted.
Jack glared.
“You not going up to Toronto to support your brothers?” Dawson asked, turning his head to look over at Luke. However, the boy barely reacted. He repeated the question again, and one more time before finally throwing a ball of rolled up tape at the side of Luke’s head.
Luke tore his eyes away from his phone, snapping his head up to find half the locker room already staring at him. “What? What did I miss?”
“Jack complaining about All Stars,” Curtis answered.
“Oh,” Luke blinked. “So nothing new then?”
“You're not going to Toronto?” Nico asked this time, before Curtis could say whatever witty response he had ready to go.
“Uh, no,” Luke shook his head.
“Scared you’ll steal their thunder?” Nate joked, patting Luke’s shoulder as he walked past to get to his stall.
Jack snorted. “He thinks he’s too cool for Toronto. Probably following John to wherever the hell he is going.”
John’s ears perked, turning whilst he was still removing some of his gear. “What? Luke said he didn’t want to come with us.”
Jack paused, frowning a little before turning to Luke. “You’re not going away for the week?”
Luke could feel his cheeks burning up. “No?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“At least he also won’t be somewhere warm,” Nico stepped in, a hand on Jack’s shoulder providing more than enough distraction from Jack asking questions as he turned to look at Nico with the embarrassingly obvious heart eyes he has always had for the captain.
It gave Luke the short reprieve he wanted, avoiding the other curious looks he was getting as he glanced down at his phone screen for a moment, grinning at the messages before he locked it and put it back in his bag so he could finish getting changed.
cherry🍒: i hope you know that i am using this opportunity to steal as many of your hoodies as i can before the week is over
cherry🍒: consider this your one and only warning
…
It was surprisingly easy to prevent Jack from asking any more questions.
A little too easy, if Luke was being honest.
But Luke was also not an idiot so he didn’t question Jack’s silence after he mentioned a friend would be staying with Luke for the week. Jack had just stared blankly for a few moments before laughing, shaking his head and walking out the room, muttering something about needing to stop by Nico’s after he finished packing. Luke took it as the blessing it was and didn’t bring it up again.
Truthfully, it didn’t hit Luke how insane it felt to have you with him the whole week until he was running around the apartment, cleaning up whatever he could before his phone began ringing from the other room.
“Dude, you have shit timing.”
Ethan laughed on the other side of the phone. “You’ve been ignoring me! I feel abandoned. What happened to the Luke who said he missed me?”
“I never said that,” Luke retorted.
“Rude,” Ethan huffed. “Why do you sound so out of breath? Were you training or something?”
“Nah, just tidying the place up,” Luke replied absentmindedly, staring at the hoodie he picked up on the floor with a frown. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was his or Jack’s, and usually he didn’t care. But the image of you wearing it thinking it belonged to him when in reality it was Jack’s passed his mind and he quickly shoved it into the washing basket. That would be a problem he dealt with later.
“Ugh, don’t even,” Ethan whined on the other side of the phone. “I’m so jealous, dude. I would kill to be on a beach somewhere right now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered as he continued to pick up a few empty bottles of gatorade on the coffee table before pausing. “Wait, what? What the fuck are you on about? Who’s going to the beach?”
Ethan sounded just as confused on the other side. “You?”
“No, I’m not?” Luke replied, frowning. “I just told you, I’m at my place.”
“Yeah, because you are tidying up before you fly out somewhere. For Bye Week.”
“Who told you that?”
“I thought it was obvious? Why the fuck would you not be flying out somewhere?”
And honestly, Luke didn’t have much of a comeback for that one. Because to everyone else, it did seem weird. He knew that. He gathered as much from the rest of the boys’ reactions in the locker room the other day. He gathered it from Jack’s reaction and Quinn’s message (‘wtf rusty’) when he broke the news in the brothers group chat.
He knew.
But somehow trying to justify it to one of his best friends over the phone made him realise how fucking dodgy it sounded when none of them really knew about you.
“So, let me get this straight.”
Luke let out a deep sigh.
“You declined on going up to Toronto with your brothers because you didn’t want to impose, or whatever dumb shit you said, and let them enjoy All-Stars.”
“Yes.”
“And then you had the offer to go to Cabo and the Bahamas with teammates, which you also declined.”
“Mhm.”
“And then you decided to stay in New Jersey instead of even visiting us up in Michigan with your week off?”
“Yup.”
“Dude,” Ethan squawked, offended and confused and downright discombobulated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a concussion? Is this like a mid-season breakdown? Do I need to call for help?”
Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”
“I think I am being perfectly reasonable here.”
Luke disagreed—majorly—but he valued his life so he stayed silent.
“You’re gonna get so bored staying in Jersey all week,” Ethan pointed out. “What are you even gonna do?”
Luke opened his mouth to reply just as the buzzer sounded through the apartment. If anyone asked, he would deny the way his face instantly broke out into a smile.
“Sleep my ass off. It’s hard being in the NHL,” Luke said in the snobbiest voice he could, letting Ethan cackle on the other side and try to get another word in before he spoke up again. “Look, I gotta run, I’ll call you later. Promise.”
“He plays in the big leagues and thinks he’s so much better than us.”
“I am better than you,” Luke grinned. “I remember winning beer pong.”
“That doesn’t fucking count! Mark was the one who—”
“Bye, Ethan!”
Luke couldn’t hang up and rush to open the door fast enough.
…
Deep down, he knew it was stupid for him to feel nervous about you staying over at his place for the week.
He had stayed over at yours more times than he could count on one hand. You had become an integral part of his life in New Jersey. You were one of his closest friends. He knew you. He knew you knew him. There should have been nothing that made the week weird.
But he couldn’t help but feel like it meant more. This was him inviting you to stay over for a few days, to stay at his place whilst his brother was out of town, to spend the week with him when he should be resting and drinking some overpriced cocktail on a beach somewhere warm.
You were his friend but spending his whole stay-cation with him in his apartment like the two of you were playing house was something far from platonic.
It was a bit of a mindfuck, but not as much as realising just how fucking easy it all was.
It was different from the various nights he spent at your apartment. It was different seeing you in his space, fitting into his life so easily. It was different seeing you relaxed and laid back, looking like you belonged.
It was different from the night at his birthday party, where you were one of many faces. It was just you and him, standing in his kitchen or sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. It felt so different but so fucking good.
Only a few days had passed and yet Luke forgot a time where you weren’t here, where you weren’t by his side throughout the whole day.
It was dangerous but the warning signs were easy to ignore when his attention was fully focused on you.
“Are you calling me lanky?”
“It was a compliment!” You insisted, but there was a smile on your face—not that he could see, considering your face was currently pressed against his chest as the two of you laid on the couch to watch the fastest skater skill event. “You would do well in this challenge. It would take you, like, five less strides than the rest of them.”
Luke snorted. “Geez, thanks.”
“You’ll see,” you murmured, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “You’ll do it one day and win and know that I’m right.”
“And then you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?” Luke guessed, his eyes now on you rather than the tv screen.
“Obviously,” you replied, lifting your head so your chin was resting on the spot your cheek was squished against moments ago. “I’m always right, Hughes. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier your life will be.”
Luke raised his brows in amusement. “So when you very confidently said that you loved that movie where Andrew Garfield played Batman—”
“Shut up,” you groaned, lightly pinching his side but he quickly caught your hand. “We were watching Twilight! I was thinking about Robert Pattinson! I got confused!”
“Uh huh,” Luke beamed. “Just always so right—”
“You’re being a dick,” you huffed, even if you were smiling. “Here I was trying to give you a compliment—”
“By calling me lanky.”
“—and this is the thanks I get,” you shook your head.
Luke’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. “Thank you, Cherry. I appreciate the confidence.”
“Confidence is sexy,” you retorted, your palms warm and comforting against his sides. “Soon you won’t need me to remind you.”
“But I like when you say it,” Luke retorted.
“Professional athletes and their praise kinks,” you sighed, grinning a little when he reached down to pinch your side this time.
“I’m the only professional athlete you know,” Luke pointed out, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at the mere idea that maybe he wasn’t. That maybe you knew more, that maybe you had experience with more, that maybe they were far more experienced than him and—
“And you have a praise kink,” you said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “Therefore, my theory has not been disproved. I’m right.”
Luke’s cheeks burned hot. “I do not have a praise kink.”
You snorted, grinning as you lifted a hand to playfully squeeze his cheeks. “Aw, baby, you do and it’s hot. Don’t get all shy about it.”
“Whatever,” Luke murmured, turning his focus back to the tv instead of the growing smirk on your face.
But the thought lingered in his mind even as the two of you continued to cuddle on the couch, watching whatever movie you had chosen after the All-Stars events ended. It picked at his brain, chipping away at the self-restraint he had to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night until the two of you were getting ready for bed.
He was lingering by the doorway, watching you get your side of the bed (because apparently that was also something that came easily to the two of you) ready before you climbed into bed. And before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out the words that were on the tip of his tongue for most of the night.
“Do you really think the praise kink thing is hot?”
His cheeks were already blushy and pink and hot when you turned your head to look at him.
“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” You asked, something lighthearted and teasing in your voice that was oddly reassuring. You didn’t think he was a freak for asking. Not that he ever assumed you would judge him, you both were far from that point.
“Does it change your answer?” He asked, not sounding half as confident as he wanted to.
Your smile softened a little as you walked around the bed and towards him. You tilted your head back once you were in front of him, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite work out.
Luke swallowed a little.
“It doesn’t change my answer,” you answered honestly.
Luke could feel something in his chest tighten. “And what’s your answer?”
“I think it’s hot,” you told him, saying it so casually as though the two of you were discussing the weather. “I think everyone has a praise kink to some extent but…”
Luke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But?”
“But it’s different with you,” you said, your fingers lightly skimming against his stomach before curling around the hem of his shirt. “You’re so…responsive. It’s hot.”
His body twitched, like his skin was too tight for his body. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling a little before using the grasp on his shirt to tug him closer and close the distance between you both. Not that there was much.
Luke was almost embarrassed by the noise he made the second your lips were on his, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you used the leverage against him. He ducked his head down, trying to chase your lips as you continued to tease him and tempt him. He barely realised his feet were moving until the back of your knees hit the bed and you pulled back to look at him.
“So pretty,” you murmured, close enough to hear the way his breath hitched before you moved down onto the bed, with your grasp on his shirt enough to drag him down with you.
It was far from sexy, if Luke was being honest. An awkward maneuver of too many limbs and shuffling up the bed that should have ruined the moment, but it didn’t. Because it was you and you were laughing and smiling and snorting when Luke almost decked it on top of you after he got his foot stuck. You made it feel so normal. Like it was all just a part of the charm.
Maybe it was. Maybe feeling safe enough to be human and imperfect was a part of the charm.
Because despite the uncoordinated and clumsy scrambling onto the bed, you were still looking at him like you wanted to see how pink his cheeks could turn.
Luke barely put up a fight when you pulled him back down, happily following your movements as he settled between your legs and let you wind your arms around his neck so his nose was brushing against yours before you leaned in to kiss him again.
Unlike a lot of the other makeout sessions the two of you had, there was no rush. There was no lingering adrenaline from a game he wanted to work off or some bad plays he wanted to forget. There were no teasing messages or risky phone calls that were building up to this moment. There was absolutely nothing but just the two of you lying in his bed, making out because you wanted to.
Because you wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss you. Because you enjoyed the weight of him on top of you and he enjoyed the way your fingers entangled themselves in his curls. Because for reasons that were beyond his understanding, you wanted this as much as he did.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his tongue lightly skimming over the area of his bottom lip you nipped with your teeth.
You smiled up at him. “See? So responsive. It’s cute.”
He swallowed. “Cute?”
“Cute, hot, sexy, whatever word you want to use, pretty boy,” you murmured, one hand sliding down to cup his face as your thumb skimmed over the apple of his cheek. “All I know is that I like the noises you make.”
Luke responded by leaning back down, kissing you because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked the way your laugh vibrated against his lips before you kissed back.
But whatever control Luke thought he had on himself when he was with you quickly dwindled as you pulled him closer, letting his body fall on top of you and let your thighs squeeze his sides until he was rocking his hips against yours, until he was practically panting between kisses.
“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing one, two, three pecks against his lips before your lips traced along his cheek and down his jaw. “That’s it, baby. I can feel how much you like this. S’cute how worked up you get just making out.”
“You’re hot,” he gasped out, like it was self-explanatory. Like it justified why he could feel his dick twitching in his sweatpants, probably already making a mess that he would pretend didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.
Your smile was softer, your hand on his face feeling more intimate as you guided his eyes to meet yours. “I think,” you started, your thumb lightly tracing down his cheek and skimming his bottom lip. “You’re hot too. And that you can come like this. Make a mess f’me.”
And fuck, he could.
It wouldn’t be the first time he did, helplessly grinding against you whilst you kissed him and praised him and made his head fucking spin before he was coming harder than he really should be able to from a simple act. He could lean down, press his lips against yours and slide his tongue against yours and feel the way you cling onto him as he comes. He could do it.
But there was a buzzing voice in the back of his head, getting louder and louder until—
“I bought condoms.”
He could see the initial surprise on your face as you processed the words he just blurted out, the eyes locked on his kiss-swollen lips shifting to look up and watch the way he squirmed under the realisation of his words. He watched the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes narrowing slightly like you were observing him, keeping on edge until he spoke.
“You bought condoms,” you repeated, trying and failing to keep the smile off your face. “Big plans for this week?”
“I—” Luke’s face burned. “That wasn’t… didn’t mean…I was just—”
“Luke,” you said in a softer voice, your smile faltering a little into something more sincere. “M’only teasing.”
“Okay,” he whispered, a knot twisting in his stomach with every passing second. He swore he was moments away from just exploding out of pure embarrassment or something just as humiliating.
“Breathe for me,” you murmured, smiling a little when he let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just because you bought them, doesn’t mean we have to do anything with them just yet.”
Luke swallowed, his whole body thrumming as he replied. “I…I want to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “Only if you want to, too. Because consent is sexy, you know.”
You laughed a little, both hands now cupping his face so your eyes could meet his. “I do, if you want this. If you’re ready.”
“It is,” he whispered, nodding again. “I trust you, Cherry. I want this. With you.”
“Okay,” you whispered before kissing him again, slow and sure and content.
It made him feel a little less like his skin was shrinking all over his body.
And you kept kissing him until his body didn’t feel so tense, until he didn’t feel like a wooden plank on top of you, until he was relaxed and making those little noises between kisses that let you know he wasn’t as nervous as before.
You kept kissing him as you lightly nudged him back, letting him lean back on his knees until he was straddling your body, giving him enough movement to lean over and scramble through his nightstand until he found the unopened box of condoms.
He tried to tear the plastic covering over the box off, tried to peel it away but his hands were shaking more than he liked and his heart was pounding in his chest and—
“Hey, relax,” you murmured softly, sitting up and taking the box from his hands with little fight from him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. “Nerves, I guess.”
“It’s okay,” you promised. “You know we can stop at any time, just say the word.”
He swallowed harshly. “No, I do—”
“I know,” you smiled. “But I also want you to know that.”
“Only if you do too,” Luke responded, looking completely serious as he said it. “If you want to stop at any moment too, you have to say something too. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me because it’s my…first time or whatever.”
“I promise,” you smiled before nudging him back, until he was settled with his back against the headboard and you were on his lap. “Don’t worry about the condoms right now, okay? Just focus on me.”
And Luke did.
Because, in complete honesty, it was very easy to ignore the box of condoms and the bubbling nerves and the growing realisation of what was about to happen. The voice in the back of his head saying ‘oh fuck, this is it’ was barely a whisper when his focus was on you.
It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of you. He was used to this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him senseless. He was used to you dragging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the side. He was used to you tugging his sweatpants down and letting your own follow and guiding his hand between your legs whilst you whispered filthy things against his lips.
He was used to the way you always targeted the spot just behind his ear, blowing cool air until he physically shivered. He was used to the way your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb lightly skimmed across your nipple. He was used to choking out a breathless moan whenever your thumb slid along the slit on the head of his cock. He was used to the way you tugged on his hair when you were close, letting the dull pain throb wonderfully at the base of his skull whilst you pressed your face against his shoulder.
You were right, all those weeks ago back at the start of the season, when you said he needed to build up to this moment. You were right about the different experiences and experiments the two of you had tried and tested over the last few months. You were right when you said it was just like practicing hockey.
It felt a bit fucking poetic and pathetic to compare his sex life to hockey right now, but he got it.
The same nerves that bubbled up before his first NHL game were no different. Because even though he had played hockey his whole life, it still felt nerve-wracking to play in the NHL. And even though he had spent the last few months doing so much with you, it was still kind of daunting to know it was all leading up to this.
But just like his first NHL game, it just felt right.
You felt right.
This whole moment felt right.
Luke knew he was not like his friends or teammates. He had spent years growing up with locker room talk, hearing about random hookups in the backseat of a car or halfhearted blowjobs in a bar bathroom. He heard about one night stands and casual flings and situationships that tended to go sour. He had heard it all and it was unsettling to imagine that was the future waiting for him.
But it wasn’t.
And it felt a bit comforting to know that he never had to look back on this experience and regret the person he was with or where he was or whatever stupid risk it could cause his career. All he had to think about was him and you and the way you were looking just as affected and turned on as he was right now.
“You still sure?” You whispered, soft and comforting and so fucking caring, it made his throat feel a little tight.
“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little as he leaned in to kiss you again to emphasise his point. “I trust you. I want this with you.��
You smiled, still looking so fucking genuine before you leaned over to grab the box of condoms, removing the plastic peel with an ease he was only slightly jealous of. He watched you grab a small foil packet, glancing at him every few seconds like you were waiting for him to jump back on his decision.
“I trust you,” he repeated, confident and sure.
His hands laid on your legs as you tore open the foil packet. His hands squeezed the fat of your thighs as you rolled the condom on him, stroking him a few times until he was bucking into your touch. His hands were on your waist, supportive and guiding as you slowly sunk down onto his cock.
“Shit,” Luke breathed out, his breath shaky and gasping. “Shit.”
“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I—fuck—I’ve got you.”
The squeeze of your walls around his cock made him want to close his eyes. It made him want to lean back against the headboard, keep his eyes closed and fucking bask in the feeling of you being so warm and tight and intense around him. But the desire to watch the way his cock disappeared into you was stronger, to watch the way your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted as you settled fully on his lap.
It was fucking memesiring watching the way you slowly lifted your hips and sunk down again. It made him feel like his head was spinning as he watched you continued to move, to sink up and down on his cock, to fuck yourself on his cock and moan his name and look into his eyes and—
“Can I—” He cut himself off, a pathetic and whiny noise leaving his lips when you squeezed around him. “Can I please—”
“Whatever you want,” you murmured, breathless and panting as you leaned in to kiss him like you needed it.
He let himself enjoy the kiss, to enjoy the feeling of being inside you and the weight of you on his lap and your lips on his before he moved. Before he reminded his brain that he can move, that he didn’t have to feel so boneless and helpless, as he shifted until the two of you had rolled over and you were beneath him and—
“Oh fuck,” you moaned, loud and shameless as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg out of the way enough for him to thrust back in as your head feel back against the pillow. “Shit, yes, like that.”
For a second, it was hard to remember he was even in his own body as he watched you. It was fucking mesmerising as he watched you moan and whine beneath him, as he felt your nails digging into his skin and scratching down his back as you demanded him for more, as you muttered his name between pleas and begs and whimpers.
Luke kind of wished this moment would last forever.
Unfortunately for him, he was utterly weak when it came to you. Because you were pretty and sweet and you felt fucking unreal around him, and you were looking at him like he fucking meant something and—
It was so much. Too much. Just fucking enough.
“I can’t—” He gasped out, his whole body feeling like it was buzzing alive as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and his thrusts became sloppier. “I’m not gonna last long—”
“Come for me,” you breathed out, your hands cupping his cheeks as you wound your legs around his waist. “C’mon, Luke, wanna feel you come in me.”
And well, he stood no fucking chance lasting after you said that to him.
He could have sworn his ears were ringing when he came. It was intense and overwhelming and disorienting and, fuck, it felt so good. He could feel his muscles tensing, his body rigid and shaking as his orgasm washed over him. He could feel the wave of pleasure rushing through him, leaving every fucking nerve in his body buzzing as he let himself enjoy the way you were squeezing him around him.
He felt like he was on cloud nine when you ran your hands through his curls, your lips against his ear whispering god knows what. But your voice was low and humming and comforting and he could feel his eyes slipping close to enjoy the sound of it.
He could feel you running your hands over his body, feel the way every inch of skin was pressed against you, feel the way your legs were tightening around him like you didn’t want him to move just yet either.
After the rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his body felt syrupy. His movements felt slow and unhurried, his thoughts felt like they were floating away. His brain felt fuzzy and pleased and content to just lay on the bed with you, bask in the feeling a little longer before the grossness and desire to clean up took over.
Luke was more than happy to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, to close his eyes and let out a happy sigh and let himself relax after the really intense last few minutes the two of you had just experienced.
And if Luke was more awake, he would have noticed the way you tensed up the second he spoke. The way your eyes widened, the way your body instantly locked up, the way you went a little pale.
If Luke was more awake, he would have been able to think twice before he spoke.
But Luke wasn’t awake. He fell asleep after muttering the one thought that had been on his mind since New Years.
He closed his eyes and slept like a fucking baby and woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment and not a single sign of proof of the night before except the marks on his skin and the used condom lying on his bedroom floor.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he had slurred into the crook of your neck, his voice barely louder than a rumble as the sleepiness really hit.
If Luke was more awake, he would have stopped himself from completely fucking everything up.
.
#luke hughes#nhl#new jersey devils#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes x you#luke hughes x y/n#luke hughes fic#luke hughes one shot#luke hughes smut#nhl x reader#nhl x you#nhl x y/n#nhl fic#nhl one shot#nhl smut
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the catalyst - c.s.
this takes place prior to the two final screenshots in part ten
cw: (almost) cheating, suggestive implications, chris being an asshole
wc: 4k
part of the fwb!chris series
no doubt about it, you had to be drunk if you were going to this party.
normally you would pull up to parties with chris, have him pick you up or at least meet you there and wait outside until you showed up so you could walk in together, but now with him talking to this new girl (lia, you found out), you had to show up by yourself. it wasn’t a problem, you were pretty independent in your every day life, but something about showing up to a party by yourself felt embarrassing when it’s been so long since you’ve had to. despite your feelings, you didn’t want to appear too affected by chris’s new situation he had going on, so you were still going to go, just after pregaming a little harder than usual.
on the ride over there, you almost found yourself wanting to ask the driver to turn around and go back home, not wanting to stumble into somebody’s house an hour after everyone had already shown up and draw attention to yourself and your obvious loneliness. you talked yourself out of it, though, continuing on the short drive until you had pulled up to the typical hang out spot, thanking your driver and getting out.
the door was unlocked as usual, and you pushed it open and went inside as quietly as you could, doing your best to walk past people you didn’t really know to make your way to the kitchen to grab another drink. you were barely two seconds into pouring a mixer into a plastic cup when you feel somebody step up next to you, and you don’t have to tear your gaze away from what you’re doing to know who it is.
“when did you get here?” he questions, standing so close to you your arms are brushing together. you don’t answer him until your drink is made, bringing it up to your lips to take a sip. once it’s swallowed, you turn your body to face him, eyes landing on his that are already watching you. “a few minutes ago,” you answer. “why, were you waiting for me?”
chris rolls his eyes and reaches forward to grab your cup from your hand, bringing it up to his own lips for a taste. he hands it back to you, grimacing at the sweet flavor. “god, you make the worst drinks,” he scoffs. “and no, I wasn’t waiting for you, was just surprised that you came so late, that’s all.” you take the cup back and let your fingers brush over his at the transfer, body already thrumming from how close you were, the feeling of pure want intensified by the alcohol already in your system.
your eyes hide nothing, giving away just how badly you wanted chris in the moment. you thought you’d be able to keep it under control, but with him standing so close and looking so good, the scent of his cologne wafting through your nostrils and infiltrating your senses. maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to drink so much before coming. “chris,” you say in a soft tone, one that always makes him melt, but tonight he just shakes his head at you and reaches up to place both hands on either one of your shoulders. “not tonight. please behave yourself tonight. I have lia here and I really don’t want to mess this up. I promise i’ll make it up to you,” he begs, and he really sounds like he means it.
you always hated not getting what you wanted.
“but, chris,” you pout, dropping your head down a bit to give your eyes a wider appearance, bringing your hand up to rest on his chest. you’re about to speak again when he grabs your hand and pulls it away from him, pushing it back towards you. “i’m serious,” he says lowly. “not tonight.”
you groan and narrow your eyes at chris frustratedly, annoyed at his determination. “fine,” you agree. you take your hand that he pushed away from you and reach between your bodies, cupping chris’s dick through the black jeans he wore, keeping your eyes lock on his. “just know i’ll be thinking about you all night and wishing you would have your way with me.”
chris sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, knowing he should pull away but not having the willpower to. one of his hands leans against the counter for support, the other itching to grab you and pull you closer. you can feel him twitching under your hand, a hint of an erection forming as you groped him. he was about to give into your touch, about to pull you somewhere more private, but an unfamiliar voice pulled you both from the moment. your pulled your hand away from him and tucked it into the back pocket of your jeans that hugged your ass perfectly, other hand bringing your cup up to your lips.
“here you are!” a girl’s voice calls from the doorway of the kitchen, stepping up to chris’s side with a wide grin on her face, oblivious to the tension in the room. chris slings an arm around her waist loosely, now refusing to make eye contact with you, afraid this girl would see right through him if he looked at you. “here I am,” he says with a forced smile, turning his head to face her. she turns and looks up at him, naive adoration painted on her features. “is this the friend you were telling me about?”
he told her about me? you think to yourself, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “yeah,” chris says, clearing his throat as he turned back to look at you. “this is lia, the girl i’ve been seeing,” he introduces awkwardly and you tilt your head at her, smiling sweetly. “lia,” you hum, nodding your head. her hand comes out to greet you and all you can do is stare down at it, judging the way her acrylics were grown out and an ugly color. “i’m gonna go find your brother,” you tell chris, looking back up at him with a smirk, sending him a knowing wink before turning on your heel and heading towards the living room, hearing chris apologizing for your attitude quietly.
you did exactly as you promised, finding matt sitting on the floor with his back leaned up against the front of a couch and his legs crossed in front of him, laughing at something a friend had said. “hi, matt,” you greet sweetly, sitting directly next to him. his attention is grabbed by you immediately, lifting his arm to drape it around your shoulder as he smiled over at you. “hi, pretty girl,” he replied.
you made conversation with him for a few minutes before chris and lia came into the room, him looking uncomfortable and her looking happy as ever. she couldn’t even pick up on his emotions yet and he was so willing to drop everything for her. how could he be so infatuated with a girl that was so fucking dumb she couldn’t tell when she broke up a moment filled with sexual tension?
there isn’t much time to dwell on her lack of social awareness before somebody grabs your attention again, sitting across from you and matt. “okay, are we playing truth or dare or spin the bottle?” he asks drunkenly. chris audibly groans, lowering himself to the floor in a makeshift circle, lia sitting so close she should’ve just sat on top of him. “can we not do some childish shit, please?” he asks, tone laced with annoyance.
“what, scared you’re gonna have to kiss somebody, chris?” matt teases from next to you and you’re unable to contain the small giggle that leaves your lips. “or are you scared i’m gonna kiss your girl?”
matt’s arm squeezes around you when he says this and it takes you a moment to realize he’s not talking about the girl tucked into chris’s side, but rather about you. “i’m not scared of shit, asshole, I just don’t think we should be playing some fucking little kid games.” chris shoots back with a dramatic eye roll. “it’ll be fun!” lia says enthusiastically, wrapping both hands around chris’s bicep and shaking him lightly. he looks over at her and sends a tight lipped smile her way, his hand gently rubbing over her arm. “alright, whatever,” he concedes.
that’s how you all ended up playing truth or dare, spinning a bottle to decide who goes first. after a few rounds of stupid dares and pussy cop outs with people choosing truth, it’s matt’s turn to ask somebody a question. his attention turns to you, and a lazy smirk finds its way onto his lips. “truth or dare,” he asks you quietly and you can’t help but feel nervous at his tone. “dare,” you say instantly.
matt shifts a bit next to you before looking around the room, eyes landing on his brother for a moment before flitting back to you. “I dare you to make out with me for at least a minute,” he says after a few moments of thought. you’re a bit shocked at this, but quickly snap out of it and swing your leg over his lap, sitting atop his thighs happily. matt’s grinning up at you like a sick freak and you feel clued in on his intentions with the way he stares at you, so to bounce off of his energy, you turn your head to chris who’s staring at the two of you with dark, intense eyes, clearly not a fan of what was going on. “hey, chris?” you ask sweetly, tilting your head a bit. “can you start a timer, please?”
chris narrows his eyes at you, not liking the game you decided to play with him. he already wasn’t a big fan of your relationship with matt, but having to sit here and witness it himself was another level of fucked up. after he doesn’t answer, refusing to take his eyes off of you, the stupid, clueless girl next to him whips out her phone. “i’ll do it!” she says with a smile, holding up the timer. you roll your eyes and turn back to face matt, resting your forearms on his shoulders. “she’s so fucking stupid,” you whisper so only he can hear and he laughs at your comment before reaching up to rest his hand on the back of your head, pulling you down to meet his lips.
you’re instantly melting into the kiss, lips slotting together effortlessly, the taste of alcohol and juice on both of your tongues mingling. matt’s touch was so much gentler than chris’s, the way his hands slid up under your shirt to hold onto your waist and the way he took his time kissing you instead of rushing through it. between the way he felt holding you against him and the liquor running through your veins, you felt yourself getting carried away in the kiss, hips subtly grinding down on him as your hands found themselves in his hair, holding him close to you as you made out.
“minute’s up,” chris informs you both, but matt’s hands move down from your waist to your ass, fingers digging into the denim covering your skin, willing you even closer. “hello?” chris says again, louder this time, infuriated at the way you both seemed to get more into it. it’s not fully surprising when chris’s hand lands on your shoulder and roughly pulls you away from matt, almost ripping you off his lap. “enough,” he snaps, hand instinctively moving towards your jaw to turn your head to face him. your eyebrows immediately furrow together at his rough touch, hand pulling away from matt to shove into chris’s chest roughly. “back the fuck up, chris.”
he surprisingly listens, not wanting to cause an unnecessary scene in front of everybody, including lia, sitting back in his original position next to her. she seems slightly unnerved at his reaction, waiting a few moments before she places her hand back on his arm. “are you okay?” lia questions in her soft voice and chris doesn’t even glance her way, eyes locked on you as you climb off of matt’s lap and settle next to him again. “he’s fine, he’s just a little possessive,” matt snarks, his arm coming back around your shoulder. “a little?” you scoff, eyes trailing over chris’s tense frame. “hey, matt, when do you think we should tell chris that I lied about hooking up with you to make him jealous?”
you wish you had a camera to record the way chris’s expression dropped, the way his jaw visibly tensed from his teeth clenching together, the way his chest expanded from the breath he pulled in. “what does she mean?” lia questions from next to chris, turning her body towards him. “nothing,” he immediately answers. “it’s my turn!” you say enthusiastically, clapping your hands together and letting them fall in your lap. “lia, truth or dare?” you ask her, sending a smile her way. she’s shifting uncomfortably at your words, turning her attention to you apprehensively. “um…” her eyes flit to chris’s face for a moment, but they look back at you when she realizes he’s still staring at you. “dare,” she finally answers, sitting up straighter. you can tell that she only picks dare to impress chris, but he’s focused on anything but her right now.
you hum and tap your index finger on your chin a few times as you think of what to say. “I dare you… to go through chris’s phone!” is what you land on, and chris immediately moves to stand up, brushing lia off of his arm. “can I talk to you?” he directs towards you, not waiting for an answer before he grabs you by your arm and lifts you off the ground, dragging you towards a bedroom down the hall. “you’re hurting me,” you tell him bluntly, trying to pull away, but he just tightens his fingers around you as he shoves you into a room and slams the door shut behind you.
“what the fuck are you doing?” he sneers, finally releasing you. you huff and try to fix your clothes, glaring at the fuming man in front of you. “what are you talking about?” you ask him, raising your eyebrows at him. “i’m not doing this little back and forth. stop fucking with her. I mean it, dude, i’m not playing. don’t drag her into your mean girl bullshit. she’s too nice for you and your bitchy behavior.”
you scoff at his words, unable to believe he’s trying to defend this girl from you. “she’s fine,” you drawl, waving a hand at him dismissively. “god, chris, you’re so hot when you’re mad.” you take a small step closer to him, trying to close the distance between you two. “don’t,” he says sternly, bringing his hands up to stop you. you take another step closer, bringing your hands up to rest on his outstretched arms, dragging them up until they were placed on his shoulders. “don’t what?” you ask him, peering up at him through your lash extensions, eyes boring into him shamelessly. “don’t be slutty right now, i’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”
you laugh and step even further until your chests are pressed together, bringing your arms up to wrap around him. you rested your chin on his sternum and gazed up at him, smiling at the way he stared across the room behind you, refusing to look down at you in fear of giving in. despite his unwillingness to look at you, his arms come up and wrap around your shoulders, a loud sigh escaping his nostrils. “look at me,” you say softly, squeezing your arms around him gently. you can feel his heart pounding from where you rested against him and you knew it was only a matter of time before he gave in.
when chris finally looked down and met your eyes, you felt the energy in the room shift. his expression softened as he inspected your face and the way that you looked back at him, like you were patiently waiting for him to crack and give you attention. “you’re incredibly rude,” is the first thing he says after locking eyes with you and you can’t help but grin at his statement. “you like how rude I am,” you retort.
chris rolls his eyes and looks past you for a moment before refocusing his gaze on you. “I tolerate how rude you are to me, not to girls I like. it’s not cute, it’s just pissing me off.” his tone is quiet, but you can tell he’s serious with the way he speaks. “i’m sorry,” you say honestly, pouring your bottom lip out subtly. “can I kiss it better?” he laughs at this and tightens his arms around your shoulders, shaking his head. “no, i’m not rewarding your awful behavior. go kiss matt about it,” he tells you, then pauses. “were you serious about what you said? that you lied about sleeping with him?”
you suck in a sharp breath at his words, feeling cornered despite you admitting exactly that only a few minutes prior. “I do think he’s hot,” you start. “but that was the first time we’ve ever kissed. he thinks you’re kind of an asshole when it comes to women so he wanted to see how mad you could get if we both made you believe we were fucking.”
chris purses his lips and nods, almost like he’s impressed by your scheme. “too bad you’re not important enough to make me jealous,” he teases and it makes you crack a smile. “sure, that’s why you ripped me off of him like that.”
“I was just playing by the rules,” chris defends, refusing to be pegged as the jealous type. “can you please just stop being weird and rude? i’m not asking for a lot.” you sigh and press your forehead into his chest for a couple of beats before looking back up at him, nodding your head. “yeah, alright,” you concede. “if you kiss me all nasty right now.”
“oh my god,” chris groans, but he couldn’t fight the closeness between you two any longer, bringing his hand up to the back of your head and leaning down to press his lips against yours roughly, both of your eyes fluttering shut as you made contact. your hands around him gripped at the back of his shirt to hold him closer as his tongue slipped into your mouth, a soft whine slipping out of your nose. the kiss only lasted maybe thirty seconds before he pulled away and stared down at you, soaking in your wide eyes and needy pout. “enough. let’s go.”
you nod and let go of him, but not before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on the skin of his neck, pulling away to smile up at him. “i’m right behind you,” you tell him and he steps away from you, not so subtly waistbanding his dick before opening the bedroom door and stepping out, making his way back into the living room.
you both take your respective places back next to lia and matt, looking as inconspicuous as you could after a slightly heated make-out that left you both craving more. matt sent you a knowing smirk, pulling you back into his side once you settled back down, and lia just smiled at chris, completely missing the way he used the collar of his shirt to wipe off his lips from where your lip gloss was smeared along them.
what she didn’t miss, noticing it only seconds later, was the tinged lip print pressed perfectly against his neck, right above his collarbone where you could reach. she stared at it for what seemed like forever, and your heart dropped when you saw what she saw. “fuck,” you breathe out, catching matt’s attention. he’s not even able to question you when he sees lia scooting away from chris, a hurt expression painted on her face.
“what is that?” she asks, voice strained as it comes out. chris is clueless, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow. “what is what?” he asks her, annoyance lacing his tone. lia only reaches up and touches his neck, dragging her finger through the sticky gloss on his skin before holding it up for him to see. you can tell he feels the same stomach-sinking dread when he notices what he’s being shown, mouth opening to speak, then closing again when he can’t think of a way to defend himself.
you’re scooting away from matt nervously, feeling like you were about to throw up, not because you were worried about this girl’s feelings, but because you were terrified of chris’s reaction. he practically begged you to behave, and you fucked up with a stupid fucking kiss. “oh my god,” you choke out, standing up from the floor. chris’s attention is drawn to you at your movement, pushing himself off the floor as well. “you are so fucking stupid,” he spits, pointing a finger at you accusingly. “I ask you to back the fuck off for one night! you can never fucking listen!”
you flinch at his words, taking a few steps back until you slam into the wall behind you, eyes welling with tears as he nears closer. “it was an accident,” you mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the remaining lip gloss off of your lips haphazardly, even though it didn’t matter anymore. “you are such a fucking whore. always have to ruin everything, don’t you?” he’s in your face now, glaring down at you with an expression you’ve never seen before. “you kissed me, too, this isn’t my fault!” you yell back, voice pinched as you start to get worked up, heart pounding in your chest. “you don’t get to blame all your fuck ups on me!”
“chris,” matt warns from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder cautiously, which chris instantly brushes off, eyes locked on you. “i’m sorry that nobody wants you, i’m sorry nobody wants to deal with how fucking exhausting you are, but that doesn’t mean you can go around and fuck with me and my life.” chris doesn’t even bat an eye at the tear that slips down your cheek or the way your lip wobbles, only rolling his eyes before turning around and walking back towards lia, helping her up off the floor.
you can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you watch him leave, unable to hear matt as he speaks to you, only focusing on chris as he guides his girlfriend-not-girlfriend out of the house, presumably to explain and try to put back the pieces of what little relationship they had. the second he’s out of your line of sight, you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, turning to look at matt. “can you take me home?” you ask him, and he instantly nods, guiding you towards the door.
the ride home is silent, and you feel like you’re on autopilot when you walk into your apartment and kick off your shoes, only letting yourself process what had happened when you were wrapped up in your blankets twenty minutes later. you tried calling chris, and all of your calls were instantly sent to voicemail.
that’s when you texted him, feeling a new sense of rage at his accusations through the messages he sent, deciding that this wasn’t all your fault and you weren’t the only bad guy here. chris made his bed, too, and you would make sure he suffered as he laid in it.
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#ave’s library 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚#⤷ toxic!fwb!chris x toxic!fwb!reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!chris ⊹ ࣪ ˖#⤷ toxic!fwb!reader! ⋆✴︎˚。⋆#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x you#sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#sturniolo
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It’s Always Been You
🍎F!reader, pet names: (pip/squeak, my girl, sweetheart,) suggestive but not smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, brief miscommunication and lots of groveling but it works out.🍎
Notes: I struggle with editing. This is totally separate from canon bc I’m heartbroken. It’s also my first lads fic, I’ll ALWAYS be a Sylus girlie but Caleb broke my brain for a minute 😭
Caleb joining the DAA wasn’t the problem at hand…No, it was the fact that you were going to be separated. Spending his last night before he leaves wrapped around each other like you always did when things were tough was the best comfort you could get.
“I’m gonna miss you so much, do you really have to go?” This was going to be the longest you’ve ever been apart since you were kids, and even worse, he wasn’t allowed to have his phone.
This wasn’t any easier on him but he couldn’t just back out. “I’ll be home before you know it, don’t worry too much.” Caleb brushed the hair from your eyes and held you closer, “plus, you get to have six months free of my constant nagging.”
That was absolutely the wrong thing to say, the tears you were holding back finally fell. Your hands that were originally wrapped around his waist were now at his chest, between your bodies and fisted tightly in his shirt. “But I love you and your nagging!” You inhaled like you were suffocating. Perhaps you were, under the weight of his impending absence.
“Shh I know, I love you and being a pain in your ass.” That earned him a wet chuckle. “I swear, as soon as I’m home I’ll fulfill my promise and I won’t leave your side. You’ll never have to worry again, about anything.” A soft kiss to your temple solidified his vow.
It took you a few long moments before you were able to get in a proper breath and process what he said. “You made a promise?”
“Don’t remember? Hm that won’t do. Think back to when you were 18, and that boy you had a crush on rejected you and broke your heart.”
“I’d prefer not to remember that, actually.”
“But remember after? When you still hadn’t come home by dinner and I found you alone at the park?” Large hands ran down the length of your back to help soothe you while he spoke.
You’re still lost but it’s coming back to you. Confessing to your crush in the park was supposed to be perfect— except he not only rejected you, but he made fun of you. You could respect rejection, but the way he humiliated you and made a scene wasn’t something you wanted to think about. “That day was awful.”
“You were so upset. I wanted to beat him to a pulp but you didn’t want to be alone. Remember what I told you? The pinky promise we made? It’s only been four years you know, I’d hope your memory isn’t that bad yet.”
The moment flooded you then with a gasp, ‘You’ll never be alone as long as I live sweetheart, and when it’s time, when I finally graduate and become a pilot, I swear I’ll marry you myself to prove it.’ And at the time it made you giggle, because surely he was just joking to cheer you up, right? “You meant it?”
Caleb chuckled and lifted your chin to look at you directly, “of course I did, it’s always been you and me. Don’t you know that?”
A fresh wave of tears formed as you surged forward to meet his lips with yours- and stopped out of embarrassment before you could make contact. “Sorry, I didn’t- I think I’m just being emotional—”
But the space between you closed once again and before you could overthink it, Caleb was kissing you the way he’s wanted to for years. His lips were all consuming and tender. His palm cupped your face like it was glass and you couldn’t resist running your fingers through his hair. Kissing Caleb felt like home, like everything was right.
He tried to break away to bring you both air but you refused to let him, instead pulling him closer and closer until he was on top of you, spreading your legs to accommodate his size. “Slow- slow down, you still need oxygen.” You shook when he started dragging his kisses down your throat, letting out soft moans when gentle sucks were left behind.
“C-Caleb…”
He pulled back and grew tense as if he was afraid he scared you away, “what’s wrong, you tired?” He was trying to give you an out if you wanted it.
You were certain your cheeks were flushed, you shook your head. “I want… more…”
Caleb groaned and buried his face in your neck “you’re killing me, Pip.”
Had you said something wrong? “Sorry- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… I’ll just-” you loosened your arms from around him, thinking you somehow embarrassed yourself yet again.
He stopped you. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re killing me because you have no idea how badly I want you; how long I’ve wanted you.”
“Really?” Having someone like Caleb love you was the best feeling, but him being attracted to you left you wanting him even more.
Deciding to just show you, he ground his hips into yours. And god, it felt good against you. Just that little bit of contact felt better than anything you ever achieved on your own. “You’re-” hard went unsaid. He grunted when you spread your legs wider for him. “Yeah, I am. And if you want me, then you have me. But you can’t take it back, so if you’re not ready for that commitment…”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“This really isn’t the time for that—”
“Shut up, it’s important.” He sighed and let you continue. Your arms dropped from his neck to hold his face in your hands, brushing the stray hairs from his face. “That guy I had a crush on? I only liked him so much because he reminded me of you. So I’m yours, too. If you want me, then you can take me.”
Words were lost on him so actions took hold, “are you sure?” His kisses resumed their path after meeting your lips, the room grew hotter with each new brush against your skin.
“I trust you, Caleb,” you had no idea your neck was so sensitive, your gasps talking for you. “but I should let you know I’ve never done this before.”
“I’d kill anyone who ever touched you if you had”
“Isn’t that hypocritical? Should I hunt down your past lovers?” You worked his shirt over his head, the dog tag necklace you gave him mere hours ago dangled in front of your face.
He chuckled and discarded your top, your sleep shorts were next. “It’s funny how you think I’d ever want someone that isn’t you.” His revelation hit you full force: he loves you so deeply, there’s truly no doubt to have. “I’d never do this with anyone else.”
Two things happened that night: your bond was solidified, and unbeknownst to you, a life was created
The goodbye was brutal the next day, already missing him terribly before night fell again.
You managed to fall into a routine, though. You would go to work, occasionally spend time with friends— Tara spent the night with you at least once a week to keep your mind off of things; and the days she didn’t you laid in bed desperately wishing he would be by your side.
Your routine was solid, until a month into your separation when you were sick almost every single day. You were fed up by the time a week passed and the day after that you made your way to visit Zayne- who congratulated you because in his words, ‘he and his wife were expecting as well, perhaps they’ll be friends, too.’ Finding out you were pregnant without Caleb with you was difficult, there wasn’t a way to reach him and share the news.
But you weren’t alone anymore. You spent the time you felt lonely talking to your baby now, who definitely couldn’t hear you yet but that didn’t matter. You were kept company with a perfect blend of you and your Caleb.
According to the official statement released last week Caleb would be home any time today, any minute, any second.
The anticipation left butterflies in your tummy, your baby moving with your nerves. It didn’t occur to you that he might not be happy to be a father, that you might’ve been presumptuous that he’d be ready to care for another life so soon.
And when the door flew open, as much as you wanted to jump into his arms (carefully, of course,) you held your breath and waited for him to notice. And of course, because he was your Caleb, it was right away. His happiness and relief fell away to shock and— was that anger? You didn’t expect anger…
“Welcome home, I—”
“Who else has been here?”
“What? I mean Tara has been keeping me company a few times a week but that’s it.”
“What man has been in our home, pipsqueak.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, just a demand. He’s never been so terse with you…
His tone made you anxious, “No one, other than Zayne and his wife for dinner occasionally— Caleb what are you talking about?”
Caleb dropped his bag on the floor with a thud, still not moving from his spot. “I’m talking about the fact that I came home after six months and you didn’t seem to miss me at all, nothing like the way I missed you. How else would you be pregnant? So who is he? Someone from the Hunters Association?”
Oh… he thought… “Oh my god how could you think- I’d never cheat on you Caleb— EVER how could you even think—”
“Well, I certainly couldn’t have knocked you up in the time I’ve been away.”
A knife cut through you at his words, the accusation, the betrayal of thinking you’d ever be with anyone else. And how vulgar it was… Did your first time mean so little? Was it something he just wanted to get out of the way before he left? A sob escaped you, tears spilled over. “You’re an asshole, Caleb.”
His eyes went wide, “I’m the asshole here?”
“Yes! You’re a fucking asshole! I expected you to be shocked but accusing me of cheating on you? Thinking that night was nothing? That’s low. I can’t believe you!”
“That night means everything to me!”
“Ask me how far along I am! Go on, fucking ask!”
That stopped him short, “you mean?”
“SIX MONTHS!” Standing there while he dropped to his knees was barely satisfying. “God I can’t stand you right now! You must’ve lost your damn mind and all your common sense!”
His silence was angering you further, stomping off to the kitchen for a drink of water and trying to calm down was a better use of your time; crying from this much stress wasn’t good for you.
Once he gathered himself he followed you, “Sweetheart… you’re telling me that night…”
“Finally used your brain, did you?”
“I’m so, god I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” His hand reached out to bring you in for a hug but you denied him.
“Do. Not. Touch me.” His audacity made you seethe. No way were you going to give in so easily no matter how much you desired to be in his embrace and reassured.
“Sweetheart—”
“You’re sleeping on the couch. We can decide what to do later.”
His emotions began to overflow, the guilt crushing him; the ring in his pocket practically burning into his flesh. “Decide what?”
“Decide if I should even let you stay.” Your throat felt tight but you continued to hold your sobs back. “Your dinner is in the oven by the way, it’s your favorite so I suggest you don’t let it burn.”
A few hours rolled around before he couldn’t hold himself back anymore hearing your sniffles. You hadn’t eaten dinner, who knows if you had any water, and no matter how (rightfully) mad you were, you still needed to eat.
Grabbing a few of your favorite snacks with a glass of juice instead of the untouched dinner he put in the fridge was his safest option, unsure if seeing the meal would upset you further.
“Pip squeak? I know you’re awake.” Crouching by your side of the bed and setting the snacks on the nightstand, “please talk to me?”
“Go away.”
“You know I can’t do that, you have to eat something.”
You poked your head from the blanket, “oh so you care now that you know it’s yours?”
The jab was deserved but it still earned a wince. “I’d still care even if they weren’t.”
“How noble of you. Sticking around to raise a kid that’s not yours before I even have a ring.”
“Who said I didn’t have a ring?” This time you accepted the comfort of his hand brushing your hair behind your ear and gently cupping your cheek.
Curiosity was a bitch, but you weren’t ready to forgive him yet. “You were really mean.”
“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. I can’t imagine you being with anyone else but I didn’t expect to come home to a family either— and I’m beyond happy to be a dad. It’s not an excuse though, never okay to talk to you like that.”
A few leftover sniffles came before he pulled a tissue from the box on your nightstand, opting to dry your tears himself. “Blow,” He said, holding the tissue to help you blow your nose; then offering you the straw of the juice so you could hydrate.
“I missed you so much, I thought you’d still be happy to see me.”
“I’m over the moon, actually. But I hurt my girl, gotta make things right. Think you can forgive me? I’ll earn it forever.”
“Caleb if you ever, I mean ever, speak to me like that again I won’t hesitate to let you talk to the front door. You’ll be out.”
“I’ll cut my tongue out myself.”
“So dramatic as always.” You rolled your eyes, “you mentioned a ring?”
A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, “there’s my girl. You sure you still want it? Or should I earn it first?” He dug into his pants pocket to show you anyway.
“It wouldn’t hurt your efforts.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle fully before presenting the velvet box to you, “I’m pretty close to the ground but if you sit up for me I’ll get on one knee.”
Sitting up to stretch was good for your back anyway, “I think I’ve waited long enough.”
The velvet box opened and your jaw dropped, “picked it out in Skyhaven. Gideon and I helped the elderly owner of a small shop with some boxes he was struggling with in front of his door. Knew it was perfect right away, gorgeous and one of a kind like you.”
“You’re ridiculous, but I love it.” He slid it on your finger and sealed it with a kiss, and you fell into his arms like you’ve wanted to for the last six months.
Pulling away after many minutes of hugs, ‘I love you’s’ and kisses wasn’t welcomed by you. “Now, how ‘bout some dinner? I don’t think snacks are enough, they were backup. Gotta keep you healthy.”
“Did you like it?”
You were pulled to your feet and carried out of the room. “Didn’t eat without you, sweetheart. Having dinner without you and the baby felt empty.”
“Good. You can reheat it then.” You waited for the perfect moment to drop your bombshell, which happened to be when he was carrying a full glass pitcher of water for the table. “We’re having a daughter, by the way.”
The pitcher fell so fast his evol barely managed to catch it before glass hit the ground. It left you feeling smug.
You couldn’t help but cackle at his shocked spluttering, “A WHAT?”
I’m so flattered, I’ve never had so many people interested or had a taglist this long: @pixelcafe-network @kentochronicles @sashisuslover @lunia-likes-pomegranet @elli4ever @mysssticc @kaemaybae @kamisatoaiko @midiplier @jamseashell @llamabois @boba14 @crimsonspring @angrychinchillanoises @ali-shiii @kazbae95 @ifistoptherain @c-I-stinnett @nephelesthoughts @etherealzi @jjoppees @keithkoganeirl
All divider credits to me @thecutestgrotto
#caleb x reader#lads caleb x you#caleb x mc#lads caleb#love and deepspace caleb#caleb smut#caleb fluff#lads x reader#lnds caleb#lads mc#love and deepspace#love and deepspace fic
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converging threads | zayne
⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”
A chill ran through you.
“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”
The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.
“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”
(Or… after the events of Chansia City, Zayne had started to avoid you. More than a week later, in the dead of night, he's outside of your door, struggling with his sense of self—blurring between two worlds.)
⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- zayne x female reader
⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff
⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 8k
⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, softdom!zayne, references to zayne's third anecdote (still in the dark), spoilers to zayne's main story branch (thorns under the moon) and four star memory (fragmented dreams), mentions of childhood trauma and violence, too much angst, oral sex (blowjob), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), clothed sex, riding, breast play, emotional sex, unprotected sex, and creampie.
⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- As a dedicated Zayne main, I've always had a soft spot for Dawnbreaker!Zayne, I just want to give him the biggest hug! While he never explicitly took control of main story Zayne’s body, their connection through dreams and nightmares allowed them to see into each other’s lives. And so, I wanted to explore what it would be like if that connection blurred even further after the events of Chansia City, and how Zayne would react to it. I hope you enjoy reading!
The knock at your door was soft, barely audible over the hum of Linkon City outside. You might have missed it had you not been awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the restlessness clawing at your chest. Something felt wrong.
Hesitating for a moment, you peeled the blankets away and stepped towards the door. When you opened it, Zayne stood there, still as a statue. The warm glow from your apartment barely touched him; he lingered in the shadows of the hallway, his expression unreadable, like he was caught between two worlds—one where he stood before you and another far beyond, too distant to reach.
“Zayne?” Your voice was uncertain, your fingers tightening around the doorframe. He looked normal—his crisp shirt unwrinkled, his coat still shielding him from the cold. But his posture was rigid, like he was torn between memories, caught between the man you knew and something far more elusive, far darker. His breath came slow, controlled, but his fingers twitched at his sides, as if holding onto something unseen, something slipping away from his grasp.
It had been more than a week since you last saw him—more than a week since you clawed your way out of his dreamscape, fighting against the twisted phantoms of his nightmares and the suffocating pull of his uncontrollable evol. More than a week since he began avoiding you, and you couldn’t understand why.
You had searched for him—at Akso Hospital.
You pushed open the door to Akso Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose as you made your way down the familiar corridors. The sight of the bustling staff, the low murmur of nurses giving reports—it should have been comforting. But it wasn’t. Every step you took felt heavier, the weight of worry pressing down on your chest.
You were looking for Zayne. It had been a week since you’d seen him, and the silence between you was suffocating. You had tried calling, texting, but there was no sign of him.
You found Greyson near the nurses’ station, chatting with a few other doctors. He noticed you first, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his usual, easy smile appeared.
“Hey,” he greeted, his tone too casual. Too… practiced. “What brings you by?”
“I was hoping to see Dr. Zayne. Is he around?” You tried to keep your voice even, but the question felt like a weight in your chest.
Greyson shifted on his feet, glancing toward the hallway where Dr. Zayne’s office was. “Oh, you know how it is,” he said with a shrug. “He’s been buried in surgeries lately. Really busy.”
You frowned. “Busy? He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ve tried everything.”
At the sound of your words, Greyson’s gaze flickered uncomfortably, and before he could answer, Yvonne appeared beside him, her bright smile almost too wide.
“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here today!” Yvonne chirped, her voice all sweetness, but there was a subtle edge to it. “Greyson’s right. Dr. Zayne’s probably just deep in work. You know how he gets, don’t you?”
You nodded, but the unease in your chest grew. “But… I haven’t been able to reach him. And he’s been avoiding me. I’m starting to get worried.”
There was a beat of silence before Yvonne glanced at Greyson, then back at you. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion almost too practiced. “Oh, you know Dr. Zayne,” she said, her voice a little too smooth. “He’s a bit of a workaholic. And, well, he’s been dealing with some… personal things lately. I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he’s ready.”
Greyson cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s just focused on… other things right now.”
You felt a knot form in your stomach. Something wasn’t right. Both of them were too evasive, too careful with their words.
“So he’s just been… avoiding me because he’s busy?” You asked, your voice thick with skepticism.
Yvonne’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes shifted just a little. “Exactly! He’ll reach out when he’s ready. Don’t worry.”
But you weren’t convinced. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something they weren’t telling you. Before you could press further, Yvonne’s phone rang, and she quickly excused herself with a bright, almost rehearsed smile.
Greyson rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Zayne’s just… well, Zayne. He’ll be back to his usual self soon enough.”
The words felt hollow, like a lie wrapped in a smile.
You turned to leave, the knot in your stomach tightening. Something wasn’t right, and you were more determined than ever to find out what was going on.
You even went to his home not two days after. You had been patient, given him space, but the silence between you was gnawing at you, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
You arrived at his place and paused outside the gate, your heart sinking. The house sat dark and still, as though no one had been home for hours. The front door was locked, the quiet expanse of the yard untouched. No sign of Zayne’s car in the driveway. No movement behind the windows.
Frowning, you reached for your phone, calling him once more. It rang, and rang… and rang. But there was no answer. No familiar voice on the other end. You tried again, and again—each unanswered call tightening the knot of anxiety in your chest. It was unlike him. Even when he was busy at work, he always answered your calls. You thought things had changed between you—gone beyond just childhood friends, past the barriers you once had.
You hadn’t been able to ignore the way things had shifted between the two of you, how you’d shared more, laughed more, and even kissed—moments that felt like stepping into something real, something undeniable. And yet now, in the silence, you felt that connection fraying, slipping out of your grasp.
You reached for the gate, testing it, but it was locked tight. The metal was cold beneath your fingers, the weight of it pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t quite shake. You knocked gently on the gate, your hand hesitant against the metal, but there was no answer. No sound from inside. No footsteps echoing in the distance. Just more silence.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, wondering if you were missing something, if you were just being paranoid. But there was no denying the gnawing sense that you were being shut out.
Yet now, here he stood, unannounced, uninvited. The sight of him should have brought relief, but something was off, like he was a mere shadow of the man you knew.
“You should’ve let me in sooner,” he murmured, a wry attempt at a smile barely forming before fading just as quickly. His voice was softer than usual, almost exhausted, like the fight had been taken out of him. You stepped aside instinctively, letting him in. He didn’t move right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on you—as if memorizing every detail, confirming that you were real, that this wasn’t just another one of his nightmares.
Then, finally, he stepped through. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the silence of your small apartment. He exhaled, but this time it was unsteady—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for far too long. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his coat pockets, a feeble attempt to mask the unease rolling off him in waves.
“Zayne, where have you been?” The question came out before you could stop it. His avoidance had gnawed at you, making every second of silence between you feel like it stretched on forever.
He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief moment, like he was trying to find the right words. Then, finally, his voice broke through, hoarse and fragile, as if he’d been swallowing down too many words for too long. “Every time I close my eyes, I see a world where you don’t exist.”
The confession hit like thunder in your chest. Your breath caught, eyes wide with confusion, but something else too—fear, a strange sense of loss, creeping in. You stared at him, unable to comprehend, yet knowing there was so much more buried beneath the surface.
“It’s not just nightmares anymore,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes flickered with something raw and unfamiliar—something you hadn’t seen in him before. “It’s bleeding into the day. I can’t… separate it. Separate me.”
You frowned, confusion tightening around your thoughts, heart pounding. “Separate what? Zayne, what are you talking about?”
He stiffened, jaw tightening as if he’d realized he’d said too much. He shook his head, dismissing the words before they could fully escape. “Ignore what I said.” he muttered, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.
“Zayne…” You stepped closer, cautious but firm. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
A bitter chuckle escaped him, but there was no humor in it. His hand drifted to his temple, pressing hard as if trying to force something out of his mind. “I don’t know how to explain it.” His voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “I don’t even know if it’s mine to explain.”
Your stomach twisted at his words. Zayne was rarely uncertain. But now, he looked lost, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. The man who had always been in control, who always had an answer, was unraveling in front of you.
“Then let me help,” you said softly, reaching for him.
He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists before loosening just as quickly, as if even that took too much effort. “I don’t think you can,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. The warmth of his body under your touch should have felt familiar, comforting, but there was something cold in the air around him that you couldn’t ignore.
“I’m here,” you reminded him gently, voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His shoulders sagged just slightly, his resolve faltering under the weight of something neither of you could name.
You guided Zayne to the couch with a soft insistence, his steps heavy, like each one was taking him further away from something he couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t resist, but his hesitation was palpable. You noticed the subtle tremor in his shoulders as he sat down, his back stiff, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.
You sat next to him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as you settled yourself. The space between you both felt charged, yet strained, like two magnets unwillingly attracted but refusing to align.
Your hand hovered near his arm, unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the impulse to reach out. The last few days—weeks—had felt like a slow, suffocating crawl through a fog. Seeing him like this, so unguarded, was both a relief and a deepening worry.
“Zayne…” You started, your voice low, soft. You weren’t sure how to approach him anymore. He had been pulling away, emotionally distant, and now, even his presence seemed fractured.
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve.
At the first touch, his body flinched. Not an outward movement, but a sharp intake of breath, like a quiet shudder that ran through him. His hazel-green eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and dilated, swallowing the soft color until only a thin ring of green remained. For a brief moment, he looked at you—through you—like he was caught between two realities, struggling to tether himself to the one in front of him.
Then, just as quickly, his gaze flickered away, his throat working around a breath that sounded too controlled, too measured. As if he was holding something back. The air between you thickened, the weight of his restraint pressing into the space between your fingers. His jaw tensed, a sharp line of tension beneath his skin, and yet—he didn’t move away.
With a careful breath, you let your hand rest against his arm, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his coat. You felt him tense beneath your touch, but it wasn’t from discomfort. No, it was something else. Something deeper. His body shuddered again, more pronounced this time, and you could feel his muscles ripple under the strain of holding back.
“Zayne…” You said his name again, this time softer, as though you were speaking to someone who was slipping away. You moved a little closer, hoping that your proximity would ground him somehow, though you weren’t entirely sure how.
His voice cracked when he spoke, low and hoarse, like a man speaking to a ghost. “Every time you touch me… it’s like… I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions.”
You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your hand still resting on his arm, waiting, watching him closely.
Zayne exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides as if struggling to find an anchor. “I’ve always suffered from nightmares,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The same ones I’ve always had since I was young. But after what happened at Chansia City…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “It didn’t stop when I woke up.”
Your heart clenched at his words. You knew Zayne had always been plagued by restless nights, but this—this was different. You thought back to that moment at Akso Hospital, when you had found him slumped over his desk.
His brow was creased with the weight of exhaustion. His breathing had been uneven, his hands gripping the fabric of his coat as if he were bracing himself against something unseen. You had hesitated before stepping closer, unsure if you should wake him. But the quiet distress on his face made the decision for you.
“Zayne…” you had whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
The moment your fingers made contact, he jolted awake with a sharp breath, his eyes wild with something you couldn’t name. For a split second, it was as if he didn’t recognize you, as if he were somewhere else entirely.
But then, his gaze softened, reality bleeding back into him. His breathing was still heavy, his shoulders tense, but when you knelt beside him, concern written all over your face, he didn’t pull away.
Without thinking, you had reached out again, brushing his hair back in a quiet attempt to soothe him. His body sagged under your touch, the tension in his shoulders melting just enough for him to lean forward. And before you could react, he rested his forehead against your chest, his breaths uneven as if the simple act of being close to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.
You had stilled at first, heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him stay there, your fingers threading through his hair in slow, absentminded strokes. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the sound of his breathing evening out against you, his body losing some of its rigidness.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Just… let me stay like this for a while.”
And you had. Because for the first time, you realized how deeply tired he was.At the time, you thought he was just tired physically, but now you realized he was tired in a way that ran so much deeper as you watched him sitting on your couch, that same exhaustion clung to him like a shadow, only now it was accompanied by something far worse. He wasn’t just tired. He was unraveling.
“I thought I could ignore it,” he continued, pulling you back to the present. “I thought it would fade eventually. But it’s not stopping.” His fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ground himself. “It’s getting worse.”
You swallowed hard. “The nightmares?”
“They’re not just nightmares anymore.” He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching before loosening again. “They’re memories of a life that isn’t mine.” His jaw tightened, his entire body tense with something unreadable. “And the worst part?” His eyes flickered to yours, dark and conflicted. “I feel like I’m walking on air, seeing things that aren’t there, feeling emotions that aren’t mine.”
You frowned. “Zayne, what are you talking about?”
His throat worked around a response, but for a moment, he said nothing, only looking at you with something close to desperation. He shook his head as if trying to shake off the words before they could leave his mouth.
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but you weren’t about to let it go.
“It does matter,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for more than a week. You look like you’re about to fall apart, and now you’re telling me ‘it doesn’t matter’? What’s happening to you?”
He let out a bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t even know if I can explain it. It’s… there’s another version of me. One I can’t escape. And he—” Zayne cut himself off abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. “He’s ruining everything.”
The conflict in his expression made your stomach twist. You had never seen him like this—so lost, so tangled in something that seemed beyond even his understanding. And when you reached for him again, your fingers brushing past his sleeve against his skin, you saw the way he shuddered.
At first, you thought his reactions stemmed from discomfort—that every shudder, every tensed muscle was his way of pulling away. But then you saw it. The way his breath hitched. The way his lashes fluttered shut for the briefest second, as if savoring the warmth of your touch. As if he had been starving for it.
It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint.
Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”
His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally spoke, his voice raw. “Every time you touch me…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves were dangerous. “It’s like my world’s losing its sense of direction.”
His confession stole the air from your lungs.
“But it’s not just me that wants this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”
Your fingers curled slightly around his wrist, grounding both of you in the silence between words. Zayne’s breath was uneven, his body strung taut beneath your touch. You could see it—the war waging within him, the push and pull of something he refused to name. His fingers curled at his sides, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was holding himself back.
But from what? From who?
The question burned at the edges of your mind, but you didn’t voice it. Instead, you did the only thing you could think of. You moved.
Slowly, you climbed onto the couch, onto him, your knees settling on either side of his thighs as you straddled his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, his breath stalling in his throat.
“You—” His voice broke, a warning tangled in desperation. His hands shot up, as if to push you away—but the moment his palms met your waist, he froze.
A violent shudder ran through him, his grip faltering but never leaving you. He barely held together, his fingers twitched against your sides, his body caught in an unbearable tension.
“You shouldn’t…” he rasped, but even as he said it, his hands pulled.
Pulled you closer.
Pulled you flush against him, until there was no space left to retreat.
You gasped softly at the sudden contact, at the warmth of him, the way his body molded against yours like he had been starving for this. For you.
His head dipped forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in a harsh, unsteady exhale. His grip on your waist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how badly he was struggling.
“Zayne…” You whispered his name, hands lifting to cradle his face, to guide him to look at you. He didn’t resist, but the moment your fingers brushed against his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut—his entire body reacting as if your touch was something he had been craving but forbidden from having.
“Every time you touch me…” He repeated, his voice was raw, nearly fractured. “I feel like I’m slipping deeper.”
Your fingers trembled slightly against his skin. “Slipping into what?”
His jaw clenched. His hands trembled against your waist, caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.
“Him.”
The word sent a chill down your spine.
Zayne’s eyes finally opened, and what you saw there made your breath hitch.
Something was breaking inside him.
Something was bleeding through.
Like the fragile moment before dawn—when night still clung to the sky, desperate to remain, yet the light pressed forward, inevitable. A battle between darkness and the coming sun, neither willing to yield.
You didn’t know who he was, or why Zayne was fighting so hard to keep him at bay, but you could feel it—how much hewas longing for you. How much Zayne himself was afraid of that longing.
Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, steadying him, grounding him. “You’re still you,” you murmured. “No one else.”
His fingers flexed against your waist, his breath ragged. “Then why does it feel like every time you touch me… I’m losing control of myself?”
He was slipping, unraveling, caught between two selves—one who had you, and one who had only ever ached for you.
And for the first time, Zayne wasn’t sure which one he wanted to be.
You sighed, your fingers curled against his shoulders, gripping him just a little tighter. His body was warm beneath your touch, but the tension in him never eased. If anything, it worsened.
“Zayne,” you whispered, searching his face. “Help me ease your mind, tell me everything. Tell me about him.”
His expression darkened instantly. His hands, still gripping your waist, stiffened before pushing you back—just slightly, just enough to put distance between you.
“No.”
The refusal was sharp, final.
But you didn’t let go. “Zayne, please.”
His jaw locked, his breath coming out in harsh exhales as he tried to rein himself in. But you had already seen it—the flicker of something raw in his gaze, the weight pressing down on him like it was crushing him from the inside.
He turned his head away, his grip tightening before he forced himself to let go. “I don’t want to tell you.” His voice was quieter now, but no less strained. “Because if I do…” His throat bobbed, his hands clenching into fists. “What if you look at me differently?”
Your chest ached. “Zayne—”
“He’s not me,” Zayne bit out, his voice lower now, edged with something close to rage. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes as if anchoring himself. “I don’t care what I see, what I feel—he is not me.”
You frowned, your heart pounding. “I didn’t say he was—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, his fingers digging into you much harder before he wrenched them away, as if touching you made it worse. “It shouldn’t matter. Because whatever he is—whatever he’s done—I am not him.”
His voice cracked at the end, his composure slipping, and it hurt more than anything. Not because of what he wasn’t telling you, but because he was carrying it alone, letting it eat away at him like he deserved it.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Zayne, I don’t care what you think this means. I don’t care what’s bleeding through or what memories aren’t yours.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “What hurts me isn’t who you were or weren’t—it’s this.” You gestured between the two of you, the distance he was trying to wedge between you. “It’s you shutting me out, punishing yourself like you have to carry this alone.”
Zayne let out a sharp breath, his fingers curling into fists against the curve of your waist. His grip was tense, hesitant—like he was still fighting himself.
You watched him carefully, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. He had been resisting, keeping himself locked away behind walls you couldn’t breach. But this time… this time, something shifted.
And then you realized it.
It wasn’t your persistence that made him falter. It wasn’t even the promise that you would accept him, no matter what. It was the fact that you told him it hurt you too. That his silence, his self-inflicted suffering, didn’t just wound him—it wounded you.
Zayne’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering, as if weighing the consequences of speaking the truth. His fingers flexed against you, his breath uneven.
Finally, he asked, “Do you know why I became a doctor?”
You hesitated. “Because you wanted to save people.”
“Partly,” He let out a bitter laugh. “But mostly because I spent my entire childhood dreaming of a man butchering them.” His hands raked through his hair, gripping at the strands.
“It started when I was twelve.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t understand it then. I just knew that every night, I saw his hands, covered in blood. I heard the screams, felt the cold metal of a blade I never held.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “And every morning, I woke up terrified that I’d become him.”
You sucked in a quiet breath.
“That’s why I became a doctor,” Zayne muttered, his voice barely audible now. “To erase him. To bury him. Every life I saved was another step away from him.” His gaze snapped back to you, and there was something close to desperation in it.
He paused, and his gaze softened just slightly as it met yours, though there was still that edge of desperation.
“And… I wanted to help you, too. Since the first time I saw you struggling with your heart… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, not like that.”
Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”
“But now?” His gaze locked onto yours, and you almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. “Now it’s not just nightmares. After Chansia City… it’s like something cracked. Like I bled through him.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
His fingers flexed against your skin, then curled into a fist, as if the words physically hurt to say. “I used to only see flashes. His world, his sins—they were nothing more than fragments. But now? I see his everyday life.” His voice dropped lower, as if saying it out loud made it more real. “I see him waking up in an empty apartment, walking through streets that no longer have names. I see him looking for something—someone—who was never there.”
Your chest tightened. “Zayne—”
“And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”
A chill ran through you.
“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”
The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.
“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”
Your heart pounded.
His pain was something you could see, something you could feel in the way he held you too tightly, in the way he refused to look away, as if afraid you’d vanish if he did.
“Does it change anything?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Zayne’s breath stilled.
“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I want you. I do. I’ve never denied that.” His fingers curled against your skin, holding you closer. “But this… it’s never felt like this before.”
His gaze darkened, his brows drawing together. “Like I can’t go a second without feeling you, without needing you right here. And I don’t know if it’s just me—if it’s always been me—or if it’s him. But it doesn’t matter.” His voice dropped lower, rough with something unspoken. “Because either way… I still want you.”
You reached up, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’re here, right now. Whatever he feels, whatever he wants—this moment belongs to you.”
His throat bobbed, the conflict in his gaze raw and unfiltered. His fingers twitched where they held you, as if he wanted to push you away and pull you closer all at once.
And then—finally—he whispered, “I don’t know if I can separate us anymore.”
Zayne’s breath hitched, his hands still gripping your waist like a man on the verge of breaking. His body was rigid beneath yours, every muscle coiled tight with restraint. His stormy eyes flickered between your lips and your gaze, warring with something unseen.
You could feel it—the way he was holding himself back, the way his fingers twitched against your skin like he was fighting the instinct to pull you in.
And then, just when you thought he might push you away—he moved.
His lips crashed against yours, the kiss rough, almost desperate. A sharp inhale left him as his fingers tightened at your sides, pressing you flush against him. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured like everything else about him. It was hurried, hungry, as if he had been drowning for far too long and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.
Yet even in his desperation, there was hesitation—a tremor in his touch, a battle within him. His grip faltered, his breathing unsteady, as if his own emotions were overwhelming him.
For a moment, he slowed, his lips ghosting over yours, softer now—less frantic, more reverent. His fingers traced up your back, like he was memorizing every inch of you, terrified you might disappear.
But then when you surged forward to deepen the kiss, something in him snapped.
His restraint shattered as his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His other hand dug into your waist, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you. He let out a quiet, shuddering breath against your lips, his body trembling beneath your touch.
It wasn’t just desire—it was longing. A desperate, aching need that had been simmering beneath his skin for far too long.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
He kissed you harder, as if trying to chase away the ghosts of a world where you didn’t exist—where he had spent endless nights reaching for something that was never there.
Zayne’s breathing was ragged as he suddenly tore himself away from you, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip on your waist still firm but trembling. His chest rose and fell in unsteady heaves, as if he had just surfaced from deep waters.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped, his voice thick with something raw and desperate. His fingers flexed against your waist before slowly dragging up your sides, his touch both grounding and possessive. “But I need to feel—” His words cut off, a quiet ‘fuck’ slipping from his lips as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stop.
You could see it—feel it. The battle raging within him. The desperate need to claim this moment as his own, to separate himself, to make sure that this—this longing, this ache, this hunger—was his, and not something bleeding over from the nightmares that haunted him.
His fingers ghosted over your arms before gripping your wrists, guiding them up to rest against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, erratic and heavy, proof of his struggle. His eyes searched yours, dark with emotion, pleading for something he couldn’t voice.
“I need to know it’s me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not him. Not the dreams. Just… me. But I don’t trust myself enough not to hurt you.”
His fingers brushed your skin, hesitant, reverent—like he was afraid of his own hands.
“But I trust you.”
The words felt heavier than anything else he had said tonight, laced with the weight of every nightmare, every fear, every ghost of a life that wasn’t his. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“I need you to take control,” he murmured, each syllable careful, deliberate. “I need to know this is real—that you’re real—that I’m real.” His hands curled into fists before he forced them to relax against you. “Because if I let go now… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
There was no mistaking what he meant. No mistaking the conflict in his gaze—the desperation tangled with restraint, the need warring with self-loathing.
Your hands slid up from his chest to cup his face, fingertips brushing against the sharp angles of his jaw.
“It’s you, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice steady, certain. “You.”
You tilted his face up, brushing your lips against his—a whisper of a touch, just enough to tether him to the present, to this moment with you. He shuddered beneath your touch, his hands tightening at your waist as if anchoring himself.
“I’m here,” you continued, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along the line of his jaw. “This is real. We’re real.”
A sharp exhale left him, his resolve breaking little by little as you pressed against him. His grip on your waist faltered, then returned, stronger—desperate.
“Let me take care of you,” you murmured against his skin.
He shuddered at your words, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he wrestled with the warring emotions inside him. When they opened again, the desperation had intensified, the dark gray irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.
“Show me,” he rasped, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. “Make me believe it.”
You took your time, trailing kisses along his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as your lips travelled down. You wanted to savor this moment, to make sure he knew it was him, that this was real.
As you sank to your knees before him, you looked up at Zayne through your lashes. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You wanted to erase every nightmare, every fear, every shadow that haunted him.
“You’re real,” you murmured, your breath ghosting over his cloth-covered arousal. “This is real.”
With a steadying breath, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the bulge straining against his zipper. You could feel the heat of him, the throbbing need, and it made your own body ache in response.
You worked slowly, unzipping him with deliberate care, letting your fingers brush against his arousal as you did. He was already hard, the thick length of him stretching the fabric of his boxers.
You haven’t seen him naked before, and crossing this line made your thighs clench. Glancing up at him, you caught his gaze, holding it as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. His cock sprang free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with need.
“Beautiful,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the thick base of Zayne’s cock, giving him a firm squeeze as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. “You’re beautiful, Zayne.”
Slowly, teasingly, you started to stroke him, your soft palm gliding along his hard length. You could feel every throbbing vein and ridge, committing the shape of him to memory.
Leaning in, you breathed over his swollen cock head, then, with a deliberate slowness that was almost torturous, you dragged the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip. You lingered at the sensitive spot just below the head, swirling your tongue around it before giving it a firm press.
Zayne shuddered and groaned, his fingers flexing in your hair as you dragged your tongue back down to the base, your hand following the same path. When you reached the bottom, you dipped your tongue into the neat little slit at the tip, tasting the first salty drops of his arousal.
Savoring his flavor, you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your soft mouth stretching around his impressive girth. You suckled gently, your cheeks hollowing as you began to take him deeper, inch by hard inch.
“Your mouth… it feels so g-good…” he groaned.
The praise that escaped his lips made the flush on your face more evident. As your lips moved slowly down his shaft, encasing him in the slick heat of your mouth, your tongue undulated along the thick vein on the underside as you took him deeper, until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.
You held yourself there for a long moment, relishing the heavy, throbbing weight of him, the musky scent of his arousal flooding your senses. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you began to bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each downward motion.
Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking and squeezing as you sucked him. You could feel him growing harder, the thick length of him pulsing against your tongue as you pleasured him.
“Fuck… just like that…”
You couldn’t help but moan around his cock at his groans, your brain committing the sounds to memory. You doubled your efforts when you felt he was close, sucking harder, stroking faster, your tongue never still as it lapped and swirled and caressed every hard, throbbing inch of him.
His grip on your hair tightened, his hips starting to piston forward, fucking your mouth as you sucked him with wild abandon. You could feel his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh pants and groans.
“I can’t… I can’t hold back much longer…”
And then, with a roar that was nearly feral in its intensity, he came. His cock jerked and throbbed as it erupted, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum down your eager throat.
You swallowed it all, working your throat to milk every last drop from his pulsing length. The taste of him was intense, the salty-sweet flavor of his essence exploding on your tongue.
As the waves of his release began to ebb, you slowly pulled back, letting his still hard cock slip from your lips with a lewd pop. You licked your lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as you gazed up at Zayne with a look of pure, sated desire.
“Zayne,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s you. This is you. You’re real.”
You placed a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of his cock before nuzzling your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with a smile that was pure tenderness mixed with deep, abiding lust.
As the last tremors of his intense orgasm faded, Zayne reached down and gently but firmly pulled you up by your arms, urging you back into his lap. You went willingly, straddling his hips as you sat facing him.
His hands slid around to your back, one resting high on the curve of your shoulder blades, the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against his strong chest. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.
Gazing into your eyes, Zayne leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, with hunger, with a desperate need to claim you, to make you his.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him, pressing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, tasting himself on your lips and tongue.
As you both lost yourselves in the kiss, you could feel Zayne’s cock, still semi-erect and slick with your saliva, nudging against your core. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you ache with a renewed desire.
Almost unconsciously, your hips began to move, grinding against his in a slow, sensual rhythm. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the dampness of your arousal soaking through your panties.
Zayne groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your hips rolling against his. His cock twitched and began to harden further, growing thicker and longer with each passing second.
Breaking the kiss, Zayne trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse. “Ride me,” he growled against your skin, his voice low and rough with renewed desire. “I need to feel you, all of you, surrounding me, consuming me, making me forget everything but your name.”
You shuddered at his words, at the raw, primal need in his voice. Reaching down, you pushed your panties aside, baring your slick, needy sex to the cool air and his heated gaze. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, a testament to how much you wanted him, needed him.
With a roll of your hips, you positioned yourself over his hardening length, feeling the thick head nudging against your entrance, you slowly sank down. You were so wet, so ready for him, that he slid inside you with a single, smooth thrust.
You both groaned at the sensation, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around his thickness as he stretched and filled you completely. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it brushed against your sensitive flesh, igniting nerve endings you didn’t know you had.
Zayne’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. You started slowly, rising up until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down, taking him to the hilt.
“You feel so good, love.” he murmured, his lips parted open.
With each downward motion, you could feel the pleasure building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter.
You arched your back and Zayne leaned forward, freeing your breasts from the confines of your shirt as he lifted it by the hem. He captured one straining nipple in his mouth, suckling and nipping at the sensitive bud. His free hand slid from your hip to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the swollen nub in tight, fast circles.
You cried out, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Your hips moved faster, rising and falling in a frantic rhythm as you chased your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, spurring you both on.
His other hand inch upward, holding your head firmly, his fingers tangling in your hair, Zayne tilted your chin up to gently force your gaze to meet his intense, hazel-eyed stare. He let out a strangled moan, “Say my name, love. Come on…”
Zayne’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he guided your increasingly desperate movements. His own hips surged up to meet yours, driving his thick length deeper, harder, faster into your clutching heat.
“Zayne,” you breathed, “You’re the only one I want, the only one I need.”
His breathing grew ragged, each exhale escaping through gritted teeth as he lost himself in the slick slide of your bodies joining again and again. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixing with the staccato cries spilling from your lips.
Zayne’s hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly as he pinched and rolled the stiff peak between his fingers. He leaned down, his hair falling forward as he dragged his tongue over your collarbone, tasting the salt of your skin.
“Fuck, just like that…” he growled against your neck, his voice strained. “S-Say my name again—please…”
His words sent shivers down your spine, making your inner muscles clench around him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched you, filled you, owned you.
“Z-Zayne…!” you moaned.
Zayne’s thrusts became more erratic, more desperate at the cry from your lips. The hand on your hip slid around to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him as he pounded up into you. The couch creaking with each surge of his hips, the sound mingling with your cries and his grunts.
You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as you climbed towards your peak. Your nails raked down Zayne’s nape as you held on for dear life.
With a harsh curse, Zayne slammed up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed inside you, painting your insides with his hot release.
The sensation of his release pushed you over the edge, your own climax crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, melting into him as your inner muscles clamped down around him while you came apart in his arms.
You collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air as the aftershocks of your release rippled through you. Zayne’s arms tightened around you, drawing you in close, his heartbeat steady beneath his damp shirt, grounding you in the moment.
In the quiet aftermath, as your breath began to steady, Zayne placed a gentle kiss against your temple, his lips lingering there as if memorizing the moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw and heavy with emotion. “For this. For everything.”
You gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. “You have me, Zayne,” you said softly, your words steady and sure. “No matter who you are, no matter who you become—I’ll never walk away.”
He paused as his fingers brushed gently across your damp cheek.
He spoke, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “All I know now is that… the only thing I’m sure of,” he began, his forehead resting against yours once more, “is you.” He swallowed, his grip around you tightening as if trying to ground himself in the present.
You thought that would be the end of it, but he exhaled, a shudder racking through him.
“I never believed in fate,” he added, his voice low, but without any trace of bitterness—only a quiet acceptance. “But now, I do. Because no matter where I am, or who I am… you’re the constant. The one thing that’s always been real.”
He paused, his words heavy with an ache that tightened your chest. “And I think… I think I’m meant to love you in every life, in every timeline. I’m meant to be with you. And no matter how complicated it gets, no matter what happens, I’ll always end up finding you.”
His grip on you tightened further, pulling you closer, as if to make sure you were really there. “Now… I can’t help but feel… bad for him.”
A heavy sigh escaped him, thick with weight and regret. “He doesn’t have you. He doesn’t get to have this—this connection.” His voice wavered, raw with something unspoken. “And I think that’s what hurts the most. No matter how much I try to separate myself from him, I can’t shake the feeling that a version of me is still reaching for you. That somewhere… in every universe, in every life, even if you don’t exist in it—it will always be you.”
likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace smut#love and deepspace angst#lads#lads smut#l&ds#l&ds smut#zayne smut#lads zayne#l&ds zayne#love and deepspace zayne#zayne x reader#zayne x mc#li shen#zayne myth#zayne lore#zayne angst#love and deepspace zayne x reader#love and deepspace fanfic#zayne love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#love and deep space#love and deepspace zayne x mc#dawnbreaker zayne#divider by cafekitsune
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Of Dog Tags and Love Letters
Simon Riley x Reader
Summary: Simon Riley never says “I love you” out loud. Instead, he writes letters, letters you were never meant to find.
Simon wasn’t the kind of man who said “I love you” easily.
He showed it instead.
He showed it in the way he pulled you close at night, in the way his hand always rested on the small of your back in public, in the way he made sure you always walked on the safer inside of the sidewalk.
His love wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was steady, always there.
Still, you wanted to hear it.
Just once.
Just once you wanted to hear him say it.
Simon had been gone on a mission for a few weeks.
You missed him, missed the way the house felt different when he was home.
Tonight, the quiet felt heavier than usual.
That’s what led you to the room, sitting on the bed, fidgeting with his dog tags.
That’s when you found them.
A small metal box, tucked away beneath an old shirt. You were trying to find a shirt which still smelled like him.
Inside the box, there were letters.
Dozens of them, all folded neatly, your name written on each one.
Your stomach flipped as you picked one up, your fingers shaking slightly as you unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was rough and rushed.
But it was undeniably his.
If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it back.
Your breathing stopped, but you kept reading.
I don’t say things the way I should. Never have. But you should know… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the reason I want to come back in one piece. If I don’t... just know that I love you. Always have, always will.
Your chest ached as you grabbed another letter.
It was the same.
So was the next.
You looked at the dates. Every letter is written before a mission.
Every single one, carrying the words he never said to your face.
I love you.
All of them, filled with meaning and care. All of them are written from the heart.
You pressed them to your chest, blinking back tears.
Three days later, he was home.
The second he walked through the door, you didn’t wait. You crashed into him, arms wrapped tight around his middle.
He let out a small grunt of surprise. “What’s all this then?”
“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled into his shoulder.
He huffed a quiet laugh, arms circling around you. “Good to see you too, Love.”
You pulled back, searching his tired eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Simon’s body tensed. “Tell you what?”
You lifted your chin. “About the letters.”
His whole body went still.
“…You found them.” His voice was quiet.
You nodded. “Yeah. And I had to find out from some scraps of paper that you truly love me?”
His jaw flexed like he was bracing for something. “I didn’t think I’d ever—” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not easy for me.”
“I don’t care if it’s easy,” you shot back, stepping closer to him. “Do you think this is easy for me? Waiting? Wondering if you’ll come home?” Your voice cracked. “Wondering if I’ll ever get to tell you—”
You stopped yourself, swallowing hard.
Simon’s eyes softened. “Tell me what?”
You exhaled. “That I love you too, you idiot.”
His breath hitched.
Then, before you could say anything else, he cupped your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. His touch was warm, and grounding.
“Say it again,” he whispered, begged.
A smile tugged at your lips. You rested your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I love you.”
His eyes closed, and he let out a slow breath like he was letting himself believe it. When he spoke again, his voice was deep, barely above a whisper.
“I love you too.”
And this time, he didn’t need a letter to say it.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
#fanfiction#x reader#x female reader#call of duty modern warfare#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#modern warfare#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon riley cod#simon riley imagine#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost simon riley#ghost mw2#cod ghost#simon riley imagines#simon riley x fem reader#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#ghost imagine#ghost imagines#modern warfare fanfiction#modern warfare two#modern warfare x reader
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can i req aaron with an s/o who's ovulating or has a high sex drive and is easily turned on by him (regardless of if he's trying to or not)
The Hotchner effect | [A.H]
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 2.0k | CW: MDNI, 18+, smut, Couch sex.
A/N: Well…… this was the smut I was excited about writing the night before I was hit by that car. So, here you guys go ;) To anyone interested: I've almost made a full recovery at this point. In a couple of days I'll probably be 100% fine again :D
You always thought you had decent control over yourself and your body—at least until you met Aaron Hotchner. Somehow, just being around him tested your limits, especially when he wasn’t even trying. Every. Single. Day. Whether it was his voice, as low and commanding as it was when you visited him in the middle of a case brief at the BAU, or the way his tie shifted as he rolled up his sleeves, everything he did made your heart race—and that was on a normal day.
But today? Today, your hormones were in overdrive. Ovulating didn’t just make you aware of him; it made everything he did feel like it was specifically designed to unravel you. All of your senses tuned onto his wavelengths.
His scent lingering in the sheets—hypnotizing.
The sound of his footsteps across the floor—ears perked.
Every little twitch and movement he made—you suddenly had 20/20 vision.
Like now, as he stood in the kitchen casually pouring himself a cup of coffee before retreating back to his office. The crisp white shirt he wore hugged his frame just right, the fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders, his suit jacket long forgotten on the back of his chair after he had returned home.
He wasn’t even speaking, but the way he leaned against the counter, so composed and yet so authoritative, was enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts veer wildly off course.
“Are you alright?” His voice cut through your haze, and you froze, realizing you’d been staring at him.
“Uh, yeah! Fine. Totally fine,” you said quickly, reaching for a cup as if that was why you’d been standing there in the first place.
His lips twitched in a faint smile, and you cursed internally because even that was hot. Damn him.
The problem was, Aaron knew. Maybe not the full extent of it, but he was far too observant not to notice the way your breath hitched when he looked at you or how your cheeks flushed whenever he got too close. And right now, you could see the flicker of amusement in his dark eyes as he stepped closer, seemingly to grab the sugar.
“Sure you’re fine?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
You gripped the counter, your body betraying you as heat flushed through your skin. “Y-yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
His gaze lingered, assessing, and for a moment, you thought he might press further. But instead, he leaned back, sipping his coffee, completely unbothered by the chaos he was causing inside you.
The rest of the day wasn’t any better. Whether it was the way he adjusted his tie, the faint scruff on his jaw after a long phone call, or how his hand brushed yours when he came out of the office for a moment, you were practically vibrating with tension.
By the time he finished his workload, you were ready to combust.
Aaron was undoing his cufflinks when you finally snapped. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” you blurted, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of the living room.
He glanced up, eyebrows raised, but the smirk tugging at his lips told you everything. “I might have an idea,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, and damn him again because he was still so calm, so composed, while you were unraveling.
“You’re driving me insane, Aaron,” you confessed, and this time, his smirk softened into something deeper, more knowing.
“Come here,” he said, his tone shifting, and the weight of it alone made your knees weak.
You didn’t hesitate, crossing the space between you in an instant. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as his lips brushed your temple. “You know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “I’ve been trying to keep my distance all day because I could tell you were… distracted.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Distracted is an understatement.”
His fingers tightened slightly on your hips, his lips grazing your ear now. “Well, sweetheart, I’m all yours now.”
And that was all it took for you to finally close the gap, pulling him into a kiss that was every bit as heated as the tension that had been simmering between you all day.
As soon as your lips met, it was like all the pent-up desire and arousal from the day came pouring out in a wave of pure, unbridled passion. Your kiss was hungry, almost feral, your hands roaming over Aaron's body as if trying to memorize every edge and angle.
Aaron groaned into your mouth, his own hands slipping under your shirt to explore the soft skin of your back. He tugged impatiently at the fabric, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside before his fingers quickly found the clasp of your bra and unhooked it.
His gaze raked over your exposed breasts as he freed them.
"Fuck, baby," he growled, palming your one, the callous on his fingers rough against your skin. "You're so gorgeous. I can't get enough of you."
His words sent a shiver down your spine, your nipples hardening almost painfully under his touch. You arched into his hand, a needy whimper escaping your lips. He took the opportunity to lower his head and capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasurable pain straight to your core.
You cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him close. He lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between nipping and sucking until you were writhing against him, your body aching for more. Your hands scrabbled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.
Aaron seemed to understand, moving back just long enough to yank his shirt off before continuing his attack on you again. The feel of his bare chest against yours was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your nerves. You ran your hands over his muscles, marveling at the way they flexed beneath your touch.
Your arousal was growing with each passing second, and your panties soaked. You could feel the heat building between your legs, your body crying out for release. Aaron seemed to sense it, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants.
He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me what you need, baby," he murmured, his fingers toying with the button. "Tell me how you want me to make you feel."
His words were like a match thrown in a puddle of gasoline, igniting the fire in your veins. "I need you," you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. "I need you inside me. Please, Aaron, fuck me."
A wicked grin spread across Aaron's face, his eyes glinting with promise. "With pleasure," he purred, popping the button of your pants and sliding them down your legs. You kicked them off eagerly, leaving you in nothing but a damp pair of panties.
Aaron drank in the sight of you, his gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin. "God, you're perfect," he breathed, running a finger along the edge of your panties. "So perfect."
He hooked his fingers under the fabric, slowly pulling them down and baring you completely to his hungry gaze. You flushed under his scrutiny, but the heat of his stare only served to fuel your desire. He leaned you back, the weight os his body pressing against you as your back hit the cushion of the couch.
"I'm going to taste every inch of you," he promised as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name."
And with that, he buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving into your already dripping folds. You cried out at the first touch, your back arching off the couch. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue exploring every crevice and fold, finding all the spots that made you gasp and moan. He knew you too well.
Your hands flew to his hair, holding him in place as he worked you over with skill. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate search for more. He obliged happily, sliding two fingers inside you and curling them just right, hitting the spot that made stars blind your vision.
"Oh god, Aaron," you keened, your head thrashing from side to side. "Don't stop, please don't stop. I'm so close."
He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, building and building until it finally washed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.
You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him. He worked you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you were boneless and spent, collapsing back against the mattress. But Aaron was far from done with you.
He crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that tasted of your own arousal. You could feel his stiffness pressing against you, hot and insistent. Breaking the kiss, he reached down to undo his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock.
"I need to be inside you," he grunted, positioning himself at your entrance. "I need to feel you wrapped around me. Think you can take one more, for me?"
You nodded breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He surged forward, burying himself inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other.
Aaron set a hard and fast pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful stroke. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle and allowing him to go even deeper.
"You feel amazing," he panted, his eyes locked on yours. "So tight and wet and perfect. I never want this to end."
His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, your walls clenching around him in response, your eyes watering from pure bliss. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts becoming erratic and uncoordinated as he chased his own release.
You could feel another orgasm building low in your belly, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of his cock. "Harder," you gasped, digging your nails into his back. "Fuck me harder, Aaron."
He obliged with a guttural moan, hammering into you with all his strength. The bed creaked beneath you, rocking with the force of his thrusts. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growing thicker and harder with each passing second.
"Cum for me, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me."
His words were all it took to send you hurtling over the edge once more. You came with a near-silent scream, your body shuddering and convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Aaron followed a second later, burying himself deep inside you and flooding your womb with his seed.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms. He pressed soft kisses to your face and neck, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," you whispered back, tangling your fingers in his hair. "More than anything."
He smiled against your skin, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. You nestled into his arms, your body still tingling with pleasure. As you drifted off to sleep, safe and sated in his embrace, you knew that this was where you belonged.
#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch#hotch thoughts#criminal minds x reader#hotchner#hotch x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfic#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#thomas gibson#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds one shot#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds smut#aaron hotchner smut
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Headcanon that bludhaven hates heroes with a flaming passion bc theyre just cops in tights but love Nightwing and therefore vehemently deny his hero status to anyone and everyone.
Like there is no official Nightwing merch bc he’s a criminal he’s committing a crime okay vigilante justice is in fact not legal and he’s not TECHNICALLY on the justice league and he’s NOT TECHNICALLY the leader of the titans anymore. But there are about 400 different Etsy stores that make hoodies, crop tops, joggers, sweats, sunglasses, bracelets, t shirts with nightwings logo or some art of him on them.
Like they love this guy and will get into beef with any Gotham national who tries to claim Nightwing is THEIR hero.
1) hes not a hero he’s a criminal fuck you
2) you have a hero and just bc he’s shit at his job and needs our guy (who is NOT a hero) to help him sometimes doesn’t MEAN SHIT
people are walking around with tiny v shaped blue tattoos or embroidered on clothing but again NOT A HERO BLUDHAVEN DOESNT DO HEROS
There are coffee shops with bad nightwing pun names nightbird, beanwing, nightwinging it and so on
Every third piece of graffiti is this man’s logo
Every sandwich place or fast food chain has a ‘secret menu item’ that’s not actually secret bc everyone orders it and it’s just one of their normal items dyed blue (sodas, desserts, burger buns, condiments so on) some places will sell wings fried in blue panko bread crumbs and call them them ‘nightwings’ ofc these are ALL off the menu you can’t see these items and if you try to order them out of the city you get weird looks.
Superman goes on tv and says Nightwing is one of his favorite hero’s and bludhaven riots. wtf nightwing is your favorite hero you fuckin poser
1) nightwing isn’t a hero he’s a criminal so back off
2) he’s ours you and your frou frou fancy city that hasn’t been nuked by a sentient pile of radiation can fuck RIGHT off
Naturally the only person in bludhaven who is unaware of this is Dick Grayson bc tbh this man is too busy to give a fuck about what his city thinks of him. They trust him to get shit done. Good that’s all he needs okay he has 22 reports he needs to log he’s busy.
Tim Drake professional nightwing fanboy however is fucking furious about this because.
A) dick was a GOTHAM hero FIRST and bludhaven can suck it
B) fuck you nightwing isn’t just a a hero he’s THE HERO and the BEST hero and don’t be rude bc you have a complex
C) all of the cool nightwing merch only ships around bludhaven so has to get it ordered there and it’s just a hassle and he’d pay double he swears just let him get it delivered to where he is please Everytime he stops by bludhaven he leaves with 10 new pieces of nightwing merch and bc he has so much. Damian doesn’t think he notices when some of his doubles mysteriously go missing. He does.
D) since they are anti hero they are firmly unhelpful whenever he or Steph show up bc a case has lead them to the city
The one plus side was watching Jason Todd having a mental breakdown bc apparently in bludhaven redhood counts as a hero and is therefore hated.
“Yous worked with the bat yous a hero thems the rules”
“I KILL PEOPLE”
“Yeah so do cops and people always call them heroes”
“Okay but I kill people to protect the general public I put down scum”
“Cops say they do that too”
“I- okay you know what I’m a hero fine okay. Why isn’t nightwing a hero”
“Vigilante justice is a crime”
“I’m documentably worse than a vigilante”
“But you have worked with the bat”
“For money yeah”
“See you even get paid, face it you’re a hero which means you suck”
“You realize Nightwing has worked with the bat right like way more than I have”
“Listen that ain’t his fault okay, the bats incompetent and so are the rest to you idiots. He’s a nice guy and a good neighbor don’t mean he’s a hero”
“I- what the fuck is in this cities water”
“I don’t fuckin know but it’s prolly better than whatever gothams got in its harbor”
“I- yeah you’re probably right”
#dick grayson#nightwing#batman#jason todd#batfam#tim drake#bruce wayne#comics#damian wayne#batfamily#Tim fanboy Drake despairs#dick and jason#fanon#dc fanon#firmly believe they will bring up the kill order and say it makes sense while rocking a Nightwing hoodie#like yeah he’s a criminal beating people up ofc there would be a kill order out on him#a bludhaven native would say while sipping on their Nightwing blue smoothie in a nightwing hoodie#with headphones painted with the Nightwing logo#knowing full well#they’d stash him in their house in a millisecond#nightwing acrylic nail set freshly done#Jason Todd is not a cop#the folks in bludhaven just have weird ideas about life
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Four Goals For You
Summary: Childhood friends turned first love—Sae Itoshi challenges you in the boldest way possible: "If I score a hat trick, you're going on a date with me."
💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞
The VIP lounge buzzes with quiet energy, a mix of calm and anticipation hanging in the air. Below, the stadium lights cast a brilliant glow over the field as fans fill the seats, their excited chatter building into a steady hum. Inside, the team is focused on their final pre-match preparations—some stretching, others engaged in casual conversation. The atmosphere is tense but controlled, the kind of silence that comes before something big.
And in the middle of it all, you sit, watching from the sidelines.
You're not just any guest. You're here at the personal invitation of Sae Itoshi himself!
You and Sae have known each other since childhood—family friends, to be exact. He never cared much for friendships, his ego keeping most people at arm's length, but somehow, you did manage to stay by his side. Maybe it was out of obligation, or maybe there was something more that neither of you dare to acknowledge.
But what you don't know is that Sae has been falling for you all this time. His first love—silent, unspoken, yet undeniably real.
Leaving for Spain was difficult for him. He had to leave his parents, Rin and YOU! The thought of someone else taking his place in your life haunted him, even if he never admitted it. And when he found out you're visiting Spain for the summer, he wasted no time inviting you to his game.
Now, as the final moments before kickoff tick away, Sae suddenly stands up.
The room quiets instantly. His teammates turn, curious. But Sae ignores them all, his teal eyes locked onto you. He strides forward, stopping just inches away.
Then, in front of everyone, he speaks.
"If I score a hat trick today, you're going on a date with me."
Silence.
You blink. Around you, the room suddenly erupts.
"What the hell?!" someone shouts.
"Did Sae just confess in the most Sae way possible?" another mutters.
"Wait, wait, hold on—Sae, are you serious?!"
Sae ignores them, his expression unwavering. He isn't joking. Not even a little.
Your heart pounds. "H-Huh?"
His voice is steady. "You heard me. Three goals, and you’re mine for the evening."
Heat creeps up your neck. The way he looks at you—calm, composed, yet utterly serious—is almost too much to handle. The entire team is waiting for your response.
You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. "…And if you don't?"
"Not happening."
The room explodes again.
"THIS GUY—"
"Who knew Sae could be such a show-off?!"
"Damn, now I actually want to see him miss just to see what happens—"
Sae's sharp glare cuts them off instantly. Then, without another word, he turns and walks toward the exit. "I'll see you after the match."
And just like that, he's gone.
.............................
The match was insane.
Sae played like a man possessed. Every touch, every movement is calculated perfection. His first goal? A clinical strike. The second? A breathtaking free kick. The third? A last-minute tap-in after effortlessly weaving through the defense.
Hat trick. Game over.
And just in case you think about backing out—he scores a fourth.
The stadium erupts, but Sae barely reacts. Instead, the moment the final whistle blows, he jogs toward the VIP section as he always does but this time his eyes are scanning the crowd for someone..... Searching for you!
You're still frozen in shock when he walks up at you. Without any drama he asks in his usual straightforward time "Four goals. No excuses. When's our date?"
Your face burns as his teammates roar with laughter behind him. You fake-huff with annoyance as you look away and mumble "…I was going to say yes after the third goal. Maybe even if you scored none... I still would have agreed." You pout.
A rare chuckle escapes him after seeing your rare pout, something softer in his gaze now. "Good. Because I wasn't stopping at three, anyway."
And in that moment, Sae Itoshi realised—his biggest victory isn't the match.
It's you.
#itoshi sae#sae itoshi#itoshi sae x y/n#itoshi sae x reader#sae x y/n#sae x you#sae x reader#itoshi sae x you#blue lock sae#sae itoshi x reader#bllk sae#sae x reader fluff#itoshi sae x reader fluff#sae itoshi x y/n#sae itoshi x you#bllk boys x you#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#blue lock x reader#blue lock x female reader#bllk x y/n#bllk x female reader#bllk x you#bllk x reader#bllk#blue lock
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