#i think i won something tonight.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

aight completed my LukeSkywalkerian cycle i am now officially invincible and a better bitch than i could ever hope to be

[thebirdandhersong]

layers of school and family and health issues and future planning and final exam stress aside, do you ever feel like there is a long ongoing scream inside of you that seems to have no end ha haaaa

[thekidsarentalright]

genuinely something i love so so so so much abt this tour is how like. literally every show has won so much. every show has been so unique, every show someones favorite song has no doubt been played, every show the setlist is a little different and either gets a live debut or a song that hasn’t been played in Years or a cover patrick has never attempted before like it is just. so incredibly special that no matter what fob is doing everything they can to make every show memorable for everybody there and i just. love them so so so much for that

[cowboyhorsegirl]

Steve is most likely to end up in a lavender marriage and Tony's most likely to end up in a “married for tax/immigration/inheritance fraud” reasons.

They meet as married men and pine for each other hardcore and are also trying not to read too much into how their interest seems reciprocated and oh nooooo both Immigration/the IRS and the the Church/in-laws/DADT era army dudes or whatever are snooping around at the same time at each of their marriages and they have to be so good at being married at the people they are married to oh noooooo and they other guy doesn’t know why they are suddenly being iced out and maybe they were just imagining things? maybe it’s for the best with all these eyes around on them…

[mr-snailman]

somehow they are STILL not at Sean's house. guys. guys I get it early morning domesticity is the SHIT but don't we have something kind of important to say to somebody???

[junkartie]

Me when they were not lying that mentall illness i have may have actually been the inhereted BPD from my father and i may not be able to regulate emotions and get so triggered by the smallest thing that i sabotage everything in my way on quick whim because i cannot control my absolute bone chilling “i cant stop shaking” blinding rage and i may actually be doomed to the saying of “the abused becomes the abuser” because every day i turn more into an emotional version of my father who shares the same pathetic fate as my mother

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 276

Adjective: Orange

Noun: Silhouette

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Orange: reddish yellow in color

Silhouette: the dark shape and outline of someone or something visible against a lighter background, especially in dim light; a representation of someone or something showing the shape and outline only, typically colored in solid black

[gilbertscurls]

Taste ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, virgin!matt, softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, heavy on praise and consent, oral!f!receiving, can't tell if it's cringe or not lmao

synopsis: on their first anniversary, y/n and matt finally decide to go all the way.

“I can't believe it's been a year already.” You let out a quiet sigh.

Matt nodded, the thought of their year together bringing a smile to his lips.

“Yeah. It feels like just yesterday we had our first date,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

He remembered every detail of that day, the way you looked, the way he'd been so nervous he felt like he might throw up. But he'd found the courage to ask you out, and you'd said yes. It felt like a dream come true.

Matt's gaze drifted from your face to the room around them. The soft, warm light of the lamp by the bed was casting shadows on the walls, the room cozy and intimate. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by their soft breathing. Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling of being right where he belonged.

“I can't believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, his voice low. “To have you, I mean.”

“I'm the lucky one,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled softly at your words, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“Oh, please,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I'm the one who gets to hold you like this, to call you mine. I think I won the lottery.”

You giggled, a sound that always made Matt's heart skip a beat.

“I can't argue with that,” you conceded. You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But I get to hold you back, so we're even.”

Matt's hand moved to your back, gently tracing circles on your skin. The feel of you against him, the sound of your voice, was comforting and soothing, but it also stirred a different kind of feeling in him. A feeling of desire and longing.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer, his fingers tracing your spine. Matt's heart thrummed with anticipation. The fact that you've never done more than kiss had been on his mind a lot lately. He wanted you, more than he could say. And tonight felt different, special. It was their anniversary, a milestone in their relationship. A part of him ached to take things further, to show you how much he loved you. But his insecurities and anxieties held him back. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he disappointed you? The thought was terrifying.

“Baby,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. He swallowed hard, his heart beating a little faster. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was nervous, and he was suddenly regretting asking you anything at all.

At his anxious tone, you knitted your brows and turned to face him. “Of course. What is it?”

Matt looked down at you, his thoughts a swirling mess of anxiety and desire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “It's… It's our anniversary,” he started, his voice a little shaky. “And I was wondering…”

He trailed off, the words failing him. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd never been good with expressing his desires, especially when it came to physical intimacy.

You gazed at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. You could tell he was nervous, and it made you worry. You reached up, gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” you prompted, your voice gentle and encouraging.

Matt's heart fluttered at your touch, and he took another deep breath, summoning his courage. “I was just… I was thinking…” he mumbled, his words barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, I was hoping we could… Take things further.”

He felt a blush rising up his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Are you sure? Like, 100% sure?”

Matt nodded quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I… I want you, baby.”

Saying the words out loud sent a shockwave of adrenaline through him. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. But he knew he needed to be honest, to lay it all out on the table.

“I'm just... nervous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I've never done anything more than kissing, and I don't… I don't know if I'll be any good.”

“It's okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. “But are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

Matt leaned into your touch, the warmth and tenderness of your hand calming him down a little. But your words also made him pause. Was he sure? He desperately wanted this, wanted you. But his insecurities were still looming, a dark cloud in the back of his mind.

“I'm sure,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “I want this. With you.”

“All right.” You nodded. “How… How far are we talking?”

Matt felt his cheeks flush even more, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with you. He appreciated your directness, and your willingness to talk about this openly.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice still a little shaky. “Everything, I guess. If you want that.”

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hoped he wasn't pressuring you or coming on too strong.

You felt your heart skipping a beat and heat already pooling in your lower abdomen. “I do,” you said softly. “But I want to make sure you're completely comfortable.”

Hearing your confirmation sent a pang of excitement through Matt. He felt a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a hint of fear. But overruling it all was a deep sense of trust. Your words, your reassurance, it was all he needed.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I trust you, baby. Completely.”

A small, tender smile crept onto your face. “Okay.” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, so kind. “Do you… Want me to take the lead?”

Matt's heart leaped at your question, a mix of relief and desire coursing through him. The idea of you taking control was both frightening and exciting. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I want you to take the lead.”

You put one of your hands on his cheek before slowly and gently pressing your lips against his.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at the feel of your lips on his. He'd kissed you countless times before, but this kiss felt different, more intimate. He let out a soft sigh against your mouth, all his anxieties and worries melting away as your touch filled his senses. He brought his own hands up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch soft and reverent.

The kiss deepened, their mouths moving against each other in a slow, languorous dance. Matt could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the desire for you growing with every passing second. The fear was still there, but it was muffled by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. He pulled you closer, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

Not stopping the kiss, You moved to straddle his lap, your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as you straddled him, your body suddenly so close and so warm. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, their bodies now pressed together in a way you’ve never been before. The feeling of your weight on his lap ignited a new wave of desire in him, his kisses growing even more intense. He wanted you, desperately.

“You okay?” you mumbled into his lips.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you spoke, the feeling of your words more like breath than a sound. He couldn't even form a response, his mind completely consumed by your touch and the taste of your lips. He managed a nod, a weak yes whispered against your mouth. He was more than okay. He was on fire.

Matt groaned involuntarily at the feel of your tongue against his lip, the sound more a mixture of pleasure and need than anything else. He immediately parted his lips, granting you access without a second thought. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping your flesh as he opened his mouth to her.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Their tongues tangled together, exploring each other without restraint. Matt was lost in the sensation, in the feeling of you in his lap, your body pressed against him. He could hardly think straight, his mind clouded by desire and need. His hips involuntarily bucked slightly, seeking more contact.

“Impatient, huh?” You teased softly, pulling away a little.

Matt let out a low growl of frustration as you pulled away, a mix of desire and irritation in his expression. He was getting so lost in the moment, he was aching for more. Your words, your tease only heightened his need.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice a mixture of pleading and impatience. “Don't tease me.”

You smiled tenderly before grabbing his both hands and sliding them under your crop top, urging him to take it off.

Matt let out a sharp breath at the feel of your skin under his hands, your top soft and warm. Without hesitation, he moved his hands slowly up your stomach, his fingers exploring the planes of your skin as he helped you pull off your crop top. It fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes went wide at the sight of your half-naked upper body, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Matt couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. His eyes were drawn to your chest, his breath hitching at the sight. It was as if his brain was shorting out, his desire for you overwhelming everything else. He felt a mix of awe, arousal, and a hint of nervousness. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“You're… You're so beautiful,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with want.

You smiled softly, your fingertips tracing his shoulders over the t-shirt. “Can I take it off, baby?”

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Once the shirt was off, his chest was now bare, exposed to your touch and gaze. Matt felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel your eyes on him, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his skin. He wanted you, all of you.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need. “Touch me.”

Obediently, You ran your fingertips through his shoulders, to his arms, to his chest. “God, you're so beautiful,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as your fingers glided over his skin, your touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He shivered under your touch, a small moan escaping his lips. Your words, your voice, your touch — it was all almost too much to bear.

“No, you are,” he breathed, his own hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So beautiful. So perfect."

You were doing everything so slowly and gently, knowing that he'd never done anything like that before. You wanted to make it so good for him. Matt was both grateful and frustrated by your slow and gentle pace. Grateful that you were so patient, and so understanding, but frustrated because he just wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by you, to lose himself in your touch. But he knew you were doing it for his sake, to make it easier for him, and that only made him love you more.

“Baby,” he gasped, his voice pleading. “Please. More. I need more.”

You smirked before leaning a little closer to his face. “You want more?”

Matt looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of need and pleading.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a little breathless. “I want more. I want all of you.”

He reached up to you, his hands skimming up your sides, his touch firm and possessive. He wanted to touch you, to feel you, to lose himself in you.

“Please,” he added, his voice a low, desperate plea.

You held his face as you kissed him once again, the kiss sweet and full of emotion.

Matt returned the kiss hungrily, his lips moving against yours with a mix of desperation and affection. He couldn't get close enough to you, his hands roaming over your bare skin, wanting to feel you, to touch you everywhere. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a new, more urgent fervor. He could feel his desire for you growing, overpowering everything else.

“Baby…” he breathed into your mouth. “Please, I… I need you.”

Matt swore, his head falling back on the pillow as you ground your hips with his. The feel of you grinding against him, the friction, the heat, and the pressure — it was almost too much. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, trying to pull you closer, to increase the contact. A low moan escaped his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Oh God,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby… That feels… That feels so good.”

“You sound so pretty,” you praised breathlessly.

Matt blushed at your words, his heart fluttering at your praise. He let out another soft moan as you rode against him, his body responding instinctively. He was completely lost in the sensation, the feel of your body against his driving him mindless. He tried to form words, to respond, but all that came out was another low groan.

“God… Baby,” he breathed, his hands still holding onto your hips. “Don't… Don't stop.”

His body was on fire, his every nerve alive with desire. He could feel his own hardness growing beneath you, a testament to how much he needed you. His hips canted upward, seeking more contact, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. He opened his eyes, looking up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of want and awe.

“Sweetheart… I… I don't know how much… How much longer I can last,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“It's okay, baby,” you cooed, halting your movements.

Matt let out a small, involuntarily whine as you stopped moving, his body protesting the lack of sensation. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and frustration, but also with a hint of relief. He was so close to the edge, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

“I… I thought you would keep going,” he breathed, his voice a combination of disappointment and need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you teased, your hand running down his chest, from his shoulder to his happy trail, before finally resting on the buckle of his belt.

Matt's breath hitched at your touch, your hand igniting a trail of fire on his skin. He watched as your hand moved down his chest, down his stomach, to the buckle of his belt. A wave of heat washed over him, making his entire body shiver with anticipation.

“Patience,” he echoed, his voice a rough whisper. “You're… You're killing me.”

You gently hooked your finger under the belt. “Can I?”

Matt nodded, his eyes locked on yours, his breathing shallow and ragged. He trusted you completely and wanted you to take whatever you needed from him. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Do whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

“So good for me,” you praised before expertly unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans down.

Matt's heart leaped at your praise, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him. He lifted his hips slightly, helping you pull his jeans down. He was now only in his boxer briefs, the material doing little to conceal his arousal. He was completely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and he could do nothing but lay there and look up at you, his desire for you burning in his gaze.

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet admission.

“Already so worked up for me, huh?” you asked breathlessly, a small smile on your face.

Matt blushed at your comment, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He was so worked up, so needy, so desperate for your touch. He swallowed hard, his voice husky and raw.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours. “Only for you. I want you so badly, sweetheart.”

You sat back on his lap, caressing his cheek. “You want to try to take off my bra, baby?”

Matt's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him. He'd never taken off a bra before, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I want to try.”

His hands moved to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of your bra. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was racing, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

“I… I'll probably be bad at this,” he admitted, his voice a hesitant whisper.

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I don't mind.”

Matt nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds, his fingers feeling both clumsy and inadequate. But finally, with a soft click, the bra came undone. The cups fell loose, revealing your bare chest to him. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh… Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

You smiled a little sheepishly.

Matt's eyes drank you in, every inch of your beautiful skin, every curve and contour. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel your flesh under his fingertips.

“You are… You are so exquisite,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and admiration. “You take my breath away.”

Noticing his hands twitching, your smile softened. “You can touch me.”

Matt couldn't believe you were actually giving him permission to touch you, to touch this beautiful woman who was willingly sitting on his lap, your body bare for him. He lifted his hands, his fingers hovering slightly above your skin.

“I… I want to,” he breathed, his voice a shaky whisper. He wanted to feel you so badly, but he was also afraid of doing something wrong, of upsetting you in some way. “Are you… Are you sure it's okay?”

“I am. Don't think so much. Just… Feel.”

Matt took a deep breath, allowing the words to sink in. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting go of the nagging thoughts and doubts in his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, his expression relaxed.

And then he touched you.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your skin, slowly, delicately, exploring the soft planes of your chest. A shiver ran through him as he felt the heat of your flesh, the suppleness of your skin.

“God, you're so soft,” he whispered.

Sensing that he was still holding back, You smiled softly and grabbed his hand, putting it directly on your breast, and gently squeezing his fingers.

Matt gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand guided his. The feeling of your flesh, your breast, under his palm was almost too much. It was so soft, so warm. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “This… This feels… Incredible.”

His fingers traced a slow, tentative path over your breast, his touch firm but gentle. He could feel your own heart hammering against his palm, a perfect rhythm. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

“Is… Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I'll tell you if anything. Just… Touch me.”

Matt nodded tightly, the lump in his throat suddenly replaced by a wave of desire and need. He took your words to heart, letting go of any lingering doubt or fear. He allowed himself to really touch you, to move his fingers over your skin, to feel the contours of your body.

His other hand moved up to your other breast, gently kneading it in his palm. “Is… Is this good?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “You feel… So perfect, so soft.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So good.”

Matt felt a sense of power and satisfaction wash over him, emboldening him. He could feel your breath catching in your chest, hear the hitch in your voice. He knew he was doing something right, something that made you feel good. He continued to caress you, his touch becoming more confident, more sure of itself.

His breath felt hot and heavy, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Can I… Can I kiss these, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a sudden rush of so much love for this boy. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Matt's heart soared at your permission, at the way you were giving yourself to him so completely. You were so wonderful, so understanding. He leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on your breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He was gentle at first, his touch light and tentative. But then he began to kiss you more firmly, more hungrily.

And then, a moan of his name escaped your lips.

Matt's heart leaped at the sound of your moan, the way you said his name. It was like music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Did… Did I do something right?” he asked, his voice breathless and shaky. “The way you said my name… It sounded… It sounded like it felt good, like you liked it.”

“You're doing… Incredible,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt felt a surge of pride and satisfaction coursing through him. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, that he was pleasuring this incredible woman, making you feel this way. But the knowledge that he was pleasing you, making you moan and breathless, only fueled his own desire, his own need for you.

He continued to kiss you, his mouth moving across your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “More,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “Can I… Can I do more?”

“Anything.”

Matt felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him at your word, your permission. Anything? The possibilities, the desires, raced through his mind. He wanted to explore you, to touch you, to make you feel things you'd never felt before.

His mouth moved down your body, his tongue tracing a path down your sternum, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of need. “Can I… Can I taste you?”

You pulled yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looked so pretty, looking up at you from between your thighs. But it was his first time, and you wanted to make it special do him. “Are you sure? I want it to be about you. You don't have to…”

Matt paused, looking up at you. Your concern for him, your consideration, made his heart swell. He could feel your gaze on him, warm and gentle. He knew you would never force him to do something he wasn't ready for. But he could also feel his own desire burning beneath the surface.

He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I'm sure,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I… I want to. I want to taste you. I want to please you… If you're okay with that.”

You nodded shakily, before bunching up the fabric of your skirt in your hands, pulling it down and revealing your little lacy panties.

Matt's eyes widened at the sight before him. Your panties were a beautiful lace, delicate and feminine. He could feel his mouth go dry, his heart quickening in his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an almost reverent awe.

His hands tentatively moved up from your thighs, tracing gentle patterns on your bare skin as they crept closer to your panties. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice laced with need and desire.

He leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands were still tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, but he was now just millimeters away from your underwear. His heart was hammering, his mind a cacophony of emotions and sensations. “May I… May I touch you there?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly, your chest already heaving.

Matt didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of nerves and confidence, he let his fingers graze across the fabric of your panties, just touching the soft material. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the moisture already seeping through. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to the feel of you.

His gaze flicked up to your eyes momentarily, seeking reassurance, before returning to his task. “Is… Is this right?” he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Matt felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at your words. He was doing well, making you feel good. He continued to touch you, to move his fingers across the fabric of your panties, feeling the heat and the dampness beneath.

As his touch grew more confident, more assured, he found himself getting more and more excited. His own breathing grew shaky, his heart racing. “Can… Can I do more?” he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Whatever you want,” you mewled. “I'll tell you if anything.”

Matt's heart fluttered at your response. The trust, the permission, it was almost too good to be true. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But all he found was love, desire, and a willingness to explore.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. He moved his fingers down to the edge of your panties, toying with the thin strip of fabric. “I… I want to touch you without these in the way…”

He paused, waiting for your permission. He was already so close, already feeling the heat and dampness of your through the thin fabric, but he wouldn't do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire but laced with the need for your approval.

You nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt felt a shudder run through him at your words. Your permission, your trust in him, it was like fuel for the fire that was burning within him. He gently pulled at your panties, guiding them down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

The sight of you, bare and fully exposed to him, was almost too much. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed. His fingers itched to touch you, to feel the smoothness and heat of your skin, but he waited, looking up for your nod of approval.

When you gave it, he moved quickly. His fingers traced a path up your thighs, moving closer and closer to your core. His own breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as they got closer and closer to the most intimate part.

His fingers grazed over your skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal, and he couldn't help but shudder. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips.

“You're… You're so wet,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Only for you.”

His heart leaped at hearing your words, at the idea that he was the only cause of your arousal. He could feel the power and the responsibility that came with it, and it only stoked the fire within him.

His fingers were now tracing gentle circles around your entrance, his touch light and tentative. He couldn't believe he was doing this, touching you this way. “Can… Can I… Can I put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” you whispered shakily. “Please.”

Matt could feel his breath catch in his chest at your words, at the desire in your voice. His whole body was trembling, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on you.

He gently, carefully, eased a single finger inside, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he felt your warmth and wetness around him. As he moved his finger, You suddenly let out a gasp.

Matt was instantly worried, his finger freezing in place. “Did… Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“N-No, it's just…” Your face flushed. “Your fingers are longer than what I'm used to.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of pride at your words, his chest swelling. He had to admit, he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his long thin fingers. But the idea that they were causing her pleasure, that they were giving her a feeling you weren’t used to, that felt incredible.

He curled his finger slightly, exploring your depth. “Is… Is this okay…?”

Your breath hitched as he reached that one spot, and you almost screamed out loud. “Oh my…”

Matt was surprised by your reaction, the sound you made nearly sending him over the edge. But he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel better than you'd ever felt before.

He kept his finger where it was, gently applying pressure to that one spot, a smirk on his face. “Is this the right spot, hm?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt,” you mumbled in pleasure.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your reaction, at the way you responded to his touch. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you, causing you to feel these things. And he couldn't resist the urge to tease you a little bit.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained desire.

“Add a second finger,” you instructed him softly. “And try to move them, curling them to hit that spot.”

At your instructions, Matt felt another wave of arousal wash over him. You were telling him what to do. You were guiding him, showing him how to please you. It was a new experience, but one he was more than happy to explore.

He obeyed, slowly adding a second finger to the first. The feeling was tighter, but also warmer. He began to move his fingers, just as you'd told him to.

The angle was a little clumsy at first, but then he felt that one spot, and he applied gentle pressure, curling his fingers at just the right angle. “Like…” he started, his voice a little breathless. “… like this?”

“Oh fuck…” you moaned, your back arching a little in pleasure.

Matt found himself breathing harder at the sight of you arching your back, at the way you were responding to his touch. He knew he was doing something right, and it only fueled his desire to please you more, to make you feel even better.

“Is… Is this good?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. “Does this feel good?”

“So good, fuck, so good…”

Matt's heart was racing, his breath coming in heavy pants. He loved hearing your praise, and the way you reacted to his touch. It was something he'd never felt before, and he wanted more, wanted to make you feel even better.

He kept his fingers moving and applying pressure, his gaze darting up to your face, watching your expressions. “I want you… I want you to feel… To feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of breathless and earnest.

Your noises of pleasure, your arches, and your moans, it was all driving him wild. He wanted to make you fall apart, to make you forget everything but him and whatever he was doing to you.

“You… You want to try to use your mouth?” you asked breathlessly in between the moans.

Matt's heart quickened at your request. He'd wanted to do that, too, but he hadn't been sure if you'd be okay with it. But now that you'd asked, he was more than happy to comply.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse with desire. “I… I want to. I want to taste you, too.”

He gently withdrew his fingers and slowly moved further down your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He settled between your legs, looking up at you as his breath came in hot, uneven pants against you.

As he tasted you, as he felt you against his lips, his tongue, his mind was overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this, but it was better than he'd ever imagined. You tasted sweet and tangy, and it only spurred him on.

He forgot about feeling out of his depth, he forgot about potential mistakes or awkward moments. All he wanted to do was pleasure you, to make you feel good. His tongue moved and explored, and his eyes fluttered up at you. He'd never seen you so undone, so lost in pleasure, and the knowledge that he was causing it only deepened his desire to please you more.

“God, you're so good at that,” you breathed out shakily.

Matt felt a wave of pride and pleasure wash over him at your words. He continued, his tongue moving over you, his lips applying gentle suction. Hearing your approval, feeling you respond beneath him, was intoxicating. But he was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink, to make you lose control completely.

His hands moved up, gently caressing your thighs and stomach, seeking to give you even more pleasure. He wanted you to feel good, to feel loved, to feel worshipped.

And eventually, your moans got even louder as you released on his mouth, his name on your lips like a prayer. Matt could feel your body shaking, could hear your voice as you cried out his name. It was a moment he knew he'd never forget, a moment that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

He slowly withdrew, crawling back up beside you. He couldn't seem to find his voice, his heart still hammering in his chest.

He was a little amazed at himself, too, he had to admit. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing, but he'd just seemed to know. He'd found a way to bring you pleasure, to send you over the edge, to make you sing his name like a song.

He found his voice again, his voice low, rough. “Was that… Was that good for you? Was I okay?” His heart was still beating fast, his body thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure.

“God, you're… You're unreal,” you panted out.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your words, the praise fueling his ego. “I… I am?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tone of smugness in his voice. He knew he should feel more humbled, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

He reached out, gently tracing random patterns on your bare stomach as you caught your breath. “I just… I wanted to make you feel good,” he said softly.

When you came down from your high, you sat up to rest their foreheads against each other. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Matt's heart raced as you asked the question, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and worries. Was he ready? He had wanted this, more than anything, but now that the moment was here, he felt a twinge of fear.

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. But all he saw was love, desire, and a willingness to wait if he wasn't ready yet.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “I'm ready.”

In response, you locked their lips in a passionate kiss, one full of love.

Matt responded eagerly, his body pressing against yours as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Every thought, every fear, was pushed aside in that moment. All that mattered was you, your breath, your lips, your bodies.

His hands found their way into your hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding you close. He poured all of his feelings, all of his desires into the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he felt your fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, the sensation causing a shudder to run through his body. He'd been on edge ever since you'd started, his desire already at a fever pitch. But your touch, your gentle caress, only served to drive him wild.

He pulled back from the kiss to murmur against your mouth. “Please…” he whispered, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please, don't tease me anymore. I can't take it.”

You let out a shaky groan before pulling his boxers down, seeing him fully exposed for the first time. You took a moment to really take him in, your eyes full of awe and love.

Matt's cheeks burned under your gaze, feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been looked at this way before, never felt this vulnerable. But he also felt a wave of affection at the awe and love he saw in your eyes.

He met your gaze, his own eyes full of a mixture of desire and trepidation. “Is… Is it okay?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity.

“You're so beautiful,” you praised breathlessly. “So perfect.”

Matt felt his heart soar at your words, the insecurities fading away and being replaced with a wave of intense love. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and certainly not perfect. He'd always felt a bit too thin, too gangly, too nerdy. But to you, he was beautiful, perfect.

He drew in a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So are you,” he murmured. “Perfect, I mean.”

You reached to gently caress his cheek. “Sit up against the headboard for me.”

At your request, Matt obeyed, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He felt bare and exposed, but he trusted you and knew that you wouldn't do anything to make him feel uncomfortable.

His gaze met yours, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Perfect,” you praised before straddling his lap once again.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you straddled him, your body pressing against his in all the right places. His hands found your hips, his fingers gently gripping them, as if he needed something to anchor himself.

His eyes roamed over your body, appreciating every curve and contour, before coming back up to meet your gaze. “You… You look amazing,” he breathed, his voice a little huskier than usual.

The corner of your lips went up as you rested your forehead against his, just looking into his eyes for a few moments. You were so close now, the heat and electricity between them palpable. Matt found himself getting lost in your eyes, feeling a sense of calm and understanding wash over him. He could feel your breath against his lips, your body pressed against his, and it was almost too much to bear.

He reached up a hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers feather-light against your skin. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words coming out almost involuntarily.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and your eyes reflected just how much.

Matt felt your words wash over him, the depth and sincerity of your love sending a shiver down his spine. He'd always known you loved him, but hearing you say it, seeing it in your eyes… It was as if all his fears and doubts vanished completely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting himself bask in your love. Then, his eyes opened again, his gaze intense, and he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

“You ready?” you made sure quietly.

Matt felt a flutter of nerves mix with the desire he was feeling, but he nodded, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Yes,” he breathed in response, his voice a little shaky. “I… I'm ready.”

“If anything… Just tell me, and we can stop,” you promised.

Matt nodded again, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “I will,” he assured you. “But please… Please don't stop unless I say so.”

He drew you closer, his hands sliding up to your back, gently tracing the line of your spine. “I… I want this. I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low, earnest plea.

Matt shivered slightly as your hand moved over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His heart was beating hard, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He'd never felt this alive before, this on edge, this desperate for your touch.

His eyes tracked your hand as it moved, a small, helpless noise escaping his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was aching for it.

Finally, your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few slow pumps. Your touch was like a spark to a flame, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't known was possible. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut as the sensations washed over him.

His hips involuntarily arched into your touch, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Oh… Oh God, that feels…” he gasped, his voice choked. “That feels so good,” he managed to stutter out, his words a raw expression of pleasure.

The feeling of your hand on him was overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could feel his body tensing and relaxing instinctively.

You positioned yourself above him, and you looked him in the eyes as if to ask for one last permission.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest as he looked into your eyes. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it, more than anything. He didn't want you to stop, he wanted you, all of you.

He nodded, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “Please, don't stop.”

And then, you slowly started to sink down. The sensation was almost too much for Matt. It was like a wave of pleasure and heat overwhelming his entire body. He let out a low, guttural moan as you slowly sank down, inch by agonizing inch.

He clung to you, his hands gripping your hips with an almost bruising force. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted for breath. “Oh… Oh God,” he managed to say, the words a messy, incoherent jumble.

His mind was reeling, every thought driven out by the sheer intensity of the feeling. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like nothing he could have imagined. You were warm, tight, and completely surrounding him, and it was everything.

He knew he was probably being too rough, too loud, but he couldn't help it. He was utterly lost in the sensations, losing himself in you. He was yours, totally and completely, and he loved every moment.

As you bottomed out, you rested your hands on his shoulders for support. “You okay, baby?”

Matt was trying to form words, to give some sort of response, but all he could manage was a series of ragged breaths and a nod. He was trying to ground himself, to stay in control, but it was nearly impossible.

He managed to open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I… I'm… I'm okay,” he gasped out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just… Just give me a second, please.”

You felt incredible around him, almost too good. He needed a moment to adjust, to find some sort of equilibrium, or he knew he'd lose himself completely.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady himself. “You… You feel so… So good," he managed to get out between ragged breaths. He was struggling to find his voice, to express how he was feeling. “Just… Just give me a moment, please…”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” you whispered, your hand gently caressing his cheek.

Your touch was like a soothing balm on his over-stimulated body. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand, drawing in a shaky breath. He focused on the feeling of your fingers on his skin, your body surrounding him, anchoring himself to you. Slowly, the overwhelming sensations began to recede, replaced by a calmer, more controlled sense of pleasure.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “I'm… I'm okay now,” he murmured. “You can... you can move now.”

You leaned in to press your lips against his before slowly starting to move your hips.

The feeling of your lips on his was like a jolt through his system, reigniting the fire that had been momentarily banked. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue caressing yours with an urgent need.

And then there was the movement of your hips. It was a gentle, careful circling motion, bringing him closer and closer to oblivion. Matt let out a guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

It was all too much, but he couldn't get enough of it. He felt like he was drowning in you, lost in the sensations of your body, your touch, your scent. He knew he was being loud, almost embarrassingly so, but he couldn't help it. He was completely yours, completely lost in you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked breathlessly.

Matt could barely respond, too lost in the pleasure to string coherent words together. All he could do was nod, his voice choked off by a moan that tore its way from his throat.

He tried to form words, to tell you how good it felt, how incredible you were, but all that came out was a ragged gasp. “Y-yeah,” he managed to stutter out eventually, his voice hoarse. “Feels… Feels so good…”

You pressed their foreheads together before starting to move a little faster, moans escaping your own lips.

The change in speed made Matt's head spin. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, his body tensing and coiling with each move of your hips. He was a tangle of sensations, pleasure, need, and love, all swirling together.

He kept his eyes open, locking them with yours. Your moans, your ragged breaths, only amplified the sensations. He knew he was close, too close, but he didn't want it to end.

His hands left your hips, moving up to cradle your face in his hands. He needed to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to hold onto you as he rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher.

“I… I'm close… I'm gonna… Oh God, I'm…”

You understood exactly what he meant, the urgency in his tone clear. Your movements became faster and more purposeful, pushing them both closer to the edge.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. “I know. Just let go. I've got you.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of love and reassurance hitting him right in the chest. He wanted to hold on, to make this last as long as possible, but he knew it was impossible. He was on the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

“Baby…” he gasped, his voice thin and needy. “I… I'm… Oh God, I'm… I'm…”

He couldn't say the words, couldn't form the warning. All he could do was shiver as his body went rigid, waves of pleasure washing over him. He held onto you, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he rode out the aftershocks.

At the sensation of him releasing deep inside of you, you reached your climax as well, your back arching, and you let out a loud cry of his name. He felt you clenching around him, your own release as you cried out his name, and it was too much. He felt like he was being lifted into ecstasy, drowning in the sensations that swamped his body.

His hands moved to wrap around you, holding you close, feeling the tremors run through your body. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Oh God… Oh God…” he managed to say.

“I… I've never… That was…”

He couldn't complete a sentence, his mind reeling from the intensity of it all. He held onto you, feeling the rapid throb of your heartbeat against his chest, the heat of your skin against his, and the sweat that had gathered on both their bodies.

After You finally caught your breath, you looked at him, still straddling him, as you ran your hand through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

Matt was still reeling, his body trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raw. “I'm… I'm okay. I just… I need a minute. That was… Wow.”

“You were perfect,” you said softly before lifting yourself from him and falling onto the bed next to him.

He chuckled weakly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Perfect, huh? I'm pretty sure I yelled louder than you did. I think the whole neighborhood heard me,” he teased, half-joking and half-not.

You chuckled breathlessly. Matt, however, could only stare in wonder at how his seed was leaking out of you.

Matt couldn't tear his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything so intimate, so erotic. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers tracing the trail of his release dribbling down your skin.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered. “And I… I made a mess of you.”

Your breath hitched as he touched you, still oversensitive, but you didn't protest. He touched you delicately, his touch light and hesitant, as if he was scared to break the fragile moment. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and desire, staring at the evidence of what you have just shared.

“You… You look even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Like I've marked you as mine.”

“I am yours,” you whispered.

The words sent a wave of possessiveness through him. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a possessive growl. “All mine.”

He leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin. “I don't want anyone else seeing you like this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I don't want anyone else touching you like I do. You're mine.”

He continued to mark your skin with kisses, his mouth moving along the length of your neck and down to your collarbone. He wanted to keep you like this forever, covered in his marks, in his scent. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't care. You were his, and he wanted the world to know it.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

The feel of your fingers in his hair only served to make him more possessive. He continued to kiss and nip at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your neck and chest.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a mantra. He wanted to keep saying it, as if by repeating it, he could make it more true. “All mine.”

“So… I take that I made your first time good?” you asked, a little jokingly.

Matt chuckled huskily, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good is an understatement,” he said, his voice still rough with desire. “That was… Mind-blowing. Life-changing.”

He paused, his gaze roaming over your body again, taking in the sight of you covered in his marks. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you murmured before kissing him again.

He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate, needy hunger. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, continuing the kiss with a fervor. He didn't want this moment to end, he wanted to revel in the feeling of your body under his, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your skin.

Between kisses, he managed to mutter, “You're the only one. The only one I'll ever need.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re

[plutotheplum]

Felt Good About You

akaashi keiji x fem!reader

summary: delivering a revised manuscript to your editor turns into something more.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, post-time skip, oral sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, handjob, p in v

wc: 4.8k

a/n: i'm afraid i have the fattest crush on akaashi

also on ao3!

“The romance isn’t working.”

You groan when your editor pushes your manuscript for this week’s chapter towards you. You didn’t need any more bumps in the road, not when you were already running behind on deadlines, with the publishing company breathing down your neck to get the next volume out.

“The romance is fine, Akaashi” you mumble, flicking through the pages of the manuscript to skim through his notes.

“If it was fine, I wouldn’t be here,” he replies dryly.

Akaashi was as blunt as ever. Most of the time you appreciated his honesty, he was the reason for such success with your manga after all, but sometimes he managed to get on your nerves.

“It’s an unnecessary subplot,” he continues, flipping through a couple of pages to show you a few of the panels you had drawn, “there’s just no plausible progression between the two, no chemistry.”

You glare at him. He was really starting to get on your nerves. Akaashi rolls his eyes when he sees your glare, reaching out to flick your forehead.

“You’re already behind on the scheduled publishing date,” he reminds you, crossing his arms over his chest, “and I get the short end of the stick because I’m your editor.”

“The higher-ups love you,” you retort.

You stare pointedly at the small stash of awards that were tucked onto a shelf in his office, the small trophies and plaques a clear display of the company’s commendation for his work. 

“Not enough to let me work in the literature department,” he mutters bitterly.

“I’m right here!” you protest, an exasperated expression spreading across your face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaashi murmurs. 

He taps your manuscript a few more times before giving you a stern look.

“Get me the revised version by tonight, otherwise you’ll miss out on this week’s issue.”

You curse him under your breath, giving him one final glare as you gather the pages of your manuscript into your hands. You had come into his office thinking he’d been fine with the story, but now you had somehow ended up with more work than before, and an even tighter deadline.

- 

A few hours later, you end up finding yourself outside Akaashi’s apartment. Guilt had won out in the end, and you figured that it wasn’t fair to let him take the blame for your tardiness. Revised manuscript clutched against your chest, you ring his doorbell.

You can feel your throat dry when he opens up the door. His hair is damp, towel slung around the back of his neck. He’s wearing an old volleyball shirt with sweatpants, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to him looking so domestic. 

Akaashi stares at you blankly, clearly not expecting you. Usually you would’ve just emailed the revised manuscript over to him, not show up outside his door.

“I felt guilty,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing at the awkwardness in the air, “and- and I ordered gyoza so it should be here in a few minutes.”

“Right,” he says after a moment, “you didn’t have to.”

You stare at each other for a moment longer until he sighs, opening the door wider to let you in.

“You’re just as bad as Bokuto,” he informs you.

The mention of the pro-volleyball player makes a smile spread across your face. You had met Akaashi’s volleyball friends a few times when they had enlisted your help in throwing Akaashi a surprise birthday party - which had maybe ended up in a disaster - as well as when you had wound up to a few of their games.

“He’s a sweet guy,” you reply, handing him your manuscript.

Akaashi only hums in response, walking over to his desk. He hangs his towel on the back of his chair before sitting down. You watch as he slips his glasses on, examining the pages of your now edited work.

“I thought you’d try and fight me about the romance,” he murmurs, his pen making a few adjustments here and there. 

“Figured it wasn’t worth it,” you sigh, slumping on the couch in his living room, “you were right, as always.”

He peers over at you, his eyes narrowing as he watches the sulky look on your face. Despite your random bouts of laziness, even Akaashi had to agree that you were a good mangaka whose popularity had built up a loyal reader base. 

“Look,” Akaashi says, setting his pen down, “if you’re that hung up about cutting those scenes, start drafting it now.”

Your gaze shoots up to meet his eyes.

“Seriously?” you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Akaashi was dedicated, sure, but he wasn’t exactly one to take on extra work. Sometimes  you felt as though he would’ve been right at home in the literature department, editing novels instead of volumes of manga. It was like he worked with you out of obligation, not enjoyment, despite the friendship you had built up over the years.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing his glasses up a bit further to sit better on the slope of his nose, “I’m serious.”

You don’t get to dwell any longer on your editor’s change in mind, the sound of the doorbell piercing through your conversation. Akaashi waves you away when you move towards the door, grabbing the delivered containers of gyoza himself. 

He sits down beside you on the couch, handing you one container whilst he takes the other. For some reason, you’re feeling more on edge than usual. The brush of his arm against yours has heat rising to your cheeks, body growing taut with the way your stomach is swirling with nervousness.

It was no secret that Akaashi was one of the most handsome men in the office, and you had maybe developed a tiny crush on the man, which was now inflating into something that was not so tiny, and much, much harder to control the more time you spent with him. 

“You okay?” Akaashi asks, peering over you.

You don’t trust yourself enough to reply which is why you stuff a gyoza into your mouth and nod rapidly.

Silence lapses over you both as you eat, but you can feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. You pretend not to notice, trying to engross yourself in the taste of the gyoza and the tang of soy sauce.

Akaashi slouches slightly, his body relaxing as time passes. You can see it in the way his shoulders drop, his thighs spreading as he gets more comfortable.

“Instead of adding romance as a subplot, why don’t you make it into another story altogether?”

You blink over at him, surprised. 

“I don’t have time to write another manga,” you say, shaking your head, “I’d have to find another publisher if I wanted to write something that was purely romance.”

“Shonen manga in the romance genre exist,” he replies, running his hand through his hair, “or you could just self-publish.”

You’d been hoping to avoid the topic of self-publishing. Sure, you knew of it, participated in it even. It’d been used as a creative outlet, to get out some ideas that you couldn’t work on when your success as a mangaka had grown. Besides, it wasn’t like you could tell Akaashi that you had drawn up stories that were, well, inappropriate. 

“But that would be too much work,” you sigh, trying to stop his train of thought.

Akaashi stares at you thoughtfully. The more you spend time with him, the more you begin to regret your choice to come here. Emailing the manuscript to him would’ve been the smarter choice, but you just had to feel sorry for the guy.

“I did read one the other day that had a similar art style to yours.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can feel your composure slipping. There was no way he could know that you self-published stories that were practically panel after panel of porn. Maybe he enjoyed it? One thought leads to another and you find yourself imagining Akaashi with his hand wrapped around his cock, his head tipped back as he strokes himself.

“What was it about?” you manage to grit out, trying to see through the haze of your indecent thoughts.

“About a couple,” he says simply, “they ended up fucking.”

You can feel the hope swirling in your mind fade. Akaashi definitely knew. 

“Didn’t know you read that sort of thing.”

“I’m a man, aren’t I? Sometimes porn just doesn’t cut it. The story was pretty great too.”

He thought the story was great? You can’t help yourself from perking up, the compliment making you feel warm. 

“I just find it so strange,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you.

You swallow harshly, mustering up a smile with your trembling lips, “why’s that?”

“The author’s note,” Akaashi says, “the little bunny avatar was the same as yours.”

So, you had messed up. You spy the front door from the corner of your eyes. If you walked, you’d get there in about ten steps, but if you ran, you’d get there in about three - maybe two - strides. Sure, you wouldn’t ever be able to face Akaashi again, but you think you’d be fine with it. Report filed to the higher ups stating creative differences and you’d be able to find a new editor, no problem.

“It’s all probably just a coincidence,” you say nonchalantly, “plenty of people like bunnies.”

“Some of the dialogue was similar to yours, distinct writing and all that.”

You grit your teeth. The man didn’t know when to let go.

“Like I said, coincidence.”

“Right,” he says, nodding along, “a coincidence. Was it also a coincidence that the couple that had sex was a mangaka and her editor?”

You scramble to your feet when he says that. Letting out an awkward laugh, your cheeks heated with embarrassment, you decide that this is the best time to take your leave.

“Have- have a good night!” you say, voice pitching.

Determination has Akaashi’s eyes gleaming and now you’re bolting, feet nearly tripping over each other as you dart towards his apartment door. It seems as though fate isn’t in your favor tonight, Akaashi’s hand curling around your wrist as he catches onto you before you can open the door. You squeak when he slams his hand against the wall, right next to your head as he pushes you up against the door.

“Classic scene,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your meek expression, “you always use it.”

“Fuck off, Akaashi!” you snap, pushing at his chest.

It’s a struggle, but you reach back behind you, hand grabbing blindly for the door handle. He doesn’t let you reach it, catching your wrist and pinning it against the door.

“You sure?” Akaashi asks, his eyes darkened, “or maybe you want me to fuck you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, mouth opening before closing again. There’s nothing left in you, no retorts, no words to get yourself out of this situation. He lets out a sigh when he feels your body relax, his hand on your wrist loosening as he lets go. You stare up at him, biting your lip nervously.

“You should’ve said something,” he says quietly, adjusting his glasses.

“And embarrass myself?” you mutter, picking at the wool of your sweater.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, his hand smoothing up your hip and settling on your waist. Your eyes widen, arousal shooting through your body as he presses himself closer, his other hand finding your waist. Akaashi squeezes gently and you bite back a whine, eyes drooping slightly as he just squeezes and pets at your sides.

“It was good,” he says hoarsely, “the story, the details, the sex… came to it a couple of times.”

“You- you liked it?” you whisper, voice airy.

“Yeah,�� he whispers back, his eyes meeting yours, “liked it… like you.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, your heart thudding in your chest. You never dreamt it’d come down to this, but you find yourself grateful for Akaashi’s observational nature.

He takes his glasses off, placing them into his pocket. Akaashi’s lips drag across your cheek, pressing soft kisses against your skin. He kisses the corner of your mouth, lips brushing against yours gently. 

“Kiss me, Akaashi” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yeah,” Akaashi says softly, “yeah, I’ll kiss you, baby.”

A contented sigh escapes you as he slots his lips over yours, kissing you gently. The heat between you begins to grow, his hands slipping under your sweater to feel your bare skin. You gasp into his mouth, his hands surprisingly warm.

Akaashi smiles against your lips, his hand running up your back as his kisses turn hungrier, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. You let him lick into your mouth, tugging at his hair desperately. Rocking up onto the tips of your toes, you deepen the kiss, pulling him impossibly closer. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, groaning when your nails scratch his scalp fleetingly. You bite your kiss-swollen lip as he drags his lips down your neck, landing heated kisses to your skin.

Akaashi kisses the pulse of your throat, his lips finding their way back to yours. Soft pants fill the air, his smile hazy as he peers down at you. You smile back, head tilting to the side to let him kiss your cheek again.

“You’re such a dork,” he whispers, his eyes twinkling.

“Shut up,” you whine, pushing at his chest.

He grins, his hands grasping yours. Akaashi pulls you away from the door, his arms wrapping around the backs of your thighs as he picks you up. You laugh, legs wrapping around his waist, lips pressing against his as he carries you to his bed.

Akaashi lays you down on his bed and you watch with half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt off. He might not have played as competitively like he did in highschool, but you had been there when he had played with his friends. It’d been entrancing to watch the way he had set the ball for his friends, the ball curving through the air cleanly for the spiker to hit.

“‘s not fair how good you look,” you grumble, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, crawling onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“You look pretty good yourself,” Akaashi says, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater.

You lift your arms for him, letting him pull it off of you. His gaze fixes on the swell of your breasts and you flush, looking away.

“You’re shy now?” He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he kisses your jaw.

“You’re such a jerk,” you huff out.

Akaashi smiles and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to be truly angry with him. He’s patient more than anything, caring and always honest. You’ve never met a man like him, never met someone who could quell your worries the way he could. It makes you want to never let go.

His body settles between your thighs, his nimble fingers pulling your bra free. Your nipples pebble in the cold air and Akaashi leans forward, his hot, wet mouth enveloping a hard bud into his mouth.

You whine brokenly, back arching slightly as he sucks your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. He groans as you run your fingers through his hair, his mouth suctioning around your breast for a few moments before he pulls off with a pop.

His mouth finds your other breast, kissing the side of it, mouthing at your skin. You can feel his tongue caress the underside of it, laving across your breast before he bites gently at your flesh, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours. 

“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” he whispers against your breast.

You shake your head, mewling when his hand slides up, his fingers pitching at your spit-coated nipples. He rests his head between your breasts, watching you contentedly as you writhe under the onslaught of his touches. 

“A- Akaashi,” you whimper, hips bucking, “want- want more, please.”

“So polite, baby” he coos, his hands groping at your breasts. 

He pulls away from you and you whine, lifting your hips for him when he peels your pants off. There’s a moment of silence and you’re anticipating the feel of his mouth on your body, only for him to let out a low laugh. 

“Bunnies til the end, huh?” Akaashi asks, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

Your brows furrow, not quite sure what he’s talking about until you prop yourself on your elbows and see that you’re wearing a pair of bunny-patterned panties.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, slumping back down onto the bed and slinging your arm over your eyes.

“They’re cute,” he smiles, prying your arm away from your face, “just like you, baby.”

Akaashi grasps one of your legs, bringing it to his mouth as he runs his hand along the length of it, kissing the sole of your foot and then your ankle. A soft hum leaves you, watching as he kisses up your leg, his kisses feather-light.

You run your fingers through his hair as he kisses the little bow on your panties, his nose pressing between your clothed folds to breathe you in.

“Pussy’s soaked through,” Akaashi murmurs, pulling back to look at your dampened panties.

“‘s your fault,” you slur, trying to push his face back to where you want it.

“All my fault,” he agrees, his tongue licking up over your panties, “guess I’ll have to take care of you then.”

You nod, trying to stop the little twitches that shoot through your body. Akaashi lets his mouth latch onto you, trying to suck the slick that’s soaked through the fabric of your panties.

“A- ah!” you pant, fingers fisting his hair as he squeezes your hips, his face nuzzling deeper between your thighs.

Akaashi’s lithe fingers pull at your panties, dragging them down your thighs. You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

“Always so pretty, baby” he whispers, his thumbs pulling apart your folds to expose your pussy.

He moans when he sees the translucent strings of arousal that cling to your folds, his tongue darting out to lick up the little strings. You whimper when he kisses your clit gently, watching as he rubs the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit. Thighs twitching, you shift, trying to tilt your hips a little higher so you can feel his mouth on you.

“Ask for it,” Akaashi says, his cheek pressing against your thigh as he stares up at you.

“‘m not- ‘m not asking for it,” you retort, glaring at him.

“Bet it’d feel good,” he whispers, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

You whine when he just keeps his tongue there, saliva dripping from the tip of it and onto your pussy. He makes an obscene noise, gathering some more saliva, spitting on your cunt.

“All you gotta do is ask,” he coaxes, his arms wrapping around your thighs, “clit looks so achy… makes me wanna kiss it better.”

“P- please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Akaashi smiles up at you, his eyes twinkling.

You’ll have to get him back for his teasing later, but right now you can’t wait.

“Please lick my pussy!”

You squeal when he latches his mouth onto you again, his tongue lapping over your wet pussy. He groans and you tug at his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as he laves his tongue over you greedily, letting his tongue dip into your hole before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Legs kicking out, you let out a strangled noise as he flicks his tongue over your clit. Akaashi lands the filthiest kisses to your clit, alternating between sucking and little pecks, while he’s sunk two fingers inside of you. They curl up inside of you, grazing your sensitive spot perfectly. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, your wanton noises filling his bedroom.

Akaashi presses his face deeper, his fingers crooking. The feeling of his mouth in tandem with his fingers has you whimpering and whining, airy noises spilling from your lips at his ministrations. You might not ever be able to go without him ever again.

He holds you in place as you thrash, the overwhelming feeling inside of you building and building. Akaashi slips his fingers out of you in favor of devouring your cunt again, licking through your velvety folds, his tongue swirling before he presses it inside of you. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls. 

You blink down at him dazedly. There’s a light flush covering his cheeks, his mouth glistening with your wetness. He opens his mouth to say something else but you ignore him, pushing his head so that his lips are flush against your cunt. Akaashi lets out a muffled laugh against your pussy, his tongue licking over you again.

Hand squeezing at your breast, you bite your lip, losing yourself in the caress of his tongue. He laps over you, again and again, pressing sloppy kisses to your clit. 

“Gonna come,” you whisper, feeling the softness of his hair under your palm, “gonna come, ‘kaashi.”

He tilts your hips a little more, rising up onto his knees with your legs slung over his shoulders. You squeal again when he shakes his head, tongue dragging from side to side before he plunges it inside of you, his thumb pressing against your clit at the same time.

Your thighs squeeze tightly around his head as you come, loosening after a while when twitches rack through your body. Akaashi squeezes your thighs, lets your legs slip from his shoulders as he kisses your trembling thighs. 

“Good girl,” he whispers.

Akaashi kisses your cheek and wipes the stray curls of your hair away from your face. A soft sheen of sweat covers your body and he hums, smoothing his thumbs over the underside of your breasts.

He lays down beside you and you curl up beside him, eyes catching on the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Need some help?” you murmur, fingers dragging down his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” he sighs, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him.

You smile, kissing his jaw gently as your hand slides past his navel, disappearing into his sweatpants. The weight of his cock is heavy and hot and Akaashi moans softly when your hand curls around his length.

“Ask for it, ‘kaashi,” you whisper, voice lilting.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters.

“Use your manners, Keiji.”

His eyes widen when you use his name and you grin, landing a soft kiss to his cheek as your breasts squish up against his bicep. You squeeze around his cock and he lets out a soft whine, his hips bucking.

“Fuck- fuck hah-,” Akaashi grits out, “stroke my cock, baby, hm? Please?”

You hum softly, beginning to move your hand. His thick cock twitches as you stroke him, your wrist rotating.

He pants softly, his head turning to meet yours. You smile, running your fingers through his hair, brushing the soft strands out of his eyes. Affection bursts inside of you, heart fluttering as the flush on his cheeks deepens.

His brows have drawn together and you smooth your thumb over them, peppering soft kisses over his face, leg slinging over his as you pull down his sweatpants to free his cock completely. Akaashi’s cock has filled out, pre-cum smearing across his abdomen. You caress the head of it, giggling when he lets out a broken moan as you rub your thumb against the tip.

“You look so handsome,” you say, stroking his cock a little faster.

Akaashi smiles and you dip your head, kissing him. He groans, his hips chasing after the feeling of your hand around him as you kiss. Your hand tightens a little, squeezing at the tip of his cock. Pre-cum wets your hand, soft gasps escaping Akaashi as you let your tongue slip into his mouth.

“Keiji,” you whisper, lips brushing over his, “Keiji, will you fuck me?”

You squeak in surprise when he manages to grab onto your waist, lifting you up and placing you on his lap. His cock is snug between your folds and you whine, dragging your hips along the length of it, biting your lip as more pre-cum leaks from him.

“Sit on my cock, baby” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your thighs.

You nod, shifting a little so that you’re up on your knees. Akaashi watches as you grip the base of his cock, moaning when you rub his cock against your pussy, letting it catch on your clit. Akaashi’s head tips back as you sink down, whimpery, little noises leaving you as your pussy swallows up his cock.

It’s so thick inside of you, fitting so snugly that you clench around him. Akaashi wraps an arm around your waist, bringing your front flush against him. He lets you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, his arms tightening around your waist. You can feel him move, his feet flat against the bed as he bends his knees.

“K- Keiji!” you wail when he begins to fuck up into you.

Akaashi grunts, holding you against him as he moves his hips, rutting up into you. His hands grope at your ass, gripping your ass tightly as he moves a little more forcefully. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck, pressing sloppy kisses against his skin as you smooth your hand over his hair. 

“Is this- fuck,” Akaashi grits out, “is this what you imagined when you drew up those panels?”

You nod, too far gone to cling onto the remnants of your stubbornness. 

“Yeah?” he whispers, “imagined me fucking up into you, huh?”

“Y- yes!” you cry out, body squirming when he lands a heavy spank to your ass.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

A soft mewl leaves you at the praise, your hips swaying back lazily to meet his thrusts. The sound of his hips slapping into your ass echoes through his room, your wetness leaking around his cock and coating his balls.

Your body rocks against his, your hand gripping at the sheets beside his head when he adjusts his grip on you, planting his feet a bit firmer against his mattress to thrust into you harder. You gasp at the sensation, sinking your teeth into his shoulder when his cock hits deep inside of you.

Akaashi hisses at the feeling of your teeth, spanking your ass again before you clench around him with a scream, body shuddering on top of his as you come. 

“Baby, baby, you gotta let go,” he rasps.

You shake your head stubbornly, pushing your hips down so that it swallows his cock all the way to the base.

“Inside, Keiji.”

He groans, his hands kneading at your hips roughly. You can feel the twitch of his cock, a satisfied coo leaving your lips when he comes, spurts of his hot cum filling you up. Akaashi’s hips stutter, thrusting into you unevenly as his cock jerks, more cum flooding your pussy.

You both pant, chests heaving. Akaashi rubs his hand along your back and you emerge from the crook of his neck, a drunken smile on your face.

He laughs hoarsely at your expression, cupping your cheek to guide you into another kiss while his cock softens inside of you. It’s a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind, losing yourself in the heat of his body as cum leaks from your pussy.

“How long have you known?” you ask, tracing the slope of his nose.

“About a month,” he murmurs.

“A month?” you scoff, hitting his chest, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Akaashi grins, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss across your knuckles.

“That would ruin the fun.”

You roll your eyes, prodding your fingers into his chest, “it was hardly fun, Keiji.”

“But you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he whispers.

You laugh when he flips you onto your back, moaning softly when you feel his cock beginning to harden again inside of you.

“Put- put your glasses on,” you whisper, head tipping back as he rolls his hips into you.

Akaashi reaches over to dig his glasses out from the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, pushing them up to sit comfortably on his nose.

You clench around him at the sight, biting your lip as you give him a pleased smile.

“Knew you had a thing for ‘em.”

He grabs at your legs, moving them so that they’re pressed against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders.

“Use this as inspiration, baby,” Akaashi smirks, “I’ll even edit it for you.”

[starryhyuck]

pairing: enemiestolovers!yuta x afab!reader

words: 13.1k+

summary: yuta doesn’t care how adored you are. all he sees is a spoiled, narcissistic brat who has her daddy wrapped around her finger. hell must freeze over before he ever entertains the idea of being with you.

genre: smut, fluff, angst

warnings: reader is doyoung’s sister, reader calls her father daddy in the beginning but yuta becomes the real daddy, throat fucking, public sex, collaring, rough sex, pussy eating, squirting, spanking, lots of degradation, creampies, tiny bit of somnophilia

Since he was three years old, Nakamoto Yuta has always been told that he could never trust anyone but himself. Ironically, the words came from his mother, who he was supposed to trust above all.

His father was a businessman who dominated the industry, being both charming and captivating enough to earn the trust of many powerful people. However, his increasing rise in power also led to an increasing role of danger. Yuta had to start being escorted by security at public events, ensuring that the future of the family is established. He became isolated from the rest of the world except for school, where he eventually met a group of boys who made him feel whole.

His parents disapproved of the friendship, considering some of their fathers rivaled his own. He refused to succumb to their wishes, and to this day, it was the only battle he had ever won against his parents.

The only problem Yuta really has is you.

You’re Doyoung’s sister and the most spoiled girl he’s ever met in his life. He previously knew almost nothing about you since when they first met, Doyoung kept most of his personal life a secret. However, when you started attending university together, Yuta discovered your personality little by little and it crept under his skin.

It’s easy to sum up who you were — a rich girl who had her father wrapped around her finger.

Doyoung complained about you constantly after the rest of the guys had finally met you. Even post-graduation, you still found every opportunity to locate your brother’s group of friends and give him an irritating headache.

"Jesus, what are you wearing?"

Yuta observes as you blink your eyes innocently at Doyoung, staring down at your ensemble. You were wearing a crop top and a miniskirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

"It's called fashion, Doyoung. Try it sometime, seriously. I'm tired of you looking like a slob next to me at gala events."

The group is seated in one of the exorbitant steakhouses in the city, where they often frequent for an occasional chat. The owners of the restaurant are close family friends with Jaehyun’s parents, so any service worker helping them understood that discussions at the table were never to leave the ears of the building.

You slide into a vacant seat next to Taeyong, flagging down a waiter and ordering a strawberry margarita.

"Why are you here?" Doyoung questions in an agitated voice.

"Maybe she wants to see someone special," Donghyuck suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at you from across the table.

You pretend to vomit. Yuta snickers and Donghyuck glares at him.

"In your tiny dreams, Hyuck. I'm here because daddy wants us to all be together for dinner tonight. Apparently, he has a very special announcement," you smile mischievously.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. Yuta knows Doyoung’s father barely calls him to any important meetings, so this must be something big. "And what exactly is that?"

"It's obviously the announcement that he's chosen me as the heir to his company,” you say confidently.

At this, the whole table bursts into laughter. Yuta clutches his stomach when it begins to ache from the exhilaration.

"What?" You fume, eyes narrowing at the men before you.

"Babygirl, I really think you've got it all messed up in your head," Taeyong chuckles condescendingly.

You roll your eyes and flip your hair over your shoulder, and Yuta catches the scent of your perfume. It makes him slightly dizzy.

"I'm not wrong about anything, you losers. Do you seriously think you could run daddy's company, Doyoung?" You scoff, and your brother glares at you.

"What would you even know about business?" He challenges in response.

Yuta grins at the clear sibling rivalry. Doyoung would never dare to admit it, but he has always been slightly jealous of you. Ever since the two of you were younger, you surpass him in everything — grades, beauty, charm, and even networking connections. Your contribution to charity is constantly promoted in the tabloids, and you became the model for multiple designer companies, just so Doyoung could not turn a single inch without seeing his baby sister's face plastered on a billboard.

Your father adores you the most, pushing Doyoung to the side most of the time. Yuta knows it hurts his friend a lot on the inside, but Doyoung would never tell you about it. No matter how jealous he gets or how broken your relationship is, you still look up to your brother and care about his opinion and he knows that.

"I know plenty. Daddy always brings me to his work meetings, remember? I have all those stubborn businessmen ready to bend down and kiss my feet. I bet you can't say the same," you laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

Doyoung opens his mouth to argue against the insult but another customer walking in steals your attention. Park Jinyoung enters in all his glory, and Yuta watches as your head spins around, a smile spreading across your face. Jinyoung’s parents owned a global technology company that was slowly gaining traction, allowing him to enter the elite circles of society.

"Jinyoung!" You call sweetly, eyelashes batting. You quickly lean closer to the table so Doyoung can clearly hear you. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to take care of personal matters. But I mean it, Doyoung, you have to be at dinner tonight."

You quickly leave with that remark, looping your arm through Jinyoung's and pulling him out of the restaurant with your margarita in hand.

“I hate her,” Doyoung grumbles when you’re finally out of eyesight.

“No, you don’t,” Jaehyun laughs, nudging him. “She just gets under your skin sometimes. That’s what siblings are supposed to do.”

“Are you nervous? Your dad’s never asked for a meeting like this before,” Taeyong brings up, analyzing Doyoung’s tense form.

Doyoung shrugs and tries to play it off. “A little, I guess. But there’s no point, my sister’s right. If anyone’s taking over the company, it’s her. My father never prepared me for anything and he prepared her for everything.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Come on, Doyoung. A spoiled rich girl like her? She could definitely charm some businessmen but she would let people walk all over her. She’ll never be respected with the reputation she has.”

You were well known as a rich socialite who dated around, and although your father allowed you to be by his side during important meetings, Yuta believes your reputation would be the cause of your downfall.

“A little harsh, Yuta,” Donghyuck frowns at his friend’s criticism.

“It’s true,” Yuta says with no remorse. “The corporate world is brutal like that and your sister’s just not cut out for it.”

Doyoung hums softly. “We’ll see.”

—

“I’m here!” You sing, slipping off your heels and handing your purse to one of the maids standing nearby. She informs you that your family’s already seated in the dining room.

You smile when you see your father sitting at the head of the table, and bounce over to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, princess,” he beams.

You take the seat next to your father and across from Doyoung, who looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him.

“Hi, daddy. How was work today?”

“Very well, thank you, sweetheart. The merger with Lee Corporations is working out perfectly.”

You huff. “I wish you had picked a different company, daddy. You know how I don’t like Donghyuck.”

“Hey!” Doyoung interjects for his friend. “Hyuck’s a great guy.”

“Who flirts with your sister all the time,” your father reminds him, raising an eyebrow. “Not a very respectable man, Doyoung. I wish you would find someone else to occupy your time with.”

You smile in victory and Doyoung glares at you.

Your father clears his throat. “Anyways, I’m sure you’re both wondering why I called you here tonight. I have some good news and some bad news, depending on how you take it.”

You lean forward in anticipation, eyes sparkling at the thought of finally getting responsibilities in the company. Even though your father allows you to shadow him at work and gives you top secrets about your company rivals, he’s never given you any real tasks.

“The good news is that we’re opening a new branch in Osaka, very similar to the one we have here at home. Day-to-day operations will virtually be the same and all major decisions will still be handled by me. The bad news is that only one of you can run the division.”

You and Doyoung lock gazes, eyes both filled with determination.

“I can do it!”

“I can do it!”

Your father chuckles. “I’m glad you’re both willing. I haven’t made any decisions yet, but I want the both of you to start thinking more maturely about your future if you’re considering running this branch. Doyoung, you’ve barely been involved in company activities and you don’t have a good presence in the media. This is something I’d like you to focus on.”

“I’ve been doing both of those things, daddy, if you don’t remember,” you smile at him, watching your brother’s shoulders deflate.

“I do remember, princess,” your father chuckles. “And I have no doubt in my mind you would rule this company with an iron fist.” You giggle while Doyoung scoffs under his breath. “However, the company has received complaints from several of our partners about your behavior towards potential suitors.”

You swallow. Ever since you turned eighteen, you’ve had multiple men from big corporations try to take your hand in marriage. All of them have been political actions, of course, so you’ve never entertained any of their ideas.

“I heard Yang Hongseok proposed to you last month and you dumped a milkshake on him,” your father recalls, raising an eyebrow. “You humiliated him in front of the press.”

“Proposed?” Doyoung questions in shock. “She’s too young for that!”

“She’s already gotten many proposals, Doyoung,” your father corrects. “And, if I’m not mistaken, every single one of them has ended in public embarrassment for the other party.”

You smile nervously. “They’re just not good enough for me, daddy. What can I say?”

“No one will ever be good enough for you, princess. But that’s not the point. The point is that many of these engagements could be worthwhile for both you and the company. You have to see the bigger picture here.”

“So what?” You reply in a bratty tone, feeling frustrated. “Doyoung just has to show up to a few galas but I have to get married?”

“I didn’t say that,” your father frowns at your attitude. “I just think you should take these proposals a little more seriously. You haven’t gotten to know all of these boys, sweetheart.”

“That’s exactly why I said no to all of them. I don’t know them, daddy.”

Your father sighs. “I understand this is difficult for you, but until I see you start acting more mature about this, you and Doyoung will both be in the running for the leadership of this branch.”

Your eyes meet your brother’s across the table.

Game on.

—

Yuta is bored.

This party, hosted by Johnny, seems a little tame in comparison to last week’s. Yuta guesses it’s because of the negative media attention Johnny’s family has been receiving over his extravagant house parties. Although Johnny won’t say, Yuta knows his family chewed him out about it.

“Yuta!”

He smiles when he sees Seungcheol approaching him, and they exchange a handshake.

“How’ve you been? I can’t believe Johnny’s doing this after all of that insane press coverage.”

Yuta shrugs, glancing around at the small house party. Full of rich kids getting drunk and making mistakes.

“You know Johnny doesn’t care about that. It’s pretty dull tonight anyways.”

Seungcheol nods in agreement. “Did you see that Doyoung’s sister is here?”

Yuta barely notices your presence most of the time, so he’s not surprised that he didn’t see you walk in. You’re probably causing havoc with an outfit that’s more revealing than it should be, and it’s likely giving Doyoung a mild heart attack.

“Don’t care,” Yuta replies with disinterest.

Seungcheol laughs at his curt attitude. “Are you kidding me? She’s the hottest girl I’ve seen in ages. How could you not care?”

“She may have you fooled, but I know her well enough to recognize there’s nothing special under that facade.”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Suit yourself, but you clearly haven’t heard the big news.”

Yuta can’t deny that his interest is peaked.

“What news?”

Seungcheol smirks, leaning in to ensure no other guests would hear this tidbit of information.

“She’s looking for a serious relationship, apparently to ease her father’s concerns about her taking over the business. There’s a line out the door of guys begging for a spare minute of her time.”

And that’s when Yuta finally spots you across the room. Just as he pictured, you’re wearing a skimpy black dress that barely reaches the tops of your thighs. He thinks he even sees a guy trip over the even floor from staring at your legs too long. You’re giggling as Na Jaemin leans down to whisper something in your ear, hand wrapped around your waist like it’s another accessory. It isn’t long before his mouth is connected to yours, hand drifting lower and lower down your back.

“Have you seen my sister?”

Doyoung approaches Yuta and Seungcheol, slightly out of breath. His head turns in every direction in an attempt to locate you. He clearly hasn’t ventured to the other side of the room yet.

“Why?” Yuta asks since usually, Doyoung doesn’t care where you are at these parties and he sure as hell never searches for you. As long as your brother doesn’t have to endure hearing demeaning comments about your choice of dress, he lets you partake in whatever activities you like.

“Donghyuck is here with an engagement ring and he’s planning on causing a big scene. She can’t afford for our father to see her publicly reject him right now,” Doyoung sighs, looking more stressed as the minutes pass.

Yuta has always been confused by Doyoung’s soft spot for you. Even though you two are clearly competing for a chance to take over a major part of your father’s company, Doyoung still wanted to protect you.

“Listen,” Doyoung says frantically, watching as Donghyuck slowly slinks around the floor like a predator hunting its prey. “If you see her, could you please just get her out of eyesight? I’ll owe you guys big time.”

When Doyoung disappears into the kitchen, Seungcheol informs Yuta he’s going to grab another drink. Yuta’s left to stare at you and Jaemin, observing as Jaemin’s touch slowly gets rougher and more intimate.

Against his better judgment, Yuta finds himself walking to you, grasping your upper arm and pulling you away from the younger male.

“What the fuck, Yuta?” You hiss, not pleased in the slightest by his sudden appearance.

“Fuck off, Jaemin,” Yuta growls, and as much as Jaemin wants to object, he admits he’s slightly scared of Yuta’s threatening stare.

You watch pathetically as Jaemin gets further and further out of view, mixing into the crowd. You push at Yuta’s chest, ready to give him the beating of his life.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Donghyuck’s going to propose to you,” he replies nonchalantly. “Better start running unless you want the news to spread to daddy.”

You curse under your breath and pray to the gods that a demon would come up and swallow Donghyuck whole. Your eyes widen when you catch him from the corner of your eye, a black velvet box tucked securely in his palm.

It’s in this moment that you execute the only plan that pops in your head. You press your back against the wall, forcefully grabbing the hem of Yuta’s shirt to pull him closer to you. He grunts in surprise when he finds himself being pressed against your front.

Your hand grips the back of his neck and you smash his lips to yours desperately.

Yuta would never publicly admit how much he enjoys kissing you. Your lips feel like velvet on his, and his frame cages you against the wall. His hand inches around your waist and he realizes he’s in the same position Jaemin was moments ago.

As sadistic as it sounds, Yuta loves seeing you being put in your place like this. Vulnerable underneath him, hands grabbing whatever piece of him they can find. You’re in the palm of his hand and it turns him on to no end.

In fact, the two of you are so enraptured with one another that you fail to hear the click of a camera.

—

A newspaper slams in front of you during breakfast the next day.

You tilt your head in confusion when you see you and Yuta on the front cover, looking like a scene straight out of a trashy teen romcom. Your eyes flicker upwards to catch the intense glower of your father.

“What is this?”

You put on your best expression of innocence. “Just me and Yuta having a little fun, daddy.”

“This isn’t fun, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “This is softcore porn of my daughter on the front page of every tabloid in the city.”

You glance back down at the photo and wince when you realize you’re clearly grinding against Yuta’s thigh with no care in the world.

You frown, lips jutting out into a pout. “I didn’t realize there would be cameras at the party, daddy. I’m sorry.”

He sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m not mad at you, princess. Would I feel better if you weren’t exposing yourself in public like this? Of course. However, your brilliant mind has stumbled across an amazing opportunity.”

You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

“The Nakamoto family are highly regarded and respected in Japan. Showing a united front with them to the public can work wonders for the business,” your father smiles deviously, and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach at the implication.

“But daddy, I don’t even like Yuta. It was just a one time thing!”

He shakes his head at your pushback. “It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. I want you to make an acquaintance out of him, and ensure the press sees you two together in a flattering light. If you pull it off, the Osaka branch is yours, sweetheart. No questions asked.”

You huff and lean back in your chair, exasperated by the degrading task.

Across town, Yuta finds himself in a slightly different position.

“The Kim girl? Really, Yuta?”

His mother stares him down fiercely, her eyes expressing all the curses she wishes to throw at her son. She nearly hits him in the face when she launches the newspaper to his chest.

Yuta smirks at the sight of him pinning you down for the whole world to see.

“This isn’t funny, Yuta. Hide that ridiculous look on your face,” his mother scolds him. “I don’t want you to be associated with this girl. Her father is an imbecile for allowing her to be involved with the business in the first place — she’s nothing but a girl blinded by the glitz and glamour, and I don’t want that for you.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. As if his mother even cared about what’s best for him.

“Relax. We were just having fun. You know I’d never touch a spoiled brat like her.”

Especially not after you left him high and dry at that party.

His mother smiles. “Good. I don’t care what you have to do, but stay away from her. She’ll only ruin the Nakamoto image.”

And deep down, Yuta knows his mother is wrong. You’re the most beloved influential figure in the city and any family would kill to have you join them. Every man is praying that by some miracle, you choose them as your future husband. The Nakamoto family would be honored if you even threw them a glance.

But Yuta would never tell anyone that.

—

Doyoung is fuming the next time Yuta sees him. Taeyong has to hold him back when Yuta approaches their regular table at the restaurant.

“You disgusting creep! What the fuck were you doing with my sister?”

“Yeah!” Donghyuck chimes in, looking less than pleased. “You don’t even like her!”

“Calm down,” Yuta sighs, taking his seat and ignoring Doyoung’s death stare across the table. “I had to play into her game since someone decided he would propose to her in the middle of a fucking party.”

Donghyuck scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Besides, we didn’t do anything. We made out and she left when Hyuck disappeared.”

Jaehyun snickers from his spot next to Doyoung. “But you wanted to do more, didn’t you?”

Yuta doesn’t respond, keeping a poker face on. He refuses to let this group of ingrates discover that yes, he wanted a lot more from you that you weren’t willing to give.

“Imbeciles,” Doyoung mutters under his breath. “I told you all that none of you are allowed to touch my sister. You’re lucky I even let you come within three feet of her.”

“Are you kidding me?” Donghyuck bursts out again, eyebrows furrowed. “You complain about her all the time! You always say you wish someone would take her off your hands!”

“I didn’t mean you!”

“What are we talking about?”

You comfortably occupy the seat next to Taeyong, lips wrapped around a cherry lollipop. Yuta watches as you swirl the candy inside your mouth, tongue carefully savoring each lick. He wills his dick not to sport a hard-on in public right now.

The sight urges Doyoung to grab the sweet from your hand and crush it under his glass of whiskey.

“Hey!” You whine. “That was my last cherry!”

“Yeah! What the fuck, Doyoung!” Donghyuck complains, indiscreetly fixing the tent in his jeans.

“Can you be a normal human being for once?” Doyoung snarls at you, and Taeyong almost has to hold him back again. “What were you doing kissing Yuta like that for everyone to see? It’s like you have no dignity!”

“Haven’t gotten ass in a while, huh?” You inquire, giggling into the palm of your hand. Your brother’s face continues to bloom into a terrifying shade of red. “Relax. Yuta was helping me out after someone tried to pull that stunt last week.”

Donghyuck pouts. “So you would’ve said no?”

“I would have crushed that box between my fingers and stuffed it down your throat.”

“God, you’re so hot.”

Doyoung glares at Donghyuck once more.

“Anyways, Yuta, outside?” Your question is phrased more like a statement, and you don’t even offer him a chance to respond before you’re strutting out the door.

“Don’t marry her, please!” Donghyuck begs when Yuta gets up to follow you, clinging onto his wrist desperately. “I’ll do anything to have her. Don’t ruin this for me!”

“I’ll murder you right here, Hyuck,” Doyoung warns.

“I’d love to see you try.”

When Yuta finally shakes Donghyuck off and makes it out the door, he pauses when he sees you’ve suddenly become preoccupied by Lee Jeno in the alleyway. Jeno’s family owned one of the largest designer brands in the country, and Yuta recalls that you just became a spokesmodel for their new line. Jeno’s fingers are tracing your midriff, captivated by the sparkly butterfly chain hanging across your stomach.

“Why don’t you let me take you out this weekend, pretty girl? I’ll even let you choose the music this time.”

You giggle, batting your eyelashes up at him. “But you were so picky last time. How can I trust you again?”

He smirks. “You know I’ll take care of whatever you need, baby. You can trust me.”

Yuta clears his throat, feeling his chest swell with unanticipated rage. He doesn’t like seeing Jeno this close to you, talking to you like you’re a shiny new toy. That condescending language should only be reserved for Yuta.

You look back and catch Yuta’s stare, rolling your eyes at his presence. He clenches his fists angrily. You whisper something quietly in Jeno’s ear and he seems pleased, grinning ear to ear and kissing your cheek before he leaves.

“Did you make me come out here just to waste my time?”

You cross your arms over your chest, and Yuta tries his best not to focus on how the action pushes up your breasts in your tiny crop top.

“I brought you out here to make a proposition.”

He scoffs. “Thinking that I would want anything to do with you is laughable.”

“Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t have a hard-on when I was riding your thigh last week.”

His ears redden out of embarrassment. He has shamefully pictured that moment with you more times than he would ever admit. Lately, it’s the only vision that can get him off at night.

“It’s not my fault you were making a spectacle of yourself in public.”

You simply smile, mischievous in the way your hand slinks its way around his bicep, squeezing gently. “You liked it, didn’t you? Showing everyone I belonged to you? Putting the pretty Kim girl in her place?”

You take a step closer and his breath nearly hitches at how you’re inches away from his face. He thinks about your perfect lips puckered in a pout. You surely know better than anyone how to get a man to succumb to your wishes, and Yuta is no anomaly to your power.

You bat your eyelashes at him like he saw you doing for Jeno. “Why don’t you help me out, hm? Go on a few dates with me.”

Yuta freezes, shaking his head in an attempt to take himself out of your alluring reverie.

“Why the fuck would I ever do that?”

“Because I get to show daddy that I’m finally taking a man seriously, and you get to do whatever you want with me on date nights,” your voice lowers to a whisper, lips brushing by his. “I heard around the grapevine that you’re a little rough in the bedroom.” He swallows, recognizing that you have him in the palm of your hand with your sugary sweet voice. Your nails scratch down his torso until you’re cupping his growing length. He swears he’s nearly bursting out of his jeans. “I like it a little rough, and it’s just so hard these days to find a good man to please me. You’ll help me out, won’t you, Yuta?”

He tries to regain control of the situation, fingers curling around your scalp and pulling harshly. He grows even harder when all you do is smile at him, taking pleasure in the pain.

“You do this with everyone? Whore yourself out to climb up the company ranks?”

You grin. You both know that Yuta has already agreed with the way his hips are slowly grinding against the front of your skirt.

“Just you. I only need you, Yuta.”

Fuck, he’s in trouble.

—

Yuta thinks he’s reached the peak of ultimate desperation as he stands in front of your door.

Since last night, he’s been attempting to convince himself that he only agreed to your proposal because he hasn’t gotten his dick wet for quite a while. It also doesn’t help that you have been constantly infiltrating his dreams and every lewd fantasy his brain manages to conjure up.

You laid out the simple terms — he takes you out on public dates, ensuring many photos are taken for your father to see, and you agree to go back to his place and allow him to use your body as he pleases. Yuta might as well have a sign hanging above his head that reads pathetic loser with how easily he obliges.

When you swing open the door to your apartment, he notices that you’re half-dressed and slightly surprised by his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” you say, pulling him in and locking the door.

He has to grasp at whatever ounce of self-control he has left, eyes raking over your exposed body. You’re adorned in nothing but a black, lacy lingerie set and a silk robe draped open. It’s like you’re trying to test him.

He balls his hands into fists. “Hurry up and get dressed. I already called the press and they’re on their way to the restaurant.”

You pout at his hostile tone, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt and blinking innocently at him. He grits his teeth as you press your body against his. It reminds Yuta of that night at Johnny’s, when you were wedged so perfectly between him and the wall, your lips chasing his in a frenzied play for power.

He’s never been so easily affected by someone before. Usually, it requires an abundance of work on the other person’s part for Yuta to even spare them a glance. When it comes to you, however, he can’t decide if he wants to fuck you until you beg him to stop or if he wants to argue with you until you’re both screaming.

Maybe a little bit of both.

“Are you sure you don’t want a little gift before we leave? You know, to thank you for doing so much for me,” you hum, fingers dancing across his stomach teasingly.

He grabs your waist tightly, scrunching up the fabric of your robe. He gives you a squeeze in warning.

“Get. Dressed.”

You smile at him before obeying, heading off to your room. You do so with a sway in your hips and he curses lowly, forcing himself to move his eyes away from your tempting figure. He glares down at the growing tent in his pants, willing it to go away.

You return to the living room in record time, and Yuta can see why it took you such a short time to change — you’re clothed in nothing but a lavender slip dress, and it’s clear you got rid of the skimpy underwear as he stares at your hardened nipples poking through.

“Don’t worry,” you giggle when you notice his gaze lingering on your chest. “I got rid of the panties too, just to make sure it was a matching set.”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

You’re nothing but a heap of laughter as Yuta pushes you into the backseat of his car. It’s grating to his ears, especially since he knows the root of your joy is his pain. He nearly growls at his driver, who flashes a raised eyebrow before taking off. He awkwardly shifts in his seat, still begging his erection to lower.

You grasp at the opportunity. “Need help?” You cup his bulge and he groans loudly. “You can fuck my throat if you’d like.”

He mentally calculates how much time you have left until you reach the restaurant before grunting at his driver.

“Take the long way.”

You grin when he pulls down his pants and releases his cock from the confines of his briefs. He can practically see your mouth water as you wrap a hand around his base, causing him to twitch in your palm. He praises the inventor of tinted windows, which allows him to expose you publicly like this.

“Mmm,” you hum happily, sucking on his reddened tip gently and lapping the spurts of white pumping out of him. He pushes your hair out of your face while you eagerly sink down on him. It isn’t until he hits the back of your throat that he offers his first thrust. You gag a little but squeeze his thigh, giving him the green light. He throws his head back and pushes his hips upwards, wanting to fuck your throat until it’s raw.

“Look at you. Fucking pathetic,” he hisses. You whimper around him at his degrading tone. “Whoring yourself out in front of me until I snap, hm? Is this what you wanted? For me to fuck your throat until you cry?”

You moan and he shuts his eyes when he realizes you’re actually crying, tears flowing down your face and mixing with the spit running down his cock. He pulls you up by your neck and allows you a few seconds to breathe before sending you down again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants. “Gonna cum. You better fucking swallow it all.”

He groans when he reaches his climax, holding you steady as he pumps his seed into your waiting mouth. He lets go of you when he’s finished, and you lick up the remaining mess on his cock.

“Good girl,” he praises, watching you clean him up. You beam at his approval and he smiles.

“W-We’ve arrived, sir.”

“Park the fucking car and get out,” he bites at the driver, not caring how much of a dick he’s being. His driver practically launches himself out of the car once it’s in park and you frown at Yuta.

“We’re going to miss our reservation.”

“They’ll make an exception for us. Now get face down so I can eat your pretty pussy.”

—

You can’t get enough of Yuta.

It’s only been a week since your agreement yet you’ve gone on a date every single night, ending with Yuta fucking you wherever and however he pleases. You didn’t lie when you said he could do whatever he wanted to you. Spending continuous nights together, however, prompts the tabloids to swerve into a frenzy of ridiculous headlines.

Nakamoto and Kim — The New Dynasty?

Yuta Nakamoto Seen Eyeing Engagement Rings!

Wedding on Horizon for Nakamoto and Kim Conglomerates

“Yuta!”

But you could care less about the suggestion of your engagement, especially when Yuta has you sprawled out underneath him, ramming into you from behind. Tonight, he was too impatient to finish dinner with you, allowing the cameramen their fair share of pictures before pulling you into the backseat of his father’s car. He instructs the driver to head to his apartment before he’s plowing into you until you cry.

You feel slightly bad for his driver, who hasn’t received a break from the constant fucking all week.

“Ungh, ungh, ungh,” you whimper at the force of his thrusts. It really was true that Yuta was rough in the bedroom, refusing to grant you even a second to breathe until he got his way. You had never felt so used and it aroused you to no end. You’ve had a higher sex drive this week than ever before.

“Why do you even bother to wear panties?” He growls down at you. “You know I hate it when you give me an obstacle.”

You haven’t dared to put on a pair of pants since you began your arrangement. He loves being able to take you anywhere he pleases, flipping up your skirt or rolling up your dress at any time of the night. You suppose he’s even grown weary of your underwear being in his way as well.

“It matches my dress, daddy!”

You never considered calling another man daddy because that term was used exclusively for your father since you were little. However, after discovering Yuta’s liking for the name, you haven’t addressed your father as daddy since then, transferring the moniker to Yuta.

“Who cares?” He laughs devilishly. “You know I’ll rip it off of you before the night ends anyways, sweetheart. And you’ve already made it abundantly clear that you’re all mine. Nobody else would be brave enough to sneak a peek at a pussy owned by me.”

You giggle at the thought of how large your presence has grown in the media. Your father was thoroughly pleased by your association with Yuta, even though Doyoung almost threw his friend off a bridge when he discovered the affair. Your father’s all but signed the Osaka branch over to you, and you can nearly taste victory. You’re certain if you offered yourself to Yuta during the daytime too, he would probably secure an engagement ring on your finger, which would make your father more elated.

Yuta flips you over, pressing your back against the car door and sliding down the window halfway.

“Yuta! They’ll see us!” You squeal, laughing at his carelessness.

“Let them watch then.”

He presses back into you, causing you to moan loudly. You catch the eyebrow raise of the driver through the rearview mirror and smile when you hear the chatter of people on the sidewalk outside, observing your lewd behavior. You pull Yuta down to press his lips against yours, tongues tangling together as he grips your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist. The angle allows him to push deeper into you, and your whines grow louder at the force of his thrusts.

At every red light, you see the flashes of cameras grow brighter and brighter to capture the sight of you and Yuta. You’re frankly too enraptured by him to care, reaching the edge of your climax. He recognizes your telltale signs, and you’re far too gone to be embarrassed by the squelching sounds your cunt makes when he bottoms out.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for daddy?”

You nod, chewing on your lower lip. You shriek when his teeth graze your neck, biting and sucking until he’s left a mark on you. You love how possessive Yuta is, how determined he is to prove to the world that you belong to nobody but him.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you topple over your peak, gripping his forearms as he continues his assault on your neck. It’s only after the ringing in your ears ceases that you realize you squirted all over his lower torso and the backseat.

“So fucking messy,” he grunts before following you, spilling his warm seed deep inside you.

You giggle when he collapses on top of you, fumbling around until he finds the button to roll the window back up.

“That’ll give them something to write about tomorrow,” you hum while he licks a stripe up your neck. The car comes to a screeching halt and the driver awkwardly announces your arrival to Yuta’s apartment.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”

—

“Nakamoto Yuta, hm?”

You’re not surprised when another newspaper lands in front of you, but you are a little startled to see Johnny being the culprit behind it. You raise an eyebrow, pushing your laptop to the side as Johnny occupies the seat across from you in this tiny coffee shop.

Once again, you and Yuta are plastered on the front page. There are multiple blurry photos the paparazzi managed to catch of the two of you tangled together in the backseat. No questions need to be asked about what activity you both are engaged in — although the camera doesn’t capture everything, Yuta being shirtless and glimpses of your wild hair is enough to paint a solid picture.

Johnny chuckles dryly at the sight of the grin pulling at your lips.

“He’s not going to last for you in the long run.”

Your eyebrow raise grows higher. “And what makes you say that?”

He smirks. “Because I’m your friend and I know you well enough. You’ll get bored of him. He’s nowhere near your level.”

You fold up the newspaper and slide it across the table with a tantalizing smile.

“Just because I got bored of you, John, doesn’t mean I’ll get bored of Yuta.”

A fire blazes behind his eyes and you know you’ve struck a nerve. You’re not ashamed to acknowledge you’ve slept with most of the men in your elite social circle, considering they’re usually harmless flings and a way to build connections in the industry. Occasionally you’ll come across the type of man who wants more from you, a man who covets the allure of the Kim name.

At this moment, that man happened to be Johnny.

“I heard your father’s offered you a proposition for the Osaka branch,” he comments, taking a sip of his coffee to fake nonchalance.

“So you’ve been prying Doyoung for information?” You guess, playing into whatever game he wanted to lay out for you.

Johnny was a great guy, honestly, and he treated you well when you shared the same bed. But since Yuta took you on your first date a week ago, the thought of being with someone else hasn’t crossed your mind.

“The Nakamoto name — it’s strong now but no one sees them lasting in another decade. Their stocks are down and rumor is that their Tokyo branch is on the verge of collapse. Your father may play with the idea of them at the moment but he’ll soon learn they have much more to gain from your union with Yuta than you do.”

“Such splendid business talk,” you reply with a joyous lilt in your tone. It slightly amuses you that Johnny is so peeved by your newfound relationship. “One would think you’re trying to imply something.”

He leans forward, eyes a little more determined. “The Suh name has been around for decades and has already proven to be stable enough for the market. Our union would play a lot steadier than you and Yuta.”

“The Suh name?” You muse, swallowing a laugh threatening to climb up your throat. “The same Suh name that’s been tainted by their youngest son throwing reckless house parties until the police show up?”

He says your name with rehearsed casualty, though you both understand you know how to play a strategic discussion much better than he does. Your clever wit and the ability to see the argument from all angles is exactly why you’ve been in the running to take the company since you were born, and why Doyoung was lagging so far behind. In this conversation, Johnny is not your friend but simply a business mogul looking to get ahead.

“Come on. I know he’s not the one for you. You’ll miss the chase and you’ll hate the familiarity. I know you.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Yuta approaches the two of you, jaw clenched. Johnny straightens his posture, slightly embarrassed to have been caught talking behind his back. You beam at the sight of Yuta, tugging his hand and pulling him close to you. He continues to glower at the other man before you.

“Ah, so you date in the daytime now too?” Johnny chuckles, attempting to recover from his apparent blunder. “I don’t see any cameras around.”

“You can fuck off, Johnny. You and your ridiculous parties are the reason why you’re groveling at her feet,” Yuta hisses. “Handle your own shit first before tainting another family name with your mess.”

Johnny stands from his spot, causing the chair to squeak from the pressure on the wood flooring. Although Johnny has inches on Yuta, he knows better than to raise a challenge with the growing rate of Yuta’s temper.

Johnny offers one last nod towards you. “Good luck.”

Once he exits the coffee shop, Yuta’s mood sours. You pay no attention to his signs of irritation, pulling him down in the chair next to you and nearly climbing in his lap. You discovered a week ago that you throw your self-respect out the window whenever you see him.

“Daddy, you’re here,” you giggle into his ear, shutting down your laptop that was filled with boring spreadsheets and finance articles. “I missed you. You never come to see me during the day.”

It’s quite obvious that no other man has gotten to know your body the way Yuta has, bearing in mind that you’ve never held a steady boyfriend. Despite the intimacy on your part, Yuta still treats you indifferently during the day, ignoring you whenever you stop by the restaurant they hang out in and refusing to answer your texts until the sun sets. However, when date time commences, he does nothing but shower you in affection and insist it’s hard for him to stay away from you.

It’s very confusing, but you would take confusing and good sex over certainty and boring businessmen any day.

“What else did he say to you?” Yuta asks, brushing off your whines when he doesn’t hold you close.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Let’s go back to your place,” you propose, already stuffing your laptop into your bag.

You nearly squeal in delight when he tugs on your wrist to take you out of the coffee shop. You watch as he tosses your bag to one of his security guards, telling them to take a stroll while he handles you. You’re skeptical about his behavior until he brings you into a nearby alleyway, shoving your front against the brick wall and flipping your skirt up.

“No panties?” Yuta hisses in your ear, sounding irritated.

“You told me not to!”

It hurts a little when he presses inside of you with no preparation. He takes it slow at first, kissing your shoulder and whispering harshly.

“I never want you to see him again, do you understand?” He questions in a demanding tone. His possessive side turns you on to no end and you nod eagerly, more arousal gushing out of your pussy.

“Whatever you say, daddy. But you know I never wanted to be with him, right? You’re the only one I want to be with.”

“Of course I fucking know that,” he grunts, steadily picking up pace. “I know that because no one else can fuck this pussy like I do. No one else has you wearing a collar with my name on it.”

You giggle at the mention of the collar Yuta had custom made for you days ago, with his name engraved on the little heart emblem dangling from the chain. Many would think it demeaning to wear it and have him attach a leash to you, pulling whenever you disobeyed, but you find it terribly arousing.

It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm, not with him muttering provocative fantasies in your ear and a tight grip around your waist to showcase that you’re his. He takes pity on you and shoots his release on the ground of the dirty alleyway, and you internally mourn the waste of cum that could be filling you up and dripping down your legs. You suppose it could be mortifying to someone else to have their pussy stuffed full of cum with no panties on in public, but you take gratification from it.

He quickly buttons himself back up as you turn around and readjust your skirt.

“So what happens when you get the Osaka branch?” He suddenly asks you, disregarding your inquisitive look.

You frown while fixing your hair through your phone camera. “What are you talking about?”

“The Osaka branch — the reason behind our deal. What happens when you sign the papers? We don’t have to be seen together afterwards, I assume?”

You shrug and tuck your phone away. Despite spending nearly everyday together for the past week, you still can’t get a read on Yuta’s feelings. You’ve taken multiple business classes in the past to overcome this type of difficult feat yet when you gaze into his eyes, you fail to understand the intentions behind his sudden line of interrogation.

“I guess so. We can still see each other in private, though,” you say with a flirty tone, squeezing his upper arm.

He doesn’t return your playful gesture. “See each other until you get married, that is.”

You tilt your head in confusion. Yuta has never brought up the topic of marriage before except to scoff at the headlines speculating the depth of your relationship.

“Um, yes, I suppose we could see each other until I marry.”

He nods and looks distantly off to the side, avoiding your stare.

“I’ll have my driver take you home. I have some business to take care of but I’ll come pick you up for dinner tonight.”

He spins on his heel at his last statement, leaving you alone in an alleyway, more confused than ever.

—

Weeks go by with no more discussions of marriage.

Yuta is on the way to your apartment as the two of you have been recently attending a handful of gala events together, skyrocketing your status as more serious to the public. Tonight was an event hosted by your father, and you hoped it would be the night he announces you as the new director of the Osaka branch.

It’s an important evening for you and Yuta wants nothing more than to be by your side. However, he dreads the moment you sign the Osaka contract, virtually releasing you from all of your duties to be seen with him.

Yuta always thought you were nothing but a spoiled brat until he finally cast aside his own assumptions. Often, during nights when you would sleep over, you both talked about the structure of your family's businesses and what future you envisioned to keep it thriving. It was in these discussions that Yuta really understands how intelligent you are. He used to think you only dreamed of sequined dresses and designer bags, but he can see what a fool he had been.

Your father seriously raised you for the business. After being friends with Doyoung for so long, Yuta knew he wasn’t privy to any of the company secrets or important business meetings. But he hadn’t known that you knew all of it — you possessed every secret that would put the business under, and no one could sweet talk their way out of a dreadful situation better than you. Every heir you’ve slept with usually spills a secret or two during late night pillow talk, and you bring the information back to your father, who uses it as leverage to elevate the company higher and higher until he gets what he wants.

Yuta admires you now more than anything, and that is why he is so afraid to lose you.

Along with the sex being the best he’s ever had, you are truly a magnetic being he can’t separate from. He likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone else, and the idea of you marrying someone other than him terrifies him to his core. You started spending your mornings together instead of simply meeting at night, which was something Yuta tried to prevent for a while in fear of growing too attached to you. It seems far too late to reverse history now, seeing as you have been joined at the hip for weeks.

When he knocks on your apartment door, you swing it open with a glimmering smile painted on your face. He tries to ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

“Hi, daddy,” you greet with a giggle, kissing him gently and pulling him inside. “What took you so long?”

He watches you cross the living room in search of your other earring and he chuckles.

“Can’t last a second without me?”

You laugh and walk back over as soon as you’ve got your bearings. You kiss him again.

“Don’t get such a big head. I was just wondering when you lost all your manners since it’s impolite to keep someone waiting for you.”

“I like this dress,” he changes the topic, fingers gripping your hips and squeezing roughly. You’ve gone for a simple floor-length red number, one that properly showcases your curves.

“Yeah?” You question, fingers curling around the nape of his neck and tugging gently. “I thought it would look really good with your collar.”

He growls. “Don’t tempt me. Get in the car and let’s go.”

The gala is in full swing when you both arrive, hands locked together as you smile and wave at the flashing cameras. Yuta keeps you close to him when you finally enter the grand ballroom. People immediately flock towards you, desperate to get a chance to chat with the season’s hottest new couple.

Doyoung finds a way to mow through them, approaching you with a bored look. “Congratulations,” he says with a curt tone.

You grin and pinch his cheek. “Aw, don’t be so sad, dear brother. I convinced father to let you shadow him at the headquarters here.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at the demeaning task but says nothing else to you. Despite his numerous attempts to get his name out in the media, the only question people wanted to know was what designer his sister planned on working with next. Doyoung decided to accept his defeat with grace instead of humiliating himself by taking interviews solely about you.

His stare shifts to Yuta, cold and unforgiving. Doyoung still hasn’t forgotten waking up one morning to the sight of his friend fucking his sister in the back of a car for the whole world to see.

When he turns and walks away without speaking a word to Yuta, you scoff. “What a diva.”

You continue to address the bombardment of excited greetings from fellow guests. By the time you’ve finished a round on the floor, Yuta’s social battery has depleted significantly. With one look at your beaming face, however, his exhaustion spins into adoration.

“I’m nervous,” you whine into his ear, gripping his hand for dear life. “What if they don’t want me?”

“Then they’re idiots who deserve to burn alive.”

You laugh and press a kiss to his cheek. Yuta tries to quell the butterflies swarming his stomach.

“You can burn them for me, daddy.”

The room is silenced when your father steps up to the microphone on stage. You clutch Yuta’s hand tightly and he returns the gesture, afraid of letting you go.

Your father raises his champagne glass and chuckles. “Welcome, everyone. I am thrilled to see so many familiar faces here tonight. As many of you know, Kim Enterprises is looking to branch out and expand our thriving business as we celebrate the continuous growth of our company. And it is my honor to announce the opening of our Osaka branch, which will be spearheaded by my lovely daughter!”

Applause fills the room and all eyes turn to you. You bask in the spotlight, radiating pure joy. Yuta can’t help himself as he leans over to press a kiss to your lips proudly. You return it with as much vigor, giggling and gripping his hand happily.

He catches the sight of your father grinning down at you two in approval. Your father beckons you forward to join him on stage and offer a speech of your own. You squeeze Yuta’s hand one last time before letting go, taking his heart with you.

“Thank you for such a warm reception,” you say cheerfully, extending your champagne flute to the crowd. Yuta catches sight of Doyoung near the stage, who is trying his best to conceal his smile. “I am honored and grateful that my father has chosen me as the new director of this branch, and I will carry out my duties faithfully. I want to thank my brother, who has always allowed me to shine since we were younger and has never hesitated to be there for me.” The audience claps at the mention, and Yuta can tell Doyoung is trying to hold back tears. “And I also want to thank my devoted partner, Nakamoto Yuta, who has become my number one support system these past few weeks.”

You blow a kiss to Yuta, who fails to contain his grin. The audience claps even louder at the mention of your lover, with whispers filling the room about how serious the two of you are.

You finish your speech with as much grace as everyone expects of you, giving your father a kiss on the cheek before he whisks you away to introduce you to important members on the board of directors.

Yuta locates the nearest balcony to catch some fresh air, huffing to himself as he leans over the railing. The silence allows his mind to wander, filled with visions of you eagerly signing the contract to your future. Your father is likely strategizing the next best suitor for you, pushing all thoughts of Yuta to the side.

He can feel the clock ticking away on the time he has left with you.

“You really like her.”

He jumps at the sound of Doyoung’s voice and turns to see his friend with an eyebrow raised.

Yuta coughs awkwardly. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“And I thought you said my sister will never be respected with the reputation she has. That she’s just not cut out for the corporate world,” Doyoung recalls with a knowing smirk.

Yuta scratches the back of his neck. “I was a dick about that.”

“But you like her,” Doyoung states the obvious, joining Yuta’s side by the railing.

“I-I don’t know. We’re supposed to be temporary, and I think that’s all she wants it to be.”

It’s the first time Yuta is voicing any of these thoughts aloud, and the way he’s so affected by the idea of you walking away from him rattles his brain.

“Well, if I know my sister, I know she’s never smiled at anyone like the way she smiles at you. And I know you, and you’ve never volunteered yourself to be willing eye candy at a boring event like this.”

Yuta sighs, wishing he had snagged a good bottle of rum before he came outside. “What am I going to do, Doyoung?”

“Not my place to say,” Doyoung shrugs like the asshole he is. Yuta is very aware his friend is taking a small sense of pleasure in his misery. “Just please, no more fucking in the backseat of cars. Your driver has been gossiping with Taeyong’s about your active sex life and he won’t stop torturing me with the details.”

“Front seats are okay?”

Doyoung’s seconds away from punching him when you run outside, throwing your arms around Yuta’s neck while his hands instinctively slide around your waist.

“Let’s go home, daddy. My feet hurt and I want to give you a good blowie.”

“I’m right here.”

You glance to the side and raise an eyebrow at your brother. All of the sentimental thank yous from earlier are long forgotten.

“Feel free to leave, no one’s stopping you.”

He grumbles at you but does as instructed, heading back inside. You smile when the two of you are alone, pressing a kiss to Yuta’s lips.

“Are you sure you want to go?” He treads carefully. “I’m certain people will notice the guest of honor has gone missing.”

“Who cares?” You scoff, pulling him closer to you. “I just want to curl up with my boyfriend and wear his pretty collar around my neck.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever addressed Yuta as your boyfriend, and he’s not sure that you’ve realized you let the name slip. He kisses you regardless, and sweeps you away in his car. You’re on top of him before he can get a word in, kissing down the column of his throat.

You hum. “I wish you had fucked me before we left, daddy. I’ve been dripping since I saw you.”

“Yeah? You were being a bad girl in front of all those people, waiting to choke on my cock?”

You pull back to respond, but your head tilts in confusion when you catch a glimpse at his gloomy expression. You cup his cheek gently.

“What’s wrong?”

He fails to realize that you can read him like an open book. You look at him with worry, no longer grinding on him like a cat in heat.

“Nothing,” he replies with what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’m just so proud of you.”

“Liar,” you whisper, pressing a softer kiss to his lips. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m just, um, I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

“Oh,” you say with astonishment, and he can’t blame you. Until this moment, Yuta has never turned down your advances. You awkwardly shuffle off of his lap.

He swallows nervously. “But I’d still like it if you spent the night. You know, only if you want to.” He’s never seen you look so shocked in your life and he immediately takes it as a bad sign. “Fuck, sorry- Just forget I said anything-“

“No!” You squeak, interrupting his rambling. He doesn’t miss the constant back and forth of his driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he watches the two of you finally communicate in something other than dirty talk. “I mean, of course I would like to stay over. We don’t always have to fuck for me to be with you.”

“Yeah?” He says, eyes hopeful.

You smile and lean over to kiss him. “Yeah.”

—

Yuta is a strange creature.

Ever since the night your father announced the launch of the Osaka branch, you feel like Yuta has completely changed his personality from a sex-crazed monster to a loving and doting partner. Oh yes, you two definitely still fuck daily but it’s somehow shifted into sweet, gentle sessions. Instead of bending you over the kitchen table without question, he gently turns you on your side first thing in the morning and presses slowly into you. He also kisses you a lot more when you’re together, and holds your hand whenever you step out in the public eye.

You’re surely not complaining about his behavior, but you are mildly curious about what exactly spurred this on. As far as you know, he thinks you’re a spoiled rich girl who doesn’t deserve everything handed to her. But lately when you’ve been discussing ideas about how to run the Osaka branch, he’s completely attentive and praises you for your progressive thoughts.

Thinking about his changing behavior for too long gives you a headache.

“Do you want to order in tonight? I’m too lazy to cook,” Yuta asks as he fights through a yawn, scrolling through his phone mindlessly while he sits cross-legged on his living room couch.

You’re pulling one of his old shirts over your head since it’s become your new form of pajamas, along with a comfortable pair of panties. You walk out of his bedroom and join him by sitting on his lap.

“Takeout sounds good,” you nod in agreement. He hums and kisses your cheek before checking for available dinner options. You contemplate approaching the topic of his newfound affection, fumbling around with his shirt while you think. “Hey, Yuta?”

“Yeah, baby?” He replies, focus still directed at his phone.

“Do you- Do you not like having sex with me anymore?”

He completely freezes, gathering himself before turning off his phone. He frowns as he looks over at you.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We just had sex in the shower an hour ago.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, but now you just treat me like I’m some porcelain doll that’s about to break! I’ve never seen you like this before.”

He sighs and gently nudges you off of his lap. When he stands and starts to pace around the coffee table, you begin to grow worried. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought this up, especially when you see the distressed expression haunting his face.

“Yuta-“

“What are we going to do when you move to Osaka?”

It’s a topic neither of you have broached. You’re supposed to fly out in two weeks to spearhead the launch and oversee all of the new changes. You brought it up to Yuta in passing over a month ago, but you haven’t talked about it since then.

“I-I don’t know,” you say honestly, starting to feel like a child being scolded by their parent. “I thought you would come with me.”

His shoulders relax slightly. “You did?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling smaller than ever. “Do you not want to?”

He kneels before you, taking your hands in his and offering you a solemn look.

“I do, baby, you know I do,” he sighs. “But I don’t want to go if your father just plans to replace me in a couple of months.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Why would he replace you?”

He looks equally as confused. “Because of our deal? I’m not as valuable to him now since you already signed the contract.”

“Who cares about him?” You hiss, nearly glaring at Yuta. “You’re my boyfriend, I get the final say if you stay or if you go.”

His expression crumbles and you can tell that although you assumed you had been dating for months now, passing the line between casual to serious, he had not been on the same page.

“So you meant it then? That night of the gala — you meant it when you called me your boyfriend?”

“Duh,” you reply as if he’s grown two heads. “I’ve been seeing you exclusively, of course you’re my boyfriend. I don’t just let anyone collar me and hold my hand in public. We haven’t even called the press to take photos of us in weeks.”

He’s kissing you before you realize it, hands cupping your cheeks as he pins you against the couch. You moan into his mouth, feeling his hardened length press against your belly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he says through a hoarse whisper. “I’ve been treating you like fine china because I thought you were going to dump me.”

“Why?” You pout, suddenly feeling whiny. “I like you and I like it when you throw me around. I don’t want anyone else to use me like you do.”

“Yeah? You mean it, baby?”

You nod and start to feel him manhandle your body until you’re lying on the armrest of the couch. He shoots you a devious look as he hovers over you, slowly slinking down your form. Your breath hitches when his thumbs loop around the sides of your panties, pulling them down your legs and smirking when the fabric clings to your core from your arousal.

“Daddy,” you whimper. “Don’t tease.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and flings your underwear across the room. His tongue runs through your folds before he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking gently. You moan and tangle your hands through his hair. His eyes stay focused solely on you, staring at you as he laps at your cunt. One of his fingers prods at your entrance before pushing in, and you’re almost embarrassed by the squelching sound filling the room. He brings his tongue to your clit again, flicking at the nub.

You can’t help yourself when you start grinding down on him as he presses another digit inside of you. You throw your head back, overtaken by the sensation of him. His nose bumps against you as you messily ride his face.

“D-Daddy- O-Oh fuck, daddy-“

A wail rips from your throat when your pussy gushes, squirting all over Yuta’s face and fingers. You hold him close as he drinks in the remnants of your climax and push him away when it starts getting too overwhelming for you.

He licks his lips in an obscene manner, grinning to himself while you struggle to regain your breath. “Poor baby,” he mocks you, clicking his tongue. “Wants daddy to be rough with her but can’t handle the pressure.”

You don’t even notice he’s left the couch for a short period, blinking away the tears springing up in your eyes at the waves of pleasure still coursing through your veins. Yuta returns with your collar dangling in his hand and you perk up at the sight. He hasn’t used it with you since the night of the gala, and you’re desperate to feel it tugging at your neck. You eagerly sit up and bare your throat to him.

“Good girl,” he praises, snapping the collar tight and hooking his leash around it.

You yelp when he yanks you forward and off the couch. On your knees, you shamefully follow him into his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, peering down at you as you kneel in front of him, your legs tucked neatly below you. He pulls at the leash until you whine, blinking virtuously up at him.

“You’d never do this for someone else, would you? All for me?” He clarifies and you nod fervently, keeping your hands at your side diligently. He strokes your cheek gently and you preen at his touch. “That’s right. You’re mine, baby, and I never want you to look at anyone else the way you look at me, do you understand?”

You nod again and he grins. He leans back and pats his lap, causing you to scramble as you climb on top of him. You straddle his hips, whimpering a little when you feel his clothed length poking at your core.

“Want my cock, baby?”

“Yes please, daddy!”

“Go ahead and take it then,” he says, watching hesitation take over your form.

“B-But you always do all the work, daddy.”

“I know, baby, and I’ve spoiled you way too much. Maybe if you can prove to me you’ve earned it, I’ll be as rough with you as you’ve been craving.”

You frown at his words but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. You pull his cock out, biting your lip at the sight of his leaking tip. He feels heavy in your hand as you line him up against your entrance. He tugs at the leash when you take too long and you cry before finally sinking down on him. A shudder runs through you, still sensitive after your last orgasm.

Yuta is usually the one to set the pace so you struggle to recreate it, whining when you finally take all of him and begin to move. He says nothing as he observes the clear strain this takes on you, your thighs already starting to ache. You ride him as best as you can, twisting your hips in a frenzy while you search for some sort of coordinated rhythm. You hear Yuta chuckle dryly but you ignore him, mind set on proving him wrong.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs in a degrading tone. “Need some help?”

You shake your head even though you’re craving for him to fill you as he normally does, hitting all of the right spots that make you unravel. Tears begin to fall as you press down on him in desperation. You give in, so miserable by your own pathetic attempts.

“Daddy, I can’t-“

“I know, sweet girl,” he coos at you, pulling at your leash until he adjusts you face down on the bed. You mewl when his cock slips out of you, and his hand presses down on the curve of your spine until your ass is perched perfectly for him. His hand kneads at your flesh, cock rubbing through your folds teasingly. “Look at you, can barely do anything for yourself. Such a useless little whore.”

“Daddy, daddy,” you chant, head filled with nothing but Yuta.

You feel complete when he drives the tip inside of you but whine when he pulls it back out.

“Don’t think you deserve it,” he mumbles, spanking you roughly. You whimper as your body lurches forward from the impact. “Spent so long thinking about you, you know? Wondered how I could fall for a spoiled princess like you. Wanted nothing but for you to call me your boyfriend and let me fuck your pretty little throat.”

“I want that too, daddy.” Your picture perfect future includes waking up by Yuta’s side, engaging in a morning quickie, eating meals together, and shopping all day with a few blowjobs in between. You blink away the tears threatening to spill over your eyelids from the overstimulation. “Please, please daddy. I’ll be a good girl for you, I promise. I won’t let anyone else fuck my pussy but you.”

He wraps a steady hand around your leash before putting you out of your misery, pushing his cock through your folds. You moan, head thrown back as Yuta tugs at your leash with every thrust of his hips. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing — the emptiness being replaced with his swelling member stretching your tight cunt around him. The collar makes it hard for you to inhale but you prefer it this way, offering your body in his hands for him to use as he pleases.

“I love you,” he suddenly grunts when his cock angles just right, rubbing against your walls and nudging at your sweet spot. You sob, feeling your orgasm building in your stomach. “I won’t ever love anyone else but you, my sweet girl.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when your climax hits, spurting around his cock as it drips down onto the sheets. “Fuck, you squirted again? Did you really miss me being rough with you?”

You can barely form a coherent word while he releases his hold on the leash, causing you to collapse onto his pillow like a lifeless doll. You begin to fade in and out of consciousness, but you manage to utter, “I love you too, daddy,” before completely falling into darkness.

When your eyes flutter open again, you’re not entirely certain how much time has passed. Your neck is free from the collar, allowing you room to breathe. Yuta’s body is pressed against yours as you now lay on your back. His cock is still seated warmly inside you and he’s slowly pumping more gentle thrusts. The bedsheets are completely soaked with the evidence of your orgasm.

He hasn’t noticed you’ve awoken again, eyes shut tight and face buried in your neck. He’s groaning lowly, trying not to be too loud.

“Yuta?” You whisper, your voice hoarse and scratchy from all of the screaming. Your fingers brush through the strands of his hair as he looks up at you, smiling softly.

“Hi, baby. Got me worried there for a second.”

“I’m good,” you reassure, and he presses his lips to yours. “Just want your cum.”

He rests his forehead on top of yours, the mood shifting to something more intimate and loving. You never imagined you would be in this position, with Yuta of all people. You always believed you would marry some stuck-up businessman who had no care for your thoughts and feelings, and you became content with the idea over the years due to the overall positive sacrifice it would bring the company. You’ve been raised to think of the business first, but now you see that you can get the best of both worlds.

“I love you,” he repeats, murmuring it quietly.

You swear your heart grows three sizes. “I love you too.”

He grunts when his coil unravels, shooting strands of white into you, painting you to stake his claim. When he gets his bearings together, you both erupt in a heap of laughter. You feel warm all over, like your life is definitively joyous. No one could take this feeling from you.

He rubs his thumb over your ring finger, gazing at the empty spot with a glint of mischief in his eye.

“We should get you sized as soon as we arrive in Osaka,” he says with conviction.

You giggle and pull him down for another kiss.

“Just make sure you get me a big one, okay?”

—

“This is disgusting.”

You chortle when Yuta peppers your neck in a handful of kisses, pulling you closer by the back of your thighs. You feel like a princess sitting on his lap with your engagement ring sitting heavy on your finger. It would all be perfect, except for the fact that you’re surrounded by his friends at their regular table in the steakhouse. The blatant public affection is not completely your fault — who can blame two lovebirds who just got engaged?

It’s only been a few days since Yuta formally proposed. The first thing you did was fly straight from Osaka back to Seoul, rejoicing in the happy news with your friends and family. Your father was overjoyed, openly weeping when he saw how happy you were. Yuta’s mother kept her lips shut tight when you shared the news, clearly expressing disappointment but Yuta displayed no signs of caring for her approval. Since you gained leadership of the Osaka branch, you have been actively working with Yuta’s father to arrange a merger between your businesses. Yuta confessed to you one night that his family’s company was slowly going under, and there was no way you could allow your fiancé to be desolate and poor, could you? His mother hasn’t uttered a bad word about you since then.

Doyoung can feel the bile climbing up his throat at the sight of his sister all loved up with his friend. Donghyuck is pouting in his seat, arms crossed over his chest like a toddler.

“There are others who have to witness this, you know,” Jaehyun says with a smirk dancing across his lips in amusement.

“I can’t believe this!” Donghyuck exclaims incredulously. “You were slut shaming her less than a year ago!”

You coo at him. “Don’t get so upset, Hyuck. You knew you never had a chance.”

He narrows his eyes at you before childishly twisting in his seat until his back is turned to you. Yuta chuckles in your ear, tilting your head towards him so he can kiss you again.

The table collectively groans. “There’s no way you both traveled back from Osaka just to do this,” Taeyong sighs. “Isn’t this supposed to be a party for all of us?”

You part from Yuta and glance over at Taeyong.

“It is a party, but I wasn’t expecting you all to be losers and not show up with dates,” you bite back. You can feel Yuta grinning into your neck at your brazen attitude. Now that he wasn’t on the receiving end of it, he loved it when you got snippy with others and put them in their place.

“Maybe we should go hang out at Johnny’s,” Jaehyun suggests, tired of watching you and Yuta grope each other. “He’s throwing another party at his house tonight.”

“No Johnny,” Yuta says with a stern glare. His friends remain confused while you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek at his possessive nature.

“Johnny’s not going to take me from you, daddy.”

“Alright, I’ve had enough,” Doyoung grunts with displeasure, standing from his seat and throwing a few bills down on the table. “Let’s go. I can’t stand to watch this any longer and my ears are already bleeding.”

The group is quick to obey, offering a few more lazy congratulations before exiting the restaurant. Doyoung shoots one last glance towards Yuta, eyes narrowed.

“If you ever make her cry or call her a whore again, I’ll fucking shred you to pieces.”

Yuta salutes him and Doyoung rolls his eyes, leaving you both to your own bubble of gooey affection. You smile and stroke Yuta’s cheek gently.

“Don’t listen to him, daddy. You can still make me cry and call me a whore in bed.”

“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweet girl.”

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[sailortongue]

Unexpected Consequences

pairing: kenji sato x reader

summary: a temporary lapse in judgment results in a drunken one-night stand with unexpected consequences

wc: 2.1k

cw: accidental pregnancy, implied sex. if there's anything you think should be added lmk!

navi | k.s. mlist | series mlist

----------

“You’re out!” Shouted the umpire. It was the visiting team's third player to strike out, signaling the end of the last inning of the championship game and a massive win for the Giants. 

The locker room was alive with the sounds of laughter and celebration from the players. They did it. They had won the title. “We should go out tonight,” suggested the pitcher. Some of the players declined, citing that they were beat after the game. But Kenji was on a high from the win, his ego thriving like never before (and that was saying something).

“Got a place in mind?” Kenji asked. And that was how he found himself sitting on a barstool with a handful of his teammates, mostly the younger ones. He felt like he was on top of the world. He was young, successful, good looking, and one of the greatest living baseball players. And now, he had a shiny new title to brag about. Life couldn’t possibly be any better.

Except, maybe, if the pretty girl across the bar would give him her attention. He could see you from where he was sitting, and he found himself frequently glancing in your direction. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as slick as he thought he was. His teammate Shiroki leaned over to see what, or rather who, had so completely captured the attention of their star player. He clapped Kenji on the shoulder, laughing. “Should’ve known it was a pretty girl that’s got you ignoring us!”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” Kenji protested, his face growing red after he’d been called out for all ears in the establishment to hear. Including yours. When he glanced once more in your direction, you were looking back. You gave him a small, polite smile before returning your attention to the cellphone in your hand. Your expression was one of dejectedness as you sighed and placed your phone face down on the bar top.

Amidst the teasing of his teammates (that truthfully he was ignoring in favor of you), he took a swig of his drink and decided to bite the bullet. If not now then never. He hopped off of his stool and walked over to you. “Is this seat taken?” He asked, gesturing to the empty stool next to you.

“You tell me since you’ve been watching since I sat down,” you said with a playful twinkle in your eyes. 

Kenji cringed. So you had noticed even before Shiroki practically shouted it to the entire bar. He scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly, head hung low in shame and embarrassment as he struggled to find the words to redeem himself. He settled for a simple “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You seemed taken aback by his words, not having expected him to own up to his actions and be respectful. “Thank you,” you said. He was handsome—that much was obvious. But it was this that really caught your attention. “So, are you going to sit or not?” You asked. 

Kenji grinned and took the place next to you, angling his body towards yours rather than the countertop. He stuck his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Kenji.”

“I’m Yn,” you responded, taking his offer for a handshake to find that his hand completely engulfed yours. 

The two of you ended up talking on and on, having drink after drink and gradually getting to know each other. You learned that he was an athlete celebrating a win with his team and that he’d only moved back to Japan a few months ago. Kenji learned that the reason you were here alone is because you were supposed to be meeting someone but they never showed up. “His loss,” Kenji had said. “Any man to stand up a woman as pretty as you is a fool.”

He complimented you continuously throughout the night, his honeyed words sending heat to both your face and your core. As the night wore on, his teammates came up to him to wish him a good night and inform him that they were leaving for the night. It was getting late, but neither of you were ready to leave each other's company. 

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” Kenji asked, his hand on your thigh leaving no room for doubt as to what he was offering. 

The alcohol in your system had long since excised your inhibitions, including any form of higher thinking. All you could focus on was Kenji’s hand on your thigh and how much you wanted it somewhere else. Somewhere higher. You accepted his offer with no hesitation. 

A short cab ride later and you were stumbling into his bedroom with his lips firmly on yours and his hands impatiently pulling at your dress. You reached behind your back to tug at the zipper, and he took the opportunity to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the toned muscle beneath. 

You all but gawked at him and your body seemed to have the same effect on him. His eyes raked up and down your figure, pleased to find you hadn’t been wearing a bra. You sat at the edge of his bed as you watched him strip the remainder of his clothes. The second he was bare he was on you, wanting—needing—to feel you under him. He was everywhere all at once, eager to make you feel good and to feel good himself. Little sleep was had that night. 

-❀-

You woke the next morning with a throbbing headache and no memory of the night before, but you could make a pretty good guess based on your lack of clothes and the pair of arms wrapped around you. You sat up slowly so as not to wake the man sleeping soundly next to you. It was Kenji, from the night before at the bar. You’d actually gone home with him. One night stands weren’t something you made a habit of but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret this one.

You carefully removed his arm from where it had fallen limply across your lap and rose from the bed to collect your clothes, still being as quiet as possible. You wracked your brain for any shred of a memory but came up blank. You couldn’t believe you’d slept with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and couldn’t even remember it. Your attention was drawn to a mirror hung on the wall and you saw that your neck was littered with blue and purple splotches. An attentive lover. Drunk-you must have had fun. Meanwhile, sober-you was calling a cab and hoping the driver didn’t say anything about what was so obviously the walk of shame. 

Weeks went by and the days were normal. Ish. You’d been sick every morning for the past week and were struggling to hold food down. You’d brushed it off as a stomach bug that would clear up on its own, but your friend wasn’t as naïve as you. 

The day you confided in her about what you’d been struggling with, she dropped by your apartment after work to bring a pregnancy test. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bag into your hands. “And I'm not leaving until you take it.”

You nodded, accepting the very real possibility that she was right. Why didn’t you think to get plan B the next morning? God, you were so stupid. So there you were, sitting on the bathroom floor with your knees pulled to your chest, waiting on the timer to finish as Ami sat next to you, doing her best to ease your anxiety. 

When the timer went off, you remained in your seated position. “Do you want me to check instead?” Ami offered. You shook your head, taking a deep breath to steel your nerves. You extended your arm above your head and took the test into your hands. Two solid lines. A positive result. Your friend looked over your shoulder to see for herself. “. . . Are you okay?” She asked. 

“I don’t know,” you replied, voice weak and trembling. You looked at her with wide, worried eyes. “What do I do?”

“Make an OBGYN appointment just to be sure. Do you know who the father is?”

There was only one man you had slept with any time recently. “Uh, he said his name was Kenji. Don’t know his last name though. Oh! And he’s a baseball player.”

She inhaled sharply and pulled her phone from her pocket and typed furiously into the search bar. She turned the screen for you to see. “Him?!” She exclaimed. 

You looked at the image she pulled up. “Yeah, that’s him,” you gasped, shocked she’d found him so quickly. You took the phone from her and scrolled through the article she’d pulled up. Kenji Sato, as you’d learned his last name to be, wasn’t just any baseball player. He was in the professional league and a rising household name. 

“Can you contact him?” She asked. You shook your head no. Ami pursed her lips before resigning herself to whatever it was she was considering. She gestured for her phone back. You gave it to her and she opened her contacts, scrolling until she found the name she was looking for. “You know him?” You asked incredulously.

She nodded. “I’ve interviewed him before.” She called his number before you could refuse and put the phone on speaker, allowing the dial tone to ring throughout the small bathroom. He picked up on the third ring, answering with a simple hello.

“Hi, Mr. Sato. This is—“

“I remember who you are,” Kenji laughed. “Is there something you need?”

Ami hesitated, seeing you aggressively shaking your head to not outright tell him. She tried to hold the phone out to you to speak but you point blank refused. You had both been so drunk you weren’t sure if he remembered you at all. A drawn out “hello” called out from the phone and Ami sighed. “I think it would be best to speak in person. It’s very important.”

“Um, okay. I’ll have to check my schedule to see when I’m free, but I’ll get back to—“

“No, Mr. Sato, it can’t wait indefinitely. Please, I need you to trust me and make just a little bit of time.” Kenji was taken aback by how firm Ami’s voice was. What was happening on her end that needed his immediate attention? Curiosity won him over and he suggested a cafe that stayed open late to meet at. 

You put the address into your phone and thanked Ami for her help. Sure, this wasn’t the best way to go about things, but it’s not like you had ever been in this position before. You and Ami walked out to your cars together, hugging each other goodbye before going on your separate ways—her to her mother and daughter, and you to inform your baby daddy that he is, in fact, a baby daddy now. 

Upon arriving, you saw that it was a cute cafe along the main road. The building was well lit within, allowing you to see that Kenji had already arrived. If you waited any longer you’d chicken out, so you took a deep breath and marched inside. Kenji looked up at the door as the bell chimed, his face changing from one of disinterest to shock and recognition.

You approached the table he was at and pulled out a chair, sitting across from him. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but I’m supposed to be meeting a friend here,” he said apologetically.

The best you could muster up was an awkward smile, your nerves eating you alive from the inside out. “I know. Ami Wakita, right? She’s a friend of mine as well. She actually called on my behalf.”

A grin spread across his face. “Did you miss me so much you just had to see me tonight?” You felt his foot brush against your ankle under the table. 

Your face burned with heat at his insinuation. “It's not like that!”

He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “No? Because I was hoping to see you again but you were gone when I woke up.”

You averted your gaze sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t usually . . .” you trailed off. 

He gave you an understanding look. “It’s alright. For the record, I don’t either. That night was . . .” 

It seemed he didn’t have the words either, unable to express that he wished it hadn’t been just a one-night thing. “So,“ he abruptly changed the topic. “Why did you need to see me so badly?”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, contemplating how best to say it. No use beating around the bush. “I’m pregnant.”

His jaw dropped open and his eyes were the size of dinner plates. And so were those of the reporter at a nearby table. 

next

[babygorewhore]

New perspective

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Two best friends alone in a room…nothing will happen, right?

Warnings! Perv!Spencer! Masturbation! Panty stealing! Oral! Fem receiving! Unprotected sex! Degrading! Praise! Barely proofread

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“So. You waiting for a certain cute brown haired boy to return?” Garcia quipped as you tapped your pen against the desk. You rolled your eyes at her while the blonde gave you a smirk with her pink painted smile.

“For the last time, he’s my best friend. That’s all. And yes I’m waiting for him to get back. He’s been gone for almost a week and we’ve had to reschedule movie night three times.” You grumbled as you crossed your legs.

“Three times? Reid never misses those. Everything okay?” Garcia asks with a sympathetic look and you sigh.

“Yeah. He was on a date the first time. The second time he fell asleep and the third was a date again.” You tried to keep your voice as casual as possible but your friend senses the hidden pang of jealously threatening to come out.

“Well-“ She began and then her expression turned when she saw something above you. You shifted in your seat and saw the agents exiting the elevator.

Hotch gave you a curt nod, Rossi gave you a smile, Emily and JJ waved while Morgan winked at you. You bit your lip in anticipation as you finally saw Spencer walk out. His floppy waves were flicked out of his face as he jerked his head and flashed his eyebrows at you in a greeting.

You stood, shoes padding the carpeted floor as your work pants flowed against your thighs. “Hey Spencer. Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Sorry I haven’t really been able to check in with you. Kidnapping cases are a race against time and the unsub happened to be a woman.” You nod as you withhold the urge to hug him but he shifts beside you and leans against your desk.

“A woman? That’s not common is it?”

“Statistically speaking-“ and then he was rambling. You bit back a smile and listened contently as Spencer caught you up on the case.

Several seconds went by and you cleared your throat, signaling him to slow down. “I know you’re probably worn out but would you want to join me for movie night?”

Spencer nods rapidly. “Yes! Sorry I’ve had to reschedule a few times. What’s on the watchlist tonight?” He extends his elbow and you wrap your hand around it.

“Hmm, you pick. Since it’s your first day back.” You smile at him as he leads you both to clock out.

Spencer Reid was a man with reasonable amounts of self control but every single time he came into your apartment, he couldn’t prevent himself from sneaking a pair of panties into his pocket. It was completely off limits. You were his friend and didn’t look at him that way. You were a gorgeous, sensible and caring woman but he couldn’t possible be your type. Derek Morgan was someone he’d always pair you with. Someone with more confidence. Except now, he was searching for a pair of underwear in your room while you made snacks in the kitchen. You had changed into an oversized evil dead t shirt and shorts. Knee socks to top it all off and all Spencer wanted to do was rip them off and have his way with you but he’d settle for licking a strip in the middle of your thong.

He couldn’t imagine what the real thing tasted like. A pretty pussy hidden away in those little outfits you wore everyday at work. Spencer also had a habit of jerking off hidden away in an office, his dick painfully hard whenever he imagined fucking you.

His car was another spot, where he’d moan your name over and over again picturing your mouth wrapped around his cock. You’d wear the prettiest lipstick too and he’d catch peeks of a pink tongue whenever you ate something. Spencer almost felt like a dog with how pathetic he was for you. Yet he couldn’t admit it to you. His shyness won over every time. He even lied about dating. He just didn’t want you to think he was completely incapable of having a relationship but no one could ever replace you.

“Spencer? You okay? You coming back?” You called from the other room and he quickly straightened. Pulling your panties into his pocket and shuffling out of your bedroom. He smoothed a hand over his hair and hurried to sit down on the couch.

You held two bowls of popcorn, candy and a few other items with your hips swaying as you plopped next to him. “Your food sir.” Spencer had to swallow painfully at the term and the way your voice sounded saying Sir.

“Thank you.” He replied and shifted his body slightly away from you to hide his hardening dick.

You both watched in silence but Spencer caught glimpses of you and the way your body filled out your clothes. He wanted nothing more than to let his hands and mouth cover every each of you. It was almost unbearable.

“How was your date?” Your sudden question alarmed him and Spencer jerked his head towards you.

“What?”

You raised your brows. “How was your date?” You repeated and he shrugged.

“Oh. it’s alright. Don’t think it’s anything worth sharing about.” He kept it short and you both fell again into quiet.

You reached over and turned down the volume. “I missed you, Spencer. It feels like it’s been so long since we’ve gotten to hang out.” You gave him a slight pout with doe eyes and he wanted to fucking groan. His brown irises darkened as you nudged him with your knee. “It’s been really lonely without my favorite nerd.” You gave him a little smirk and he scoffed.

“I’m the nerd? You’re the only person who understands my rambles so clearly I’m not the only one here.” He retorts and you chuckle.

“Okay, okay, I’m a secret nerd.” You hold your hands up and he points at your shirt.

“And you’re the one who lives in shirts like that! Who else knows different seasons of Star Trek than you?” You grin and laugh fully.

“Alight! You win!”

Spencer didn’t know what came over him but he leaned in closer and rested his hand on either side of your legs. “As usual.”

You don’t back away. Instead you dip your head down. “Don’t get cocky, Spencer. This is a one time surrender.”

The way your mouth moved. Your eyes having a glint and the way your thighs clenched together. Spencer couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re going to be surrendering a lot more. You’re just too much of a brat to give in right away.”

To his deep surprise, you surged forward and leaned your weight on him, moving him on his back on the couch. “Oh yeah? Well I can still pin you down, agent Reid.”

Spencer felt like his dick was going to explode in his god damn boxers as you hovered above him, necklaces dangling over his face. “That’s because I let you win.” He replied breathlessly and you squeezed him with your thighs.

“Then don’t.” You whisper and glance at his lips.

He caved in and caught your mouth in a soft kiss, his emotions clouding over him momentarily before he pulled back. “Was that okay?”

Instead of answering, you meet his lips again harder with a sigh and Spencer moans. His hand move to cup the back of your head and your leg as he adjusts you to straddle him fully. Your fingers trail over his torso then his hips and you feel a lacy material sticking out of his pocket. His eyes shot open as he felt you pull out the pair of stolen panties.

Your face is heated and your lips are glossy. “So you’re the one who took my favorite pair. You’re fucking perverted, Spencer. Playing the “good”boy act pretty well.”

Something broke in him and he lifted you up, manhandling you on your back. “I’m fucking perverted? You’re the one walking around wearing those. You wanted me to take them and you wanted me to notice you. Don’t act so innocent. Can’t believe you actually bought the date story.” He growled and you were shocked at his sudden show of aggression and you’d only heard him swear a handful of times.

Spencer peeled off your shorts and saw your bare cunt. “God, let me fucking taste it please.” He begged and you nodded rapidly.

Moving downward, he held your knees apart and buried his face in your center. His tongue lapping at your clit with a deep groan before slipping it into your entrance. “You’re so sweet, better than I could ever dream.” You felt him press two fingers in, curling them as he paid attention to your clit again. Spencer focused on eating your pussy like a starved man and he grinds down on the cushion.

He was about to bust in his underwear from the sounds you let out. Desperate little cries and whimpers as you claw at his hair, rolling your hips to keep him in place.

“I’m gonna cum,” You whisper and Spencer nods against your cunt.

“Let me have it. Give it to me. Please,” And your climax hits you like a wave and you pant heavily.

Spencer follows suit and spills into his pants, his motions briefly stalling as he tongue fucks you through it.

“Need you to fuck me, please, Spencer.” He didn’t have a fucking chance from your pleads as he shuffled up and smashed his cum coated lips against yours in a bruising kiss. He shoved his pants and boxers off, his cock throbbing.

Spencer presses himself deep inside you, filling you to the brim as you wrap your legs around his waist and your hands grip his shirt.

He humps into you like a feral animal, “Fuck, your pussy is so tight. Can barely move.” You whine and clench around him harder and he thrusts.

“I want you to cum in me. Please, don’t stop and cum in me. I want to feel you, god, Spencer I’ve needed you. Fucking myself isn’t enough.”

“Talking like a whore already?” He grunts, “Don’t worry I’m gonna breed this perfect little pussy and then eat it out after I’m done.”

You reached your second orgasm and your eyes squeezed shut but Spencer wasn’t having it. “No open your fucking eyes, I want you to look at me when I cum in you.” Your eyes spring open as Spencer slaps your clit and you feel ropes of his cum coat your insides. “Shit-“ He grits out and buries his head in your neck and you feel his open mouth against your skin.

You tremble with aftershock for a few seconds before he pulls down, pumping himself and gestures with his fingers “Hands and knees, I’m gonna lick it off.”

You obeyed him, ass up in the air as he gave it a smack and buried his face again in your cunt. His tongue tasting both of your arousals with a throaty moan.

You’d have to talk about this but that could wait until after he was finished cleaning his mess.

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @lilacheavenn @littlexdeaths

[fairene]

one of your girls / ln4

part one

lando norris x fem!reader

reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n.

part two

you are just one of his girls. a frequent regular. but something changes, and you are his favorite.

a/n ⋯ how do i explain myself...? guess i can't! this will be divided into two parts for the sake of dramatics, and truthfully i can't contain my excitement to share this with you all. reader's dresses are left to be ambiguous for your imagination, only the cut of the dress is described (perhaps a color, once, but i forget); as usual, it is always up to YOU what you are wearing;) i will be focusing on requests before the next part comes out!

inspiration ⋯ VIDEO

warnings ⋯ SMUT / 18++ minors DNI!!! language, drunk hookup, choking (slight), oral(m!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. sickeningly in love lando, but not here; non monogamous (yet), insecure reader.

wc ⋯11.3k (unedited.)

your phone rang in from your bag, the vibration shocking you from your conference room in new york. you had been visiting there for your job, meeting with clients, and overall needing to schmooze the entire fucking office. you were sick of it at this point. 

and it was sunday, too. who works on a fucking sunday? you. because what’s life without the overtime pay? 

until you saw lando’s contact card lighting up your screen. you blushed, instantly, thinking of just how a week ago he had you laid out on his monaco penthouse, screaming and weeping his name while he fucked you rabidly. 

you answered, clearing your throat. 

“hello?” 

“i won! i won!” he shouted, the background noise of crowds drowning out the baritone of his voice. you raised a brow, but were quick to connect the dots. you’d been so busy with work that you’d forgotten that the race must’ve been over, you were only able to watch the beginning before you were swooped up into a meeting. 

your hand flew to cover your mouth as you stepped into your office, shutting the door. you couldn’t be loud, and tears began to welt in your eyes. “did you really?” 

“yes, yes! god, i’ve wanted this so bad…” he was absolutely full of rile and cheer. you could hear that from his voice clear as day. you were so happy for him. you wiped a stray tear that fell down your face and rolled to your chin. 

“i’m so happy for you, lan.” you breathed, laughing when your voice hitched with emotion. you knew that he caught it, letting out his own gasp at your retention. 

“you cryin’ for me?” he said your name, know damn well he had a cheeky smirk on his face. you scoffed, rolling your eyes and even he could hear the action. 

“shut up. let me be happy for you.” he laughed again, deep and rich, but relieved that you picked up the phone. it was hard for him to get your attention, though you felt vice versa. 

“let me be happy, then,” your brows raised at what he meant. “come to miami. tonight.”

you froze, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your work shirt. “lando…” you sighed. “you know i can’t…”

“please…!” he whined into the phone. 

your resilience to him was not good. clearly.

“call my boss.” you heard him yip and pop his lips. he was giddy and thrilled that you accepted his advances. it never did take much, though, did it? 

you hung up the phone before you could say anything else and settled back into your temporary station before you were back in monaco full time. the office here was more than sufficient and, you couldn’t help but thank god that you were here when lando called. the flight to miami wouldn’t be more than three hours. 

your boss knocked on the door a few minutes later with her brows raised. 

she spoke her name and you perked up. “you didn’t tell me you had family in miami,” she said, crossing her arms. but she wasn’t angry. 

“i do.” the lie was swift. but it wasn't really a lie, was it…?

“your cousin called me, said that you need to use pto hours for a wedding…” she looked at her apple watch. “which is in a few hours?” 

you gulped. “what can i say,” you shrugged, “i’m a workaholic.”

your boss shrugged, turning to leave. “take the week off, you deserve it.”

so this is what working so hard got you? damn. you practically leapt off your seat, packing away your laptop and other essentials you had brought to the office. when you were skipping down the steps of the building to the parking garage, you got a text. 

flight leaves 6

> one attachment 

it was lando. you opened the text as you were unlocking your door, realizing he sent you a boarding pass. he already filled out all your information. he wanted you there that bad, didn’t he? you wouldn’t even consider the two of you close friends rather than buddies who fuck. 

you hearted the message and raced home to pack. 

when you touched down in miami, there was a car waiting for you outside the airport. you were shocked with such lively treatment, but weren’t one to start complaining. the ride to lando’s hotel wasn’t very long, either, but it was beautiful. 

when you stepped out you were greeted by the miami breeze, refreshing from the stagnant air in your humid new york building. 

“thought you were gonna chicken out,” his voice was light and airy. you were so dazed by the grandeur of the building that you didn’t see lando standing there at the entrance. you immediately gaped at him, embarrassed that you were caught off guard. 

“on what, this? luxury? be for real!” you stifled a laugh. he held out his hand for your bag, and you gave it to him. but it was really meant for your hand. 

his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. he peppered light kisses to your neck, but not your mouth. your relationship wasn’t intimate like that, it never was. kissing was the next step to love, you told him, and you never reached for his lips with the amount of times you’ve fucked. 

but he did. 

there was always something about your aura that allured him. it drew him in like a moth to flame, and he would happily burn if it meant being in your presence. but he wasn’t ready for a relationship, so he told himself, and neither were you…so you told yourself. 

yet you’ve explored each other’s bodies like vestigios conquerors. you knew what made him tick, he knew what made you squirm. it was a fair trade, you thought, and you had no intention of staying exclusive to him. 

but you’d make it known to him that when you were both together, there were no other girls around. no boys. it would be just the two of you in your own world, but it was on a time limit. 

your hand found the back of his neck, leaning into his lips, but you pulled back when you heard some whispering– paparazzi. 

you said nothing as you shifted past him, ripping his head from your neck. he looked confused before he glanced towards the growing crowd around the hotel entrance, some phones being whipped out to record. but he honestly didn’t give a fuck. 

but you did. the last thing you wanted was to be plastered as a whore all over your feed. you still needed your fucking job. 

“what,” he said, coming closer to you. you took a distancing step back. he came closer. you didn’t move this time. “you didn’t miss me?”

him and his fucking ego. 

but you did. 

“want me to show you?” you spun around, full of sass. he let out a light laugh, pressing his shoulders back and straightening his posture. little to your knowledge, he was rendered speechless and his dick tightened in his pants. blood flooded to his abdomen, which had him shifting on his feet. this fucking girl. 

“come on,” you cooed, nudging his arm. “i came here to celebrate, no? and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet!” you got him there. he nodded, quickling showing you up to his hotel room in miami. it was a beautiful room with a living room and a single bedroom with a king bed. 

when you were up there you got a good look, running your hands over the fabric of the couch and the untouched champagne sitting on the coffee table. “this doesn’t count,” you picked up the bottle, turning to face lando from where he stood, placing your luggage on an armchair. 

“what? not expensive enough for you?” you rolled your eyes at him, placing the bottle back down on the platter with the glasses. you made haste opening your suitcase, rummaging through the outfits you brought for the duration of your stay, and in particular, your dress. 

you pulled out the carefully folded fabric. you held it out in front of you, impressed by the lack of wrinkles, and turned to lando. 

his jaw fell agape, staring at the magnificent piece. it was a longer dress that went to your mid calf, and sparkled in the dim lights of the room. he moved closer to you, running his fingers over the fabric. you gulped in his presence. 

“shit,” he sighed out, followed by a laugh. “better put it on now.” you raised a brow at him, confused. “else we won’t make it out that fuckin’ door.” 

you stifled a giggle and ran towards the bathroom, changing quickly. 

there was a knock at the front door when you were just finishing up your look. lando answered when you peeked your head out of the archway to the bathroom. it was carlos. 

“ready yet, mate?” 

lando shrugged, moving out the way so carlos could make eye contact with you. he said your name with a cheer, brushing past lando to wrap his arms around you. he kissed both your cheeks in greeting, you returned it. lando hummed to himself, wondering what that kind of affection was like from you. guess he’d never know, huh? too intimate, the words rang in his head. 

fuck off. 

“you flew today?” carlos asked you. you nodded. 

“had to celebrate, didn’t i?” you let out a giggle, covering your stained lips when you glanced at lando who was focused elsewhere, his jaw clenching. it had your joy dying in your throat, suddenly feeling like there wasn’t any reason to smile at all. 

“of course!” carlos cheered, slapping lando on the back which had him falling back to earth. “can’t believe he finally did it.” lando’s first ever formula one win was an astronomical achievement. you wish you could’ve been there in person. 

“neither can i…” your voice trailed when you were focused on his freckled face. a constellation, you called it, and could lose yourself in counting them. and lando was looking at you and your beautiful face. he was addicted to you, he learned, and no girl could fuck him like you could. 

carlos glanced between the two of you and raised his brows. “right, then.” he cleared his throat. “let’s get going then, yeah? got the whole grid celebrating you, lando!”

you were quick to put on your heels and grab your clutch. lando waited by the door for you, holding the door open. 

when you brushed by him, he grabbed your arm and twisted you around. he pushed his head close to your chest, which had you flushing. 

“lando!” you scolded beneath your breath. 

“you smell like me,” he raised a brow. 

shit. you thought he wouldn’t notice. “grabbed your cologne on accident. was rushing…replaced it with mine, see?” you raised your wrist for him to smell and he did, nose brushing against your sensitive skin. your veins pumped just beneath a thin layer. you felt him inhale and you had shivers running up your spine. he glanced at you again, dropping your hand. 

“think mine’s better.”

he meant it. you smelling just like him had him on fucking edge. he didn’t understand why it mattered to him to such a high degree. the primal inclination soaring right over his head, but he knew you were his for the night. longer he would wish, but he would take anything he could get from you. 

you only rolled your eyes at him, proceeding to walk down the hall. he caught up with you, hand coming to your lower back to guide you. when you made it to the elevator, he stuck his head into your neck again, breath hot as it fanned against your skin. you leaned into him, but stomped your heeled foot. 

“lando…” 

he grumbled something inaudible. 

“speak, won’t you?” you gripped his chin, pulling him upward. 

“driving me fuckin’ crazy.”

your breath caught in your throat. he was always touchy, but it was never this intense. the way he grumbled against the skin of your throat, the needy vibrations which plucked deeply at the strings of your heart. but there shouldn’t be any of your heart involved.

“you’re just a madman, then.” 

he chuckled. “gonna lock me up?” 

if only, you wanted to say, but held your tongue. 

“papaya does look good on you.” you giggled, hand roaming his chest. but you were right about his madness. he was sickeningly crazy. he should be institutionalized, even, in the comfort of your home. what a hell that would be, wouldn’t it?

the drive to the club was short. it wasn’t very far from the hotel. the inside of his expensive mclaren had you dazzled, though it wasn’t really his, just a rental whilst he was in miami. still, your fingers found the pleasure of finding the leather that boarded the doors, wondering just how much leather you could adorn as decoration. 

lando, on the other hand, was white knuckling the steering wheel the entire time, debating whether or not his hand would find a good home on the skin of your thigh. your dress had been too long for that, though, and he didn’t…fuck, he didn’t even know. he was anxious to be with you this weekend, not hesitating to call you to be the first one to come down to congratulate him.

he had so many other girls. why did he choose you? he didn’t know it himself, wasn’t sure if he was ready to face such intense truths, but his heart led him astray dialing your phone number. he didn’t even hesitate nor want to connect with another girl, just you. 

fucking hell, and you looked heavenly in that dress. he would spend the entire fucking night shifting his pants to hide his stark boner from your eyes. 

rolling up to the club, he gave his keys to the valet and you stepped out, fixing the fabric of your scrunched dress. you made your way over to him, elegant as ever, when the cameras began to flash. the amount of attention frightened you, and your phone fell to the ground. it clattered against the pavement. 

lando reached down smoothly to pick it up for you, his movements lingering for a moment. when he rose, his hand grazed the back of your exposed calf, trailing up your body to rest on the fabric of your lower back, the top of your ass. you wanted to swat his hand away teasingly, but for the night…you’d allow it. the cameras flashed more and more. lando only separated from you to take a few selfies with fans, but that had been it. 

his hand found your back once more, pulling the fabric down that was scrunched at the back. he also did it as an excuse to rest his hand on your ass. guilty!

and you let him. more cameras flashed. he was yours for the evening. so you’d relish in the momentary fame, but would surely be horrified by the comments the next morning. but fuck it, you looked hot in this dress and wouldn’t let these heels go to waste. let them envy you, for you were surely going to envy the next girl on his arm. what? no you weren’t. that thought was fleeting. you were shocked that you imagined of such a scenario. 

inside the club was an ambiance of celebratory cadence. it was lively. the bright lights, cheering on goers. everyone seemed to swarm lando, congratulating him and patting him on the back. he was so happy here. 

you attempted to shimmy out of the limelight to give him the attention he deserved, but he tightened his hold on you, digging his fingertips into your waist. you were surprised, looking at him with confusion, but he didn’t even take his eyes off of one of the mclaren engineers who attended the festivities. 

playing arm candy wasn’t your specialty, but you had the basics down. smile and laugh. straight posture. being fucking perfect. easy stuff, you know? surely sitting in an office chair for your day to day would enthuse a straight spine. surely listening to your old, ratty coworkers jokes would have you rolling with laughter and smiles. surely it was the easiest thing in the world to be perfect for lando norris–

your name was called by a girl at your side. it was alexandra!

you gasped, swinging out of lando’s arms and throwing yourself into her. she caught you, looking absolutely elegant while doing it, and smiled into your hair. 

“thank god you’re here!” you cheered, your hands landing on her shoulders to steady yourself. she looked stunning this evening. but she always did. you envied her for that much. 

“of course!” her french accent was sweet and endearing. her voice was even softer. “none of us would miss it. i’m glad you’re here!” 

alexandra and you had grown a relationship over the past few years you’ve been acquainted with lando. she seemed to always be where you were, and by coincidence, the two of you followed each other on tiktok and realized you had, if not, the same humor. you began messaging each other back and forth, and there you had it– a beautiful friendship between the two of you. being long distance best friends was hard, but it was times like these that you were grateful to see her. 

lando had froze when he felt you slip from his grasp, a horrible feeling of incomprehensible dread washing over him that he couldn’t pinpoint why. he interrupted the conversation he was having to see you with your arms wrapped around alexandra, kissing both of her cheeks. his face flushed, hand tightening on the drink he was given by his mates. 

why not him? 

lando excused himself and clung to your side. you jumped at the feeling of his hand around your waist, eyes snapping up to meet his… irritated ones? you were at a loss as to what could warrant such a look, but you didn’t let it linger when you shifted closer to him, your hips against his thighs. he seemed to relax both his body and face, giving alexandra a smile.

she was amidst congratulating him when charles and carlos approached. rebecca at carlos’ side. 

“is this a party or…?” charles remarked, luring you all to the center of the room to dance. lando glanced at you. you could feel his eyes, but you didn’t meet them. not yet. you thought that if you had, you wouldn’t be able to stop tonight. not with how good he looked, not with how he smelled. 

on the dance floor was no better. his hands were all over you. it was a bittersweet homecoming to feel so close to you, so flustered. but you loved the way he made you feel. pure adrenaline. alive. your hips swayed and grinded into his own, him matching your pace with a drink in his hand. there had been one in yours too, but you downed it already. 

at one point when the beat dropped, they all began to shout his name. you included. his cheeky little smile had him muster the courage to down his drink, emptying the large glass. whoops and hollers filled the club, and there were no more words to describe how magical this night was for him. he would remember it forever, and you couldn’t blame him. 

he was magnificent in the spotlight. with a charming tongue, funny jokes, and charisma that had him swooping up any girl he could want. there were a pack of women surrounding him before he pulled you by the arm, interrupting your conversation with alexandra, twirling you to be plastered against his side. the women’s attention didn’t last long after that. 

“cheeky, aren’t you?” you raised your lips to his ears, daring to lay one against the top of his throat. you felt him swallow, his adams apple thick and bobbing. 

“don’t like to be a cornered animal.” you knew it was meant to be a joke, but there was a layer of truth to it that you couldn’t ignore. lando didn’t do well in crowds without flustering with anxiety. to that truth about him, you could toast to. 

you were back on the floor with him in a matter of minutes, engaging in conversation with alexandra and charles. lando was talking to others as well, but he was firm against your back, hand on your stomach. the action had you blushing, unable to forget any time that he’d lay his hands there, asking if you could feel him. and you could. now, you could feel the imprint of his cock behind you. you didn’t know how he could last this long without asking you to fuck him in the bathroom, but you weren’t complaining. 

yet!

steadily as the night progressed, he would be laced with sweat and the smell of him. a mix of body odor, sure, it smelt like lando. your lando for the night. he flashed you a smile as he leaned over your body from behind, both hands gripping your hips against him. 

you returned the gesture, but were much more bashful than he anticipated. you were giving him that look. a look that he had become trained to respond to. his dick instantly hardened. pavlov was onto something, wasn’t he? 

you both had been there for hours. you could only handle so many more amped up bass drops. and you were both plastered enough. it was around four in the morning when you were tumbling out, giggling and laughing at who knows what. 

one of the valet club drivers even drove the both of you back to the hotel. neither of you are in the state to drive. 

in the car, one of your legs was atop his, slotted between his thighs. you could feel his pulsing cock and your mouth watered at the sensation. he was staring at you through dangerously dark eyes, reflecting back your own stare of desire. it was like looking in a mirror for the both of you. ravaging and desperate to have one another’s hands on each other’s bodies. 

lando took liberty and lowered his head to your exposed shoulder, pulling down a thin strap of your dress to your bicep. he kissed the skin tenderly, an action too intimate for your own good, but you were too fucking drunk to deny it. 

“fucking beautiful,” he muttered into your skin, quiet for only your ears to touch. you let your fingers trace up the side of his face lazily, feeling your gaze spinning beneath his tender words. 

“i’m proud of you,” you whispered, brushing a stray curl from his sticky forehead up into the rest of his hairs. “you know that, don’t you?” 

your voice had been tender. delicious to his drunken ears. though he knew he’d remember this sober– he had a feeling. how could he forget that tone of voice, your gentle touch, clearly breaking the bounds of what was too intimate.

he gulped, eyes flaring wide at your declaration. his hand found your thighs then, gripping the soft flesh with depth. 

your fingers traced down to his bottom lip, puckering the flesh, but dropped to the car seat with a laugh. you brushed off his shocked expression, leaning back into the cool leather. but his grip didn’t relent. he kept his eyes on you, too, unable to find something else to fixate on. you were the object of all of his desires. he confirmed it then when he was desperate to hear more of your unsolicited praises from your lips. 

he craved your lips. 

lando’s head dropped to your waist, his face nuzzling into your soft flesh. he kissed through the fabric of your dress, desperate to feel you beneath such a guarding sheath from your skin. you turned your head to look at him from where your gaze latched to the window, your hand rolling down the curve of his neck. 

you kept your hand there for the remainder of the drive, but didn’t look down at him. you knew you’d be face with those desperate, glistening green eyes of his. you’d fall weak beneath the light of his love, and you’d find yourself disappointed when he didn’t want what you did. a relationship, dare you think it just for one second. 

the valet driver dropped the two of you off and was able to manage a cab on his own back to the club. lando tipped him a hundred euros for his time, beginning to sober himself enough to walk in a straight line and speak without slurring his speech. 

you were the same. stretching your legs from the car, hands above your head in a dramatic feline stretch. lando’s eyes were on you the entire time, gaping at your figure. your ass. his lip caught between his teeth, and you caught him ogling. 

your hips began to sway beneath the music of his eyes. you’re unable to resist his humorous allure, crumbling the second the second the corner of his eyes uplifted. a smile followed, his gapped, perfect, teeth shimmering the reflections of the pale moonlight. 

he stretched out his arm for you to join him at his side. you sashayed there, twirling in your heels that ached your feet. but you did it for him. you’d do it all, though the alcohol was driving your thoughts. 

lando swooped you into his grasp, wrapping his arms around your waist and digging his fingertips into your hips. you laughed amicably, his presence both a comfort and a feat of pride. 

you mustered the strength to break his hold, trotting up the steps of the hotel. your heels were loud in the quiet, tender moments of the rising miami sun, and your giggles even more so. lando wasn’t far behind, skipping the steps to catch up with you. 

you’d never seen him hit an elevator button harder. you resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it was an impossible situation to be so loud at dawn. so you bit your fist in your mouth, choking down a sound that lando yearned to hear. 

when the elevator arrived he jumped right in, dragging you along– though it’s not like you hesitated– by your elbow. 

he immediately began trailing kisses down your throat, the column of your neck, your collarbones, shoulders. he left no place untouched by his devout, worshipping lips. he’d often say in the heat of the moment that you were the best thing he’s ever tasted– a man feral for your sweet nectar– but you just thought it to be the post-euphoria sex high. 

the british driver muttered something into your neck which had your eyes flaring wide, uncertain if you heard him correctly. 

you pushed his head back, gripping at the curls near the base of his neck. “what did you say?”

he looked flushed. embarrassed. he choked on his words, shaking his head. he was clearly brushing it off. 

“nothin’.”

he resumed devouring your neck, saliva dripping onto your dress, but his words bubbled. 

the ding of the elevator alerted both of you. he was the one to lead the way to his hotel room, swiftly opening the door with skilled ease, and had you against the wall in minutes. he gripped at the fabric of your dress, tempting to rip it. you hissed with contempt. “don’t,” he looked up at you with heavy eyes and a half toothed smirk, challenging you. “too expensive.” 

you felt him scoff against the skin of your chest. “‘too expensive.’” he mocked. 

but he heeded your words, gentle with how he lowered the straps to your forearms. your head lolled against the wall, eyes glistening with liquidated pleasure. there was nothing better in the world that could feel better than lando norris’ lips against your skin. each press was a blessing, a kiss of life, hungry for the divination you relented this evening. 

“so fucking beautiful,” he breathed when he shimmied you out of the dress, neatly undoing the zipper. you wore nothing under the dress besides panties, which had his eyes gawking at your taut, perked nipples. you shifted forward, desperate for his touch on your suddenly cold body. 

lando didn’t wait. his cock was already painfully hard in his pants, punishing the fabric for being so restrictive. he pulsated, precum already ruining the pair. 

his lips found your nipple, other palm fisting the firm flesh. you let out a sweet moan that was delicious to his starving ears, your hips bucking into his for a relenting yearn for release. he let out the deepest chuckle from his throat, finding such impending amusement for your desire. 

when he was contempt with the titillation of your nipples, he moved to the skin of your belly, biting softly at the skin. enough to leave bruises for his own eyes when he’d see you next. next. there was always a next with you. 

but you had other plans. 

your hands reached for his face, pulling him to meet your eyes. his own blew wide, flickering to your lips, to your eyes. 

“let me,” you whimpered, reaching for the buckle of his pants. he’d stop you, usually intending on getting you off with his lips or tongue before he could even cum. but tonight, he couldn’t resist your lips. you looked up at him with pure heaven written in your iris’. 

he swallowed before nodding his head rapidly, his forehead leaning into yours. “yeah, yeah, please.” 

lando norris wasn’t a man to beg. he didn’t have to do any of that shit for his other girls– they were always eager to please him, fuck him, suck him off– but for you…

your lips found his neck, feeling the thick muscles with your tongue. it was arousing how muscular each part of his body was, thundering with endurance. 

there was a soft mewl in his throat when you slid your hand down the front of his pants, beneath his briefs, over the length of his cock. the sound excited you tenfold– wishing that you could hear it a hundred times over again. it was addicting how he wanted you. 

when your finger grazed his tip, his hips bucked instinctively into you, just how yours had. he cursed under his breath, letting his head fall limp into the crevice of your neck. 

you laughed into his skin, finally falling to your knees to drop his pants and briefs. his cock sprung free, red and vibrating for your touch. your touch. you often wondered how his other girls treated him. if you were better, if you were the worst. obviously not the worst if he was the one to call you after his first win, right?

one hand stroked his length, traveling to his balls, simultaneously glancing up at him. he was staring down at you, riddled with urgency, a pleading look reflecting in your eyes. his bottom lip caught between his teeth when his hand found the back of your head, stroking the sides of your face. 

his thumb caressed your bottom lip. it caused your lips to open for him, and his thumb found your tongue. you swirled it around the pad of his finger, never breaking the shared look between you two. you let him go with a pop, and he found his hand at the base of your neck again, hand wrapping a makeshift ponytail with his hand. 

your lips swirled around the head of his cock, swallowing the precum that dampened his briefs. he held back a rumble in his throat which annoyed you, so you took him wide in your mouth, bottoming him out in the back of your throat. 

your cunt clenched around nothing when his whole body sang in praise of your lips. he faltered when you began a steady pace of back and forth, stimulating his balls with your other hand. curses fell from his lips, sinful words, and he gripped your hair tightly. with his other one, he fell forward against the wall, bracing for dear life.

but you didn’t relent. faster and faster you went, and you were awarded by his hips snapping into you, cock gagging your windpipe. you choked, tears forming in your eyes, but it was divine how satisfying it was. to see his eyes rolling back into his head, hands shaking, desperate to feel you up. from this position, below him, you could see the entire world. you had it all on the tip of your tongue. 

“fuck, baby…” he groaned. you felt so good around him. warm and tight. it felt like fucking home for him. somewhere he’d always come back to. and he would. no other girl could make him feel this way, had him about to cum in a matter of three minutes. your lips were made to take his cock, and he would yell that to hell and back for the entire world to know. 

he felt you moan against his cock, the sound echoing in your throat. he swallowed harshly, drool dripping down the side of his chin at the sight of you alone. you were perfect. 

and when your hand came to run over your nipples, kneading at the skin of your breasts, he felt his abdomen tighten. you found so much pleasure in sucking him off that you felt the need to touch yourself. fuck, he never thought he’d see something so hot in his entire life. 

he knew he’d been done for in a matter of seconds. with a firm grip of your hair, he pulled you back from his cock. you looked offended, disappointed when the drool from your lips trailed down your chin. 

“not yet,” he uttered, gripping the side of your face with his other hand. his cock was angry, furious at the lack of attention. he was practically fucking edging himself. “wanna cum inside you.” 

say less, you wished to say, but all that came out from your lips was a whine. 

and then you were laid out on your back on his bed. the white sheets were clean and made, cold beneath your scorching skin. 

lando traced two fingers up your thigh, the junction of your hips, your waist. you shivered, toes clenching at the sensation. then to your naval, your pussy, your dampened underwear. a ruined pair, no doubt. he smirked, lip curling. 

“all for me, huh?” 

you nodded instantly. 

his hand slapped against your flushed pussy. you whimpered, grasping at the sheets. 

“words, pretty girl.”

“yes!” you gasped when you felt him tug the underwear down your legs. “you, you, you, lando. all you.”

he practically purred. your folds were swollen and glistening, drenched from how his cock pounded into your mouth. “so wet,” he observed, twisting his fingers to trail up your slit, gathering the slick between his fingers. he raised the pair to his mouth, tasting your sweet juice on his tongue. your legs pulsed together, eager for friction, a quiet mewl leaving your throat at the sight. “tastes like heaven.”

“lando…” you were getting impatient now. rightfully so. he stood there with his hardened cock, teasing you with his firm fingers. 

“what’dya want, baby? hm?” he asked, knowing damn well what the answer would be. yet he’d trace his hands gently up the sides of your body, fingers dancing over your nipples. you writhed. 

“you.” you said endearingly. “fuck me, lan, please.” 

he was so impressed with your manners that he couldn’t resist slipping his cock inside of you. atop of you he caged you in, a blessed enclosure, lips pressing to your exposed chest. you whined at the initial stretch, always finding yourself so tight around his thick cock. 

“fuck, lando.” you hissed, teeth clenching at his immaculate girth. it was a pleasurable burn, and your arousal only had you clenching around him. he huffed through his nose, hot hair breathing over your skin. 

“i know, baby,” he reassured you with his bittersweet voice. “y’can take me, can’t you? always such a good girl for me.” 

you whined at his words, low moan bellowing in your throat. you squelched with your slick and he could feel it. he smirked, having the gall to chuckle, even. but you didn’t punish him for it, especially not when he began to move his hips back and forth, a pair of fingers coming to rub against the bundle of nerves placatated at your clit. 

the sensation of feeling him slip in and out of you was impeccable. you could find no other pleasure than his cock nestled inside of you, filling you to the absolute hilt of your dreams. the imprint of his dick had him riled with lust when it ran over your lower belly. 

“feel me here,” his hand came to grab yours, bringing it to the imprint of his cock inside of you. “don’t you?” 

you nodded, lip catching between your teeth and opposite hand threading through his curls as if you were a needle and thread. “so good, lando, please. keep going.” 

and he did. if you asked him to do anything right now, he would’ve. the slapping of skin echoed in the hotel room, filling silence with vulgar sounds from both of your lips. lando was a moaning mess at the pulses of your cunt, intent on sucking him dry from his cum. and he was an expert at navigating your clit, pinching and swirling the rough pads of his fingers. 

your eyes rolled in the back of his head when you bucked your hips for a better angle. “deeper,” you said, finding a grim satisfaction at the thought of him splitting you open. 

his eyes flashed to yours, bloodshot and red with lust, and shifted so your thighs were over his shoulders. your back arched for him and he was pleased to see your receptiveness. his hips didn’t falter, and neither did his hands. 

this angle had been more than what any gospel could provide. more than any destiny written out for you. fucking him was written in the stars, you knew it for certain, and you blossomed into a glistening constellation before him. for he was the entire universe for you, and you just a mere fractal in the midst of it all. 

but oh, how that wasn’t true. how you were the sun in which he orbited, woke up and thought of. you were the first person that he called after his father, needing your presence with him in miami. he needed this. your cunt. your pleasures, your moans. you, it was on the tip of his tongue, edging its way forward through the kisses he laid upon your neck. 

you were drenched in his saliva, coated in the thick musk of lando norris. he would never say it aloud but he dreamed of the day to see his cum dripping down your thighs, full of him, the remnants of your love affair sticky and haughty with each step that you’d take. 

it was a primal instinct that became so vicious. it overtook him, thwarting him into a dick-measuring contest whenever you went out with him. he’d keep you close. his, the message would be clear. no man would approach you when he had his hand on your lower back, your hips in his hands, your pelvis grinding against his own. you were his own keepsake. the light at the end of the tunnel. a brazen warrior that he’d follow into any battle. 

the only battle he was intending on winning was the war of your heart, blessed be his troops. 

it only took a few more harsh thrusts of his cock and twiddling of his fingers before you were painfully close to a release. he could feel it. he knew it like the back of his hand. your trembling legs, intense writhing against his hold, your breathy moans. he wished he could take a picture of you, flushed and desperate, and keep it in his wallet. 

“come on, baby.” he urged, feeling the own heat of his orgasm rising in his lower stomach. he had been resisting the urge to cum for your sake, always finding a deeper satisfaction in seeing your overstimulated face after the fact. 

“come for me, won’t you? pretty thing. i’ve got you,” the words of praise that were only meant for you. he didn’t call any of his other girls ‘baby’, but you wouldn’t know that. you couldn’t know. it would ruin all of this, wouldn’t it? wouldn’t it? 

i’ve got you, he said tenderly. it’s what had you compulsing, drenching his cock in your slick. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the euphoria of what was lando norris’ pleasure. 

he was staring at your worn out face, his own tongue coming to swipe at his bottom lip. he was ready to feast on you. 

lando’s own orgasm was swift to follow. the rhythm of his hips faltered, sloppily, aggressively. the overstimulation against the walls of your cunt was delectable. 

“come for me,” you begged him. it had his eyes flaring once more, shocked to hear such a request from your pretty lips. “inside me, lan, need it…” 

“fuck…” he groaned, and with one last snap of his hips he was spilling out inside of you. his forehead fell into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. your chests moved in unison, catching your breaths after such an intense fuck. 

you were sticky against him. his body fell atop of yours, and your hands wrapped around his back. one hand came to run up and down his neck again, which had his eyes fluttering with sleep. but he didn’t let himself, and instead moved to get a towel for you both.

he slipped outside of you, the warmth of your cunt had his expression falling. he saw your face, too, empty once he made his way to the on suite. he grabbed a handheld towel and ran it under the warm water, and crossed the space between the bathroom and the bed. 

lando let it run up your thighs, between your legs. your cunt was swollen still, his cum thick and dripping from your slit. he smirked to himself, cleaning the remnants of himself from the immediate vicinity, but wouldn’t go further. 

you were aware. entirely too aware of how warm you felt. how filled you were. it was filthy how good sex with him was. you could never orgasm with any man but him. 

lando fell to the bed beside you, opening the sheet for you to slip in beside him. you hesitated, never having spent an entire night with him, except for a few drunk evenings. did this count? you weren’t sure. you’d certainly remember that mind blowing orgasm. 

but his eyes were drooping with sleep, weary when you hesitated. you couldn’t resist, and slid in beside him, comforted by the furnace of his body. 

lando’s head found home, once more, in the side of your neck. you brushed the hairs from his sweating forehead, roamed through his scalp. you ran circles through his hair until you heard the soft snores coming from him. it only took a few seconds for him to fall asleep in your arms and for once, you were perfectly content with that. if this was what your life would be, then so be it. 

the british driver woke approximately twenty four hours later. 

when he woke, you were not there. 

he was startled as he searched for you, but there was no sign of you. he sat up in his bed, sun peeking in through the curtains. he rubbed his eyes, hand resting on the spot that you had laid in. there was an imprint from your body. 

when he checked his phone, he knew he was in deep shit. 

“fuck.” it really had been a full day that he slept through.

but there were no texts from you. 

his gut tightened, heart beating loudly in his throat. why are there no texts from you? 

he scanned the room to find a glass of water on the nightstand, previously iced from the ring of water around the side of it. and there was a note, too, with some ibuprofen. he picked it up. 

had a good night

proud of you always

text me when you’re up x

and it was signed by you. 

he folded the piece of paper.

he supposed it was a good night. the best sex he’s ever had, in fact, and wouldn’t forget his own confession in the elevator. he wasn’t sure if you heard it or not, but there was a part of him that wanted you to. 

“you were always my favorite,” he spoke into the column of your neck. 

the next time you saw lando was in monaco. 

you were back home and invited by alexandra to the paddocks for the home race of charles. you accepted, of course, hoping to catch a glimpse of lando. 

you hadn’t texted him much, but neither had he. you heard first from him on that tuesday morning and it had you smiling at the airport, bags in hand. you texted back, and it was sporadic from there on out. it’s been a few days since either of you’ve said a word, and it was beginning to wane on you. 

alexandra repeated your name. 

“yeah?” you responded, head snapping towards her direction. 

“i asked if you were feeling alright.” 

“oh.” you breathed, laughing it off. “of course, do i not seem okay?” alexandra shook her head, petting leo’s little head in her hands. 

“you’ve been quiet, that’s all.” 

and you had been. but since she noticed, you were determined to make her forget about it. 

“nervous for charles,” you lied. but alexandra bought it and agreed with you, shedding her anxieties for her boyfriend’s home race. 

you were standing on the balcony with her in ferrari’s hospitality. you looked elegant today, matching alexandra’s own vibe. your hands were clasped together as you were leaning down, watching the drivers go in and out for their free practice. 

alexandra was still ranting about how nervous she was for charles when you saw him.

the papaya was noticeable from anywhere. 

lando

lando and company. 

a girl trailing behind him. her hair was done neatly, blonde, painfully thin. you grimaced against your will, face scrunching with a bitterness you had never felt before. 

alexandra tapped your elbow before she looked down at what you were staring at. 

“asshole.” she remarked, scoffing. 

you raised a brow. “you think so?”

alexandra nodded as if it was obvious. “don’t know why he brings them around,” she sighed. “not when he could have you.” 

you never felt so flattered before. you blushed, thanking her for saying something so kind. though you denied having feelings for him. she knew it was a lie this time. 

lando glanced up at the balcony, finding your eyes inevitably. he could feel your stare at the back of his head. 

and he fucking waved. 

the girl beside him looked up, too, but she did not. 

you could see lando’s smile from up here, but in your intensive bitterness, you did not wave back. you stood and turned to go back into ferrari’s hospitality, not thinking twice about your decision. 

the rest of the weekend you spent in bitter earnest. you’ve never seen yourself in such a state. but you plastered on a smile for alexandra and charles, entirely too elated when he crossed the finish line first in monaco. you held her as she weeped with joy. 

and, of course, you were invited to the festivities for the evening. your attitude was soured by the girl latched to lando’s arm throughout the entire weekend. but he looked so nonchalant with her, careless. none of it mattered. you’d put on your best dress for the evening. 

in the club you were found nursing a martini in your hand, not quaint on the taste, but were keen on getting wasted. you didn’t want to deal with whatever shit storm of emotions were brewing inside of your head. seeing lando with another girl was not new for you to witness. it was the norm, in fact, and you never thought about it otherwise.

but something changed that night of his win in miami. you knew it. he knew it. the words he uttered into your neck in that elevator was sending you up the wall and skyrocketing into the abyss of the universe. and you believe that somehow, he would find you.

he would find you. 

lando saw you instantly when you entered with alexandra and charles. rebecca and carlos paired together, too, leaving you the odd one out with no arm candy on display. good, the thought was impulsive. 

the girl beside him was giggling at something he said. but it wasn’t meant as a joke. he was convinced that she just had no idea what he was talking about, and was eager for a good fuck from him. he knew his skills of pleasure were not in comparison to any low life dude, but no girl could fulfill the void of receptiveness. of yearning desire. 

so when he tilted his head back to down the rest of his drink, he grimaced at the taste, and turned back to the girl he brought with him. but he kept stealing glances at you in your short dress. it was like you were punishing him– were you? he suddenly felt like a dog, a bad boy, reared and chained to the dog house outside your house of a heart. 

but you didn’t see him. not for a while, actually. you were intent on staying true to your morals– staying away from him this evening. he only brought trouble for you. confusion. you were sick of this back and forth, and most importantly, this rotten feeling of jealousy. it wasn’t a good look on you, or so you thought. 

“dance with me?” alexandra asked you. you accepted, of course, grabbing her hand and holding it high above the crowds as she led you to the dance floor. you were both twirling and laughing with your drinks in hand, purely electric with the rap music. charles joined her, gripping her from behind. you couldn’t help but watch, gulping down the feeling of envy. 

alexandra noticed. she knew what you were going through, even if you wouldn’t say it aloud. your ‘relationship’ with lando has gone on for far too long without any real commitment. everyone knew he was your favorite girl to be around, except you. you were the only one, apparently, who didn’t know that lando looked at you like a goddess reincarnate. 

and when you shook off your thoughts of envy, your eyes found another pair staring back at you.

sharp emeralds, piercing through the musk of the club.

your breath hitched, catching solemnly in your throat. 

the blonde was grinding up against him, throwing her head back against his shoulders. one hand was on her hip, the other with an empty shot glass in his hand. the girl was enjoying herself, at least, and you wondered if he fucked her the same as he did you. 

his eyes didn’t leave yours as his hips swayed in motion with hers. his hair was disheveled, a coat of sweat gleaning on his forehead. 

the pair of you were waiting to see who would break first. who would succumb to the challenge. you wanted so desperately to win, to grab another random man and kiss on his neck, but you were detested. 

the air inside the club felt heavy, and the world would collapse on you. the weight was too much on your shoulders as you became lightheaded. 

“i need air,” you said to alexandra before you fled from the dance floor, leaving your glass on the counter. 

the air of monaco was brisk when it pierced your skin, your thighs, your shoulders. but it was a much needed refreshment from the confines of that fucking club. you felt nauseous, sickened by lando’s eye contact with you. how dare he. 

you looked around before turning the corner of the club, seeing a pair of men smoking a cigarette. 

“care to share?” 

the men glanced at one another and the one holding the pack nodded. he handed you one and you placed it to your lips. he held out the lighter, too, and lit it for you. 

you weren’t one to smoke. it was a drunk cigarette kind of night. 

they insisted on you staying with them, talking each other up to be some pair of scrouges who deserved your attention. you politely declined their advances and walked the other way, feeling colder when the tobacco hit your lungs. 

when you blew out your first puff, it wasn’t long before the cigarette was ripped from your lips. 

“hey–” 

“this shit isn’t good for you.” 

lando.

he found you out here. rather, he chased you out. the minute he saw you turn your back he scrambled, pushing past every person that came in his way.

you scoffed, unable to look at him as you crossed your arms. 

“you don’t know what’s good for me.”

he paused, sucking in a tight breath. his jaw clenched. the cigarette was thrown to the ground, crushed beneath his foot. 

“rude–” you uttered, cut off when he grabbed your elbow. that had you looking at him. and his expression didn’t disappoint.

his eyes were widened, pupils blown wide as he looked into your own. his lip trembled momentarily, jaw entirely too tight for his own good. 

“what’s going on with you?” he wondered, holding eye contact with you. 

“nothing.” you answered instantly, brushing him off. but he didn’t accept that. 

“‘nothing,’” he mocked. “you’re not a very good liar.” 

you hummed. “thanks.” 

the conversation widdled down, but he wasn’t about to give up. 

“tell me,” he requested, his face pulling closer to yours. you had to give it to him. he was determined. but you were too.

“there’s nothing to tell.” you bit back. 

“i care about you. come on–” your name fell sweetly from his lips. he was prepared to grovel at any second now. 

but you cut him off. “ohhh…! yeah, right, you care? pfft, no need to pretend, lando.” 

he pulled back, shocked that you got in his face. your words were cruel, but he felt the double meaning behind them. 

“what?” he asked, softly. you knew then that he was hurt. 

but jealousy was a monster.

“i wish i was as stupid as you think i am.” you rambled, hands thrown up with emotion. but you were done with this conversation. “fuck it, i’m leaving–”

but he used his other hand to ground you before him. “don’t.” he pleaded. eyes watering. 

“what? like you’d notice?” 

then the bells chimed in his head. an alert that he understood what this was. he was stupid in not knowing what was happening before him. 

you’re jealous. 

“didn’t take you for a jealous type.”

you scoffed. ���you’re ridiculous.”

but he shook his head and tsked. “can’t believe it, baby, that you hid it for so long.” 

“fuck you.”

he blew out a huff of air as if he were wounded, hand coming to run over his chest. it was a fatal one, that was for sure. you tried again to push past him, but to no avail nor universe would he let you go. 

“come home with me.”

his words were determined, sincere, though there was a layer of softness to it. like unsweetened honey that poured from his lips. 

you stared at him. “what?” 

he laughed. “you heard me. let me take you home.”

you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. couldn’t tell if he was mocking you. your facial expression dropped from its intense anger. 

“don’t…” you started, feeling the heat of emotions that you’ve been burying come to the surface. your eyes swelled with tears but fuck, you promised you’d never cry over him. “don’t be mean, lando.”

his smile dropped. he knew then that you weren’t playing around, messing with him in the ways you usually had. what was this feeling inside of him? guilt? he wanted nothing more than to fix whatever he’s done. the instinct blazed a fire through his veins, igniting a deep rooted reaction that he feared only you could bring out of him. 

his hand came to cup your cheek. you flinched backward, staring at the palm of his hand through your wet lashes, but allowed his touch. 

“come here…” his hand dropped from your cheek to hold out for you to melt into. an invitation for a hug. 

you hesitated, shifting closer on your tip toes. when you were in close enough reach, he grabbed you, earning a yelp. 

his body was warm. he pulled you flush against his chest, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. his hands were wrapped firmly around your torso. was he shaking? 

he was. lando was wrought with a surplus of emotion when he saw your anger diffuse. he loved to feel all of your emotions, it reminded him that you cared about him. but when he saw it disappear, faze into an abyss of melancholy, his heart set into overdrive. he never got such a rush of adrenaline before. not from racing. not from anything else in his life.

you relaxed into him, shutting your eyes. there was a wet stain from the single tears that fell from your face on his shirt. 

but you didn’t care. he smelled so good. it was lando. your lando. 

“let me take you home.”

your nose buried into his shirt. his stubble dug into your neck. 

“your place,” you muttered. “i want to go to yours.” 

his place was always for special occasions. but to your unbeknownst knowledge, you were the only girl he’s ever taken there. the only woman he’s fucked in his bed. 

he stuttered. “yeah,” he cleared his throat. “yeah, of course we can.”

you didn’t even end up texting alexandra goodbye. you were too wrung tight with your jealousy, coined poignantly by lando himself. he was quick to catch on to your attitude shift, but you could tell he was frightened. at least you wished for it to be. 

but he was. his heart plummeted when your anger reached him. it did more than touch him, it ripped him apart, had his heart bleeding in plain sight. anyone could see it except you. it was never you who saw the love beneath his eyes. 

lando’s apartment was just how you remembered it to be. 

open space, loosely decorated. it was rather bland. 

“you kept it!” you ran your fingers over the displayed teddy bear, one that you had won for him at a fair. 

he shut the door behind you two, locking it. he let out a soft hum. “‘course i did.” 

he said it like it was obvious. he would never get rid of anything that you’d give him. you squeezed the teddy bear in your palms, but dropped it when you felt lando’s arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

his lips found your neck in an instant. 

“i missed you.” 

you tensed. back arching, you turned your head to look at him, angled perpendicular to his face burrowed into the junction of your neck and collarbones. 

“really, now?” 

he chuckled against your skin, fanning his warm breath through your body. the hairs on the back of your neck rose instinctively, choosing to hold your breath instead of express anger. though you couldn’t help the huff through your nose. 

“you’re so vicious when you’re jealous, darling.” he thought this was funny. it angered you even more, attempting to writhe out of his hold. but he didn’t relent, keeping you taught against his chest. asshole. 

“am not.” 

he tsked. 

“sure.” he continued his trail of kisses down your neck. you fell into him, head lolling back and eyes rolling. fuck, his lips were always so good. he was so good to you. 

“am not.” you said again, biting back a moan when his hands came to your forefront, parting your legs for his hands to rest between your thighs. 

“whatever you say.” 

your hips grinded against his own in retaliation which had him humming in soft praises. his fingers trailed the lining of your panties, other hand holding your hip firmly . 

“because i’m not–” the moan that was pulled from your throat was pure divinity to lando’s ears. his fingers had run up your slit, teasing your entrance. blood ran down to your body, fueling your cunt to a puffy state. your weight went lax against his hold, which he was perfectly capable of supporting you. 

“not what?” he dared you to continue, not when he had you numb in his hold already. he was clearly cocky. you could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“i’m not–” you were determined. but lando was coming back in full force. his middle finger teased you, pushing between your slick, finding the warmth of your walls. you sucked in a tight breath, feeling just how wet you’ve become. 

“so wet, baby,” he said into your ear. “what were you saying?” 

“fuck–” you sighed, whining. “i’m not jeal–” 

and then he seized the bundle of nerves around your clit, curling his middle finger inside of you. you cursed, sweat beginning to bead around your forehead. 

“mhm.” lando proved himself right when you couldn’t mutter out a sentence, becoming dumb on his fingers alone. he began a steady pace with just a singular digit, flexing in and out of you supported by your natural lubrication.  

“more–” you pleaded. it had him standing up straight, reacting to your soft pleas like he was a dog to a treat. pavlov, and all that shit. he found himself staring down at the sight of your two– his finger etching in and out of you, drenched in your sweet nectar. if he was no better than a dog, why was he about to drool? 

“yeah? you can take another?” you were rapidly nodding against the back of his shoulder, biting your lip.

“yes, please. please, lando.” you mewled, gripping at his forearms that caged you in. you never wanted to be chained down, but for pleasure like this, you felt as though you could make an exception. 

he obeyed. adding a second finger was close enough to your release, and you knew that was barreling forward at any minute. if he kept this assault of your clit up and the delicious curl of his fingers, you would melt into a puddle. 

and you knew he would. if lando started something, he would finish it. the only priority for him was to make sure you reached an orgasm. that was a promise, forever and always. 

he found himself bucking his hips into you, the sight of you weak in his arms becoming too much for him to handle. the friction between his pants and your hot cunt was too irresistible. what can he say? you were just pure bottled heaven. 

his thumb had been applying more intense pressure to your clit. your face was entirely flushed now, brightened from his attention. he was entirely to carnal to hear the noises you made. noises for him to hear, no one else. 

but his pace was slow. teasing. you felt like this was a punishment. your lip curled, face contorting with both pleasure and angst. “please, please.” you whimpered. 

“what, baby? what do you want?” smug. always so smug. 

you gripped his hand that was flexing inside of you, tightening your grip. he chuckled deeply. 

“wanna come? that what you want?” 

your head bobbed up and down, breaths coming in fast pants. “need.” you corrected him, and he thought that he would fall dead at your feet. his jaw clenched, muscles in his arms flexing, and he would give you want you needed. 

you needed him. 

that was all that he needed to hear from you. 

you turned your head to look up at him with your bloodshot eyes, dreary with lust. lust for him. your lashes fluttered against your brow line, lip quivering with a singular wish. 

he wanted nothing more to kiss you. 

“fuck.” he groaned, your thighs were drenched in your slick, a sight he thought could never be hotter. and when he curled his two fingers sweetly, your hips bucked aggressively. he knew exactly how to navigate your body, but it was always so thrilling to see you react in such a way. 

“yeah?” he smirked, “that good?” 

“so good, lan,” the nickname you used for him was not intentional. it had his dick throbbing in his pants. fuck.

your words of praise would only have him working harder. he didn’t even need to add a third finger when your stomach snapped with tension, coming loose all over his fingers. your vision blurred, legs shaking rapidly. you cried out, head lolled against his shoulder. he held you tightly, and you didn’t miss how he stroked your hip with his thumb. a soothing action. 

how he could ever find this kind of pleasure in another woman, he didn’t know. but the challenge begged– could he ever admit that? 

his fingers remained buried in your cunt whilst you rode yourself free from your high. it was impossible to look anywhere else but you. 

and when he removed them, showing you the mess you made, his popped them into his mouth. it was such a vulgar statement, but you found yourself blushing. he sucked on his fingers, letting them out with a pop, clean as a whistle. 

“heavenly.” he reaffirmed. “no girl compares.” 

you froze, still delirious from your orgasm, but it had you spinning in his hold. he was slightly blurred in your vision, but you could make out his faintly cocky expression. 

“really, huh?” 

your attitude would have him rising, cocky attitude falling away instantly. 

he gulped. “guess so.” was this it? 

a smile grew on your face. your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, grooming through the back of his head. he smiled lazily, lip catching between his top teeth. 

but things like this didn’t last forever, did they?

there was a pounding knock at the door. it had you frightened, shifting your panties back into their rightful place. your fingers fixed your appearance the best you could, whilst lando adjusted his dick in his pants. 

“open the fucking door, lando!” 

it was a woman’s voice. 

your brow raised. 

“i know you’re in there with that bitch,” the woman seethed. you could feel her anger through the door– but you could feel your own flying through the roof. bitch? you didn’t fucking think so. 

you pushed past lando who was about to open the door and he called your name, attempting to stop you. 

the door flew open. “bitch?”

the blonde girl stood there. she clearly didn’t expect you to open the door. but she didn’t back down; fine. 

“yeah. bitch.” you straighten your posture. “he told me not to worry about you–” what? “and here you are, fucking him.” 

not quite, you wanted to correct her. 

“fuck off,” he said the girl’s name. “me and you aren’t a couple.” but she rolled her eyes anyway. 

“you promised me a good fuck, lando,” she had such a venom to her bite. it had you bristle. “i didn’t think you’d stoop so low.” 

“hey, now, don’t be–” lando started, but you were done. you had enough of this night. you turned back into his apartment and grabbed your handbag, your phone, and threw on your heels. you didn’t hesitate brushing past the pair. 

lando called your name. 

but you only turned your head over your shoulder. your gaze read an entire sentence that he felt up his entire body. 

two can play this game. 

[sunnami]

the (poly) marauders + lily as reversed tropes.

a/n: i tried moving to a new blog.. possibly got shadowbanned... that other blog is now my dump blog, LMAO. pls enjoy this drabble!

i. academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class.

“It’s driving me mad, Prongs,” says a frazzled Remus Lupin, pacing back and forth in his nearly-empty classroom. Sirius watches from where he sits backwards on a wooden chair—not at all concerned with the woes of his lover, rather preoccupied with the derriere of the DADA professor, hugged beautifully by his trousers. (He makes a mental note to thank Lily and her shopping sprees in Muggle London later. And, thoroughly.) Lily eyes Remus warily, ignoring the way James is tugging at her newly-trimmed hair like a lovesick fourth-year. 

“I’ve fought in the bloody war, what do you mean my ‘pronunciation could do with some work’?” Remus scoffs, a bewildered expression on his flushed cheeks. Then, he points to the basket of lemon poppy-seed muffins, “And, the gall to send me that. Can you believe it?”

“No way,” Lily widens her eyes in mock outrage, gasping for melodramatic effect. “How dare anyone send our sweet, darling Remus homemade muffins?”

Remus dangles the swing handle of the wicker basket by his hand, nose scrunched in disgust as though it could turn him into a werewolf for the second time. “It’s not about the baskets, Lily! It’s a fear-mongering tactic—a threat, if you will. If Gryffindor doesn’t win the house cup, I might as well resign from my post.” 

James chortles, leaning back against his seat to fully stare at Remus. (And what a lovely face he has.) “Don’t you think you’re going overboard there, Moony? We’ve won the bloody thing every year—and if we’re running behind Hufflepuff, I can always give ickle Harry a hundred points for being our son. Quite a feat, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lily smacks him on the arm. “Don’t you dare, James Fleamont Potter!” 

Sirius whistles. “Full name. Yikes. You’re on your own there, mate.” 

James glares at him. “I’ve had my tongue down your throat, don’t call me ‘mate’.” 

Grinning, Sirius diverts his attention back to the pouting werewolf, struck by whatever magical spell you’ve cast on him—and their happy little wedded bunch. (He particularly likes the way you raise your voice when the Weasley twins charm your greenhouse with the colors of maroon and yellow. The upturn of your nose and raw fury in your eyes does something funny to his heart.) “Be honest, Moony, you’re just frustrated because our favorite professor is wearing those bell-bottom jeans that make their legs look just utterly delectable,” he grins salaciously. 

“Can confirm,” replies Lily with a chirpy nod. “The back view is even better.” 

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point, my love,” Remus splutters with a cough. “It’s a matter of legacy and pride now. If—”

“While I appreciate being the topic of conversation, I’ve come to collect my students’ papers on Hinkypunks and Dugbogs,” you enter the fray with a knock on the door, startling them from their conversation; a wide smile on your face and a yellow scarf around your neck. “You see, I like to give them points myself when they score above a hundred percent. It really motivates them for the end-of-year exams.” 

James beams at your arrival, like a sunflower blooming under sunlight on a summer day. He stretches his arms wide, a space perfectly carved for you. “Come here, darling,” he calls out for his spouse, quickly affirming that the jeans you’re wearing is a blessing to the wizard kind. (He wonders if you’d let him peel it off you tonight.) As you perch yourself atop his lap, James nuzzles the crook of your neck, pressing soft, butterfly kisses to your skin. “How was your day?”

He captures your lips and you eagerly lean into his warmth. “Perfect now that I’ve found you all. Why were you hiding here, anyway?” you ask innocently, fluttering your lashes at Remus. “Did you get my gift, Moony? The elves helped me with it last night.”

“He’s just cross because you’ve become the entire castle’s favorite teacher in your first year,” Lily points out treacherously, flashing her doe eyes at Remus. (Great, now he’s got two pairs of the prettiest eyes on earth staring into his soul. He’s so beyond in love with everyone in this room.) “Not even the Malfoy kid complains about you, and he still grumbles when I have to do my yearly check-ups.”

You laugh knavishly, beckoning him over. “Is it my fault that I’m so lovable?” 

Remus scoffs, yet finds his feet drawn towards you in long, impatient strides. He leans down until the scent of ambrarome and coconut overwhelms your senses. You tug on his duck-printed tie, smiling as he grumbles lightheartedly into your lips, “Not at all, darling.”

“Shall I lock the doors now?” Sirius offers mischievously. “I’ve always wanted to do it in a classroom.”

ii. it’s too hot to cuddle!

“Mmmrgh, Lily, get off, you fiend,” you groan into the sweat-soaked pillow, suffering from one of the worst heat waves Godric’s Hollow has ever seen—swatting your wife away as she throws her leg over your thigh, impishly nibbling on your neck. On any other day, you’d relish the feel of her skin on yours, the tendrils of her flaming red hair tickling your bare arms—or the times you’d wake up to a tangled mess of crimson in your mouth. But today is just not that day.

Lily sniffles. “Ah, woe is me. My own son doesn’t want to hug me anymore, and none of the people I married want to cuddle me on this dreadful—what ever happened to ‘til death do us part’, you traitors?” 

You roll over on the bed to face her with an incredulous glare—the pretty witch has the nerve to smile at you. “Don’t be so dramatic, Lily. Just cast another cooling charm, or something.”

Lily flops onto her side of the king-sized bed, breathless and flushed, arms splayed out like an octopus—wincing apologetically when she hits you in the face by accident. “I already did. We might just have to get naked to put up with this heat.”

James pokes his head through the door, glasses forgone and black hair messily strewn over his eyes; the damp fabric of his white shirt clinging to chiseled, dark skin. (Ah, the joys of marrying an active Auror and former Quidditch prodigy.) “Did someone say get naked?”

“Way ahead of everyone,” says Sirius as he steps out of the bathroom, having taken his fourth shower today, and wearing nothing but his birthday suit, face towel strung over his shoulder and toothbrush in the side of his mouth. 

“Oh Gods, Sirius!” Lily squeals as she throws a pillow at him. “Get back in there and put some clothes on!” 

“What?” he retorts quizzically, swirling around to give everyone a show—and a generous view of his abs and firm backside. And, well, the other thing, too. “It’s not like you haven’t seen any of this before.”

Last to join the party is Remus, who barely spares a second glance to the naked Sirius Orion Black. “Pack your things, I got us a room at a Muggle inn for an hour. Harry’s downstairs waiting for everyone. He says he’ll rip off the stuffed Padfoot’s head if no one accompanies him to the pool later.” 

That is all he says before swiftly exiting the room.

You stare at the spot where he had been standing previously, whispering in awe, “God bless the Remus Lupins of the world.” 

iii. too much communication.

“—and the thing is,” you say through your weepy blubbering, nose swollen and eyes stinging from crying for the last thirty minutes. “When you guys get all secret-ey and start avoiding me, it really makes me feel like shite. And. . . and then—!” you pause to hiccup, breaking down into sobs once more when Sirius gathers you into his arms, laying his love all over your skin, kissing your tears away as he coos into your ear. “And then, Gilderoy Lockhart comes and says that you all hide away in this h-house, or shack, or whatever and meet your secret girlfriend there! I know you said it was just us and you’d never, ever cheat—and I trust you all more than life itself! But I have to know why you disappear from me every month on a particular night. A-Are you tired of me or something?”

Sirius hushes you with his lips, brows contorted—as though he’s in pain because you are in pain. He cradles the back of your neck, placating your worries with whispers of devotion. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to get this far. We just wanted to keep you from harm. You’re our world, our entire heart. If you’re hurt, it hurts worse for us, little love.” 

Remus kneels by your feet, grabbing your hands in his; eyes dripping with fondness and warmth. The gold flecks in his eyes glimmering like stars in the night sky. “There’s something you have to know about me, love. We should have told you this long ago—but I was afraid you would look at me differently.”

You end up in another crying fit, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity. “I’ve seen you when you had food poisoning, Remus Lupin, I was the one who cleaned your vomit on the floors—nothing on this earth can make me look at you differently.”

Remus chokes, before gathering his bearings, hiding wet chuckles in your lap. “I’m a werewolf, my darling. That’s why we avoid you during full moons. To keep you safe. Your safety is always going to be one of my highest priorities. I’d die before I would let Moony harm a pretty hair on your head.” 

“Is that it?” you croak, whimpers subsiding as relief floods through your veins. “Truly?”

Remus nods. “Truly.”

“Oh, our poor love,” Lily murmurs, delicately running her hand through your hair, a worried knit in her brows. “I’m sorry we let it get to this point. Look at you—you’ll cry yourself sick.” She procures a daintily-embroidered handkerchief from her skirt pockets, gently dabbing at your damp eyes, eyes creased with love. “I’m sorry,” she says once more, pressing her lips to yours until all you feel is her instead of hurt. “No more secrets, I promise.”

James scratches the back of his head with a crooked grin. “Well. . . there is one more. Remember that time you saw a stag in the corridors? That was me. And, the dog trying to get a look under your skirt was Sirius.”

You blink. “What?”

iv. child hero has very involved parents.

Harry James Potter is known as the Boy-Who-Lived, the beloved Chosen One of the wizarding society, if you will. He has a destiny to follow and all that—well, if he could actually do anything heroic.

“What do you mean there’s a basilisk in the castle!” you shriek, a poor vase in Dumbledore’s office shattering to a million pieces. Harry drags a hand down his face—this is going to be a very long night. Suddenly, he regrets writing a letter to home about the happenings in the castle. (How was he supposed to know that all five of his parents would march into Dumbledore’s quarters the moment they heard about the blood on the walls and the petrified students?) “Why haven’t you shut down the school yet? Are you waiting for more students to get hurt?” you press on heatedly, James and Sirius flanking your sides like protective bodyguards. 

“Have you taken any protective measures?” Lily asks worriedly, holding onto Remus’s hand that’s resting on her shoulder. (Honestly, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes inwardly. The lot of you are worse than Molly Weasley at this point.) She turns to Harry, “What about Hermione? Is she safe? Oh, her parents must be worried.”

“You know what,” you say standing up, pivoting on your heel as your flock of lovers follow in suit. “We’re leaving, Harry dear, let’s go.” 

“Go?” the twelve-year-old echoes dumbfoundedly. “Go, where?”

“Home,” you reply with no room for arguments. “Until the matter is resolved, you are staying home. And tell Hermione she’s welcome to stay with us, too. And, Ginny. Ronald, as well. Actually, darling, why don’t you just tell all your friends the Potter manor is open to them whenever.”

Harry thinks you’ve just decided that on a whim, but he knows that Lily and his fathers will go along with whatever you want, regardless.

Your gaze slices to Dumbledore with a low hiss, venomous enough to rival a Slytherin’s taunt. “Fix this or I shall hunt down that basilisk myself.” 

Harry’s shoulders slump. 

So much for fulfilling prophecies and defeating dark lords.

a/n: drabbles are so fun!! this was so fun to write (but not trying to set up another blog.. NEVER AGAIN, I AM STAYING HERE!) i might do some more drabbles since my brain is fried after my last few fics which were long as heck.

[yuukiiqwq]

Part 1

Suguru couldn't believe the words that came out of his best friend's mouth. What the hell did he just say? He was in love... with his sister??? Who, what, when, where, how, and why? Suguru mouth was open in shock as he stared at his best friend. Water dripping down his hand from the water bottle, he crushed.

"You're in love with my sister." Suguru started slowly. "And you decide to tell me right before our game?" He may sound calm to anyone else, but Satoru knows that tone. A tone of an underlying threat. Deadly.

"Would you look at the time our game is starting!" Satoru quickly finished changing and burst out the door before Suguru could chase him. Satoru did not need a beating right before the game. Then again, it was his fault (not that he would admit it) for suddenly blurting out his love confession to your brother.

Throughout the whole game, Suguru was glaring daggers at him. Even when they won the game, the atmosphere filled with cheers and joy, Satoru could feel the cold air radiating off his best friend. He wonders if he could successfully sneak away from his prying eyes to go hang out with you like he promised. First, he needs to find you, push these reporters away, and sneak away with you without Suguru interfering.

Satoru looked around the stadium for you until he finally caught sight of you. He then looked back at Suguru, who was also crowded by reporters. Perfect. The kind, caring gentleman he is won't push these reporters aside! Unlike Satoru, who's always rude, this won't affect his image. It's as if Suguru knew exactly what Satoru was thinking because Suguru immediately pulled out his charming smile to the reporters and said–

"I would love to continue talking to you all, but my sister is here today, and she's waiting for me to go celebrate together. I don't want to keep her waiting." His eyebrows furrows slightly, and his voice trembling. His eyes were glassy like just the thought of not spending time with his sister would make him cry. Being the stupid reporter they are, they believed him. Cooing at him, saying it's alright and how loving he was to want to spend time with his sister. They were charmed by his act. That cunning bastard.

"Since I can't talk to you all, Satoru would love to give an exclusive interview to you all!" This immediately caused all the reporters at him to suddenly rush Satoru, doubling the reporters surrounding him. Suguru smugly smiled at Satoru and mouth–"I'm not stupid Satoru."

He then sees you coming up to your brother, giving him a hug, and a congratulations. How he would kill for you to be next to him right now. For you to say his name and congratulate him. Satoru was going to push away all these reporters at all cost to get to hang out with you, but there was too many. He was getting pushed farther away from you. He could barely manage to hear the conversation the two of you were having.

"Your friend looks like he's suffocating from the reporters Suguru. Don't you think you should do something?" Your eyebrows furrowed in concern for him. "He said he wanted to hang out after the game, too."

"My dear lovely sister, let's go out for some nice fancy dinner tonight to celebrate." Suguru completely ignored your question, put his hand behind your back, and started to push you toward the exit.

Satoru couldn't do anything but watch Suguru push you away from him. This was torture. He finally managed to talk to you. You were so close yet so far away. Shoko did mention how overprotective Suguru was, but c'mon! He is his best friend! Surely he can trust him with his sister! Like what happened to trust!! Where was the trust in this friendship!!! Satoru can feel how happy Suguru was keeping you away from him. His best friend is the incarnation of the devil. He swears it. And on cue, Suguru turned his head around, looked Satoru dead in the eyes, and smiled smugly before exiting with you. Fuck incarnation of the devil. He was the devil.

Taglist:

@captainchrisstan @iheartlinds @allofffmypeaches @tojisworm-5 @quinnyundertow