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starpens · 1 day ago

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CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of swear from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an unexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asked am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow azure in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, ge.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

#✰ミ݁ ׅ ࣪ starpens ! !#caleb x reader #love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x mc #caleb smut #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #lnds caleb #lnds smut #lads x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #xia yizhou smut

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minswriting · 2 days ago

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MARKED TERRITORY - A.H x Reader x S.R

About: After that fateful encounter in Hotch’s office, a few weeks later you’re all on a case. Spencer decides he’s had enough waiting and visits yours and Aaron’s hotel room.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, threesomes, blowjobs, oral (f), fingering (f), masturbation (m), dom!aaron, switch!reader, switch!spencer, loss of virginity (spencer’s), talking through it, boys kissing, etc. NOT PROOF READ because this is 5k of PORN.

A/N: This is part two of Unknown Territory! I just wanted to make a comment and say that I do not ship hotchreid but I do fantasize about getting fucked by them both while they also fuck each other in front of me. So live your slutty truths homegirls and let the demons consume you. If you don’t like, don’t read! Don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all! Border was made by my homegirl @esote-rika because I love her.

Word Count: 5.3k words

After that fateful encounter that night in Aaron’s office, you could not stop thinking about it. The way you felt while Aaron was pounding into you, the way Spencer’s cock felt in your hand, the way your lips felt on Spencer’s, you wanted nothing more than to do it again. You wanted Spencer’s cock inside of you so badly. It had been a few weeks since the encounter, everyone had been so busy with cases upon cases that none of you were able to really sit down and discuss anything.

You only had time alone with Aaron which wasn’t really surprising as the two of you had already a pretty good dynamic going on. However, one night you had whined to Aaron about how much you wanted Spencer, and Aaron couldn’t deny that he wanted it too. The way the three of you meshed well together just seemed…natural. It was inevitable that the three of you would end up sleeping together.

So you had spent the past few weeks teasing Spencer—small compliments about how good he looked in his sweater and lingering gazes into each other’s eyes. Aaron would pat Spencer’s shoulder when he did well, praising him for the good work he’d done. And you would rest a hand on Spencer’s thigh occasionally when no one was looking, causing the boy’s breath to hitch.

It was no wonder that one day, while on a case out in Los Angeles, at the hotel, Spencer came to yours’ and Aaron’s hotel room dressed in nothing but a thin pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Completely out of the ordinary than his usual sweater vests and cardigans that he usually wore. When you had opened the door, freshly out of the shower in a silk nightgown, Spencer invited himself into the room, looking at you and Aaron, sitting leisurely against the bed's headboard, reading a file.

“You guys are unfair,” Was the first thing to leave Spencer’s lips after he had closed the door behind himself.

Aaron quirked an eyebrow, looking at Spencer. “How are we unfair, Reid?” He asked in his usual velvety voice, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Spencer glanced at Aaron and then at you, not-so-subtly checking you out. “I-” He paused as he tried to collect his thoughts, furrowing his eyebrows. “You guys have been…teasing me since that…night,” He said weakly, meeting your eyes.

You let out a tiny giggle, unable to help yourself. “What night?” You asked, feigning innocence. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific. There are many nights in a year.” You were standing next to Spencer.

Aaron hummed in agreement, closing the file and standing up off of the bed. He walked over to the two of you. “She’s right, Reid, you’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Aaron said in a teasing tone.

Spencer let out a small whine of frustration, realizing that the two of you were going to keep teasing him. “T-that night,” He swallowed, feeling dizzy. His heart was pounding as the memories of that fateful night roamed around in his brain rent-free. “When we-” He stuttered. “When you-” Spencer let out a groan in frustration. The only thing making you guys take pity on him was the obvious hard-on that Spencer was sporting, his cock straining almost painfully in his pants.

“What do you want, baby?” You asked softly, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

He looked at you with his beautiful brown doe eyes, licking his lips. “You,” He whispered. “And you,” He looked over at Aaron.

You gave Spencer a hum of acknowledgment, moving your hand to graze his chest. “What do you want from us?” You asked gently. Aaron was watching the interaction with a small smirk on his lips.

Spencer let out a shaky breath as your hand moved on his chest. “I-I want to learn,” He whispered. “To please you, to feel you.”

You glanced at Aaron, biting your lip in a small question. He simply nodded his head at you, a subtle sign for you to keep going. You moved your gaze back to Spencer. “So you want to lose your virginity, Spence?” Your tone held that same gentleness from before, giving Spencer a sense of comfort.

He nodded his head, looking at you with parted lips. “I-if that’s okay,” He whispered, looking at Aaron. He wasn’t entirely sure what your dynamic was. Whether the two of you were in a genuine relationship or if you were just being intimate with one another. You didn’t really know the answer to that either. You just knew that what you and Aaron had was enjoyable and that’s all either of you needed to know.

Aaron approached Spencer, standing behind him, causing Spencer to be entrapped in the middle by the two of you. “You want to fuck Y/N?” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear, sending a shiver down the genius’ spine. “Want to pleasure her as well as I can?” Spencer nodded his head again. Aaron tsked, putting a hand on the back of Spencer’s neck. “You need to use your words.” He commanded.

Spencer let out a tiny whimper, unable to help the noise from escaping his lips. “Y-yes,” He stuttered, maintaining eye contact with you.

“Good boy,” You replied, giving Spencer a small smile as you praised him. You saw how Spencer’s pupils dilated from the praise and how his cheeks reddened more than they already were. You grabbed Spencer’s collar, pulling him towards you as you placed your lips on his. The two of you kissed one another deeply and hungrily, just like you did a few weeks ago. And after a few moments, you pulled away. “Do you want me to stop?” You asked breathily.

“Just the opposite,” Spencer replied hurriedly.

So you kissed him again, this time with more passion as your hold on Spencer’s collar loosened. Your lips moved in sync as you bit his bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore his mouth with your tongue. Spencer parted his lips and made a soft noise, allowing you to do so. Your tongue explored him, tasting the inside of his mouth.

After a little while, you pulled away to look at Spencer. Aaron turned Spencer’s head to the side, immediately attaching his lips to the genius’. You watched for a moment, seeing how Aaron and Spencer kissed one another quite hungrily. You couldn’t help the way your thighs clenched as you felt your pussy throb at the sight. You licked your lips as your hands trailed along Spencer’s torso, reaching the waistband of his pajama pants.

Spencer let out a small gasp in the kiss with Aaron as he felt your hands pull down his pants, his cock springing free from the confines. He was already so hard, his cock red and angry. Being the kind and amazing person that you were, you dropped to your knees in front of Spencer. He pulled away from the kiss with Aaron to look down at you, his brown eyes wide and blown out.

Aaron cooed, looking down at you before looking at Spencer again. “See that, Spencer,” He murmured into the younger’s ear. “She wants to make you feel good. Will you let her?” Aaron’s voice was sultry and smooth as he spoke.

“Y-yes,” Spencer whispered, licking his lips as he looked down at you.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Aaron replied, smirking at you as he spoke to Spencer.

Spencer let out a small whine as you ran a ghost of a fingertip from the base of his cock to the tip. “Yes,” Spencer gasped, speaking a bit louder.

“Good boy,” Aaron murmured as he leaned down to press small kisses along Spencer’s neck.

You grinned at the two of them before wrapping your hand around Spencer’s cock. You slowly moved your hand upward, giving it a few experimental tugs. And then you leaned forward, giving the tip of Spencer’s cock a kiss, causing Spencer’s breath to hitch once more. You stuck your tongue out, swirling it around the tip of Spencer’s cock. He let out a whimper, unable to help the subtle way his hips moved forward.

Giving head was always a treat. Whenever you gave Aaron a blowjob, you always relished the way his body reacted to your touch. It’s something primal, something so natural in the way the human body reacts to such pleasures. Especially when you’re the one causing it.

You slowly eased your mouth onto Spencer’s length, making him moan as he finally felt what your mouth felt like for the first time. You made it about halfway before moving your head back up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip once more. “O-oh,” Spencer moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

“She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear.

“Uh-huh,” Spencer nodded his head, his eyes still closed.

You quickened your pace, getting into a nice rhythm of bobbing your head up and down Spencer’s length. You put your hand on the base of Spencer’s cock, jerking off what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. This action caused Spencer to moan loudly, his hand going down to your hair and entangling his fingers into it. “So good,” Spencer whimpered, opening his eyes to look down at you, seeing that you were already looking up at him through your lashes. “I-I’m so close,” He gasped, expecting you to stop.

But instead, you simply hummed in acknowledgment as you continued your ministrations on Spencer’s cock. You wanted so desperately to feel and taste him. Sucking Spencer off had been something you’d been thinking about for quite some time, wanting to see how he fell apart simply from your mouth. You felt Spencer’s cock stiffen in your mouth, signaling he was about to cum as the grip on your hair tightened.

Spencer was whining and moaning, unable to help the subtle stuttering of his hips as he began chasing his high from your mouth. And when you bobbed your head back up his length and swirled your tongue on the tip, Spencer let out the most beautiful noise you had ever heard as he moaned your name and came down your throat. You continued to suck him off through his orgasm, only stopping once Spencer shuttered from overstimulation.

You pulled away from Spencer’s cock, leaving a trail of saliva and cum on your chin. You used the back of your hand to wipe it away as you stood up. “T-thank you,” Spencer murmured to you.

You simply grinned. “We have the whole night ahead of us, Spence,” You exclaimed. “We aren’t done yet.” You moved over to Aaron and kissed him on the lips. “Isn’t that right?”

Aaron hummed as he smiled against your lips. “Absolutely,” he murmured. Aaron put a hand on your hip while he reached his other hand to Spencer’s, pulling him over to the two of you. Aaron looked at Spencer. “You’re going to watch and learn,” he commanded softly. He kissed you again, putting both of his hands on your hips.

You kissed Aaron back, your eyes fluttering shut as you put your hands on his shoulders. The two of you moved together in sync, kissing one another roughly. Aaron’s hands moved to the bottom of your nightgown, slowly pulling the fabric upward. He pulled away from the kiss to take the nightgown off of you, throwing it somewhere in the hotel room. You weren’t wearing anything underneath as you normally don’t when you wear such an article of clothing.

“Look at you,” Aaron said, looking you up and down. “Such a pretty girl for me.” As Aaron looked at you, you couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips. “Isn’t she so pretty, Spencer?”

“The prettiest,” Spencer replied hoarsely as he watched you and Aaron.

Aaron hummed, bringing his lips back to yours for a moment before kissing your jawline and down your neck. He gently pushed you until the backs of your legs bumped the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to make you feel good, okay?” He whispered to you.

You nodded your head, biting your lip as you looked at Aaron. “How do you want me?” You whispered back.

“On the bed,” Aaron exclaimed. “Lay pretty for me, yeah?”

You grinned, nodding your head. “Yes, sir,” You teasingly said as you got onto the bed, lying down on the mattress with your head on the pillow. Aaron couldn’t help the smirk on his lips as he watched you obey him so willingly.

“And you,” Aaron turned to look at Spencer, who was standing there watching rather a bit awkwardly. “I want you to sit on the edge of the bed and watch,” He said, pointing to a spot on the bed. Spencer didn’t hesitate to obey either as he took a seat, turning himself to face you. Aaron looked at you both for a moment, unable to help the muttering under his breath as he said “If only you two were this obedient out in the field,” before he moved over to you.

Aaron grabbed your left ankle, pressing a light kiss onto the skin as he worked his way upward. He had a habit of worshipping your body any time he was going to go down on you. He wanted you to know that you were valued, not just a means of stress relief to him. He made his way to your thigh, kissing the inside of the flesh. You watched Aaron with anticipation as he kissed your skin and spread your legs as he took in the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Already so wet,” He said huskily, licking his lips as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” You whispered back, looking at Aaron’s dark eyes as he watched you with hunger.

Aaron glanced over at Spencer, seeing how engrossed he was in watching the scene. The boy was already hard again but made no moves to pleasure himself. How endearing. Aaron then turned back to look at your cunt, no longer hesitating as he buried his head between your thighs.

He slowly licked a strip from your hole to your clit, collecting your juices on his tongue. You moaned softly, still biting your lip as you watched Aaron begin his ministrations on your pussy. He took his time with it, wanting to savor the taste and put on a show for Spencer. After all, Spencer needs to learn how to make you feel good.

Aaron’s tongue began running laps around your cunt, making figure eights before his lips moved to wrap around your clit. He sucked gently, causing you to moan and bring your hand to his hair, tugging at the locks. “Aaron,” you whined, your eyes fluttering shut.

He began kissing your pussy, practically making out with it as his tongue circled around your clit. You were whining and moaning, basking in the pleasure that Aaron was giving you. You suddenly felt one of his fingers probing your entrance, slowly easing inside of you. You gasped at the intrusion before throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh my god,” you whimpered.

Aaron began moving his finger inside of you, thrusting in and out slowly while his lips remained on your clit. You had one hand in his hair while the other gripped the sheets. The feeling of Aaron’s finger inside of you while he also ate you out was such a wonderful feeling. You knew you wouldn’t last long.

He eventually added a second finger, immediately curling them up and hitting your g-spot. The action caused you to cry out in pleasure, instinctively clenching your walls around Aaron’s fingers. “Aaron!” you cried out in pleasure.

He responded by humming and sucking on your clit, moving his fingers faster inside of you. You felt that familiar heat growing inside of you as you got closer. “I’m so close,” you moaned, arching your back. Aaron continued his movements, determined to make you feel good.

With the rhythmic movement of Aaron’s fingers moving inside of you combined with the feeling of Aaron sucking and licking your clit, your orgasm overcame you quickly and harshly. You came with a loud moan of Aaron’s name, pulling his hair and thighs clenching around his face. “Oh fuck, Aaron, oh fuck,” you moaned repeatedly as you came, head thrown back with your back arched high.

Spencer watched you, mesmerized by the way your body reacted to Aaron’s touch. In that moment, Spencer was grateful for his eidetic memory. The way Aaron moved his mouth against you and used his fingers, Spencer knew that one day, he’d get to make you fall apart against him. He licked his lips at the idea of eating you out. He should be grossed out by it, being a germaphobe and all. But the idea of eating you out was enough to have his cock stiffening. He had to will himself not to cum untouched, wanting to be inside of you before he allowed that to happen.

When you relaxed against the mattress, relaxing your muscles and unclenching your thighs, Aaron pulled away with a smirk on his lips. He removed his fingers from your cunt, the digits soaked from your juices as was his chin. Aaron looked over at Spencer, seeing the way he was looking at you and Aaron. “Do you want a taste?” Aaron asked hoarsely as he held up his hand that was covered in your juices.

Spencer nodded pathetically, his lips already parting as he looked at Aaron with big doe eyes. Aaron couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him as he moved over to Spencer, bringing his fingers to the genius’ lips. Spencer immediately took them into his mouth, sucking on the digits as his tongue lapped around them. He moaned around Aaron’s fingers, loving the way you tasted.

“She tastes so divine, doesn’t she?” Aaron murmured, his other hand caressing Spencer’s hair. “She feels even better.” He practically purred.

You watched the scene happening in front of you as your breathing evened out. The way Spencer looked at Aaron with that blown-out expression he’s had all night, you could feel yourself getting wet again. You let out a small whine at the sight, clenching your thighs together.

Aaron glanced over at you, seeing the way you were already turned on again. “Needy, baby?” He asked.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” you said in response.

Aaron turned his attention back to Spencer, removing his fingers from his mouth. “Are you ready to feel her?” He asked, still caressing Spencer’s hair.

“Yes,” Spencer rasped out, glancing over at you. No other thoughts were in his brain as he thought about finally being inside of you. Over the past few weeks, it had been embarrassing how much he had jerked off at the idea of fucking you, feeling how wet you’d be on his cock.

“Good boy,” Aaron praised, sending a shiver down Spencer’s spine. “Go over to her. I’ll teach you what to do.”

Spencer nodded his head at his boss, licking his lips in anticipation. He cleared his throat as he got up from his seat at the edge of the bed, moving closer to you. Aaron stood next to the bed. “How do you want me?” You asked, looking at Spencer this time.

Spencer didn’t quite know how to respond. He wanted you in every way imaginable. But he knew tonight was about learning, about losing his virginity and learning how to make you feel good. He looked over at Aaron, who looked at Spencer with a quirked eyebrow. Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he was put on the spot. “I-uh-“ Spencer stuttered, looking at you. “J-just the way you are?”

That would be the best way, wouldn’t it be? You were already on your back, hair sprawled out on the pillow, with your legs spread and ready for Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but look at your cunt. The way you were still so wet. He couldn’t wait to bury himself deep inside of you. But he waited for further instruction, not wanting to ruin the moment by his own greed.

“Are you ready for me to guide you?” Aaron asked Spencer in that soft velvety voice.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding his head. “Yes, please.” He murmured.

Aaron looked at you. “And are you ready for Spencer, darling?” He asked you in the same tone.

You nodded your head enthusiastically, giving Aaron a small grin. “Want it so bad,” you replied breathily. “Been dreaming about it for so long.”

Aaron chuckled as Spencer blushed. “I know you have, baby,” Aaron cooed, putting a hand on your thigh. “You hear that, Spencer? She’s been wanting you for a while now. Will you give her what she wants?”

“Y-yes,” Spencer stuttered as he confirmed. To say he was nervous was an understatement. What if he wasn’t good? What if he came too soon and didn’t even make you feel anything? What if you decide you don’t want to speak to him anymore after this and things get awkward? All of those thoughts rushed through his head as his nerves began getting to him.

“Relax,” Aaron murmured into Spencer’s ear, as if attuned to Spencer’s ray of emotions. Spencer took a deep breath. “Firstly, you’re going to pull her closer to you. Don’t hesitate to manhandle her a little bit. She likes that,” Aaron spoke, teasing you slightly as he did so.

“Don’t tell him that,” you replied lightly.

The small banter between the two of you helped ease Spencer’s nerves. He put his arms underneath your legs, gently pulling you closer to him. You gave Spencer a soft reassuring smile. You could feel the tension radiating off of him. “There’s no need to be so tense, Spence,” you said softly. “I know it’s your first time and that’s scary. If you want to stop, that’s more than okay.”

“I don’t want to stop,” He replied immediately. “I just-I’m nervous is all. What if it’s not good? Or I don’t make you finish?”

You shook your head. “Firstly, it’s about the experience which is why foreplay is so important. If I don’t finish, that’s okay because I got to be with you and that’s all that matters.”

Spencer took your words into consideration. “You don’t care if you don’t finish?”

“Well nothing says you can’t do the job with your fingers after.” You grinned.

Spencer let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding as he relaxed. Your words really did help to make him feel better. He looked at Aaron. “And that’s okay?”

Aaron nodded his head. “More than okay,” He replied. “Are you ready to continue?” He asked.

“Yes.” Spencer replied, sounding more sure of himself which made you smile.

Aaron hummed in approval. He reached down, grabbing Spencer’s hand and guiding it to the base of Spencer’s cock. “See how wet she is?” He leaned in so that his breath was fanning Spencer’s ear. “You’re going to spread the wetness around with your cock.” He whispered. Aaron moved Spencer’s hand that was gripping Spencer’s cock to your cunt, using the tip to spread the wetness up and down your slit. Aaron let go of Spencer’s cock, allowing the boy to do it himself.

You let out a soft noise, the feeling of Spencer’s tip against your pussy making you want him even more. Spencer couldn’t help the small whine that escaped his lips as he felt your wetness against his length. He was careful to make sure he was slow with it, not wanting to ruin the experience at all. He looked down at the way his cock moved against your pussy. Spencer swallowed and let out a shaky breath. Experimentally, he rubbed the tip against your clit to gauge your response.

And god, it was the right thing to do as you let out a “Spence!” in a way that he had been dreaming about for so long.

Aaron watched the two of you. He was the only one that was still dressed. The obvious tent in his suit pants was proof enough that he was affected by this whole ordeal. But he ignored it, wanting to focus on the two of you.

Spencer continued to circle the tip of his cock against your clit. “Spencer, please,” you said in a whiny tone that could’ve had Spencer cum right on the spot.

He let out a small moan. “You’re so wet,” he rasped out.

“Please fuck me already,” you said, still in that same tone.

“You heard her, Spencer,” Aaron spoke, his voice rough. “Give the lady what she needs.” Spencer bit his lip as he looked down at you and then at Aaron. He brought his cock to your hole. “Go slow,” Aaron commanded gently. “You don’t want to cause any discomfort or blow your load too soon.”

Spencer nodded his head. He looked down at you again as you looked at him with lustful eyes. And without any further hesitation, Spencer slowly eased himself into you. He let out a choked gasp, bringing his free hand to his mouth and biting down slightly to ground himself. The feeling of your wet cunt engulfing his cock was a lot and it took everything in him to not cum right then and there. Especially because he wasn’t even fully inside of you yet.

You moaned at the feeling of finally getting filled. Like anytime you had sex, there was a sting at the feeling of being stretched. But it was a good sting and you adored the feeling.

Aaron began unbuttoning his shirt, watching the scene unfolding in front of him. “When you’re fully inside, you’re going to wait. Don’t move until she’s ready for you to,” he spoke, tossing his shirt to the side.

As soon as Spencer was completely inside of you, he stayed still, taking deep breaths to not cum so quickly. “Y-you’re so tight, oh my god,” he couldn’t help but groan.

You laughed breathily. “You’re big,” you replied simply.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes as you adjusted to having Spencer inside of you and he calmed himself down enough to not bust inside of you immediately. “I-I’m ready,” you said softly, reaching your left hand out to intertwine your fingers with Spencer’s.

Spencer held your hand with his, the action helping him feel better. He looked over at Aaron. “Start slowly,” the older man stated, palming himself through his suit pants. “You don’t want to go too fast at first because you want it to last.”

Spencer took one more deep breath before pulling his cock out and thrusting back into you slowly. The action made him whimper as he felt his cock glide against your walls. “Oh-oh my,” He whimpered out, his grip on your hand tightening as he tried to control himself.

The first few thrusts were experimental, to familiarize himself with you and your pussy. And the look on your face helped reassure him that you at least liked it with the way your lips were parted in an “o” and how you were letting out your own small noises.

He began to get into a rhythm of slow movements, not wanting to go too fast. The feeling of your pussy around his cock was absolutely heavenly. You were so wet, so tight, and so warm. Spencer had wondered why it had taken him so long to lose his virginity. The way his cock moved against your walls made him feel as though he was going to burst at any moment. And the soft noises you were making? All because of Spencer's cock? You were truly a work of art that blessed the Earth with your presence.

“Faster,” you breathed out, licking your lips as you did so.

Who was Spencer to deny such a pretty request?

He began moving his hips a bit faster, picking up the pace. The change in friction made him let out a slutty whine as his cock dove in and out of your pussy. You moaned loudly, moving your legs to wrap them around Spencer’s waist, deepening the angle.

Aaron had removed his pants and boxers and was thoroughly jerking himself off, matching the pace that Spencer had set. He pumped his cock, watching the two of you as he brought his thumb to the tip, spreading around the precum that had already leaked. Watching the two of you was more than enough for him. He’s been having you all to himself for the past few months. It was only fair that he took a step back and allowed Spencer to have you all to himself.

As Spencer’s pace quickened, the squelching sound of your cunt filled the room with each thrust of his cock. “Oh my god,” Spencer whimpered, looking down at the way his cock moved in and out of you. Your cunt was soaked, glistening with your juices. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. So in order to make it good for you, Spencer put his fingers to your clit. Thank god for anatomy classes and studying the human body as he began rubbing circles against the nub.

You gasped, throwing your head back in pleasure. The way Spencer’s cock thrusted in and out, grazing against your g-spot, as he rubbed your clit. You could feel your release coming which was definitely surprising.

The room was filled with a chorus of grunting, whining, and moaning as everyone basked in the pleasures. Aaron quickened his hand, pumping himself faster.

“Feels so good,” you moaned with your head thrown back against the pillow.

“I-I’m not going to last much longer,” Spencer whined, looking down at you. Your breasts bounced with each thrust. At some point, Spencer would love to fuck you with his face buried between your tits. He continued to rub your clit and thrust his hips, trying to focus on your pleasure while chasing his own.

“Me neither,” you mewled. You opened your eyes to glance at Aaron as he had been so quiet. Seeing the way he stared at the two of you while pumping his cock. You could tell by the way his chest was flushed that Aaron was close. You reached out for him with your other hand, replacing his hand with yours as you jerked him off fast.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer moaned. “So close. Can I cum inside of you? Please, please, please,” He babbled as his hips moved more frantically.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” You moaned loudly.

And with a loud groan, Spencer buried himself deep inside of you as he came, filling you with his cum. The feeling of being filled sent you over the edge as you arched your back and moaned Spencer’s name rather pornographically, cumming hard around his cock. The feeling of you cumming making Spencer let out a rather pornographic whine.

The sight of the two of you finishing was enough to send Aaron over the edge as he came on your tits, his seed painting your chest as he grunted. You continued to jerk him off through his release.

And when the three of you were finished, the room was filled with heavy breathing. Silence overcame you guys as you all basked in the post-orgasmic bliss. After a few minutes, Spencer pulled out of you and laid down next to you just as Aaron leaned down to kiss your forehead before going to the bathroom to get a cloth and clean you up.

When you were all cleaned up, relatively so anyways, Aaron gently moved you over and laid down next to you. You looked between him and Spencer before finally breaking the silence. “So we’re in agreement that this is happening again, right?” You asked with a cheeky grin on your face, causing them both to chuckle.

“Oh absolutely,” Aaron replied.

“I’d like that,” Spencer said softly.

Well, let’s just say after that, that threesomes were now a frequent occurrence in your everyday life when you guys weren’t working.

594 notes · View notes

cutielando · 15 hours ago

Text

what's a soft launch? | max verstappen

social media au

synopsis: in which Max soft launches his new girlfriend, his boss' daughter...

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: max verstappen x horner!reader

my masterlist

Instagram

liked by maxverstappen1, gigihadid and 4,192,472 others

yn.horner thank you for having me, VS 🎀

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gigihadid you're gorgeous <3 so happy to have had you there with us

yn.horner awwww thank you g!! ly!!!🤍

zendaya you killed it!!🤍

yn.horner thank you babe!!🫶🏻🫶🏻

user1 my jaw is on the floor.

user2 MOTHER

user3 SHE'S THE MOMENT, SHE'S THE MOMENT❗️

user4 imagine how lucky her friends are🥲🥲

alexandrasaintmleux i am so proud of you <3

yn.horner thank you, alex!!! 🤍

lilymhe how are you so beautiful? 😭

yn.horner you tell me, love 😭🤍

redbullracing our girl! 💙 liked by yn.horner

user5 i need to know what Christian had to say about this lol

yn.horner he was in the front row 😅 he loved it!!

user6 so nobody is going to address Max being in her likes??

user7 they’ve known each other ever since he joined Red Bull, i think they’re friends. not that weird

user6 true, but i heard some rumors that he might be in a relationship too…

user8 your honor, i love her ! liked by yn.horner

liked by yn.horner, landonorris and 2,103,476 others

maxverstappen1 Always a pleasure to be back in Abu Dhabi

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user1 NEW COUPLE ALERT ❗️❗️❗️

user2 is Max in his soft-launch era?

user3 MAX HAS A GIRLFRIEND??????

landonorris sneaky, mate

maxverstappen1 thanks for teaching me

user4 i never thought i would see the day when Max would learn something relationship-related from Lando

landonorris neither did i 😂

redbullracing keep pushing! 💙 liked by maxverstappen1

yn.horner i'm telling Dad you refused to wear the RB shirt

maxverstappen1 please don't, i genuinely forgot it this morning

yn.horner LIAR

redbullracing how about we have a chat before quali, Max?

maxverstappen1 I can’t believe you ratted me out

user6 if people still don't think that Y/N and Max are dating, i'm sorry for you guys

user7 why do you think that? they've been friends for years

user6 they've never interacted on social media before, and suddenly started leaving comments on each other's posts a couple of weeks ago?

user8 that doesn't mean anything, to be honest. we should really stop reading so much into their personal lives...

charles_leclerc i see you've finally grown the courage to do it, Max

maxverstappen1 courage is a strong word. i have enough courage

charles_leclerc sure you do

user9 they're dating, i'm also calling it

Real Life

"Someone just said they think we're dating" you said, showing Max a comment you had seen under his new post.

Max read the comment and chuckled, shaking his head.

"We can't hide anything from them, can we?" he said, leaning back down to rest his head in your lap.

"No, but we can have a little fun with it before we announce it officially, don't you think?" you said, a smirk tugging at your lips.

If there was something that you loved and was really known for, it was trolling the media and the fans.

Even though it would drive your father crazy and give your PR team much more work than what they would hope for, but the fans were digging it.

Despite knowing you were messing with them, they loved the cat and mouse chase you always had going on with them.

"Again? You know Christian told us to tone it down a notch, especially you" Max said, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You sighed, jutting out your bottom lip in an adorable pout that you knew Max could never resist.

"But you know it's fun. Don't deprave me of my only source of entertainment, Max" you whined, gazing up at him with your best puppy dog eyes you could muster up.

Max sighed, shaking his head as he looked away from you and stared at the wall in front of him.

He knew he would give in sooner or later, which he blamed himself for always falling for your little trick.

"Alright, fine. But you're gonna deal with Horner on your own when he comes knocking on our door" he said, pointing with his finger at you.

You squealed and nodded before launching yourself at him, attacking his face with little kisses as you giggled.

"Promise"

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yn.horner doing very sinful things in Sin City 🤑

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user1 SOS ALERT: MOTHER HAS LANDED IN VEGAS

user2 oh no, here we go🥹

redbullracing remember: please keep it PG! 😁

yn.horner as i've already told you, i'm not a child

redbullracing your PR team would disagree

redbullracing Y/N, please remember what we talked about - PR team

yn.horner THE BETRAYAL

user3 i love how the red bull team can't keep up with her😂😂

yn.horner they just don't know how to have fun :(

maxverstappen1 we all know your idea of 'fun' is hardly normal

yn.horner i don't remember you complaining until now

gigihadid can't wait to see you, bestie!!🎀

yn.horner can't wait!! i've missed you🤍🫶🏻

user4 just casually being besties with the biggest model in the world. oh, to be her, man

landonorris oh boy

yn.horner shut up

user5 your honor, she's mothering so hard right now🥹

user6 do we agree yet that the boyfriend she is soft-launching is Max?

user7 yep

user8 at this point, looks like it

user9 just waiting for confirmation at this point

lilymhe ditch him and come hang with me bby

yn.horner omw!!!

alex_albon well, that was easy...

liked by yn.horner, redbullracing and 1,291,483 others

maxverstappen1 Thank you, Vegas. It was a very special one. Grateful for everything, grateful for winning my fourth championship with this team. Let's keep pushing to the end of the season!🦁

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yn.horner you showed them, champ 🦁

maxverstappen1 <3

redbullracing proud of you, Max! here's to many more! 🦁🦁 liked by yn.horner and maxverstappen1

landonorris well done, max. i'll get you next year

yn.horner keep dreaming, orange boy

landonorris hey...don't be mean...

maxverstappen1 what she said

landonorris ...

charles_leclerc congrats! now, can you let some of us have a go...?

maxverstappen1 no

charles_leclerc oh, come on...

yn.horner go away, french boy

charles_leclerc hey, i'm monegasque!!!!

user1 another testament to his greatness

user2 4-time world champ!!! congrats max!!

user3 i still wanna know who his girlfriend is

user4 it's obviously Y/N, they just like playing with us

user5 maybe they'll confirm it now that he's won his 4th championship

user6 hopefully, imagine Max and Y/N Horner actually dating

liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 5,194,816 others

yn.horner dear max. i don't think my words on this post do you justice, but i'm going to do my best to encapsulate the feelings that i have for you right now. it has been a privilege for me to be by your side for the past couple of years, cheering you on from the sidelines and celebrating the highs with you behind the scenes. we have come a long way and we have had a hard road, but i am so proud of what we have achieved together and the people that we have become. i am beyond grateful to be able to share life with you, both in and out of the paddock. i love you, max verstappen, and i am so proud of you, my love tagged: maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 thank you for being you. i love you<3

yn.horner i love you too <3

landonorris thank God I don't have to keep it a secret anymore

yn.horner you almost exposed us more times than i can count -_-

landonorris but i didn't

maxverstappen1 you got lucky

redbullracing our favorite couple!!

charles_leclerc i am so happy for you guys!

maxverstappen1 thanks mate!

comments on this post have been limited

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much appreciated!!

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sheep-from-rad · 2 days ago

Text

Blood Bound (Yandere Batfam x reader)

Note: I forgot I had this written in my draft notebooks for weeks now. I guess this might be part 1

Masterlist

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

You have always lived a normal life. You were raised in a small household where it’s just you and your father. Your mother was absent in the picture and you lived in the house near the edge of the town. Though small and seemingly insignificant in the fast moving town of Gotham, it filled you with contentment while growing up.

The absence of a mother figure in the picture made your father more protective. At an early age you were taught basic self-defense, survival skills, and even made you remember each escape route in the city. Even now that you’re a student at Gotham Academy, he still doesn’t take chances at public transportation safety. He will wake up early in the morning to make you breakfast and lunch, and then send you to school before going to work. You two won’t meet again until after school where he picks you up and makes you choose whether to get takeout or home cooked meal for dinner.

It was mid Psychics class when the intercom rang, the principal calling you to come to the office immediately. You looked up from your notes meeting the equally confused look from the professor and your classmates. Whenever some kid is needed for an intervention, the principal would only send a staff to pick them up. The intercom on the other hand is reserved for emergencies or when a student commits a big misconduct punishable by suspension or expulsion.

Well, you did have your fair share of trouble but all of those combined is not enough to warrant a suspension. You made solid knocks on the mahogany door and waited for the principal to say ‘come in’ before placing your hand on the cold door knob and twisting it open. Inside was the principal and a police officer from Gotham PD. “What’s going on?” you asked, taking a seat as you watched their grim expression.

“There was a break in at your place. The place was torched down and your father was burned alive”

Damian glared heavily at the titanium case that they had unearthed earlier on the crime scene. The execution of the crime was well timed. The break in happened just an hour after Duke had made his rounds on the town edge, while Damian is at school, while Tim is being forced to rest, while Jason is out of town with Dick, and while Bruce is at work. The entire house is burned down probably to erase evidence that led to the criminals or erase the evidence of the criminals being there in the first place.

He was ready to write down the case as a possible mafia related crime until Ace started running around and started digging beneath the ashes that used to be the house’s floorboards.

The dark fabric inside the now cracked titanium safe was unmistakable. The ideology of creating utopia by getting rid of the filth that is humanity and bathing the new paradise with its blood. Leaving the League of Assassins is a death sentence and a leap of faith but surviving for years after leaving is far more impressive. Still, the desperation of fear for life is present as evidenced by the locks of hair wrapped in paper with Archangel Michael’s prayer and a hastily scrawled note that reads, ‘I never regret taking you away’.

Taking who away?

The beeping of the comms echoed inside the batcave, taking Tim’s focus who just entered the cavern. “Barbara, any news?” he asked in between yawns. Barbara sighed on the other end of the line followed by the shuffling of papers and sipping of coffee.

“The DNA from the hair inside the titanium case didn’t match the victim’s” Then there was a pause. It hangs high in the air before she drops the next set of information. “But it matched Bruce’s and Talia’s”

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adore-laur · 2 days ago

Note

in one of your pieces it’s briefly mentioned that the first time they had sex after she gives birth it was really uncomfortable and not good and i was wondering if you’d ever write that ? i love the idea of sex not always being perfect especially after going weeks without it

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT

——

There was a sexual suggestiveness about the toothpick poking from Harry's mouth, and its effect on you could only be attributed to your severe case of sleep deprivation. It was a stupid piece of wood, and yet how it was framed between his plush lips sent prickles of heat surging down your neck and spine. On second thought, perhaps it was the apron tied around his waist as he dipped ripe strawberries in melted chocolate for a Valentine's Day dessert—his long fingers working with skillful precision, the sleeves of his tight long-sleeve shirt rolled up, the romantic gesture of it all. No, maybe it was the baby sling wrapped around his shoulder that held your four-month-old daughter, who was watching his every move. God, and the way he was murmuring to her each step of what he was doing definitely contributed to your rising libido. It was a sight you were still getting used to. More remarkably, it validated your years-long yearning to have children with him.

If humble swagger existed, it came in the form of how Harry carried himself as a father. The casual way he interacted with your baby was as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Walking around the house with her on his hip, going about his daily routine. Always willing to step in to give you a moment to relax. He was dependable, and you cursed your hormones for reacting so rabidly to it.

Maybe the changes your mind and body had gone through were catching up. After months, you finally felt healed from the physical wounds of giving birth. No more stitches or soreness down below. No more bleeding.

Your desire for sex was... almost normal again. You were being a bit sheepish about initiating anything, so you sincerely hoped the hunger in your eyes was communicating to Harry what you couldn't say verbally. The problem, however, was that Harry was too enamored with your little girl to notice your longing gaze. She was the center of his universe now, and you couldn't blame him for orbiting her radiance. She brought a certain euphoria to each day.

You rested your chin on the back of the couch where you observed them and inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate. It was quiet moments like these, where baby cries paused, that warmed your soul. You took time to appreciate the beauty of home, with its familiar waves and friendly birds. The creak of the floorboards and the color of the walls. The rumble of your husband's voice and his gentle presence. And most lovely of all, the adorable coos coming from the life you created.

Your eyes shifted over to the kitchen table, where a tall glass vase with flowers sat. You had woken up this morning to Harry helping your daughter hold a pretty bouquet of peonies to present to you. It came with a note that read, You make our hearts bloom. We love you.

Life was chaotic lately, yet so very blissful.

Harry was humming now as he threw the toothpick away and set the dipped strawberries in the fridge to harden. The plump red flesh encased in delectable chocolate made your mouth water. Such a simple recipe, yet somehow Harry made them taste better than a gourmet baker ever could.

He shut the fridge and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He must have sensed your gaze because he looked over his shoulder and smiled. Just the sight of him in this new role caused a swell of emotion to crash against your chest and crack your heart open.

"I've got an audience," he remarked.

You just stared at his hands supporting your daughter's small body—beautiful, sculpted, and what you had been missing desperately on your skin. It was embarrassing to admit that ever since giving birth, the closest you and Harry had gotten to any sexual intimacy was dry humping. Even then, your stitches had still been healing, so the experience was never quite satisfactory. It was no surprise that you were growing impatient.

"What?" Harry asked, noticing your strange silence.

"Nothing," you murmured, feigning nonchalance.

He chuckled and walked over to you. "You're blushing."

Your palms flew to your cheeks. "I am?"

"Big time. Are you feeling okay?"

"I... yes, I'm just"—you fanned your overheated face—"feeling a lot of things right now."

His brows scrunched together. Men were so lucky not to experience the rollercoaster of female hormones. You would sound asinine if you attempted to explain why your body was responding to him doing nothing but being a good father.

"I'm stressing you out," Harry stated as a guess.

"No, not at all."

"You're having a hot flash," he guessed again.

Groaning, you dropped your head face-first onto the couch and mumbled, "I need sex."

"Say it again, please?"

You lifted your head and avoided contact as you repeated, "I need sex. I'm healed, and I want to take advantage of this urge before it goes away." Because it would. Your hormones were still regularizing post-birth, so you weren't going to count on getting your libido back to complete normalcy. Instead, you would pounce on the open opportunities.

Harry contemplated your confession for a while, making no show of judgment. "Any blood?" he asked.

"Nope."

"And the stitches?"

"They're dissolved. Can't even tell I pushed a nearly ten-pound baby out."

He smiled, albeit cautiously. "But how do you feel?"

"I'm fine, Harry," you assured. "If you're not feeling it, we don't have to do anything. Just, you know, giving you the green light."

A shadow of sincerity passed over his face. "Who said I'm not feeling it?" You shrugged, and he gently grabbed your chin to raise it. "Look at me." His green eyes held your gaze steadily. "You wanna try?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "I miss you."

"You have me," he said resolutely. "All of me, tonight."

"Oh," you said, not expecting him to jump on board so eagerly.

"Let's shoot for eight o'clock. When the little one goes to bed."

You broke out into a giggle. "So... a sex appointment."

Now it was his turn to blush. "I heard scheduling sex is supposed to help new parents reconnect."

A rush of heat spread to the tips of your fingers. You thought of the multiple instances when you and Harry consolidated spontaneity and sex. It often sprung upon you without warning, like a carnal beast clawing at your skin. And it always involved mutual desire, like a burning ball of tension the size of the sun. The house was memory-stained with reminders of all the ways your body had been worshiped. Over by the kitchen island, Harry had held you captive with his hips pressed flush against yours. The bay window in the living room had sometimes been blemished with handprints. But the bed in which you sleep and wake up to him every morning was where long, intense sessions happened. Harry slowly sliding into you during weekend sleep-ins, providing a warmth and fullness so heavenly. Late-night quickies after being away from each other all day, a little messy yet perfect all the same. Hell, you had even done it in the ocean under the moon. You wanted nothing more than to find that natural groove again.

"Okay." You reached out to squeeze his bicep. "I believe you."

"All right," he replied in the deep, sensual tone he reserved for intimate conversations like these. You looked downward, feeling giddy. Within milliseconds, Harry planted a hot, heavy kiss on your lips before walking.

With the way your heart fluttered, one would think you had just met him. But you knew his body exclusively, as he knew yours, and tonight would be a test.

——

You stood in the doorway of your closet, sifting through the three pairs of lingerie you owned. They were lacy little one-pieces in off-white, powder blue, and red. It was doubtful they would fit like they used to, but you craved wearing something other than baggy sweats and Harry's shirts. While it gave you pride that you grew life, an insecurity still planted its pesky seed inside. You hadn't looked at your bare body in the mirror since, honestly, you didn't have a clue. It would never look the same again, especially considering you didn't plan to only have one child.

There was a nervous tremor in your hands as you took the red lingerie off its hanger—a slimming color to hide the loose, extra skin that still remained postpartum. You thought about Harry and how he liked to strip away every last piece of fabric blocking him from his touch. Even before pregnancy, during sex, you had never felt the need to accentuate your physicality with frilly, feminine garments. Harry took you in just about anything. Unfortunately, as new parents, there was simply not enough time or energy to initiate anything more than mediocre makeouts. You felt foolish for even bringing up the prospect of sex earlier. Now there was an expectation, and you couldn't guarantee you wouldn't chicken out.

Why were you so jittery? He was your husband, for crying out loud. There was no one you felt more comfortable around.

With a huff, you started undressing yourself just as the sound of the blow dryer stopped. Harry would be ready any minute for this supposed sex appointment. Meanwhile, you were out of practice, self-conscious, and hopelessly horny—he was going to regret agreeing to this.

You tugged the lingerie on, feeling it cinch your torso and breasts. It was tight, the flimsy fabric holding on for dear life. The V-shaped cut revealed the stretch marks lining your hips. The lace was itchy and dug into your skin suffocatingly. Fuck, this was quickly turning into a self-enforced humiliation ritual.

The bathroom door slid open, and Harry emerged in just a pair of white boxers, his hair dry and fluffy. The leftover shower steam made his skin glow, as did the dim lighting. He was effortlessly handsome, while you stood there in too-tight lingerie wondering if you looked desirable enough to stimulate his sex drive. From your perspective, all signs pointed to not likely.

Harry slowly walked toward you, his eyes exploring every inch of your body, and you leaned against the wall while fidgeting with the lingerie's shoulder straps. In the silence of his appraisal, you awkwardly shuffled your feet—it was futile to fake confidence right now.

"My forever Valentine," Harry said quietly, immediately attaching his hands to your waist.

You practically whined, then muttered, "I look ridiculous."

"You're joking, right?" He bent his knees to be eye level with you, a near-crazed look on his face. "Right?"

"It barely fits, Harry."

A slow smirk stretched his lips. "That better not be the only time you say that tonight."

You glared at him for his crude joke and said, "This is silly."

"What is?"

"This whole... rendezvous."

"I think it's fun," Harry said with a carefree shrug.

"But it's different from other times," you admitted.

"How so?" He kissed your neck, his affection warm and a welcome distraction to your disoriented thoughts. He smelled ravishing, the subtle hints of his spice and black vanilla shower cleanser putting you under a spell. A pulse of appetency made you press against him.

"My body," you said.

His hands traveled to your backside, squeezing the flesh there. "This body? The one I'd get down on my knees for?"

In one fell swoop, all your internal heat returned with a rush. "It's kind of a mess," you replied. "I haven't shaved. And my stomach looks like a wrinkly prune, so there's that."

Harry traced his thumb under the lacy hem hugging your hips. "Doesn't bother me. Prunes are delicious."

Deep down, you knew he wouldn't care. He had loved every part of you through pregnancy, with all its mind-bending changes and symptoms. If he had found you sexy then, he would appreciate your appearance now. Though it would take time for you to truly believe it.

"I just want this to be good," you murmured, resting your forehead on his firm chest.

"Hey." He lifted your head and cradled it. "We'll find a way to make this work. Let's take it slow." You nodded, and he leaned closer to whisper, "I know how to get you wet. Don't think I've forgotten."

Truthfully, you were already wet, but you didn't say anything as Harry grabbed your hand and squeezed it before guiding you to the bed. While he had been taking a shower, you had fluffed the pillows and straightened the sheets. You had even sat there and mentally filtered through what positions would be most reasonable. Sex was to be careful tonight. No need for anything crazy.

You climbed into bed, and Harry remained standing. The outline of his hardened cock pushed against his boxers. A flame ignited low in your belly—to get to have him inside you after so long was exhilarating.

When he didn't move to join you, you asked, "What are you doing?"

"Following your lead," he said. "Where do you want me?"

"Um... on your side, I guess. Next to me."

Harry didn't waste any time and got into position, his hand propping his head up. There was an expectant openness in his eyes, and you almost laughed. This was out of the ordinary, but it somehow eased your nerves.

"I want to face each other," you added. "And I... I want you to do that thing where you hold my leg up against your hip."

He hummed, his eyes flashing with something lustful. "Understood. But you're going to have to take your lingerie off."

"Right." You swallowed nervously. "I'll do that."

You stripped while Harry removed his boxers and rolled on a condom. He watched your breasts bounce free, watched the lace slide down your torso and legs. It was your armor against the reality that your body wasn't the same as the one Harry had touched for the first time. But you trusted him and his admiration for the life you brought into the world. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

You lie bare beside Harry now. His gaze turned fond, taking in all of you—no judgment, no confusion, no surprise. But why would there be? He'd been there when your pants stopped fitting during pregnancy. When you hadn't been able to shave anything below your bump. When you had needed help getting off the couch. Christ, he had seen you give birth. It didn't get much more intimate than that.

"Come here," Harry said softly. You scooted down to lie on the mattress facing him. "You're beautiful. This version of your body isn't something to dwell on. Every stretch mark, every wrinkle, every curve is a testament to your amazing ability to grow life."

You were speechless, so you just sprung forward and kissed him

"Ready?" He smiled against your mouth, and you returned it.

"Ready."

"I'm going to go slow. Tell me if it hurts." Harry grabbed his cock, holding the tip against your entrance. Without you needing to remind him, he bent your leg to rest against his hip, opening you further. He slid himself in, only an inch or two, keeping his eyes locked on yours. It was slow, like he promised, but there was a slight burning sensation. You inhaled sharply and gripped his wrist.

"Too fast?"

You moaned, half in pleasure and half in discomfort. "No, it just... feels rough. Even with the condom on."

"Okay. I won't go further."

"Maybe go deeper and it'll stop."

"No," Harry said, pulling out. "I'm not about to risk making you bleed or delaying your healing. Absolutely not."

"But—”

"But nothing. Your body's obviously not ready yet, and that's okay."

"I'm sorry," you whispered sadly.

"Don't be," he said, stroking your hair. "You thought you were healed, but it's hard to know for sure without actually having sex."

You let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, this was a bust. Back to dry humping for the foreseeable future."

"I'm not complaining." Harry rolled onto his back, then yanked the sheets over his boner.

"You're serious?"

He patted his lap. "Hop on, baby."

Laughing, you straddled him for yet another clumsy experience. But with his determination to make it enjoyable, it would be perfectly imperfect.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur

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sometimesanalice · 1 day ago

Text

Ollie! 💖🫶🏼

I am over the moon that you enjoyed this! There's nothing more that I love than some flirty banter and a meet cute!

more for you friend!

oh my GOD!!! i cannot tell you how much i loved this!! one of the sweetest stories i've ever read!! so much more to say but sorta spoilers?! also the details, and the buildup?? so amazing. i could picture everything so clearly! truly a beautiful story!

first off let me say i was so scared bradley was the one who stood her up! so evil! (it was amazing thank you!)-- there's nothing I enjoy more than a sneaky little twist, lol. It was a surprise to me too, because I had started this fic last year and had written like 500 words of it half delirious before I tested for COVID, lmao. And I was down for the count for the rest of the month and then put this little fic to the wip graveyard, and forgot about it until this January! And when I opened the doc to read it, I was like "that was so cheeky of me to do that"! Haha! (but also that man would neverrrrrr. his mom raised him right!)

"And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame." i would fold immediately i fear-- he is well and truly doing the absolute most here, and means every word of it!

"Because if I'm being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don't know if I would have played fair." the italicized oh was so necessary after this because oh! im BLUSHING!-- the italicized oh agenda for the win! how can two little letters pack so much punch?! and can be so lethal when used in just the right spot, lmao! when I was drafting this, I think I had thoughts of it being a Bradley POV when I was first marinating on it, and then when I started it, her POV just came more naturally? (i noodled on a dual POV because I did have some tidbits from his, but liked the idea of just seeing him pull out all the stops from her perspective instead). But just know from the moment that jake nudged him to check out the girl in the dress who'd walked in, he was like all focused in on her. those 30 minutes felt like a few hours to him because every time the door opened and she was looking to see who it was, he was watching her to see if her face changed, and not wanting to hope that she'd see the person she was waiting for, but also like hoping he'd be able to make a move. (also if that guy had shown up, and Bradley sensed the first date vibes, you just know he'd have dialed up the Rooster charm of it all to like an 11, lol)

"Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I'd known. That's some dress, sweetheart," i'm gonna say oh again bc OH!-- Bradley 'Rooster (no chill)' Bradshaw everyone! but also in case you're curious, here's the dress I used as a reference, lol.

"Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?" he really does have big cows, and i bet he uses them to get what he wants so often-- I MEANNNNNNN..... (I know I'd never stand a chance, lmao)

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'll show you my move." i've fainted. i'm swooninh. it reminds me of the big musical number in 10 things i hate about you, i love it.-- i highkey loved that she called him out for having one, because with confident charm like that, there's no way he wouldn't have a big move he'd pull out. it amused me to know end. but yes, we LOVE a man who puts that extroverted energy to good use! I just know teen bradley watched that movie and made NOTES, lol.

I LIKE SHINY THINGS BUT I'D MARRY YOU WITH PAPER RINGS. YES I WOULD BRADLEY!!-- bts fun fact, I almost had her bring of box of conversation hearts (that was also one of the titles I was contemplating too, lol) with her , and she would have swapped him. (but decided against it because I didn't want her to give him that when they were originally for someone else, she ended up on the date she was supposed to be on though). but we adore a crafty man! if anyone was going to do the most and appreciate the extra mile she went, it's him!

i want bradley to help me off a stool! the whole pool scene?? i was giggling, especially when she calls jake malibu ken.-- the way I got paid to read up on tips and tricks for how to play pool, lmaoooo. I spent like 2 hours on reddit and billiards sites for research for that game, cursing myself for making miss ma'am a little pool shark when I know nothing about the game, ahahahhaha! the malibu ken bit absolutely gave me a chuckle, he deserved to get a little roasted with that line.

HE MADE AN ACCOUNT JUST FOR HER??? oh my god i would kill to have a bradley bradshaw in my life!!-- that was a last minute burst of inspiration! it was always going to end with her on the couch watching her favorite movie (and with a heart shaped pizza in the oven-- i ended up trimming the opening a bit, and part of the reason she accepted the original date in the first place is because she didn't want to have the same v-day that she had for the last few year, but now instead of it feeling lonely, it felt hopeful like she was having her own romance movie moment), but then I had a what-if idea that instead of her deleting the app she gets one last message from a certain someone. 🥰 and since he knew what app she was on because he got to snoop on the guy who stood her up, he knew where to start (but also, he's very please when she pops up for him as a compatible match, and happily will share that tidbit with her on their next date!)

¡ loved this so so so so much!!-- 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in.

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own. “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it. But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#all the bts tidbits for you olive!!#thank you for reading and reblogging!#the babe with the big move

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azrielsdove · 22 hours ago

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Fated Souls: Azriel Ending

Warnings: Angst, Smut, 18+

Read Pt.1 Here

***

You leaned against the balcony in shock, the cold shadows burning against your heated skin. You stared with wide eyes at Azriel, a fearsome figure in the doorway. Shadows ran menacingly around his body, his golden eyes flaring with rage.

“Lucien,” he began, glancing over at him. “Was it your name that my mate was just moaning? Is it her scent that remains on your hand?” Your heart stuttered in your chest, embarrassment flooding through you. Lucien looked exactly how you felt. Azriel moved closer to you, his eyes slowly taking in the evidence of exactly what you had been doing out here. The strands of hair that had fallen loose, your wrinkled dress, the hem of it resting on your thighs instead of the ground. “My beauty,” he murmured, reaching out his hand as if to caress your face. He stopped halfway, catching the unease in your eyes. A deep sigh left the male, the shadows calming as he called them back. “I believe you are due an explanation,” he began, nodding to Lucien as well. “Both of you.”

A wave of anger suddenly hit you, eyes narrowing at your supposed mate. “What is there to explain, Azriel? That you’re in love with Elain?” You scoffed. “As if we are not already well aware. What business is it of yours what I choose to do in my personal life?” You do not know what you expected him to say, but you certainly wouldn’t have predicted the sad look in his eyes.

“I fear I have gone about things all wrong.” He ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. “I owe you both an apology. I shouldn’t have barged out here the way I did. I just,” his jaw ticked as he looked to the sky, “I could feel you. Through the bond.”

You cocked your head at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “I do not understand. Feel me how?” You didn’t think he had even acknowledged the bond.

A deep flush crawled up his neck as he remained focused on the sky. “I could feel, your, uh, pleasure.” A jolt struck through your body, a sudden burn flaring in your abdomen. His eyes shot down to you, his hands clenching into tight fists. “It burned through me. I couldn’t control the anger.” He looked over to Lucien, wincing. “I’m sorry for the shadows.”

Lucien stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “You, uh, huh.” He paused as if he was thinking. “I’ve never, felt that. From Elain, I mean. So,” he coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “The two of you never, ya know…” he trailed off, waiting for Azriel to say something.

“Elain and me? No. No.” Azriel shook his head, laughing lowly. “This is what I meant when I said I owed you both an explanation. There’s been a rather extreme misunderstanding.” He raised his palms as if in surrender. “There’s never been anything between Elain and I. At least not from my side. I know in the beginning she felt drawn to me, but I wasn’t interested.” He looked over at you. “I already knew who my mate was.”

Your mind was racing. You weren’t sure yet if you could trust the Shadowsingers words. Too much pain still remained in your heart. “You’ve done nothing but ignore me since the bond snapped. I assumed you wanted Elain?” None of this made sense.

“I know. I was, for lack of a better word, a coward. A low-life, spineless, coward.” He looked ashamed.

Half of you screamed that he should be. That there was so reason for him to treat you the way he had. The other half of you, the half that loved him, wanted desperately to latch on to the hope that was beginning in your soul. “Az, what are you saying?” You asked slowly.

He stared at you for a long moment before speaking again. “I thought I wasn’t good enough. That perhaps your willingness to be with me was only due to the bond, and one day you would realize the mistake you had made. So I blocked it out. Apparently, too well.” He explained with a frown. “I didn’t feel any of your emotions until tonight. When you left the party, I noticed right away. And I had this awful, overwhelming sense of despair.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize it was you at first. It wasn’t until Rhys noticed something was wrong that he pointed out the possibility of it being your feelings.”

A pang of sadness hit you at his words. He watched you as if he knew exactly how you felt. Perhaps he truly did, if what he was saying were true. “I don’t, I don’t understand.” You chewed on your lip nervously, eyes flickering between Lucien and Azriel. “Why did everyone act so strange around me then? They’ve been treating me like something fragile, as if they knew you were only going to break my heart. Yet Rhys notices instantly when something is wrong with you?” Quite frankly, you were hurt. Not only by Azriel, but by your friends.

“Yeah, that would be my fault as well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told them to not let you know. I pushed it off when they tried to tell me that you were upset. I really thought you’d…stop caring.”

You pressed your palms into your eyes hard enough to see stars, shaking your head in disbelief. “Gods, Az, you are so stupid.” You dropped your hands, too many thoughts racing through your head to make any sense. “You’ve left me to suffer, for what? Your own insecurities? What have I ever done to make you think i’d ever treat you in such a way as you have treated me?” You wanted to scream, to cry, and to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “And what about Lucien, hm? Is Elain going to creep around the corner and profess her love to him while explaining this was all just a big misunderstanding? No, I cannot do this. Not right now.” You began walking off the balcony, a scarred hand wrapping tight around your wrist, halting you. You looked down at where his skin touched yours, trying to ignore the butterflies that were betraying you in your stomach.

“Wait, please,” Azriel pleaded, eyes lined with tears. You paused, almost conceding to his touch.

No. You couldn’t.

You pulled your arm from his grasp. “I need time, Azriel,” you said softly, turning and leaving before you could change your mind.

***

A few weeks had passed since the night on the balcony. You’d avoided Azriel since then. You were not sure how to feel about it all. The damage done to your heart felt nearly irreparable.

You sat on the top of a rock over the mountain lake you frequented, letting the flats of your feet dance on the water. You leaned back on your palms, closing your eyes and turning your face towards the warm sunshine. It was calm here, a peaceful place to work through your thoughts. Could you trust Azriel? Did he still deserve the rights to your soul?

You wanted to scream that no, he didn’t. The sorry excuse of his “confidence” doesn’t negate the harm he had caused. At the same time, though, you still felt drawn to him. The sincerity in his words that night was hard to ignore. You knew you should talk to him again, but it was still too hard. That night with Lucien was the first time you had felt anything other than pain in ages.

Just to find out all the pain you had felt was for…nothing? You groaned, kicking the water in frustration and falling to lay on your back. This was all so ridiculous. It should’ve been simple. Azriel is your mate, the two of you should’ve celebrated the match. He never should’ve hidden away from you for fear of rejection. You did not understand how that made sense. By pushing you away what did he expect would happen?

Males, you thought, sighing deeply. You focused on the warm stone beneath your back, the cool water on your toes. How were they so foolish? And then there was the matter of Lucien. You could not deny the way he made you feel out on that balcony. Your skin became hot as you remembered how he kissed you, how he touched you. You could curse Azriel into a thousand lifetimes for interrupting before you experienced the delicious orgasm you knew Lucien would have delivered.

You didn’t even realize the way your hand had slipped beneath your short dress until you felt your fingers teasing your thighs. You chewed on your lip, pausing your movements. Was it wrong, to please yourself on the thoughts of another male? Your mind was swimming, and you desperately needed a release of some kind. Your fingers moved, tempting the trim of your underclothes. Your breathing came quickly as desire pooled through you, the need increasing with every second. The memory of Lucien’s lips on your neck was your tipping point, your hand sliding under the soft fabric.

You tilted your head back as your fingers circling your clit, a slow breath falling from your lips. You teased yourself, enjoying the small shocks of pleasure pulsing through your body. You thought of Lucien, of how well he worked your body. You thought of his teeth grazing your skin, his black hair tangling in your fingers, his scarred hands.

No. You were imagining Azriel. Your fingers sped up at the realization, as if they were encouraging you to keep thinking of your mate. This wasn’t the first time you had touched yourself to the thought of him, but it was certainly the most intense. Your back arched off the stone you lay on, your free hand coming to rest upon your throat, applying light pressure. You moaned softly as the burn in your abdomen flared, heady pleasure taking control. “Oh, Azriel,” you breathed out, fantasies of him taking you playing in your mind. You felt a cool breeze blow over your heated skin, tracing your body as if it was sent there to do so. It moved down your body, wrapping itself around your wrists and thighs. Almost as if-

You shot up abruptly, eyes opening wide to take in the shadows around you. They didn’t shy away, the ones on your thighs working their way up. Your body shook with the frustration of another denied orgasm. You knew he was there. That he had been watching. Listening.

“What do you want?” You asked, the question coming out weaker than you wanted. He moved out to where you were, slowly sitting down next to you. You refused to look at him, focus still on the shadows that were getting dangerously high. “How long have you been here?”

He swallowed, and if you had looked at him you would’ve seen the flush in his neck and his blown pupils as he watched his shadows on your skin. “I just, I wanted to, to talk. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” his words came out rushed, like he was struggling to speak correctly. “I know you come here, and it was a nice day so I thought you might be here so I came to check and then when I saw you I realized what you were doing and I knew I should walk away but then,” he took a deep breath after his run on sentence, clearly unable to think. “Fuck, then you said my name.” Heat flared through you again at the confession, twisted desire about him watching you coursing through your veins.

“I see,” you responded, the shadows now tracing so lightly over your underwear you may be imagining it. “Are they, are you, doing this?” You asked, unsure what you wanted him to say.

“They move as they wish sometimes,” he admitted, “but I can tell them to stop.” He leaned closer to you, tucking his hand under your chin to bring your face to his.

Gods, you wanted to tell him to make them stop. You knew you should. It was the right thing to do. You had so much left to talk about, after all. Yet you knew you were done for when you looked into his eyes. They were full of need, for you. Your gaze darted to his mouth, taking in the full lips you had imagined on yours more times than you could count. “Az,” you whispered, the shadows slowly applying more pressure.

“Yes?” He asked, voice quiet. You reached out one hand and grabbed on to his shirt, pulling him closer. He gently moved you to lie back down on the still warm stone, his hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other rested upon your waist. “Tell me what you want.”

You gasped as one of the shadows began circling you, a slight vibration with its movements. “Azriel, I need you to kiss me.” You had barely gotten the words out before his lips locked on top of yours. The bond soared inside of you as he kissed you, his lips moving against yours as though he were painting this moment into his mind.

You cried out as the shadow increased its pace, rocketing you towards your peak. Azriel smiled against your lips, pulling away to kiss down your jawline. His hand traveled down to meet the shadow, his fingers tracing your entrance. “I want to hear you scream for me,” he said, slipping two fingers in. You arched up against him, mouth open in a silent yell as pleasure began to overtake you. He worked his way down your neck, biting and the sucking the skin as he went. Marking you as his.

His fingers began to move inside of you, curling deliciously. You moaned loudly at the feeling, legs starting to shake. “Yes,” he murmured against your skin, playing your body as if he had studied his whole life for it. You dug your nails into his shirt, toes curling as your orgasm began to take over. Your head shot back so hard it cracked against the stone, stars shining briefly in your eyes before being overshadowed by raw pleasure. You screamed his name as your body rocked under his touch, vision blacking out. Azriel helped you through it, prolonging the feeling until your body went slack under his touch.

The loss of his shadows and his fingers left you feeling empty, your blurred vision trying to focus on him. “That,” he said, pressing another kiss to your lips, “is easily in the top five moments of my entire life.” You smiled weakly at him, catching your breath. He helped you sit up, leaning your body against his. “Shit!” He cursed, his hand touching the back of your head lightly. It was then that you felt the throbbing pain, gasping as it shot through your skull. “You’re bleeding!” You felt worry and fear rush through you, two emotions you certainly didn’t have the capacity to feel right now. It was only after a moment that you realized they belonged to Azriel.

“I’m fine,” you assured, waving him off. “S’fine.”

It was decidedly not fine, considering the way you slumped over in his arms the next second.

***

You woke in a warm bed, a thick blanket covering your body. You winced at the sore spot on the back of your head, opening your eyes slowly. You tried to take in the room around you, confused about what happened and where you were. You stilled as you realized someone was sitting in a chair by your head, his golden eyes filled with worry.

“Azriel?” You asked, moving to sit. You hissed as a jolt of pain shot through you, Azriel moving to gently lay you back down.

“Easy, easy. Madja says you split your skull almost completely in half,” he explained. Split your skull? What was he talking about? Why was he here? He must have read the confusion on your face, a sad smile coming across his. “Do you remember any of it?” He asked quietly.

Any of it? You racked your brain, trying to recall the last thing you remembered. You could feel the water on your toes, your back on the warmed rock. You were doing something, but what was it? Was someone else there? Was Azriel there?

All at once it hit you, the memories flashing before your eyes in rapid succession. A blush covered your cheeks, embarrassed by the whole thing. “Oh Hel, i’m so sorry Az.” You would’ve buried your face in your hands if you could if the action wouldn’t cause you pain. You almost wanted to do it anyway.

He chuckled, pulling your hand into his. “None of that, now,” he said, “If anything I am the one to be sorry. We never got to have our talk.”

You sighed, looking down at your entwined hands. “Why would you be so worried I wouldn’t want you? And why on everything did you think ignoring me would help?”

He looked ashamed, clearing his throat before speaking. “I do not know. I was so scared when I felt the bond snap. You know how desperately I have longed for that connection. And it was you, and I was overjoyed.” His eyes met yours, sadness rimming them. “I still am. Happy it is you, that is. You were everything I ever wanted. Beautiful. Powerful. Kind.” He gave your hand a squeeze, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Why would you want to be tied to someone who was damaged?”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking over his words. Your thumb traced the scarred skin of his hand, a strong desire to both kiss him and slap him coming over you. “Azriel, you are a fool,” you stated. “All I ever wanted was you. I do not care how the skin on your hands looks. I have never thought twice about it, aside from the fact that what was done to you was needlessly cruel.” You brought his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a thousand moons now. Perhaps Rhysand should seek a new Spymaster if you could not even notice something as blatant as that,” you teased.

Azriel laughed, leaning forward to bring his head closer to yours. “Perhaps he should,” he agreed, nose brushing yours. “I’ll love you for the next thousand suns, if you will let me. I’ll spend them on my knees, worshipping you with every breath. You are the water in the ocean, and I am but the fish that calls you home. There is no me without you.” Your heartbeat was erratic with his words, tears pricking your eyes. “You do not have to accept the mating bond, not now and not ever. I will be overjoyed to live my life simply in your presence, every moment with you a gift.”

You pressed your forehead to his, ignoring the slight pain that accompanied it. “Kiss me, you sappy thing.” He laughed, kissing you with all the love and adoration he couldn’t yet voice. You sighed into the kiss, enjoying the way the bond sang. You had half a mind to serve him a cracker right there, ready to commit to him fully.

But it was not the right time. You winced in pain when you moved too quickly, Azriel pulling away from you instantly. “Alright, enough of that.” He said, helping you get comfortable again. “There will be plenty more opportunities when you’re healed,” he continued, winking at you. “Although, perhaps we will stick to soft surfaces for the time being.”

***

ahhhhh i hope you all love this as much as i do!!!!! i had SOO much fun with this little duo endings piece!! let me know if you’d like more of this in the future!. love yaaaaaa

#acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #fated souls #azriel x reader smut

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azsazz · 2 days ago

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Destination Unknown (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: destination-unknown I still cannot let this one go, the best thing I’ve ever read on this app 😭 I wish he would choose us in another part // Writing this to notify you about the urgent need for pt2 of the following Rhys fics: waiting for the creation of Destination unknown

Warnings: N/A

Word Count:

(Part 1)

Notes: It's been over 2 years since part 1 😅 If any of the OG's are here, you're troopers! ily 💙 breaking my own heart with this one too

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“The girl that saved us. She’s my mate.” The words rattle in your head again and again and a-godsdamned-gain.

The crinkle of the paper in your hands draws your attention to the present. You sigh, dropping the paper to the familiar deep cherry desk. The one that you’ve been sitting at for the last fifty years while the man you loved was trapped by a vicious witch under the mountain.

This place—Rhysand’s office within the House of Wind—had once been your place of solace. Your beacon of hope. You and the High Lord of the Night Court had spent a healthy amount of time in this room of the house, first as his second in command, and then as his lover. It had been one of the places you swore you could still feel him when he was prisoner beneath her reign.

You had taken over like any second would, made sure that Velaris stayed hidden and safe. There weren’t many executive decisions to be made in the last fifty years, menial things like the agreement to build a new wing of the Rainbow, making sure that the city could still deal and trade without being snuffed out.

Now, this office serves as a reminder. A reminder of what you lost. The male that you gave your heart to, the same one who’d survived the horrors of Amarantha’s reign, made it back to the Night Court safely, with another woman’s name on his lips.

Feyre, he’d admitted, violet eyes wide and haunted with not only the horrors he so desperately tried to lock away, but with shock and surprise. He found his mate, the voice in your head rings again.

As much as it tears your heart to shreds, Rhysand deserves nothing more. You’ve always had an inkling that you weren’t his mate. He’d occasionally make offhanded comments about dreams he had, visions, he’d sometimes call them. Listening to the horrors he’d been through, surrounded by the rest of his Inner Circle, those sights had made sense.

It’s been two weeks since Rhysand has been back. Recovering. Mor had taken it upon herself as caregiver to her cousin. Cassian and Azriel visited the High Lord in his wing of the house often. Amren, too. The side you couldn’t bring yourself to pay visit to.

He’s asked for you. You can’t count the number of times Mor has barged into this very office—the one you rarely leave these days—and demanded that you come see him. That you’re hurting him worse by staying away. Now that Rhysand is back, that Amarantha is gone for good and the city no longer has to hide, there are things to do, cities to check in on, damage that needs to be assessed, and courts that need correspondence.

It's given you an escape. You can’t muster up the confidence to go visit Rhysand just as he can’t do the same to visit you. You’re terrified of what he’ll say, the very thing you’ve been trying to wrap your head around since the night of his return. To accept the inevitable.

That he’s no longer yours.

You smooth the wrinkled paper out on the desk, trying to refocus. It’s late. A gentle breeze sweeps in through the balcony doors, a chill that skitters down your back. The stars and moon shine brightly in the sky, and for a moment, you envy their light, their happiness. It seems that they’re even brighter since the return of the High Lord.

You can’t help that your mind wanders. To her. You wonder what she looks like, how she acts. She must be confident, strong-willed. She must be beautiful. You hope more than anything that she’s kind. She must be, for a human to give her life to save the Fae, the same ones that have abandoned the human-realm for their own selfish reasons.

In a way, it makes sense. Of course, the female who could take down someone as powerful as Amarantha would be Rhys’ mate.

There’s a soft knock on the study room door. One that makes you freeze. It’s not Mor, because she wouldn’t have knocked, she would have stormed into the room, he bouncy, blonde hair swishing behind her shoulders and a fire in her eyes. The both of you have leaned on each other for fifty years, you consider her one of your closest friends. But not even she could convince you to see Rhysand.

You’ve tried, too. Tried to make it to that side of the house, to where, admittedly, you’d slept in his bed the entirety of his time away. When you could sleep, that is. Surrounded by the night-chilled scent of him, lingering on the pillows.

The abrupt change from not sleeping there at all has been taxing.

You stand when the door cracks, busy yourself with the papers scattered around the desk. They’re organized perfectly, but you leaf through them again. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not even when he enters the room fully and the doors snicks behind him.

Your name is a mummer. Relief? Maybe. Sorrow. Yes. The. Sound makes your throat tighten. You never thought you’d hear your name on his lips again.

The papers in your hands crinkle again.

You don’t know what to say. Your throat is clogged with emotion and your heartbeat is a racing mess. Your knees are seconds from giving out. Your fingers are trembling. You’re not ready for this, not ready to face him again.

You can feel those violet eyes on you like you have a thousand times before. Can feel the way he’s drinking you in. Or maybe he’s comparing you to how you looked the night he left, the same disheveled hair but for a much different reason. You’re sure you look worse with the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders sag like there’s a hundred pounds draped across them.

Suddenly, you feel underdressed. You should have cleaned up your appearance, taken a shower, ran a brush through your hair.

Tears sting your eyes when your sabotaging mind tells you that it no longer matters.

You stack the papers together and tap them on the desk. “I’ve kept everything as much of the same as I could.” It’s difficult to admit, but talking about what’s been going on in the City of Starlight is a safe topic. Surely, he will want to know, will want to visit soon, show that he’s still the strong and in charge High Lord he was. “You’ll read about it in my reports.”

You say it like you’re ready to resign your position. You’d hate it if you could no longer help the city that you’ve loved and spent the last fifty years managing. Your heart breaks a little in your chest.

You’ve spent every moment since Rhysand’s come home writing the report. Spent every day of the last fifty years writing it, to be honest. In case there was a day that he’d come back. You haven’t left out a single detail.

The past two weeks have been spent refining it, removing some of the more inappropriate stories and comments now that he’s found his other half.

He says your name again, louder this time. You can hear the hurt in his tone, but he doesn’t move closer.

You continue to brush him off. Your head is spinning and you can barely breathe. You don’t know what to do. It feels as if the two of you are strangers. “Now that you’re back, I need to check on all of the other cities and camps within the Court,” your voice is tired. You don’t know what to think. He’s back, and he has a mate. Someone he’s destined to fall in love with. It hurts. “I’ve sent missives. I’m headed out in the morning.”

“Please,” he begs, and the emotion in his voice gives you pause. Makes your heart break. You know it isn’t easy, to be so vulnerable after having to be so strong for half a century. Tears sting your eyes. The tips of Rhysand’s shoes enter your line of vision. “Please, look at me.”

You shake your head and swallow thickly. If you look at him, see the devastation in his eyes, worse, the hope for his mate, it will destroy you. You know it will.

“Autumn has written, too,” you continue, but your voice trembles so much you’re not sure you can continue. You can gallivant all around the continent, but it won’t change the fact that the male you love is back, and has a mate. Eventually, you’ll come home, and when you do, maybe she’ll be here, maybe they’ll be joyous and in love and— “They’re asking for resources, to help rebuild.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. An unknown force drives him around the edge of the desk, and before you know it the papers in your hands are hitting the wood and you’re facing him, your chin tilting up by his gentle hands.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you clamp them shut before they latch onto those violet pools you know so well. You don’t want to see the heartbreak in them. You don’t want to see the remorse. You can’t. You’re not ready to give him up, because he’s all that. You’ve ever loved and—

“Please,” he says brokenly, so helplessly that you can’t help yourself.

You peek open your eyes.

And Rhysand looks utterly crushed.

His own eyes are filled with tears. Fingers trembling as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, catching the unstoppable rivers.

He looks almost exactly like he had the night he left. Older, somehow. His violet eyes aren’t lit with excitement and arousal, but burnt out with the horrors of what he’s been through. You can’t even imagine what happened to him in those fifty years, but you know Rhysand well enough to know that he would have done anything to protect his people, to help in any way that he could.

There are no words to be exchanged. You and him have always been like this, on the same page. You know exactly what he’s thinking, and you know exactly what he is.

You sob into him as he presses his mouth against yours. You cling to his arms, digging your nails into his skin. It’s a desperate kiss, too harsh and your teeth clack together in a disjointed plea. It feels nothing like you know. It feels final.

Like this is the last taste of him you’re ever going to get.

“Darling,” his voice breaks when you part. In this moment, you know. That this is all real. Rhysand is back. He’s back and he has a mate.

“I know Rhys,” your words are a wet whisper, and the smile that you try to force onto your face wobbles and falls. You clutch his arms tightly. You don’t want to let go but you know that you have to. “I know.”

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand/reader #rhys x reader #rhys/reader #rhys angst #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #rhys #azsazz

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bebexdxll · 2 days ago

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┊͙ ೄྀ࿐𝑴𝒀 𝑫𝑰𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻 ˊˎ-

Warnings/tags : NSFW, female reader, OnlyFans model reader, secret relationship, unprotected sex, size difference, fingering, messy & rough sex, creampie, overstimulation, praise kink, possessiveness, mild degradation, mild coercion (light “you wouldn’t say no to me, would ya?”), dirty talk, secret-keeping, implied multiple rounds, Atsumu being the absolute worst in the best way

The camera loved you. Or maybe it was the way you carried yourself—effortlessly confident, teasing, always giving just enough but never too much. You knew exactly how to keep your audience hooked, how to make them come back for more.

And they did.

Your OnlyFans had taken off quicker than you expected. At first, it was just something fun—faceless, mysterious, nothing too revealing. But then the numbers started climbing, and with them, so did your earnings. Your anonymity only added to the appeal. No one knew who you were, what you looked like outside of your carefully framed shots. That was the game. That was what kept them wanting more.

But there was one in particular who stood out.

Tsumu95: You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart. Tsumu95: How do I get that kinda special treatment?

You smirked at your phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He had been your most loyal subscriber for months, always tipping, always first in line for your private content. He never asked to see more than what you were willing to show. Never crossed any lines. And for that, you rewarded him.

Just him.

One night, when the teasing had gone on long enough, you let him see. Just a glimpse—your face, your eyes, your lips curled into a playful smirk.

The message he sent after that was short but unforgettable.

Tsumu95: Fuck.

It wasn’t the usual playful banter. It wasn’t a request for more. Just raw, stunned silence.

Since then, you had always felt his presence lingering a little heavier than the rest. Not that you minded.

But you never thought that presence would follow you into real life.

—

You had been to a handful of games before, but this one felt different. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, the electrifying energy of the crowd, or the way Atsumu Miya commanded the court with every precise set. Either way, as you approached him after the game, jersey in hand, you were just another fan in a sea of admirers—at least, that’s what you thought.

“Could ya sign this?” you asked, holding out the jersey with a polite smile.

Atsumu looked up, sharp eyes locking onto yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. His hand twitched before reaching for the marker.

“Oh my god…” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the noise of the stadium.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He quickly masked whatever had just flashed through his mind, a lopsided grin forming as he grabbed the jersey. “Nothin’, sweetheart. Just didn’t expect ya to be a fan.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. There was something about the way he was looking at you—like he knew something you didn’t. But you brushed it off as him just being friendly. Atsumu Miya was a flirt, after all.

“Of course, I’m a fan,” you replied with a small laugh. “You’re one of the best setters in the league.”

He let out a hum, scribbling his signature across the fabric before handing it back to you. “Glad to hear it.”

As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t think much of it.

Not until later that night when your phone buzzed with a message.

Tsumu95: We need to talk.

Your breath hitched.

No way.

You stared at your phone, heart pounding in your chest.

There was no way.

Your fingers hovered over the screen as a dozen thoughts raced through your head. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was just some weird joke. But as you read the message again, your stomach twisted.

Tsumu95: We need to talk.

You hesitated before typing back.

You: About what?

Three dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.

Tsumu95: You already know.

Your breath caught.

Fuck.

It wasn’t just a weird joke. He knew. Somehow, someway, he knew exactly who you were.

And you weren’t sure if that terrified you or thrilled you.

Your fingers were unsteady as you typed your next message.

You: Who are you?

This time, the response came immediately.

Tsumu95: You already know that too, sweetheart.

Your pulse jumped.

There was no denying it now. The realization settled into your bones like electricity. Atsumu Miya—star setter, fan favorite, golden boy of the MSBY Black Jackals—was your most loyal customer.

And he wanted to meet.

Tsumu95: Let me take ya out. Just once.

You bit your lip. This was insane. Completely insane.

But against all logic, you found yourself typing back.

You: Where?

Tsumu95: Somewhere private. You’ll know when I send the details.

You stared at the message for a moment, chewing on your lip. This was it.

After a few minutes, another notification popped up. Your hands were already shaking as you opened it.

Tsumu95: Meet me at the spot in an hour. Don’t keep me waiting.

The address was somewhere private—somewhere secluded. It was too late to back out now. You knew you’d show up, even if your stomach twisted at the thought of what this could mean.

An hour later, you stood at the entrance of an upscale hotel, your mind racing. You had dressed carefully: casual enough to not be obvious but enough to show you cared. Your heart beat loudly in your chest as you checked the time.

And then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed again.

Tsumu95: Room 305. Come up.

You followed the instructions, your legs heavy with anticipation. Every step you took toward that elevator felt like a countdown.

The moment you step into the hotel room, the air shifts—thick, electric, dangerous. Atsumu doesn’t say a word at first, just leans against the doorway, eyes dragging over you like he’s committing every inch of you to memory. His smirk is slow, lazy, like he already knows how this night is going to end.

His gaze flicks from your lips to your throat, down the curves of your body, and when his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, your breath catches. Fuck. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“You nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is deep, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something dark, something hungry.

You scoff, but it comes out weaker than you intended. “No.”

Atsumu steps closer, slow, deliberate. The scent of his cologne—warm, musky, intoxicating—invades your senses. “Yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Then why’re ya breathin’ so heavy?”

Your mouth opens, but before you can answer, his fingers skim along your jaw, tilting your chin up. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, testing, teasing. “Y’gonna let me kiss ya, baby?” His voice is just above a whisper now, raspy and full of heat.

You barely have time to nod before his lips crash against yours, and it’s messy. Wet, feverish—his tongue pushing past your lips like he’s starving for the taste of you. The sound of your mouths meeting, the slick slide of tongues and the soft, breathy moans spilling between you—it’s obscene, filthy, perfect.

“Fuck,” Atsumu groans against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. You feel it then—hard, heavy against your stomach—and it makes your head spin. A whimper escapes you before you can stop it.

“Yeah?” He chuckles, breath hot against your skin as he trails kisses down your jaw, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Feel what ya do to me, baby? Been thinkin’ about this for so fuckin’ long.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, hips pressing forward just enough to make you feel him. Your knees nearly buckle. “Tsumu,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

His hands slide lower, gripping your ass, pressing you harder against him. “Say it again,” he mutters against your neck, voice thick with want.

You’re not sure if it’s a plea or a demand, but you give in anyway, breath hitching as you whisper, “Tsumu—”

He groans into your mouth when your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging harshly.

“F-Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, dragging his tongue along the seam of your mouth before biting down on your bottom lip, hard. “You gonna let me ruin ya, baby?”

You don’t answer—not with words. Just nod frantically, breathless, already dizzy.

Atsumu grins, wicked and mean.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s lifting you, tossing you onto the bed like you weigh nothing.

He yanks off his hoodie, the fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud, before crawling over you, caging you in with his arms.

“You’re gonna let me fuck ya stupid, yeah?” he murmurs, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Let me hear those pretty lil’ sounds I know you make when yer desperate for cock?”

You whimper, already arching up to him, nails scratching down his back.

His hand slaps against your thigh. “Answer me.”

“Yes, fuck, yes—”

You don’t even get to finish. Because in the next second, he’s yanking your shorts down, groaning at the sight of the slick between your thighs.

“Shit—look at ya,” he breathes, dragging a finger through your folds, watching the way it glistens in the dim hotel light. “Drippin’ for me already, huh? Fuckin’ filthy.”

His fingers push inside, curling just right, his thumb circling your clit with practiced ease.

You wail, hips bucking up into his hand, already wrecked.

Atsumu just chuckles, dark and breathless.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours. “Make a mess f’me.”

And fuck, do you.

The sound of your slick filling the room—wet, obscene, echoing against the walls—has Atsumu groaning, rutting his hips into the mattress.

“Shit, baby,” he hisses, watching the way you clamp around his fingers. “Yer so fuckin’ tight—gonna make my cock fuckin’ disappear in that pretty lil’ cunt, huh?”

You nod frantically, already teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling.

But right before you can tip over—he pulls away.

A frustrated whimper falls from your lips. “Tsumu—”

He grins, licking your arousal off his fingers, groaning at the taste.

Then, he shoves his sweats down, his cock slapping against his stomach—thick, flushed, already leaking precum.

Your mouth goes dry.

Atsumu catches your stare, chuckling. “Like what ya see, sweetheart?”

You nod, licking your lips.

“Good,” he growls, fisting himself, dragging the thick head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. His voice drops lower, almost taunting. “Then watch as I fuck ya open.”

And fuck—when he thrusts into you, sinking to the hilt in one brutal stroke?

You scream.

“T-Tsumu—oh my God—” your voice breaks, the stretch overwhelming, toes curling as your back arches off the bed. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails clawing at the sheets, at his shoulders, anything to ground you.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, watching your face twist in pleasure, drinking in the way your body trembles beneath him. His jaw clenches as he stays buried deep, letting you feel all of him. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, and the sound he lets out is downright filthy. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, his cock twitching as he watches the way you struggle to take him.

“F-Fuck,” you whimper, sweat glistening on your skin as you clutch the sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place, desperate, needy. “Move, please—”

Atsumu lets out a dark chuckle, voice thick with lust. “Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?” He draws his hips back slowly, dragging every inch of his cock along your walls, making sure you feel it—before slamming back in, knocking the air from your lungs.

The stretch is insane—painful and perfect, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Atsumu groans, head dropping, his whole body shaking.

“Fuckin’ hell—” he grits out, his grip on your hips bruising. “Yer takin’ me so good, baby—fuck, so fuckin’ tight.”

Then, he moves.

Deep, slow thrusts at first, pulling along your cunt in a way that has you seeing stars. Then, when he hears the way your moans get higher, more desperate—he picks up the pace.

He pounds into you, fucking you into the mattress, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your choked-out sobs.

The whole room reeks of sex. Your slick coats his cock, dripping down onto the sheets, the mess beneath you obscene.

Atsumu groans when he feels it, pulls out just enough to watch his cock slide back in—shiny, dripping with your arousal.

“Holy fuck, look at ya,” he rasps, a hand pressing down on your lower belly, feeling the way he’s right there, buried so deep he’s practically in your guts. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well—made for me, huh?”

Your only response is a broken sob, tears streaking down your cheeks.

Atsumu loves it.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, leaning down to lick the tears from your face, still fucking into you mercilessly. “Did I fuck ya dumb already?”

All you can do is moan.

He groans, picking up the pace. “Fuck—gonna cum inside ya, baby—fill ya up nice ‘n full, yeah?”

You nod frantically, legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper.

That’s all it takes.

Atsumu roars as he cums, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt, painting your walls white.

You follow seconds later, convulsing around him, dragging him down with you.

The room is still thick with the scent of sex, the sheets beneath you damp, the air hot and sticky. Your body feels like it’s floating, completely spent, every muscle trembling from the way he just wrecked you.

Atsumu is still inside you, his cock softening but keeping every last drop of his release buried deep in your cunt. He shifts slightly, the movement making you whimper, oversensitive and sore.

A deep chuckle rumbles against your skin.

“Shit, look at ya,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, voice thick with satisfaction. “All fucked-out, baby. Bet ya couldn’t even stand up if ya tried.”

You don’t even have the strength to glare at him. You just hum, nuzzling against the pillow, body boneless, used.

Atsumu grins, but then—his grip on your hip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make your eyes flutter open, just in time to see the way his dark gaze pins you down.

“…We keep this between us, yeah?”

Your breath catches.

The shift in his tone is subtle—still teasing, still warm, but there’s an underlying seriousness that wasn’t there before. Something a little darker. A little more dangerous.

His fingers trace lazy circles against your hip, his seed still dripping out of you, a mess he’s in no rush to clean up.

“Wouldn’t want anyone knowin’ that the sweet, innocent girl beggin’ for my autograph is actually my favorite little slut online, now, would we?”

Your stomach flips, heat curling in your core all over again.

You swallow. “…N-No.”

Atsumu smirks. “That’s my good girl.”

His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don’t go gettin’ any ideas about runnin’ off on me now,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, thick with possession. “Ya know I’ll find ya again.”

A shiver races down your spine.

Because you believe him.

Atsumu watches your reaction, and his smirk widens, satisfied.

Then—he leans down, lips brushing against your ear, voice husky and dripping with sin.

“Now, be a good girl and let me fuck ya full again.”

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randomshyperson · 9 hours ago

Note

OMG I MISSED YOUUU

Can I request Wanda, with Hugs, No. 19

thank uuu i hope you have a good day!

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

prompt: hugging with hands in each other’s pockets | words: 1.496k | warnings: (+18), smut, bottom!wanda, semi-public, dirty talk, strap-on use, established relationship.

A/N-> I truly misunderstood this prompt and you can blame Sweater Weather because I immediately read “each other’s pockets” and thought about “your hands on my sweater”. I was quite surprised to discover this prompt is actually about back pockets. Well, at least we have some bottom!wanda again. Also, this challenge was closed a while ago idk if everybody saw it but since I’ve received some recent requests I'm letting you guys know

challenge masterlist | general masterlist

-&-

The movement at the university was making her a little overwhelmed.

Wanda forced a few smiles at familiar faces on the way upstairs - Stark's start-of-year parties were always so crowded - until she finally reached the dorms. She knew her way around there well and was relieved to find your room without anyone making out inside.

Walking slowly to the balcony, she let her gaze wander over some of the photographs on the dresser - many with her present - and even the bags still packed in the corner of the room until she could finally breathe a sigh of relief in the breeze outside.

Downstairs, the party was still in full swing. More people were arriving by the minute.

She checked her cell phone, where her last message said that you and Carol had already bought a refill of beer and were on your way back. So Wanda waited, until she was smiling instinctively when she saw your sister's truck park at the entrance to the dorms, and the two of you got out of the car together.

Some of the boys saw the beer coming and ran to help carry it, but Wanda bit back a smile when she noticed your lost figure, gazing around as if looking for someone. She pointed her phone down and took a single photo, which she forward to you right away. It only took a moment for you to smile and look up after you checked your phone and understood where she was. With her arms resting on your balcony, Wanda waved her fingers and watched you with a giggle as you hurried your way through the people to get inside and catch up with her.

Less than two minutes later, she heard the door, and decided to wait there, until she felt your arms wrap around her and her body immediately relax.

"Hey, babe." You greeted her sweetly, your hands slipping into the pockets of her jacket that covered the red party dress she'd borrowed from Natasha, her roommate. You peppered her face and neck with quick kisses, making her giggle and writhe with the tickling.

"Hey." She protested between laughs, ending up breathless when you kissed her suddenly. The warmth of your embrace made Wanda sigh, almost embarrassed by how weak her knees felt. When you pulled away, she felt her face flush a little at your adoring gaze. "I missed you."

"And I was only gone for 20 minutes, huh?" You teased, managing an eye roll and a giggle.

"Idiot." She countered with fake annoyance. "I was talking about our vacations, obviously."

You chuckle, kissing her cheek again. "I know, I'm just teasing you." You mumble, adjusting your hands inside your pockets and putting a little more weight against her so that she has to lean on the counter. Wanda gasps softly as she feels something else. "It took me a little longer to get back because I went to get a surprise for you. Something I forgot at Carol's apartment when we got back from the airport." Wanda knows exactly what you're talking about. The hardness rubbing against her was a gift you bought together last Valentine's Day. In fact, it was a big joke - a dare game that took couples to a sex shop - but it ended up becoming a frequently used item in your relationship. She gasped at the fit, feeling her body warm and you hadn't even done anything more than rub the strap against her a bit. With her hands firmly on the balcony, she felt her face burn as she leaned back towards you and heard you chuckle hoarsely behind her.

"Look at you." You clicked your tongue, hands firmly on her hips. Wanda caught her breath without realizing it. "Offering yourself like that..." Your hips moved against hers in a torturously slow rhythm that made her gasp, her trembling fingers gripping the edge until they turned white with the force she was putting into it. Your movements didn't stop, but they became rough enough for Wanda to bite a moan with each thrust. When your hands pulled her dress up, and you discovered her lack of underwear, it was your turn to moan. "Holy fuck, Wanda."

You groaned in her ear, your hands shaking a little with excitement as you undid your belt and pulled the toy out. Wanda held her breath, suddenly remembering where she was. She looked down at the busy street and stifled a moan as you entered her without warning, and also without difficulty. The plastic cock slid easily between her soaking wet cunt, and you held her in place as she got used to the sensation.

Resting your face on her shoulder, you rest your hands above hers on the balcony, a smile playing on your lips.

"There you go, now we just look like two snuggled girlfriends." You say, lacing your fingers together before moving your hips upward. Wanda chokes on a whimper, and you shush her slightly, a sadistic giggle escaping. "Be careful, baby. The party is loud, but not too loud. If you start whining like a desperate little slut, people will notice. Maybe I'll tell them how soaked you are so they pity you."

As if the dirty talk wasn't enough to drive her insane, you still make a point of moving your hips slowly, and Wanda blushes when she hears the low sound of the wet friction of the toy inside her.

Completely pressed between the balcony and your body, she struggles to keep still. It's not an easy job at all.

You release one of her hands to slide your fingers between her thighs and play with her clit. Wanda’s knees give way, and she’s grateful for the balcony or she would have fallen to the floor. You breathe in the intoxicating scent of her shampoo, starting a rough peace inside her again as you pinch her hardened bud and turn her into a puddle of arousal and whimpers.

“Please don’t stop, I’m almost…” She tries to formulate a coherent request, having to resist the urge to lay her head against the balcony and just let you fuck her however you want. Suddenly, your movements are stopping and she groans in protest, a comment about promising to behave on the tip of her tongue when she realizes that you’ve moved your other hand away from her hip and are waving it down.

Clint Barton’s grinning, drunken face enters her field of vision as she follows your gaze.

“You’re missing the whole party, girls!” Clint yells, a beer in his hands. “Get down here!”

Your hips have stopped moving, and Wanda feels very aware that she’s dripping down her thighs while forcing normalcy on her friend.

“In a minute, Barton!” You shout back, before tilting your mouth toward hers. “Or less.” You tease in a whisper, and Wanda shudders against you, completely forgetting about Clint Barton’s existence as she thrusts her hips back at you. With a grunt, you seem to forget too, and luckily, Clint’ is drunk enough to stop annoying you two, and Wanda is rewarded with hard thrusts that knock her out of orbit. “Fine, I’ll give you what you want.” You scoffed through your teeth, the effort of slamming your hips against hers so roughly leaving you out of breath. Wanda would have screamed, but your hand covered her mouth and stifled any sound. If anyone dared to look up right now, they would know exactly what you were doing, but neither of you gave a damn. Especially since Wanda was coming the next minute, shaking terribly against you and whimpering against your hand.

With the toy soaked, you stayed inside her while she calmed down until you could finally kiss her.

"I'd say that's a decent welcome present."

She chuckles softly, unable to resist the urge to continue grinding gently against the toy you hadn't removed. "I literally fucked you in the auditorium yesterday after the homecoming performance, perv." She snaps back, and you laugh, nuzzling her nose against yours.

"Yeah, but that was a speech gift. I was so hot on stage that you couldn't wait to get in my pants." Wanda chuckles, rolling her eyes.

"You're getting too cocky." She pulls herself out, ignoring your soft protest or how your eyes drop to the toy glistening with her cum between you. "I think I should change that, balance things out before you forget your place."

"My place?" You challenge, raising an eyebrow, but Wanda grabs your face and kisses you hard enough to make you stumble a little. Surprised by her attitude, you can't resist the push and end up with your back pressed against the balcony door. She breaks the kiss with a bite that makes you moan. As dilated irises glare at you mischievously, you feel your body shiver. Wanda smiles innocently as she explains, "On your knees for me, of course."

You smile, feeling her hand invade your shirt. "Yes, ma'am."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #marvel imagines

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kabr0ztrousers · 1 day ago

Note

hey could you write about a pussy portal? with whatever monster you feel like! also could it be semi-public (public but hidden)? also knotting is appreciated!

Kabr0z Writes episode 53: Hornyposting

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: portal sex; knotting; public sex; cum in vagina; unknown male; freeuse; recieving cunnilingus; age gap; implied impregnation; interspecies; portal fucking

A/N: I do love writing portal fucking, though I'm not sure I understood the prompt properly on this one, so enjoy reading about fem!reader being fucked by a knotted cock while falling to avoid notice

Also, any requests etc, please drop an ask!

#######################################

When you bought something called a "telepresence glory hole" you weren't honestly expecting what you got. It arrived OK, and came with a phonebook of a disclaimer which you didn't bother reading. What was really interesting was, it actually seemed legit. In the box you got a pair of panties, and a handheld device that looked kinda like a fleshlight. Both had strange disks integrated to them made of some kind of metal. You spent the next hour going through the manual, registering them to a phone app and generating a friend code.

Testing went without a hitch, you plugged the friend code into the app, and the link established with a faint buzz. Next came the fun part. You broke the link, before taking to the internet. Would you believe there's a whole community centred around these things?

You got changed, a nice sundress to go out in, those panties underneath. A quick picture later and you posted your selfie and your code, out in the aether. You set off, walking to the cafe, locking the app as you left. For the next 4 hours, you're open for business.

The bell on the café door jingled as it opened. The local corporate chain, you weren't going to risk getting chucked out of a café you actually liked, but even if the coffee sucked here the wifi's free and there's plenty of people around. You joined the back of the line and inched towards the counter.

You felt a draft down below. A breath across your cunt. There were still a few people ahead of you. A shiver ran up your spine, it's starting already.

A wide tongue grazed your outer lips, starting slowly. You tensed your cunt a little to egg whoever this was on. You'd said in your post that you were up for any guy to give you a fuck, though maybe you hadn't mentioned what you'd be up to in the meantime... But that's very much what things like this were designed for, nobody's wearing these for a quiet night in.

The tongue came again, holding back a little less this time, coating the outside of your pussy in drool as it licked up and down your-

"Hi! What can I get for you?" The rictus grin of the cashier snapped you out of your thoughts

"C-cappuchino please. Large" you stammered out, speaking fast to try and avoid your voice giving you away.

You paid noiselessly, tapping your card on the machine which beeped compliantly before stepping over to the other counter with your receipt and the order number printed on it.

The tongue got more aggressive. Your knee buckled as it circled your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut a moment as it threatened to slip into your eager hole. You leaned on a low wall behind you, trying to look nonchalant as you checked your forum post.

WolfDaddy1969 had replied to you "Don't need to tell me twice" was this the person so diligently licking you out? He didn't have a profile picture. God, but whoever this was, they're good with their tongue. You rolled your head backwards in ecstasy, trying to disguise it by rubbing the back of your neck, but the quiet whimper you gave drew the eye of the suited woman beside you as she stepped forward to grab a tray of paper cups.

"Order 42, large cappuccino, regular milk"

Your legs threatened to betray you as you as you stepped up and took the almost litre cup of coffee with your order number stuck to it. You turned to try and find a table, almost stumbling as you did. The movement was shifting your pussy lips, moving them subtly against one another as the tongue pushed between them. You fell into a seat, legs spread. You could feel moisture leaking around the edges of the portal, the combination of drool and your pussy juice starting to slick your crotch.

The tongue had barely let up before you felt something else pressing against you. Hard and drooling, there was no mistaking it. You'd been with a lupine before, you knew how they start squirting precum almost as soon as you get them hard. You imagined it, if this wolf really was born in the late 60's then he'd have been in his thirties before you were even conceived... It turned you on knowing this cock was old enough to be your father.

He pushed in, or maybe down? Your pussy making up the business end of the toy he was fucking himself with. He slid in easily. Your toes curled in your shoes as you gripped the table in front of you, clenching your teeth as he started fucking you properly. He angled his toy, only slightly but enough that you could feel him thrust up into your g-spot before continuing into you. Despite your efforts, you could feel yourself making small, choked sounds with every thrust. His thumb hit your clit. You groaned as your legs started to shake, failing to hide your release as people started to take notice. A mix of worried and disgusted looks fixed upon you, some people clearly having an idea of what was happening.

The cock filled you up. The clenching of your aching cunt getting to the cock inside you. You felt the knit start to inflate. It was pulsing so deliciously, your mouth sagged open in a silent wail of delight and release.

The cashier from before was next to you "I think you should leave" his smile was gone, he just looked tired.

You nodded and got up, The movement of your legs rolling the swollen knot inside you, forcing you to walle away, your drink forgotten as you tried to ignore the mix of arousal and cum dripping down your legs.

The outside air was cold on your skin, the wetness covering your thighs stinging as it cooled in the brisk February air. At least you're within walking distance of home, though it's anyone's guess if you'd get back before the wolf was done with you.

He was still using you to jerk off, the knot thrusting up and down as you tried to walk, dictating the rhythm of your steps. You weren't hiding your noises any more either, there were fewer people on the suburban streets, but every one of them knew you had something going on down there. Some hurried on, some threw dirty looks, one or two gave wolf whistles and catcalls, only making you wetter.

You were halfway home when the knot started twisting in you, this way and that. You grabbed a lamppost as you moaned out, trying desperately to keep from falling as your knees gave way and your cunt gave another squirt of girlcum. He turned his cock again and again, feeling how you clenched and milked his knot, wringing every morsel of cum from him, before withdrawing with a pop.

That tongue came back. You slid down the pole, landing on your knees as the wolf licked deep inside you, tasting his cum as it mixed with your essence. You could swear it hit your cervix as you groaned and whined for all to see.

The tongue withdrew. The portal shut off and you were alone again, leaking onto the floor underneath you. You staggered to your feet, still clinging to the street furniture as you got your breath back. Legs still shaking, pussy still twitching, you got home.

The portal buzzed to life again. You checked your post. You'd been pinned to the front page, it looks like WolfDaddy left you a glowing review "10/10, tight pussy, would impregnate again"

You were going to have a lot of fun with this

#################################

There's a little narrative dissonance between where it started and where it went here, but I thought it shook out pretty well, and you're not here for tight editing.

As always, any requests, ideas, thoughts, questions or fanmail is appreciated! My DMs and asks remain open for use!

Also, see below for a surprise poll!

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arxiwon · 2 days ago

Text

Read Between the Lines

Pairing: Idol!Jungwon x Reader

Genre: Smut, Jealousy, Teasing, Mocking

Word Count: 3k+

Synopsis: Your relationship with Jungwon has always been steady—until he catches you reading and listening to smut about another member. You swear it’s nothing, just mindless curiosity, but the way his expression darkens says otherwise. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something possessive in the way he corners you. And as the tension between you snaps, you realize—Jungwon isn’t just mad. He’s about to make sure you never think of anyone else again.

The dorm was unusually quiet.

Jungwon noticed it the moment he stepped inside, wiping sweat from his brow after an exhausting practice. Usually, you were quick to greet him, whining about how long he took or forcing him to sit down so you could mess with his hair. But today, you barely looked up from your phone, curled up on the couch, fingers scrolling mindlessly.

His brows furrowed. Strange.

At first, he ignored it, tossing his bag onto the floor and grabbing a bottle of water. But when he glanced over again, he caught the way your lips parted slightly, eyes locked on the screen, chest rising and falling a bit too quickly.

Suspicious.

Jungwon tilted his head. What’s got you so distracted?

He moved quietly, stepping closer, peering over your shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of your screen.

And then—

His breath hitched.

What the fuck is this?

Explicit descriptions. Heavy tension. Skin against skin. Words so filthy he felt the heat creep up his neck.

And right there—woven between every obscene sentence—was a name.

Sunghoon.

A slow, dangerous smirk curled at Jungwon’s lips.

You were reading smut about Sunghoon?

His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched. So that’s what you’re into?

Oh, he wasn’t mad. No, that would be too easy.

Instead—

He was going to make sure you regretted it.

He let you enjoy your little story a bit longer, watching with amusement as you shifted slightly, thighs pressing together. Then, when he had enough, he leaned down, lips hovering just beside your ear.

“What are you reading?”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone, scrambling to lock the screen. “N-nothing!”

Jungwon hummed, resting a hand on the back of the couch, effectively trapping you. “Didn’t look like nothing to me.” His voice dropped, teasing. “You were so into it. Wanna tell me what part you liked the most?”

Your throat bobbed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Jungwon—”

“Let me guess.” He plucked your phone from your hands before you could stop him, unlocking the screen with ease. His eyes skimmed over the words, and his smirk deepened. “Oh?” He shot you a look, full of amusement. “This is what gets you worked up?”

You reached for the phone, but he was quicker, holding it just out of your reach.

“‘Sunghoon pressed her against the wall, his breath hot against her skin as he—’” He let out a low chuckle, tossing your phone onto the table. “That desperate, huh?”

Your face burned. “I-I wasn’t—”

Jungwon cut you off, pressing a hand against your thigh, forcing them apart.

“You know,” he murmured, tilting his head, “if you wanted something like this, you could’ve just asked me.”

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon leaned closer, eyes dark, lips curling. “Wanna show me exactly what had you so wet?”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“Jungwon, I—”

But before you could finish, he was already moving, already slipping his hand beneath your shorts, fingers dragging over your soaked panties.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. “Soaked already?” He tsked. “And for him?”

You whimpered when he pressed harder, teasing you through the fabric. “N-no, it’s not—”

Jungwon cut you off with a chuckle. “Poor thing,” he murmured, voice full of mock sympathy. ��You just had to get off to a fantasy about Sunghoon, huh? Were you planning to touch yourself as soon as I left?”

Your face burned hotter.

He pulled back slightly, tilting his head. “Tell me,” he mused. “What did he do in that little story of yours?”

You swallowed hard, pulse racing.

Jungwon’s eyes gleamed. “Let me guess.”

And then—

He pressed you into the couch, one hand gripping your waist while the other wrapped around your throat, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Did he pin you down?”

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon smirked. “Did he make you beg?”

His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your throat, just enough to make your knees go weak.

“Did he fuck you so good you couldn’t even think straight?”

A whimper slipped past your lips.

Jungwon leaned in, lips brushing against your ear.

“I bet he didn’t tease you like this,” he murmured, sliding his fingers beneath your panties, barely dipping into your heat before pulling away again. “I bet he didn’t make you squirm, didn’t make you cry for it.”

You bit your lip, hips bucking slightly. “Jungwon, please—”

He chuckled, dragging his fingers through your slick, spreading it before pulling away completely.

“Beg louder.”

You whimpered.

Jungwon raised a brow. “Come on. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

His fingers ghosted over your core again, teasing, never quite giving you enough.

“You wanted someone to fuck you like in that dirty little story of yours.” His smirk turned cruel. “So why don’t you ask nicely?”

Your pride fought against your need, but the ache between your thighs was unbearable.

“Please,” you finally breathed.

Jungwon clicked his tongue. “Not good enough.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into his shirt. “Jungwon, please—please touch me. I need it.”

His eyes darkened.

“There’s my good girl.”

And then—

He ruined you.

His fingers plunged inside, stretching you open, working you up so fast you barely had time to catch your breath. His thumb circled your clit, pressing down just enough to make your legs shake.

“Feel that?” he murmured, curling his fingers just right, making your back arch. “Sunghoon ever make you feel like this?”

You gasped, shaking your head. “N-no—”

Jungwon smirked. “Of course not.”

His pace quickened, thrusting into you, his lips dragging down your throat, biting, marking.

“Wanna know why?”

You moaned, barely able to process his words.

“Because I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this.”

You cried out, body tensing, release creeping up too fast.

Jungwon felt it. He pulled back slightly, watching your flushed face, the way your lips parted, the way your hips chased his movements.

His smirk widened.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “Cum for me.”

And with one final flick of his wrist—

You shattered.

Your whole body trembled, pleasure crashing through you in waves, your nails digging into his arms as he worked you through it.

Jungwon groaned, watching you, drinking in every second.

And then, when you finally came down from your high, breathless and dazed, he leaned in one last time.

Voice low.

Mocking.

Dangerous.

“Next time,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear, “if you’re gonna get off to something—”

His fingers dragged down your thigh.

“Make sure it’s me you’re thinking about.”

It was happening again.

Jungwon hadn’t thought much of it at first. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to come home, shower, and maybe pull you into bed to make up for lost time. But as soon as he stepped into the dorm, something felt off.

You were curled up in bed, phone pressed to your ear, your body half-buried in the sheets. It would’ve been an innocent sight if not for the way your breath hitched every few seconds. The way your thighs pressed together.

Jungwon narrowed his eyes.

Silently, he stepped forward. You were so lost in whatever you were doing that you didn’t even notice him approach. And then—

A low, muffled moan played from your phone speaker.

Jungwon froze.

His blood ran cold.

That voice.

Heeseung.

His jaw clenched.

You were listening to Heeseung’s moans? While reading about him, too?

Jungwon’s hands curled into fists. Oh, this was worse than last time. So much fucking worse.

He took a slow breath, forcing himself to calm down, to think. Getting mad now would be too easy. No, if you wanted to act like this, he was going to make sure you felt exactly how pissed off he was.

And so—

He didn’t say a word.

He simply climbed onto the bed, caging you in before whispering, voice dangerously low—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You yelped, nearly throwing your phone across the room. Your face was red, body stiff, eyes wide as you scrambled to lock the screen. “J-Jungwon, I—”

He didn’t let you finish.

With one swift motion, he snatched the phone from your hands.

He didn’t even have to unlock it. The notifications on your screen told him everything.

Enhypen Smut - Heeseung Edition

Moan Compilation - Lee Heeseung Ver.

Jungwon let out a humorless chuckle, rolling his tongue against his cheek.

“Really?” He turned the phone so you could see. “First Sunghoon, and now this?”

You swallowed hard, struggling to sit up. “Jungwon, I wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp, cutting. His grip on your wrist tightened. “Don’t even fucking try.”

You flinched.

Jungwon exhaled harshly, tossing your phone aside.

Then—

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You really don’t learn, do you?”

You shivered, breath shaky. “Jungwon—”

He smirked, but it wasn’t amused. It was dark. Dangerous.

“You must really want to be fucked stupid,” he murmured, pushing you down against the mattress. “Is that it?”

His knee pressed between your legs, parting them with ease.

“Tell me,” he muttered, his grip tightening. “What was your favorite part?”

You hesitated. That was a mistake.

Jungwon clicked his tongue. “Let’s guess, shall we?”

And then—

His hand wrapped around your throat.

Your breath caught, back arching.

“Was it the way he moaned?” he taunted, leaning closer, voice a low, mocking whisper. “Did you imagine him fucking you while listening to those pretty little sounds?”

You whimpered.

Jungwon chuckled darkly. “Or was it the way he ruined her in that filthy little story of yours?” His grip tightened slightly. “Tell me, baby. Which part made you soak these pretty little panties?”

Your face burned with humiliation.

Jungwon leaned in further, lips barely brushing yours. “Or maybe…” His fingers trailed down your body, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing. “You were waiting for me to find you like this.”

Your breath hitched.

“Were you trying to piss me off?” he murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw. “Because, sweetheart—”

He pushed his fingers deep inside you, making you gasp.

“You fucking succeeded.”

You cried out, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling.

Jungwon didn’t ease into it this time. No, you didn’t deserve that.

Not when you’d spent all night getting off to the thought of another man.

His pace was brutal, fingers pumping into you mercilessly, stretching you open without warning.

“Look at that,” he sneered. “Soaking my fucking fingers already.”

You whimpered, hands clutching at his arms. “J-Jungwon—”

“Shut up,” he growled. “I’m not letting you talk your way out of this one.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing harsh, deliberate circles that had your legs shaking.

Your body was betraying you. No matter how overwhelmed you felt, no matter how rough he was being, you loved it.

Jungwon knew.

And he was going to make you pay for it.

He curled his fingers just right, hitting that perfect spot that had you screaming.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You sobbed, hips bucking against his hand.

Jungwon’s smirk deepened.

“You didn’t need a fucking moan compilation,” he taunted, pressing down harder. “Not when I can make you cum so fast you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his skin. “Jungwon, please—”

He ignored you. His fingers moved faster, rougher, his breath hot against your skin.

“Gonna cum?” he murmured, mockingly sweet. “Go ahead.”

You sobbed, body tightening, release creeping up too fast.

And then—

He pulled away completely.

You screamed.

Jungwon chuckled darkly, gripping your thighs, holding you down as you thrashed beneath him.

“Aww,” he cooed. “Poor thing.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Jungwon, please—”

He raised a brow.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Did you think I was gonna let you cum after that little stunt of yours?”

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon smirked. “Not so fun when it’s me teasing you, huh?”

You whimpered, thighs squeezing together, desperate for any friction.

But Jungwon wouldn’t give you anything.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“Beg.”

Your body trembled. “Jungwon—”

“Beg,” he repeated, harsher.

Your pride was gone. Your need was unbearable.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, I need it.”

Jungwon hummed. “Need what?”

You whimpered, hands clinging to him desperately. “Need you to fuck me. Please, I’ll be good—I won’t do it again, just please—”

His eyes darkened.

“Damn right, you won’t.”

And then—

He ruined you all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop.

This time, he didn’t let you breathe.

He made sure the only name you’d be moaning for the rest of the night—

Was his.

Oh, you’re insatiable, huh? Let’s keep this going.

Jungwon didn’t waste another second.

In one swift motion, he yanked your shorts and panties down, tossing them aside like they meant nothing. The way you trembled beneath him, thighs squeezing together, made his cock twitch painfully against his sweatpants.

But he wasn’t going to rush this.

No, you didn’t deserve that.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his fingers along your soaked folds. “So fucking wet for me.”

You whimpered, hips twitching under his touch. “Jungwon, please—”

He clicked his tongue. “Still so impatient.”

His fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your clit, making your whole body tense. “What happened to that bratty attitude?” he mused. “Did I already fuck it out of you?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the sheets beneath you.

Jungwon smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear.

“Or do you like when I put you in your place?”

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon chuckled, voice dark. “That’s what I thought.”

And then—

He pulled back just enough to undo his sweatpants, shoving them down along with his boxers.

Your eyes widened slightly, breath coming in quick, shallow pants as you took him in—thick, heavy, already leaking with precum.

Jungwon caught your stare and let out a low chuckle. “Yeah?” he murmured, stroking himself lazily. “That what you were thinking about?”

You whimpered.

His free hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling you closer. “Better,” he muttered, pressing his cock against your entrance. “Because I want you to feel exactly what Heeseung can’t give you.”

You barely had time to react before he slammed inside you.

A choked sob tore from your throat, back arching as he buried himself deep.

“Fuck,” Jungwon growled, voice rough. “So fucking tight.”

He gave you no time to adjust.

His grip on your hips tightened, nails digging into your skin as he pulled back just to thrust back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace.

“You wanted this,” he gritted out. “Didn’t you?”

You moaned, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto.

Jungwon groaned, leaning down to kiss you, all tongue and teeth, biting at your lips before pulling away.

“Say it,” he ordered, voice thick with lust.

You whined. “Jungwon—”

He pulled out almost completely, making you cry out, before slamming back in.

“Say it.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I—I wanted this,” you gasped.

Jungwon smirked. “That’s right.”

He shifted, hooking your leg over his shoulder, sinking deeper.

You screamed, nails raking down his arms, completely at his mercy.

Jungwon groaned, rolling his hips harder, faster, making sure you felt every inch of him.

“You don’t need those stupid stories,” he muttered, kissing along your jaw. “Not when I can fuck you better than any of them ever could.”

You sobbed, thighs trembling. “Jungwon, please—”

His grip on your throat tightened. “Please, what?”

You could barely think. Could barely breathe.

“Please let me cum,” you gasped.

Jungwon smirked, snapping his hips harder. “Yeah?” he taunted. “Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

You nodded desperately.

Jungwon groaned. “Then fucking do it.”

His hand dropped between you, rubbing your clit fast, hard, ruthless—

And you broke.

Your body arched, walls clenching around him as a high-pitched moan tore from your throat. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you completely wrecked beneath him.

Jungwon cursed, feeling you squeeze him so tight—

And then he snapped.

He pinned you down, fucking into you with everything he had, chasing his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Make sure you remember who you fucking belong to.”

A few more thrusts, and then—

He groaned, burying himself deep, spilling inside you.

For a moment, all you could hear was heavy breathing, skin against skin, the aftershocks of pleasure still running through you both.

Jungwon smirked, brushing his lips over your jaw.

“Next time,” he murmured, voice dark, “I better be the only one in your head.”

You didn’t even have the strength to answer.

Jungwon chuckled.

“Guess I fucked you too dumb to respond.”

151 notes · View notes

helvegen-s · 3 days ago

Text

do I wanna know?

Hozier's version

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: Oscar Piastri wasn't looking for love when he met Amélie in a Monaco nightclub. But their undeniable chemistry sparks a passionate connection that quickly becomes something more. As their secret relationship deepens, her surname, Vasseur, becomes the real problem.

Word count: 12k (stoppp, so long but so worth it)

TW: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, sexually suggestive content, alcohol, strong language...

A/N: I DID IT. Another day, another one-shot. I love Oscar with all my heart. I swear I’ve done everything to make this as little angsty and as least sad as possible. I hope you enjoy it <3

My previous one-shot, Step by step, has received so much love. I adore you all, and thank you for the reblogs, for the comments and the likes!

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

Monaco at night had a different glow. It wasn’t just the shimmer of lights reflecting on the sea or the lingering echo of engines that still seemed to vibrate in the air. It was the luxury, the exclusivity—the feeling that anything could happen in a city that never truly slept.

Oscar Piastri wasn’t the kind of guy who frequented nightclubs. Not because he didn’t like having fun, but because the idea of being surrounded by strangers, with deafening music and alcohol flowing freely, wasn’t exactly his scene. But a couple of friends had come to visit him at his new apartment in Monaco, and after a few beers and plenty of teasing about how boring he was, they had managed to drag him there.

The club was a chaos of strobe lights and moving bodies. The music, a heavy, immersive beat, pulsed through the floor and into his chest. Oscar stayed in a corner, a drink in his hand, pretending to enjoy himself while his friends disappeared into the crowd.

That was when he saw her.

She moved with an almost insolent confidence, the kind of presence that made people turn their heads without even realizing it. She was dressed in black, her loose hair falling in soft waves, her smirk suggesting she already knew something the rest didn’t. Oscar wasn’t the type to stare at just anyone, but there was something about her that kept his gaze locked.

When their eyes met, she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled, amused, as if she could read exactly what was going through his mind.

And then she walked over.

"You don’t look like someone who enjoys places like this," she said, leaning in just enough for her voice to be heard over the music.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"And what kind of person do I look like?"

"Someone who’s already calculating how much longer they need to stay before they can leave without looking like a buzzkill."

Oscar let out a laugh.

"And what about you? Are you the life of the party?"

She shrugged, her expression shameless.

"Could be."

Oscar couldn’t help but smile. There was something about her attitude, the way she didn’t give him a break, that had him completely hooked.

"Are you always this quick with words?"

"Are you always this easy to throw off?" she shot back.

He laughed again, more at ease than he expected to be. He wasn’t usually like this with strangers. He didn’t usually let himself go this fast. But with her, it felt inevitable.

They stayed like that, challenging each other with words and smiles, until conversation was no longer enough. He wasn’t sure who made the first move—if it was her or him. Maybe, in the end, it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the exact moment their lips met in the middle of the dance floor, with the music pounding around them and the world shrinking to that single instant.

Oscar didn’t know her name. He didn’t know who she was or where she was from. All he knew was that the night had just become a lot more interesting.

The kiss tasted like gin and danger. The kind that arrived without warning, set skin on fire, and became impossible to ignore.

Oscar wasn’t thinking too much when he had her this close. He wasn’t thinking about the loud club, his friends, or anything other than the way she smiled against his lips, as if this were a game she already knew she was going to win.

His hand instinctively slid to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the way her body fit against his like they’d done this before, like it was meant to happen. She didn’t pull away—on the contrary, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, just to tease him.

"Do you always kiss strangers like this?" she whispered when they pulled apart just a fraction.

Oscar smiled, still holding her.

"No. Do you?"

"Neither do I." She leaned in again, barely grazing his lips with hers, tempting him. "But today seems like a good day to start."

Oscar chuckled lowly, unable to resist the effect she had on him. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t what he usually did. But something about her made him want to play along, to fall helplessly into the pull of her presence.

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. She took advantage of it, letting her hands trace the edges of his shirt while looking at him with that wicked amusement.

"Do you dance, driver?"

Oscar frowned, half amused, half confused.

"How do you know I’m a driver?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"The way you move. Besides, this is Monaco. Everyone’s a driver here."

"That sounds like a very well-crafted lie."

"Could be." She leaned in again, her lips brushing against the curve of his jaw. "Does that bother you?"

No. It didn’t. Not when he had her this close, the dance floor spinning around them, and the feeling that this was all a mistake—but the kind worth making.

Oscar took her hand and spun her effortlessly, making her laugh. They danced without a plan, without thinking too much about the rest of the world. Her body felt light against his, her laughter vibrating against his skin every time they pushed the limits a little further.

Until, in a moment of clarity, Oscar leaned in and whispered in her ear,

"You haven’t told me your name."

She stopped, looking at him with a spark in her eyes.

"Do you really need it?"

Yes. Probably. But the way she said it, the way she smiled afterward, made him hesitate.

Because maybe, just for tonight, he didn’t need it at all.

Oscar watched her, waiting for an answer. She only smiled, stretching the silence just enough to keep him on edge.

"Amélie," she finally said, savoring each syllable of her own name.

Oscar nodded, repeating it in his mind, making sure not to forget it. Amélie. It suited her.

"Nice name."

"I know."

Oscar laughed. God, she was unbearable. Unbearable and utterly fascinating in equal measure.

They kept dancing, though the music no longer mattered. What mattered were their hands gliding over each other’s skin, the whispers in their ears, the way their lips brushed together, turning into something more. The attraction between them was like an electric current, a dangerous game neither of them seemed willing to lose.

Amélie leaned in, her lips just a breath away.

"Let’s get out of here."

Oscar didn’t think twice.

The Mediterranean breeze was warm as they walked through the streets of Monaco, away from the noise of the club, adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

"Your place or mine?" Amélie asked, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

Oscar hesitated for a second. His friends would be crashing at his apartment, and the idea of going back with her only to find a couple of drunk idiots passed out on the couch wasn’t exactly appealing. His mind also flashed to the countless unopened boxes, unpacked suitcases, and unassembled furniture piled up in his new place.

"Yours."

"Good choice." She smiled but didn’t say anything else. She simply started walking, knowing he would follow.

Her apartment was in an elegant building near the port, with massive windows and a breathtaking view of the illuminated city.

"Nice place."

"It’s not bad." She shrugged off her jacket with a swift motion, letting it fall onto a chair. Then she turned to face him, that same defiant look in her eyes. "Do you want something to drink or…?"

Oscar didn’t let her finish.

The tension that had been simmering between them all night exploded the moment their lips met again. It was different from the kiss at the club—more urgent, more desperate. Like every second they had spent holding back had only been a prelude to the real moment of the night.

Amélie smiled against his mouth and, in one swift move, pushed him back until his spine hit the wall.

"Are you always this easy?" she murmured, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Oscar let out a low chuckle.

"Are you always this bossy?"

"When necessary."

"I like it."

This time, he took control.

They stumbled through the apartment, kissing and laughing, too caught up in each other to care about bumping into furniture. Clothes disappeared along the way, leaving a trail neither of them bothered to follow.

The way Amélie moved was hypnotic, as if she was in charge without even trying. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her breath warm against his lips.

"If at any point you want to stop—"

Oscar cut her off before she could finish, kissing her again, deeper, more desperate. Amélie grinned against his lips before pulling him further into the apartment.

There was no rush, yet no hesitation either. They moved with an absurd level of synchronicity for two strangers, as if every touch had been rehearsed a hundred times before.

When the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he took the opportunity to flip their dynamic, pinning her beneath him with ease.

"So, you like competing off-track too?" she teased, fingers tracing down his back.

Oscar lowered his head to her neck, pressing slow kisses against her skin.

"Always."

Amélie exhaled softly, letting the heat of the moment consume everything.

That night was one to remember.

Because, even though neither of them knew it yet, it was a night that would change everything.

Oscar woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. It took him a second to remember where he was—the spacious bedroom, the messy sheets, the lingering scent of perfume and warm skin in the air.

And then, the body beside him.

Amélie was lying on her stomach, her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, the sheet barely covering her back. Her breathing was soft, completely oblivious to his wakefulness.

Oscar rested his head on the pillow and watched her for a moment. He remembered every detail of the night before—the taste of gin on her lips, the way she laughed against his skin, how they had lost themselves in each other without holding back. It had been wild and sweet at the same time, like they were on the edge of devouring each other yet somehow knew exactly how to touch.

Definitely, one of those nights you don’t forget.

But now came the tricky part—the mornings.

It was never exactly awkward, but it was never simple either. There was something about waking up in an unfamiliar bed, with the faint haze of a night too good to regret, that always brought the inevitable question: Now what?

As if sensing his gaze, Amélie shifted slightly and murmured something unintelligible before cracking her eyes open.

"Mmm… you’re still here," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Did you expect me to sneak out in the middle of the night?"

"I didn’t take you for a coward," she said, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

Oscar chuckled. He propped himself up on his elbow, taking her in properly for the first time without the dim club lights or the haze of lust clouding his perception. He noticed new details—the way her skin caught the morning light, the faint scar on her collarbone, the relaxed yet mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Do you always analyze people this much when you wake up next to them?" Amélie asked, meeting his gaze.

"Do you always have a comeback ready?"

"I warned you last night."

Oscar smirked, shaking his head. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her that intrigued him. It wasn’t just that she was stunning or that the sex had been incredible. It was the way she carried herself, the confidence, the effortless way she set the pace without him even noticing.

She stretched lazily before sitting up, letting the sheet slide down to her waist.

"I’m making coffee," she announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Does that mean you're inviting me to stay?"

Amélie turned around, giving him a defiant look.

"It means that if you touch the coffee machine before it's done, I'll throw you out of my apartment shirtless."

Oscar let out a laugh and fell back onto the bed, arms resting behind his head.

"You're trouble."

"And you walked right into it with your eyes wide open, driver."

With a satisfied smile, Amélie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Oscar with the certainty that this night wouldn’t be something he could forget so easily.

He lay there for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. He couldn’t remember the last time a night had been like this. Not just incredible in the physical sense—because it had been, no question—but fun.

There was something about Amélie that kept him hooked, and that worried him a little. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t like any other girl he’d been with before.

He sighed, running a hand down his face before getting up.

Gathering his clothes scattered around the room, he pulled his pants halfway up as he walked out toward the kitchen.

The apartment was modern and spacious, with a spectacular view of Monaco from the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the distance, Amélie’s silhouette moved effortlessly between the coffee machine and the shelves, wearing his shirt—barely buttoned.

Oscar leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms.

"Nice shirt."

Amélie didn’t even turn around.

"Nice coffee machine," she shot back. "Which you still can’t touch."

He chuckled, stepping closer until his hip brushed against hers at the counter.

"And what if I need caffeine to function?"

She turned her head just enough to give him a look filled with teasing amusement.

"You're an F1 driver, not an office worker with a coffee addiction."

"We all have our weaknesses."

Amélie smirked, as if considering his words for a moment, before focusing back on her coffee.

The coffee machine bubbled softly as the rich aroma filled the kitchen. Amélie, arms crossed and feigning exasperation, watched Oscar stir the scrambled eggs he had insisted on cooking—with infuriating ease.

"Seriously, you don’t have to cook," she repeated for the third time.

"And yet, here I am."

"This isn’t your house."

"No, but it’s not a restaurant either, so if I want a decent meal, I’d rather make it myself."

Amélie huffed, leaning against the counter with her coffee cup in hand.

"Are you implying that I can’t cook?"

Oscar shot her an amused look.

"I haven’t seen any evidence that you can."

"You're incredibly arrogant for someone cooking with my pan in my kitchen."

"I call it survival," he said with a shrug.

Their dynamic was captivating. Amélie fired off comebacks at lightning speed, but Oscar kept up, responding with dry, precise remarks. There was no tension, no awkward pauses. It felt as if they had known each other for years, as if this was a routine between them.

As the eggs finished cooking, Oscar glanced toward the living room. From the kitchen, he had the perfect angle to see the main wall, and that’s when he noticed it.

Above the TV, hung proudly, was a massive painting.

It wasn’t a photograph, but a stunningly detailed painting of Monza’s circuit, featuring the faces of Michael Schumacher and Rubens Barrichello, dressed in their iconic Ferrari red suits, holding their trophies with beaming smiles.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Is that Monza?"

Amélie, mid-sip of coffee, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Mhm."

Oscar set down the spatula and turned fully toward the painting.

"It’s incredible."

"It is."

"Did you buy it?"

"No."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, noting how she didn’t elaborate.

"Are you a Formula 1 fan?"

"Mmm… not actively."

"You have a giant painting of Schumacher and Barrichello in your living room, Amélie. I find that hard to believe."

She sighed, as if she had been expecting this conversation.

"It was my father’s. He gave it to me when I bought this apartment."

Oscar tilted his head.

"Is your father a fan?"

"Let’s just say he’s very involved in motorsport."

A small alarm went off in Oscar’s head. Something wasn’t quite adding up, but before he could ask more, Amélie set her cup down and crossed her arms.

"And yes, I know who you are."

He tensed slightly.

"Oh."

"I didn’t sleep with you because you’re famous."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh, surprised by her bluntness.

"I didn’t think you did."

"Good. Because I didn’t."

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Amélie’s expression was calm, but with that ever-present challenge in her eyes that made her impossible to ignore. Oscar felt there was more to this, something she wasn’t saying.

But for now, he let it go.

"The eggs are ready," he said, serving them onto two plates.

Amélie gave him a small smile and took hers.

"You’re a decent driver. Let’s see if you’re a decent cook too."

Oscar shook his head, chuckling as they sat down to eat.

Breakfast carried the same strangely effortless energy as the rest of the morning. Oscar couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared a moment like this with someone he’d just met. Maybe never.

They talked about everything and nothing. Amélie teased him about how meticulous he was with the scrambled eggs. Oscar told her the coffee was so strong it could wake the dead. She told him that if he couldn’t handle it, he probably wasn’t man enough to be in her kitchen.

Oscar could only laugh.

And then, it was time to leave.

"I’d stay longer," he said, leaning against the counter, "but I left my friends at a club, and I still don’t know if they’re alive or if one of them ended up in a ditch."

Amélie chuckled.

"I’d say there’s an 80% chance they’re sleeping on your couch and a 20% chance they’re in jail."

"That’s exactly why I need to check."

She set her cup in the sink and nodded.

"Alright."

But neither of them moved.

Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up.

"Want to exchange numbers?"

Amélie raised an eyebrow, as if she hadn’t expected that, but didn’t hesitate for long before taking her own phone and typing her contact into his.

"Call me if your friends are dead. I can help you hide the bodies."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Oscar joked, saving her number.

And then, the real problem arose: how to say goodbye?

A simple “bye”? Too cold.

A hug? He wasn’t sure if that was right.

A kiss? Maybe too intimate for what they really were—two strangers who had just spent the night together.

But when their eyes met, the decision made itself.

Oscar leaned in slightly, and Amélie didn’t step back. Their lips barely brushed—a short kiss, nothing like the intensity of the night before, but charged with something else. Something harder to define.

When they pulled away, Amélie smiled, that mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Piastri."

Oscar laughed, shaking his head as he stepped toward the door.

"See you around, Amélie."

"See you."

And with that, he left.

Though, as he walked out of the building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before he saw her again.

Oscar entered his apartment in Monaco, his body exhausted and his mind scattered. The weekend's race was still buzzing in his head, memories of the paddock and strategy meetings blending with the roar of the engines. He knew he should take a shower, eat something decent, and, most of all, sleep.

But the moment he crossed the threshold, he thought of her.

It had been weeks since he last saw her. Neither of them had written, not even a casual message, as if the night they spent together had been nothing more than a fleeting moment, not something strong enough to leave a mark.

Oscar dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. He had no reason to text her. No excuse. But before he could think too much about it, his fingers were already moving over the screen.

🟠 Oscar: "If you want to see me, come over. I'm exhausted."

The possibility that she wouldn’t reply crossed his mind. It was late. And if he hadn’t bothered to reach out before, why would she now?

But against all odds, his phone vibrated instantly.

🔴 Amélie: "What kind of invitation is that? Doesn't sound very tempting."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

🟠 Oscar: "It's the best I can offer in this state."

This time, Amélie took longer to reply. He pictured her with her phone in hand, debating whether to accept or keep playing along a little longer.

🔴 Amélie: "Alright. But I’m bringing dinner."

🟠 Oscar: "No objections here."

🔴 Amélie: "You should have some. I might bring something terrible just to see your face when you try it."

🟠 Oscar: "If you poison me, you’ll pay for it."

🔴 Amélie: "I love a man who takes risks."

Oscar shook his head, and as he wrote his address in the chat, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

Whatever this was, he liked it.

The doorbell rang about forty minutes later.

Dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, Oscar made his way to the door unhurriedly. When he opened it, Amélie stood there, a paper bag in hand and a half-smile on her lips.

“Don’t ask what’s for dinner,” she said before he could say a word.

Oscar arched an eyebrow as he stepped aside to let her in.

“That sounds concerning.”

“Come on, trust me.”

She took off her jacket and tossed it over the couch with a familiarity they probably shouldn’t have yet. Oscar didn’t comment on it, but his gaze flickered to the jacket for a second before he shut the door behind her.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything gourmet,” she warned, pulling containers from the bag.

Oscar leaned against the counter, watching her.

“Honestly, as long as I don’t have to cook, I’ll take anything.”

Amélie pulled out two boxes of pasta from an Italian restaurant.

“Not much effort, huh?”

She shot him a sharp look.

“You wound me. This is from one of the best places in Monaco.”

Oscar opened one of the boxes, and the second the aroma hit him, he had to admit—it looked amazing.

“Alright, point for you.”

They sat on the couch, legs crossed casually, no rush. They ate in a comfortable atmosphere, filled with sarcastic remarks and glances that lingered just a little too long.

“So,” Amélie said at some point, twirling her fork in her pasta, “how does it feel to be home after the races?”

Oscar shrugged.

“Quiet. Maybe too quiet.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Does that mean you missed the chaos?”

Oscar watched her for a second before replying, amusement in his voice.

“I think it means I missed the person who brings it.”

Amélie smiled but didn’t reply right away. Still, in her eyes, Oscar saw something—a flicker of recognition, of acceptance.

This game between them was far from over.

Amélie held Oscar’s gaze for a few seconds before flashing a lazy smile.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an accusation,” she said, taking another bite of pasta.

“A bit of both.”

She let out a low chuckle.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

They kept eating, their conversation flowing as easily as their playful jabs. There were no awkward silences, no need to fill the gaps with unnecessary words. It was strange. Strange because Oscar wasn’t usually this comfortable with someone he barely knew.

But Amélie wasn’t just anyone.

And that’s what kept him hooked.

When they finished eating, she set her takeout container on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch with the ease of someone who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to text me,” she said suddenly.

Oscar glanced at her while finishing his last bite.

“Oh yeah?”

“No. You seemed like the type of driver who disappears after one night.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what you think of me?”

Amélie tilted her head slightly.

“I don’t know. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar licked his lips, amused.

“And how’s my evaluation going so far?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment before answering.

“A solid seven out of ten.”

Oscar let out a laugh.

“Just a seven?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What would get me a ten?”

Amélie turned her head to look at him, and Oscar caught the subtle glint of challenge in her eyes.

“You’ll have to figure that out.”

The air between them shifted, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a rejection either. Amélie kept him right on the edge of what was safe and what wasn’t, and Oscar wasn’t sure which one tempted him more.

He studied her in silence for a moment.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked finally.

Amélie smiled.

“Only if you have decent wine.”

Oscar stood up, shaking his head.

“Picky.”

“Always.”

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine he had stashed away. He wasn’t exactly a wine connoisseur, but he hoped it was good enough for his guest. When he returned to the living room with two glasses, Amélie had already changed positions on the couch, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her.

“I’ll give you an extra point if it’s good,” she remarked as Oscar poured her a glass.

“Then you’d better lie if it’s not.”

She laughed softly before taking a sip.

Oscar watched her as she did, surprised by how much he enjoyed having her in his space.

“Approved,” she finally said, handing him back the glass with an amused look.

“Great. So am I at an eight now?”

Amélie tilted her head.

“That depends on how the night ends.”

Oscar leaned back against the couch, smirking.

“Interesting.”

And somehow, they both knew the night was far from over.

Eventually, the wine was forgotten on the table.

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. One joke led to another, a smile turned into a fleeting touch, and now Amélie was straddling him, her legs tangled with his, her lips caught in a kiss that had no intention of ending anytime soon.

Oscar’s hand slid down her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. Amélie let out a laugh against his mouth before pulling back slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“For someone who was so tired, you have an impressive amount of energy,” she teased, not bothering to hide the playful lilt in her voice.

Oscar chuckled, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on her waist.

“Must be the high-quality dinner you brought,” he shot back with equal sarcasm.

Amélie arched an eyebrow.

“Then I should feed you more often.”

“Good idea. But, to be fair, it’s not just the food.”

“Oh, no?”

Oscar tilted his head, his lips grazing the skin of her neck.

“Let’s just say the company helps, too.”

Amélie smiled, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“You’re more charming than you let on, Piastri.”

“And you’re more dangerous than you look.”

She let out a soft laugh before kissing him again, her fingers tangling in his hair. And for the second time in his life, Oscar let himself be swept away by Amélie without a second thought.

Somehow, between laughter, sharp comebacks, and hands growing bolder by the second, they ended up in Oscar’s bedroom. It was a whirlwind of discarded clothes, breathless whispers, and a crackling electricity that filled every inch of space. Amélie was a storm—unpredictable, defiant, impossible to ignore. And Oscar surrendered to her without hesitation, without caring that they barely knew each other, without worrying about what it meant.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was her.

The first thing Oscar noticed upon waking was the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. The second was the warmth beside him—the shape of Amélie beneath the sheets.

For a moment, he simply lay there, watching her in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her hair a tangled mess against the pillow. She looked peaceful, nothing like the woman who challenged him with every word when she was awake.

Oscar smiled to himself before stretching slightly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his muscles.

"Do you always stare at people when they’re sleeping?" Amélie’s voice, husky from sleep, pulled him from his thoughts.

Oscar blinked, a little surprised to find her awake.

"Only when they try to kill me with their sense of humor," he replied, smirking.

Amélie cracked one eye open, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Don't blame me if you can’t handle it."

Oscar let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"I might need some intensive training."

"I doubt it. You handled yourself pretty well last night."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Pretty well?"

Amélie shrugged, feigning indifference, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.

"I don’t know... I might need a second evaluation to be sure."

Oscar studied her for a second before rolling over, pinning her beneath him once again.

"That can be arranged."

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her, swallowing the breathless laugh that slipped from her lips.

They weren’t exactly sure how they made it work, but every time Oscar returned to Monaco, somehow, they ended up together.

It wasn’t planned. They didn’t text ahead of time or make promises to see each other again. It just happened—Oscar would come home after a race weekend, drop his bag, sink into the couch, and before he could think too much about it, he was already typing out a message to Amélie.

And she always answered.

Some nights, she was the one who showed up at his door with takeout, her hair tied up, a playful smirk on her lips, as if the last thing she wanted to do was admit she’d been waiting for that message too. Other times, he was the one crossing the city, ringing her doorbell with some vague excuse about ordering too much food and not wanting to eat alone.

Either way, the outcome was always the same.

An accidental touch on the couch that turned into something more. Oscar’s hands finding their way to her waist, tangling in her hair as he kissed her with the same intensity as the first time. Amélie murmuring something teasing against his lips before pushing him onto the mattress, or him pulling her into his arms, refusing to let her get too far. The feeling that every night with her was an inevitable spiral, a pull neither of them could resist.

It was easy. Natural. As if it couldn’t be any other way.

But there was something—something Oscar couldn’t quite figure out.

Every time he mentioned the idea of going out, Amélie’s answer was always the same.

"Go out? For what?"

Sometimes, she said it with a smirk. Other times, just a simple shrug, as if the thought of walking through Monaco together or going to a restaurant was unnecessary. And in the end, they always stayed in, watching a movie neither of them really paid attention to.

Oscar swore it didn’t bother him. It really didn’t. They didn’t need to go out to enjoy each other’s company. They didn’t need formal dates or candlelit dinners to keep doing whatever this was.

And yet, there was something about the way Amélie avoided it that didn’t quite sit right with him.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.

At least, not yet.

Until one day, in a surge of something he couldn’t quite name, he decided to push back.

"Why don’t you ever want to go out with me?"

It was blunt, direct. They were in her living room, a movie playing in the background, a half-eaten pizza between them. Amélie, her legs draped over his lap, looked up, caught off guard by the question.

"Where’s that coming from?"

Oscar held her gaze.

"From the fact that every time I suggest it, you dodge it."

She picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite, far too calm.

"Because I don’t like going out."

"That’s not it." He shook his head. "It’s going out with me that you don’t want."

Amélie chewed in silence, eyes locked on his. For a second, Oscar thought she’d throw back a sarcastic remark, a joke to deflect the conversation. But instead, she just sighed and set the pizza down.

"I don’t want you to take this the wrong way," she finally said. "I like what we have. I like you. But I’d rather keep it… like this."

"Like this?"

"Private."

Oscar frowned.

"Private or secret?"

She didn’t answer immediately.

And that was enough for Oscar to understand the difference.

"I’m not saying we have to make our… whatever this is, public—nothing like that," he said, trying to keep his tone steady. "I just want to understand why the idea of going to a damn restaurant with me bothers you so much."

Amélie crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

"It doesn’t bother me. I just don’t see the need. We’re fine like this, aren’t we?"

"Are we?" Oscar let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Because, honestly, it doesn’t feel like it."

She clicked her tongue, as if the conversation was testing her patience.

"Oscar—"

"No, seriously. I like being with you. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t care about putting a label on it, but… I feel like I only exist within these walls. Like I’m a secret you’d rather keep hidden."

The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant.

Amélie parted her lips, as if to respond, but said nothing.

Oscar let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Look, I don’t want to be the guy who makes a big deal out of this. We’re not together, I have no right to demand anything from you, but—"

"Exactly." Her voice was sharper than usual. "You have no right to demand anything from me."

Oscar blinked, taken aback.

"It’s not a demand, Amélie. It’s a conversation."

She shook her head, exasperated.

"There always has to be a problem, doesn’t there? We can’t just enjoy what we have without overanalyzing it."

Oscar felt something inside him tighten even more.

"I’m not questioning what we have. I’m questioning why we have to keep it hidden."

"Because it’s easier that way."

The answer came instantly. But the way she said it… Oscar saw something in her eyes. Something she was trying to hide.

"Easier for who?" he asked quietly.

Amélie clenched her jaw, looking away.

And there it was. The confirmation he didn’t want.

Oscar felt a weight in his chest, an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

He stood up from the couch.

"Okay," he said, his tone colder than he expected.

Amélie frowned.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, if that’s what you want, I won’t push."

She got to her feet too, watching him closely.

"I’m not saying you matter less to me just because I don’t want to be seen with you in public."

"No, but it sure feels like it."

Anger flickered in her eyes for a split second, but she said nothing.

Oscar grabbed his keys from the table.

"I’m gonna go."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Amélie looked at him, a mix of confusion and wounded pride in her expression.

"I thought you weren’t the kind of guy who walks away in the middle of an argument."

Oscar turned to the door.

"I also didn’t think you were the kind of person who was afraid to be seen with me."

He didn’t wait for a response.

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

And even though he tried to shake it off, tried to convince himself he had no right to feel this way, the truth was that the idea of being just a secret to her burned more than he was willing to admit.

The days turned into weeks.

Oscar fell back into his routine, throwing himself into the world of F1 with an almost obsessive intensity. More hours in the simulator, more technical meetings, more training until exhaustion. Anything to keep his mind off her. But no matter how hard he tried, Amélie always found a way to creep back in.

He saw her in the most absurd moments. In the reflection of a window when he least expected it. In a woman’s laughter at a restaurant that sounded too much like hers. In the damn jasmine scent that had once lingered on his pillow. And he hated it. Hated it because she was the one who walked away. Because she was the one who put up walls between them. And yet, he was the one paying the price.

He swore he wouldn’t reach out. Told himself he had his pride. But every time he landed in Monaco after a race, the battle started all over again. He turned off his phone before temptation could win. Repeated to himself that she wasn’t worth it, that if she wanted him out of her life, he wasn’t going to beg to be let back in.

But, fuck, it was getting harder.

Amélie, for her part, stood by her decision. But with every passing day, it became more difficult.

Meetings with investors and networking events became her escape. She made sure her schedule was packed, leaving no room for solitude—no chance for her mind to wander where it shouldn’t. But the problem was that even in a crowded room, her thoughts always found their way back to Oscar.

Every time she saw a headline about him, every time his name came up in a passing conversation with her father, her chest tightened. She wasn’t searching for him, but the world insisted on reminding her.

And the worst part? At night, when she closed her eyes, guilt consumed her.

She had fallen for him more than she ever wanted to admit. More than she should have. And by the time she realized it, it was too late. Because she knew that if she had stayed with him, she would have dragged him into a scandal, into a shadow he’d never escape.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She let him go to protect him.

So why did it feel like she was doing the wrong thing?

And then, the invitation came.

Monza. Ferrari’s home turf. The race that electrified the entire country.

Her father’s voice had been calm, expectant, as if he already knew what her answer would be before she even said it. "It’s been years since you’ve been to a race," he had remarked casually. "Come. Enjoy yourself for once."

She knew exactly what it meant. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a reminder of where she came from, of the legacy she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.

And more than anything, she knew Oscar would be there.

He would see her. He would learn the truth—who she really was, who she had been all along. And maybe, just maybe, he would hate her for it.

But what did it matter anymore?

They weren’t together. They never had been.

She told herself that as she accepted the invitation, as she packed her bags, as she prepared to step into a world she had spent so long keeping separate from him.

For once, she wouldn’t think about consequences. She would let herself breathe. Even if it meant standing face to face with the one person she had tried so hard to forget.

The roar of the engines filled the air, vibrating through her chest as Amélie stepped into the paddock. Monza was alive, electric with anticipation, and the sea of red surrounding her was almost suffocating.

She had been here as a kid, too many times to count, but this time was different. This time, she wasn’t just the daughter of a powerful man in motorsport. She wasn’t just another face in the Ferrari hospitality suite.

This time, Oscar was here.

And at some point, he would see her.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the sunglasses perched on her nose, letting her expression settle into something unreadable. She had no reason to be nervous. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for her father, for Ferrari, for the world that had shaped her long before Oscar Piastri had stumbled into her life.

And yet, as she moved through the paddock, as she exchanged polite greetings and forced smiles, she felt the weight of it pressing against her chest.

Would he be angry? Confused? Would he even care?

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But then, she saw him.

Oscar was walking towards the McLaren garage, deep in conversation with an engineer, his expression serious—focused. But as if he could sense her presence, as if something in the air had shifted, he suddenly glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, everything around them faded. The noise, the people, the flashing cameras—it all disappeared.

Oscar’s face didn’t betray much. There was no immediate reaction, no flash of surprise or recognition. But there was something in the way he held her gaze, something unreadable and sharp, that sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

And continued walking.

Amélie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

So that was it.

Oscar didn’t understand why seeing her there had shaken him so much.

It wasn’t like she had no right to be in Monza. After all, she had once mentioned that her father was a big F1 fan. Maybe she had simply come to enjoy the weekend, like any other fan with the right connections to wander through the paddock without restrictions.

That had to be all.

And yet, something inside him twisted with discomfort.

He had spent weeks suppressing any impulse to look for her, forcing himself to bury her deep in his mind. But now, with just a single glance, she was back—settled in his head as if she had never left.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she affected him.

So he did the only thing he could. He forced himself to look away, to keep walking as if nothing had happened.

But while his body moved forward, his mind stayed behind.

Because seeing her there, in a place so intimately tied to his world, made everything he had tried to forget resurface with even greater force.

The last time they had been together, she had looked at him with sadness before pulling away. Now, however, she seemed calm, indifferent, as if nothing between them had meant enough to leave a mark.

And for some reason, that infuriated him more than anything else.

The day of qualifying unfolded like any other. Oscar was focused on his team, on preparations, on lap times, on making sure his weekend in Monza was solid.

Or at least, that was what he was trying to do.

But every time he moved through the paddock, his eyes searched for her.

Not on purpose. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

And then, he saw her.

She was in the Ferrari garage, surrounded by mechanics in red overalls, laughing with them as if she were part of the family. One of the engineers handed her a water bottle with the same casualness as if he were passing it to a driver. Another whispered something in her ear, and Amélie rolled her eyes with a smile, giving him a light shove on the arm.

That wasn’t the attitude of a mere spectator.

But what truly made something tighten inside Oscar was when he saw Charles Leclerc approaching her.

The Monegasque driver greeted her with the familiarity of someone who had known her for a long time—an embrace that lasted too long, a kiss on each cheek. He spoke to her calmly, comfortably, with that ease that wasn’t shared with just anyone. Amélie responded just as naturally, with that half-smile Oscar knew all too well.

The same one she had once given him.

And suddenly, something twisted in his stomach with rage.

He didn’t know what hit him first.

How did she know Leclerc? Why had she never talked about him? She knew about Formula 1, she knew who Oscar was—why had she never mentioned she knew Charles? Especially when, in front of the Ferrari garage, they spoke like lifelong friends.

Or maybe it was something more.

Oscar’s mind began to spiral, to descend into the worst possible explanations.

Had Amélie done to Charles what she had done to him? Seduced him, lured him into her bed, had her fun, and then tossed him aside like nothing?

Maybe to Amélie, it had all been just a game.

Maybe he had never been more than a fleeting adventure, just another amusement in her world of luxury, connections, and opportunities he hadn’t even realized she had.

Maybe, while he burned inside trying to understand what had happened between them, she had already forgotten him completely.

Oscar could feel the anger building in his chest like a bomb about to explode. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists, and no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, his gaze kept drifting back to the Ferrari garage.

Back to her.

He didn’t know what infuriated him more.

The thought gnawed at him. Was there something between her and Charles? Had there ever been? Had he just been a passing distraction?

"Alright, mate, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Lando appeared beside him, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between concern and exasperation.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Lando scoffed. "Come on, Oscar. You’re standing there looking like you’re about to murder someone. I’ve seen that face before, and honestly, I’d rather you not make a scene right before qualifying."

Oscar let out a sharp breath, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"It’s just…" He pressed his lips together, struggling to find the right words. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real. But Lando was watching him with that look—the one that said I’m not leaving until you tell me—and Oscar knew there was no way out.

"It’s complicated."

Lando snorted.

"When is it not with you?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare but continued anyway.

"I met someone. In Monaco. We… saw each other a few times. Okay, not a few, a lot. But we ended it. Or she did. Doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s here. In the Ferrari garage."

Lando blinked, processing the information.

"Okay… Wait. Are you telling me all this rage is over a girl?"

"She’s not just ‘a girl,’" Oscar growled before realizing he had just given himself away.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes gleamed with the excitement of someone who had just stumbled upon something juicy and wasn’t about to let it go.

"Alright, alright. She’s not just a girl. She’s her. And what’s the problem with her?"

Oscar shook his head.

"It doesn’t make sense for her to be here. I mean, she told me her dad was an F1 fan, but this… This is something else. She moves around that garage like she lives there. Like she knows everyone."

Lando tilted his head, studying him. His gaze flickered toward the Ferrari garage, and suddenly, something in his expression shifted.

"Hold on a second… Are you telling me that the girl you were seeing is Amélie Vasseur?"

The surname hit Oscar like a sledgehammer.

Vasseur.

Ferrari’s team principal.

A hollow feeling settled in his stomach, quickly followed by a wave of fury that made his teeth clench so hard his jaw ached.

Everything clicked into place.

That’s why she was so comfortable in the garage. That’s why everyone treated her like family. That’s why Charles Leclerc knew her as if they had grown up together.

She had played him.

She had never told him the truth. Never even given him a hint of who she really was. And while he had spent weeks agonizing over what had happened between them, wondering if it had meant anything, she had simply moved on with her life like it was nothing.

His blood boiled.

If he had been angry before, now he saw nothing but red.

Lando was silent for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Wait, wait…" He leaned slightly toward Oscar, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. "Are you telling me you didn’t know who she was? Seriously?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare, but that only made Lando laugh harder.

"Mate!" Lando exclaimed, still chuckling. "How the hell did you not recognize Vasseur’s daughter?"

"Because I’ve never seen her before. And she never told me" Oscar growled, feeling the anger rise in his throat like fire.

"But it was right in front of you! The French accent, the ‘I’m going to destroy you but with elegance’ sense of humor, the way she never shuts up—" Lando shook his head, grinning. "Damn, now that I think about it, it’s so obvious."

Oscar, however, wasn’t amused.

He was furious.

Not because she was Vasseur’s daughter. Not because she had been surrounded by the world of F1 her entire life.

But because she had never told him. Because she had kept everything from him. Because she had walked away without even giving him a damn chance to understand.

Because he, like an idiot, had thought that what they had mattered.

And now he realized that, to her, it had probably just been a game.

Qualifying had been one of the best of his career.

Second place, right behind Lando. An incredible result for McLaren, a statement in Monza—Ferrari’s territory. But while the mechanics celebrated in the garage, while his team congratulated him, while the cameras captured his serious expression during the post-qualifying press conference, Oscar could only think about her.

About the last name she had never told him. About the laughter she had shared with Ferrari’s mechanics. About the way Charles Leclerc looked at her with the kind of familiarity that only came from having someone in your life for a very long time.

The anger still boiled inside him, pulsing with every breath, with every damn image his mind replayed.

He went straight to the hotel after the interviews, not lingering with the team, not responding to the congratulations with the enthusiasm expected of him. Locked in his room, he paced back and forth, replaying every moment, every conversation, every fucking lie disguised as omission.

Why?

Why had she never told him? Why had she let him make a fool of himself, thinking she was just another girl, when in reality, she belonged to this world even more than he did? Was it a game to her? Had she laughed at him once he was gone?

Every time he tried to sleep, his mind dragged him back into the same spiral. He tossed and turned, shifting positions over and over until finally, when the clock hit 3:00 AM, he made a decision.

He had had enough.

If he couldn’t sleep, she wouldn’t either.

Throwing on whatever clothes he could find, he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel without a second thought. Anger, frustration, and the need to confront her pushed him forward, stronger than reason. He walked through the rain, not caring that the water seeped into his clothes, not caring that his breathing was uneven from the fury coursing through him.

He knew where the Ferrari team was staying.

And when he arrived, soaked to the bone, he asked for Amélie Vasseur’s room at reception and went up without hesitation.

He didn’t even think before raising his fist and knocking.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was movement on the other side.

Then, the door opened, and there she was.

Amélie blinked, still groggy, her hair a mess, wrapped in a sweatshirt far too big for her. It took a second for her to process what she was seeing—Oscar Piastri, drenched, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury, his eyes burning with something far more than just anger.

“Oscar?” Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but mostly, from sheer surprise.

He stared at her, silent for a moment, as if he needed to remind himself why he was there.

Then, with his jaw clenched, with the storm still raging inside his chest, he said,

“Tell me the truth.”

Amélie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew exactly what he meant.

She sighed, casting a quick glance down the hallway before stepping aside to let him in. Oscar crossed the threshold without hesitation, dripping onto the floor with every step, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto her as if she were an enemy, not someone he had once spent entire nights with.

“Let me explain,” she started, closing the door behind her.

“Explain what?” Oscar let out a dry, humorless laugh. “How you played me this whole time? How you laughed at me while I thought—” He stopped abruptly, like saying it out loud would hurt even more.

Amélie felt the pang in her chest, but she kept her composure.

“I never laughed at you.”

“Oh, come on.” Oscar scoffed, running a hand through his wet hair. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid I feel right now? The entire goddamn paddock knew except me. Lando knew, the engineers knew—Jesus, Amélie.”

Amélie clenched her jaw.

“Oscar—”

“And meanwhile, I was here wondering why you never wanted to be seen with me in public, why you always seemed like you were hiding something.” His words were sharp, cutting, like he wanted to hurt her just as much as he felt she had hurt him. “Was it fun? Did you enjoy watching me, completely clueless about who I was actually sleeping with?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Amélie snapped, her voice louder than she had intended.

Oscar fell silent for a second, taken aback by her reaction.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“I didn’t do it to laugh at you. I didn’t do it to play with you. I did it for you, Oscar.”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Explain to me how lying to my face for months was for me, because, honestly, I’d love to understand.”

Amélie felt her own anger rise.

“Because if people found out about us, if it got out that we were together, the first thing they would do is question you.” She pointed at him, her voice firm. “They’d say you were with your rival’s daughter, that Ferrari was favoring you, that your seat at McLaren was in jeopardy. You don’t need that kind of shit on your shoulders.”

Oscar clenched his jaw.

“And who decided that was your problem?”

“It became my problem the moment this turned into something more. The moment it stopped being just a fling,” she shot back, her gaze burning into his. “Do you think it was easy? Do you think I wanted to walk away from you?”

“I don’t know what you wanted, Amélie. You never said anything, you never explained anything.”

Silence fell between them like a heavy wall.

For a moment, Amélie saw something in Oscar’s eyes beyond the anger.

Something that hurt even more than his words.

Disappointment.

The silence between them was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Oscar was breathing heavily, water still dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his skin. He didn’t care. Not when anger burned in his chest, when confusion suffocated him.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice rougher than he intended. “Did you have something with Charles?”

Amélie blinked, surprised by the question, but her expression remained unchanged. There was no trace of guilt or nervousness. Only exhaustion.

“No,” she said firmly. “Never. Ew”

Oscar let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. She took a step toward him, but Oscar remained rigid. “Charles and I have known each other since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me. Nothing more.”

Oscar stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie, anything that would reveal she was hiding the truth. But all he found was sincerity.

And yet, it wasn’t enough to ease the knot in his stomach.

“Then explain it to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Explain why you did what you did. Why you never told me who you were. Why it felt like you were trying to hide me.”

Amélie pressed her lips together, looking away for a moment. When she met his gaze again, there was something vulnerable in her expression.

“Because I never thought this would go this far,” she confessed. “I never thought I’d fall in love with you.”

Oscar felt the air ripped from his lungs.

Amélie swallowed hard and continued. “At first… I thought it was something fleeting. Something fun. But then I realized that every time I saw you, I wanted to see you more. That when you left, I missed you more than I should have. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process her words.

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He watched her, his chest rising and falling with every restrained breath. “Scared of what?”

Amélie exhaled in frustration, running a hand through her hair. “That if people found out, they would use it against you. That my last name would harm you. That this would stop being ours and turn into a scandal.”

Oscar let out a bitter laugh. “So you chose to push me away? You made me feel like I meant nothing to you?”

Amélie clenched her fists, her gaze burning. “Oscar, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before! I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do—you can’t expect me to have all the answers to my life.”

“You could’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out. We could’ve found a way to make this work. Together.”

The pain in his voice hit her harder than any shout could.

For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at him, eyes glistening, chest rising and falling as if her words weighed too much.

Finally, in a voice so soft it sounded like admitting it would break her, she whispered:

“I think I love you.”

Oscar felt his world shift beneath his feet.

Amélie swallowed. “And that terrified me.”

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t the same.

It was broken. Uncertain.

One that only Oscar could decide if he wanted to fill with something else.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, as if trying to release all the anger, frustration, and pain built up inside him. But something still remained stuck in his chest.

“Amélie…” His voice was no longer sharp, but it wasn’t soft either. It was caught somewhere in between—that thin line between anger and understanding.

She didn’t look away. She faced him, vulnerable but steady, as if ready to take whatever response, whatever emotional blow he had to give.

Oscar ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Do you know what hurted me the most?”

Amélie didn’t answer, but the tension in her shoulders was telling.

“It’s not that you’re Vasseur’s daughter.” He shook his head. “It’s not that you were in the paddock, in Ferrari, with Charles, with all those people who always knew who you were and I didn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, as if confessing something he never wanted to say out loud.

“It’s that you made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

Amélie’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t hide.

“Oscar…”

“You made me doubt everything,” he went on, his voice rough. “Whether what we had meant anything or if I was just a distraction. Whether everything I felt was real or if I was the only one feeling it.”

Amélie closed her eyes for a second, as if his words cut through her. When she opened them again, her expression was softer, more open.

“It wasn’t just a distraction.”

Oscar let out a dry laugh.

“It wasn’t,” she insisted, stepping closer. This time, Oscar didn’t move away. “It never was.”

He looked at her, searching for something in her eyes. Something that told him he could believe her. Something that said all the anger in his chest could finally start to fade.

Amélie let out a nervous laugh, but there was no mockery in it. Only uncertainty.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured, running a hand through her tangled hair. “At… feeling things so quickly. At not being in control.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching her more intently.

She sighed. “I always thought it was better to keep my distance. Not get too attached. But then you came along.”

Oscar felt his heart pound harder.

“I didn’t expect to feel this,” she continued, a small, resigned smile forming on her lips. “And when I realized I was already too deep, I got scared.”

Oscar’s anger didn’t disappear all at once, but something inside him started to loosen.

Because he understood.

God, he understood her more than he wanted to admit.

Amélie looked at him with a silent plea, as if waiting for him to tell her that it wasn’t too late.

Oscar lowered his head for a second, exhaling slowly. Then, without a word, he reached out and took her wrist, his touch barely there.

Amélie trembled at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.

Their eyes met again, and this time, the anger between them had softened.

“And now?” Oscar asked quietly.

Amélie swallowed. “Now…”

She took another step closer, until only inches separated them.

“Now I don’t want to keep running.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat.

She wetted her lips, and with almost fearful softness, slid her hand over his.

Oscar looked at the gesture—the warmth of her skin against his, the way their fingers fit together like they had done this a million times before.

And without thinking too much, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

Amélie let out a breath, as if she hadn’t realized how much she needed that touch until now.

Oscar lifted his gaze and met hers.

There was no fear anymore.

Only them.

And with the slightest movement, Amélie leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so slow, so sincere, it seemed to erase everything else.

Because in the end, love always won.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if they both needed to make sure it was real. There was no urgency, no desperation—only a mutual need to find each other again, beyond the anger, beyond the doubts.

Neither of them moved. Amélie still had her fingers intertwined with Oscar’s, her forehead nearly touching his, breathing the same air.

It was Oscar who broke the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well… that was intense.”

Amélie let out a breathy laugh. “The kiss or the fight?”

Oscar tilted his head, thoughtful. “Both. Though if I had to choose, I think I’d rather keep the kiss.”

She smiled, playing with his fingers. “Good, because the other thing was exhausting.”

Oscar let out a low chuckle. “Tell me about it. I literally walked through the rain like some dramatic movie idiot.”

Amélie burst into laughter. “You did.”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “If this were a romantic cliché, someone was definitely watching us from a window with sad music playing in the background.”

“Let me guess,” Amélie said with a teasing smile. “In the movie of your life, who would play you?”

Oscar pretended to think. “Mmm… obviously someone handsome. Ryan Gosling, maybe.”

Amélie raised an amused eyebrow. “Gosling? That’s ambitious of you.”

“Excuse me?” Oscar looked at her, feigning offense. “Are you saying I don’t have Gosling-level attractiveness?”

Amélie shrugged. “I’m not saying you’re not handsome, but…” She rested a hand on her chin, analyzing him. “I see you more as… a Tom Holland with a boyish face.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “I feel both flattered and offended at the same time.”

She smiled and, in a spontaneous gesture, ran her fingers through his damp hair. “But seriously, you didn’t have to come all the way here soaking wet. You could’ve just texted me and avoided looking like a stray puppy outside my hotel door.”

Oscar looked at her in mock indignation. “How disrespectful. This was a romantic gesture, obviously, not a tantrum.”

Amélie laughed, but soon her smile softened. “Do you really want to try?”

Oscar sighed, looking at her directly, all traces of humor gone. “Of course I do. But I don’t want you to disappear again. I don’t want to be a secret. I don’t want you looking at me like you’re about to run.”

Amélie lowered her gaze for a second, biting her lip, before meeting his eyes again.

“Okay,” she finally said, with a small smile.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “‘Okay’? That’s it?”

Amélie huffed in amusement. “Okay, let’s try. I won’t run, I won’t hide, I won’t play mysterious—well, maybe a little, because it suits me—but I promise not to run from you.”

Oscar studied her with a half-smile, as if making sure she was serious.

“So that means I can take you to dinner in public without you throwing a smoke bomb in the middle of the restaurant?”

Amélie rolled her eyes. “If you insist.”

Oscar grinned. “Perfect. But I warn you, if this gets too romantic, I’m going to assume we’re in a cheesy rom-com and start calling you ‘my love’ out loud just to annoy you.”

Amélie playfully shoved his chest. “If you do that, I’ll be forced to pretend I don’t know you.”

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile turning mischievous. “And if I kiss you in public? Will you pretend not to know me then too?”

Amélie looked at him, her eyes shining with that same ever-present challenge. “Depends on how good the kiss is.”

Oscar let out a laugh, and without wasting another second, kissed her again.

Because if there was one thing they knew for sure, this game between them was far from over.

Amélie pulled away, a peculiar light shining in her gaze, a foolish smile stretching across her lips. “This is going to cost us a fortune. McLaren and Ferrari are going to have to spend a ridiculous amount on PR to manage this scandal and the press.”

The Monza sun filtered timidly through the curtains, but neither of them had any intention of moving.

Oscar had no idea what time it was, and honestly, he didn’t care. The only thing he knew for sure was that Amélie’s bed was much more comfortable than his and that the warmth of her body against his made any other thought irrelevant.

Amélie stirred slightly beside him, her breathing still steady. She half-opened her eyes just enough to look at him and smile—that lazy, satisfied smile that made Oscar feel a small tug in his chest.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

Oscar, still with his face buried in the pillow, huffed.

“No idea. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so don’t worry.”

Amélie let out a soft laugh and stretched before snuggling against his chest again.

“We can stay like this a little longer.”

Oscar slid a hand down her back, pulling her even closer.

“Sounds like a perfect plan.”

And so they stayed. Letting laziness wrap around them, the distant sounds of the hotel waking up nothing more than a faint murmur. For the first time in months, they weren’t in a hurry.

Until someone knocked on the door.

Both of them froze.

“Were you expecting someone?” Oscar whispered.

Amélie frowned. “No…”

Another knock, this time more insistent.

And then, a voice unmistakably cut through the silence.

“Amélie, open the door.”

Oscar felt his soul leave his body.

Amélie went completely still. Then, without moving a single muscle, she slowly turned her head toward Oscar.

They looked at each other as if they had just seen a ghost.

Frederic. Freaking. Vasseur.

Still in bed, all Oscar could murmur was:

“Oh, shit.”

Amélie covered her face with her hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oscar darted into the bathroom with the reflexes of a driver avoiding a crash. He shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it, taking a deep breath as if that would make him invisible.

From the other side, he heard the hotel room door open, followed by the unmistakable voice of Frederic Vasseur.

“Amélie,” her father greeted, his tone casual—the same tone he used right before ruining someone’s day. “Bon matin.”

“Dad,” Amélie replied, trying to sound natural, but with a slight hint of panic. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was passing by and thought, ‘I’ll check in on my daughter, have breakfast with her, make sure she’s not getting into trouble…’”

Amélie watched him cautiously. If she was lucky, this would be a short visit.

But then, her father stilled.

His gaze drifted toward the window.

More specifically, to Oscar’s clothes—a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt with the McLaren logo—strategically draped over a chair to dry.

Amélie followed his gaze.

Shit.

Very slowly, Vasseur turned his attention back to his daughter.

She tried to think fast. “It’s—”

“Don’t.” Vasseur raised a hand to stop her, his face the very picture of paternal disappointment. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He turned, crossing his arms. “Amélie,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Who’s hiding in the bathroom?”

Silence.

Amélie looked at the bathroom door.

Then at her father.

She tried to smile.

“…No one.”

Vasseur closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and then, without hesitation, walked straight toward the bathroom door.

Oscar’s eyes widened in horror.

Amélie sighed dramatically. “Dad, please. Don’t assume things.”

“Oh, I’m not assuming anything,” Vasseur said, clearly amused. “I’m just analyzing the evidence. Let’s see: wet McLaren clothes. A nervous daughter. A locked bathroom door. Where there’s smoke, there’s a fire.”

Oscar felt the doorknob move.

He held his breath.

Then, three firm knocks.

“Knock, knock,” Vasseur said, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Oscar closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Oh! He speaks.” Vasseur’s voice sounded even more entertained. “What a surprise! I wonder who it could be.”

Oscar felt like he was living a nightmare.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the door. “I’m in my underwear, and I’m coming out, okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Vasseur replied, in the tone of someone having the time of his life. “Whenever you’re ready, champ.”

Oscar slowly turned the doorknob and stepped out like a prisoner about to receive his sentence.

Vasseur looked him up and down with a lazy smirk, crossing his arms.

“Piastri,” he greeted, as if they were old friends.

Oscar tried to maintain his dignity. “Mr. Vasseur.”

“Tell me, son,” the Ferrari team principal said, tilting his head. “How desperate does one have to be to show up here in the middle of the night, soaking wet?”

Oscar felt Amélie stifling her laughter beside him.

"I…"

"I mean, your hotel must not serve a good breakfast. Did you come here just for croissants, or did my daughter offer a more interesting menu?"

Amélie burst out laughing and immediately regretted it when Oscar shot her a glare.

"Sorry."

"What was your plan if I caught you?"

Oscar blinked. "Hide in the bathroom?"

Vasseur looked at him with absolute disappointment. "Terrible strategy. Verstappen, at least, would have jumped out the window."

Amélie let out another laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

Oscar sighed. "Sir, with all due respect, is this going to last much longer?"

Vasseur grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I'm enjoying this way too much."

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment. "Great."

Vasseur patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, Piastri. This could have been worse."

Oscar looked at him skeptically.

"Oh yeah? How?"

Vasseur’s grin widened.

"My daughter could be fucking Lando Norris. At least you're the good half of McLaren."

Amélie burst into loud laughter.

Oscar just dropped his head into his hands, accepting his fate.

The sun was slowly setting over Monza, painting the sky in golden hues as the tifosi roared, celebrating the victory they had longed for. Charles Leclerc stood at the top of the podium, drenched in champagne, carrying the love of Ferrari on his shoulders while the Italian anthem echoed with an almost sacred intensity. Beside him, Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri completed the scene, their smiles shaped by the effort of the race, by the adrenaline still pulsing through their veins.

But Amélie wasn’t looking at Charles. She wasn’t even truly paying attention to the podium as a whole. Her eyes were fixed on Oscar.

From where she stood, surrounded by mechanics, engineers, and Ferrari executives, wrapped in her father’s embrace, she felt something strange in her chest. It wasn’t just happiness, nor was it simply pride. It was something deeper. Something far more terrifying.

Because she had never thought she would care so much about someone outside of this world of engines and strategy, beyond her surname, beyond the pressure of Formula 1.

And yet, here she was.

Oscar was searching for her in the crowd.

She swallowed hard as their eyes finally met.

Words weren’t necessary.

They understood each other in an instant, as if they had already had this conversation a thousand times before.

And in that gaze—laden with everything they had been through, the arguments, the fears, the secrets, the doubts—they made a silent promise.

They wouldn’t run anymore.

Amélie felt her heart pounding too fast, as if she were running her own race.

Without realizing it, she clung a little tighter to her father’s arm.

Vasseur, who had been watching in silence, let out an amused huff.

"Looks like someone has extra reasons to celebrate today."

Amélie turned sharply, frowning.

“Dad, please…”

“No, no. Don’t look at me like that,” he replied, raising his hands in feigned innocence. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you this focused on a podium before.”

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile that slipped through betrayed her.

“Whatever.”

Vasseur chuckled, giving her a pat on the back.

"You know, if Piastri has already survived breakfast with me, maybe he’s not entirely useless after all."

She shot him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly entertained.

"I say this for his own good, you know? I wouldn’t want him to get run over by everything that comes with being with you."

Amélie narrowed her eyes.

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Vasseur smirked.

"It means I come with the package."

She scoffed, but a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Her gaze returned to the podium.

Oscar was still there, trophy in one hand, champagne glass in the other, but his eyes were searching for her again.

The noise, the crowd, the madness of Formula 1—it all faded into the background.

They had found each other.

And for the first time, Amélie had no desire to run.

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